Chapter Text
There were a certain set of rules that Izuku had to follow while he was growing up. It had a lot to do, he was sure, with him being quirkless, although he couldn’t remember a time before the rules were in place. His memories from back then were fuzzy now, hard to pick apart properly, but he remembered that they had recently moved and he hadn’t been put back into daycare just yet. The new area combined with his diagnosis had left his mama tense, insisting he play inside as much as possible, as though afraid he’d spontaneously combust if he went anywhere other than the toddler-proofed apartment. Izuku had a distinct memory of sitting in front of the TV, a snack he hadn’t been enjoying untouched in front of him, every curtain in the house tightly drawn while his mama paced back and forth somewhere in the kitchen.
Even after she got over her protectiveness enough to actually let him outside again, the rules she put in place were strict. For a long while, he wasn’t allowed out unless she was there with him, so most of his trips were to the store instead of the playground. It wasn’t until they started going over to the Bakugos’ regularly that Izuku was able to play with someone else his age again- even if Kacchan kept rubbing his quirkless status in his face- and he was fairly sure it was only because of Auntie Mitsuki’s insistence that he was finally re-enrolled in time for his first day of school.
The most important rule had been to never linger. He was to go straight from school to home, no staying behind to play, no stopping in a shop for a snack, no detours whatsoever. He wasn’t barred from going outside anymore, but he had to have permission, had to say exactly where he was going and why, how long he was going to be gone, and more often than not he was told to just find something to play around the house instead. The one instance where he’d lost track of time when he was nine and had arrived home from the park nearly twenty minutes after he said he would, his mama had been practically inconsolable with how much she was crying. It had taken Izuku promising to never, ever, ever do it again and then baking a batch of apology cookies, complete with a little card decorated in crayon, for her to finally calm down properly. He was never late getting home again.
While it didn’t have anything to do with being quirkless or his safety, there was also an unspoken but clear rule about dad. Izuku couldn’t really remember him- he knew that he had been tall, knew he had been strong, that he used to sing in English and read him bedtime stories, and that he’d had the reddest eyes- but he’d never been able to find any photos of him, and his mama clammed up every time he tried to ask about him. All he’d ever gotten from her was that he had left for America before he was even diagnosed as quirkless, and that his quirk was that he could breathe fire. Once, he had kept pushing, kept prodding, until she’d snapped at him- something she never did, not really, not like that- and made him go to bed early. He learned not to ask about him after that. Why should he care about someone who clearly didn’t care about him, anyway?
Then there was the rule about his hair. A wild nest of curls he struggled to tame on a good day and often just gave up on entirely. Once every few weeks, his mama would sit him down on a kitchen chair, drape a folded towel over his shoulders, mix something in a little black bowl that smelt sharp enough to sting his nose, and then card gloved fingers through his hair until it was completely lathered in it. It was meant to make his hair easier to deal with, and he dreaded to think of what a nightmare it would be without it if it was already difficult with it. It always made his scalp tingle uncomfortably, forced to wait an hour for it to settle into his roots before he was allowed to scrub it out in the shower.
It doesn’t sound like a rule. Izuku hadn’t even realised it was one- not for years and years- until he’d tried to skip it. He’d been training with All Might in preparation for the entrance exam. He’d had spent so much time fixing up the beach that his shoes were constantly full of white sand and he’d even started to struggle to get little flicks of it out his scalp, and he just hadn’t had the time to sit down for a few hours to get his hair done. He hadn’t really thought much about it- until his mama got angry. Even worse than when he’d tried to prod her about dad. Her face became red and blotchy, her eyes already spilling tears, fingers wringing the towel in her hands. It was very, very rare for her to get mad, and Izuku had been so startled and so apologetic that he’d texted All Might to cancel his training for the day with the promise to make up for it. He realised, later, that it was his mama’s way of spending time with him, especially when he’d been so busy lately. Izuku made sure to always set aside time for doing his hair, at least, even if it sometimes made training a little stressful. All Might thankfully hadn’t seemed to mind.
Then he got his quirk and was accepted into UA. Even though he could tell it all made her nervous, that protectiveness still ingrained in her, his mama had been supportive, if understandably shocked. She’d even took him out for dinner to celebrate.
Protective or not, though, the scolding he received over the phone (with the promise of another once he got home) had been a well-deserved one, even if Izuku couldn’t bring himself to fully regret his actions. After all, if he hadn’t arrived when he did, Iida would be nothing but a blood splatter on one of Stain’s blades.
All three of them had already been chastised by many, many people, both before and after the chief of police came to speak with them. That hadn’t stopped the blood draining from Izuku’s face when Gran Torino mentioned Aizawa being on his way to take them back to Musutafu. Iida and Todoroki had both gone just as pale, and Izuku had never thought he’d see Todoroki look even somewhat relieved to see Endevour come pick him up before their teacher could arrive. Even the Number Two Hero and Midoriya Inko combined weren’t as terrifying as an angry Aizawa-sensei.
Thankfully, they weren’t immediately expelled the moment Aizawa’s red glare breached the doorway. Iida nearly slumped off the bed entirely in his relief when a nurse tapped Aizawa on the the shoulder and murmured something that had him following them away, although not before he shot them a warning look that just dared them to step a toe out of line while he was gone. Both Izuku and Iida were already dressed and ready to leave, with only a minor setback of Izuku having to help Iida tie his shoes since his arm was still in a cast. Even Izuku had, to his relief, been cleared to walk short distances on his mostly-healed leg with the instruction to stay off it for a week. He tried not to think too heavily on the amount of training he was going to miss.
It was a surprise when Aizawa didn’t re-appear within the next hour. Or the hour after that. Izuku and Iida ended up squashed next to each other in a set of plastic chairs, Izuku’s cracked phone held between them as they watched quirk analyst videos to pass the time- Iida’s had briefly looked like it might have survived the fight as well, until the screen stopped working entirely and then refused to turn on at all. It was just starting to near the third hour with no sign of Aizawa when the door opened and Manual stepped through, his frown quickly smoothing over when his eyes found them.
“Iida-kun,” he said, “I’ve offered to take you home. You ready to go?”
“Manual-san!” Iida stood quickly, his cast bumping against Izuku’s arm, and bowed. “I wasn’t expecting you to still be here!”
Manual waved him off. “Ah, well, Eraserheads’s been caught up in something. Figured there was no point in keeping the both of you stuck here if you didn’t have to be.”
Izuku frowned, clicking off his phone to cut off the video. “Is there something wrong?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Manual reassured, “Something about misplaced paperwork? You’ll be out of here in no time, Midoriya-kun. Eraser doesn’t seem like the type of guy to let people drag their feet.”
Iida turned to him, hesitating. “I can stay. It is the least I can do.”
Manual seemed to suppress a wince. “Sorta promised your brother I’d get you home, I’m afraid. He’s waiting on you.”
Unlike Manual, Iida did wince, the guilt that had been marring his face for the last day returning tenfold. Izuku quickly held up his hands, still clutching his phone in one.
“It’s okay!” he said, smiling, “I’m sure Aizawa-sensei won’t be much longer. I’ll see you in class?”
Iida hesitated for a moment more, before his shoulders slumped and he gave Izuku a single nod. “Get home safe, Midoriya-kun. I’ll see you in class. Thank you again.”
Manual shot Izuku a warm smile as he held the door open for Iida, who glanced back at him one last time before he was ushered away. The door shut behind them with a sharp click. Izuku sighed and slumped in his chair. He turned his phone back on and continued the video.
He got through nearly five more before the door finally opened again. The bags under Aizawa’s eyes seemed heavier, somehow, and he was in the middle of rubbing the bridge of his nose as though warding off a headache. Izuku was in the midsts of struggling to his feet when another man followed him through the door.
Detective Tsukauchi’s smile was polite and not in anyway cold, but that did nothing to stop the stone from dropping to Izuku’s stomach. He glanced to Aizawa, mouth dry, and clutched his phone a little harder.
“Is, um, is everything okay?” he asked. The glance Aizawa and Tsukauchi shared did not help him feel better.
“We just needed to check some things with you,” Tsukauchi said. He gestured to the chair Iida had vacated. “Is it alright if I sit here?”
“Um, o- okay,” Izuku reluctantly sat back down, and watched as Tsukauchi pulled the other chair out a bit so they’d face each other properly. Aizawa leaned against the wall next to the door like some kind of bodyguard. Izuku tried clearing his throat. “I- I thought I already gave my statement?”
Tsukauchi nodded, making himself comfortable. “You did.”
“Has Stain- ?”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Stain,” Tsukauchi said, “That’s all being dealt with. It’s not likely anyone will come bother you with it again.”
Izuku blinked, then frowned. “Then what’s this about?”
“There’s been some kind of…” Tsukauchi gestured vaguely. “Mix-up with your files. You remember my quirk?”
How could he forget? Izuku had already written six pages about it in his notebook. “You have a truth quirk.” he said. Tsukauchi smiled.
“Sure do.” he said, “This isn’t an interrogation or anything, okay? You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.” He waited until Izuku nodded slowly before continuing. “Have you ever been out of the country before, Midoriya-kun?”
“Uh, out of Japan?” Izuku frowned. “Furthest I’ve ever been from the Shizuoka province is Niigata. Kacchan’s family invited us to go with them a few years ago. We didn’t even take a plane.”
“Niigata’s really nice,” Tsukauchi hummed, “Did you guys go to the aquarium?”
Izuku grinned. “Yeah! They’ve got sea otters. I didn’t realise how big they were. And we went to the beach too.”
“Been a while since I’ve had a good beach day. You got any family abroad?”
“Oh, um,” Izuku’s mouth twisted, just a little, not quite a grimace. “My dad’s in America.”
“Yeah? What’s his name?”
“Midoriya Hisashi. I haven’t seen him since I was a toddler, though.”
Tsukauchi nodded slowly, seeming to consider this. “I see. So it’s just you and your mum?”
“Yeah,” Izuku said, an unease settling in his chest, “I don’t… what’s this about? What’s wrong with my files?”
“We’re just trying to clarify some things,” Tsukauchi said, patiently, “You’re not in trouble.”
Izuku nodded uncertainly, absently rubbing his thumb over the back of his phone. “Uh, okay.”
“So you’ve never been out the country, right?” Tsukauchi asked. Izuku nodded again. “Not even to visit your father in America?”
“No,” said Izuku, “I- I’m not even sure what state he’s in.”
Tsukauchi nodded. “Okay. Could you tell me where in Japan you were born?”
“Um, Shizuoka Prefecture.”
“What city?”
“I- I never asked,” Izuku admitted, “I assume Musutafu? I’ve been there all my life.”
“I see,” Tsukauchi looked thoughtful, like he was considering something, “That’s alright. Do you think you could tell me about any extended family you have? Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins?”
Izuku blinked. “Oh, uh, not- not really? My mama’s close with Auntie Mitsuki, so- so I guess the Bakugous sorta- sorta count, but, like, offi- officially? I’ve never… met anyone.”
Tsukauchi didn’t frown, but Izuku noticed his brow twitch slightly. “Really? Has your mum ever told you about them?”
“She said that her parents were from Tokyo,” Izuku said, his own brow furrowing as he scavenged his brain. He’d made a family tree in school once, but it had been much sparser than some of the other kids. He hadn’t recognised any of the names his mama had given him either. “And that they passed away before I was born. She doesn’t have any- any siblings or anything.”
“And your dad?” Tsukauchi prodded. Izuku’s chest ached, just a tiny bit, worn and old and familiar. Easily brushed aside by this point.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said, “Mama doesn’t like talking about him. Or- Or anyone to do with him.”
“Alright,” said Tsukauchi, nodding slightly, “What about the Bakugous? You guys go on a lot of holidays together?”
Izuku scuffed the heel of his shoe against the floor. “Uh, yeah. Ka- Kacchan and I grew up together. We go around to theirs for dinner once a month. It’s been a few years since we went on- on holiday or anything, but Auntie Mitsuki is always around, at least.”
“You and Bakugou-kun must be really close, then.”
“We, um,” Izuku’s voice grew a little small, “We used to be.”
“I see. Have the Bakugous known you since you were born?”
“I-“
The door opened suddenly enough that Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin. A nervous looking nurse poked his head through, eyes darting from Aizawa to Izuku to Tsukauchi. He started to talk, but ended up coughing awkwardly when his voice caught.
“Erm,” the nurses’ face went pink. “Midoriya-san has arrived, detective.”
Aizawa sighed heavily. Izuku’s spine straightened.
“Mama’s here?” he asked, something like relief entering his voice, “I thought Aizawa-sensei was driving me home?”
“That was the plan,” Aizawa muttered, pushing off the wall, “She’s here to sort out that paperwork issue. Tsukauchi?”
Tsukauchi was already standing, straightening his jacket. “Thank you for talking with me, Midoriya-kun. I hope your recovery goes well.”
“Ah, thank- thank you,” Izuku stammered, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He tried to hide his relief at the questioning being over. “Have a good day, Tsukauchi-san.”
The detective smiled and nodded, but Izuku didn’t miss the glance he shared with Aizawa before he slipped out the door with the nurse. Aizawa sighed again and took the newly empty chair, slumping into it and burying the lower half of his face in his capture scarf. He looked like he was preparing to take a nap. Izuku picked at his nails, suddenly unsure where to rest his eyes.
“Ai- Aizawa-sensei?”
The man gave a questioning grunt. Izuku wet his dry lips.
“What exactly’s wrong with my paperwork?” he asked. Aizawa was silent for a long moment, long enough that Izuku started to think he was going to be ignored, before he grunted again and raised his head to look at him.
“Your birth certificate is fake.”
Izuku recoiled. “Wh- What?”
“A very well done fake,” Aizawa continued, “They nearly didn’t notice. Might’ve nearly brushed it off, probably, but with the amount of heroes and police around, they took the time to put it through the scanner and…”
He trailed off and shrugged, as though Izuku wasn’t gawking at him like he’d grown a second head.
“That- I- That doesn’t make any sense,” Izuku said, finally. “That doesn’t- That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know,” Aizawa said, almost patiently, and maybe Izuku was imagining the way his tone softened just slightly, “But it does mean they need to look into it before they can let you go home.”
“I was- I was born here,” Izuku insisted, his ribs constricting around his chest, “I’ve never even left the country, I- I don’t- how can it be fake?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.” Aizawa shifted just enough so that he could reach over and bump his knuckles against Izuku’s elbow. “It’s going to be fine. You haven’t done anything wrong here.”
“But you- do you think my mother has? Is that why she’s here?” Izuku whispered. His heart dropped when Aizawa paused, then sighed, drawing his arm back so he could settle more comfortably into his chair. Like he expected them to be there for a while.
“Who knows? We don’t have all the facts,” Aizawa said, “If she-“
“She hasn’t,” Izuku said, quickly, and only went slightly red when Aizawa raised an eyebrow at him for the interruption, “I- erm- she hasn’t done anything wrong, she- she can’t have done anything wrong, she’s a great mama, the best, she doesn’t- she wouldn’t even know how to get a fake birth certificate, let alone actually- actually- there’s no way she’d- how would-“
“Midoriya,” Aizawa raised a hand, “Breathe.”
Izuku sucked in a sharp breath. His hands were shaking. He could feel the bite of his nails in his palms. Aizawa rubbed at his eyes for a moment, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” he admitted, “No one does. All we know is that, for whatever reason, there’s something up with your documents. They’re going to get to the bottom of it and then go from there. Okay?”
Izuku searched his face for a long moment, not entirely sure what he was looking for. There was a pit in his stomach. He twisted his sore fingers together. His breath shuddered. “Okay.”
Aizawa nodded once and leaned back again. “Okay.”
They fell into silence, then. Izuku kept his eyes on the floor.
He didn’t turn his phone back on.
Aizawa bought him a hot chocolate, at some point. He burnt his tongue on it and had to leave it to cool for at least half an hour before it was even semi-safe enough to drink. He’d watched with a mix of horror and awe as Aizawa downed a black coffee, surely just as scalding at Izuku’s hot chocolate, as though it were water and he was dying of thirst.
They had to be ushered out of the room and into a proper waiting area eventually. The chairs were just as uncomfortable, but at least it was a change of scenery. He paced in an attempt to stave off the nervous energy bubbling under his skin, but Aizawa made him sit down by the time he started limping. He downloaded a few random games onto his phone, deleted the ones that ended up making him sit through multiple ads every two minutes, and sent a screenshot of his pretty strong tetris score to Uraraka. She sent him a string of fire emojis in response.
By the time Tsukauchi re-appeared, the sun had started to dip below the horizon and there was an uncomfortable ache in Izuku’s spine. Aizawa looked just as relieved to see him as Izuku felt.
“Tsukauchi,” he grunted, “About time. Please tell me we can get out of these god-awful chairs.”
The detectives lips twitched, but only slightly. “Just need to speak with you real quick, Eraser.”
Aizawa sighed and dragged himself to his feet. Izuku shifted his weight and tried to get some feeling back into his legs.
“Is my mama going to be out soon?”
“Just give us a moment, okay? This shouldn’t take too much longer,” Tsukauchi said. Izuku nodded reluctantly. It wasn’t until he and Aizawa had disappeared around the corner that Izuku realised he hadn’t actually answered his question.
After a few minutes of bouncing his legs, frowning at his rapidly dwindling phone battery and glancing aimlessly around the mostly-empty waiting room, Izuku shifted to the edge of his seat and leaned as far forward as he could. It was just enough to peer down the hallway the two men had gone down, and he was surprised to see them just a little ways away. He definitely couldn’t hear them, not over quiet chatter and beeping computers and the click of shoes, but he could clearly see Aizawa’s deep frown. His mouth moved, and Izuku really, really wished he knew how to read lips. He couldn’t see Tsukauchi’s face, but whatever he said had Aizawa pinching his nose, mouth moving again, before he stopped suddenly and looked at the detective in what must’ve been confusion and then-
And then he recoiled, as though he’d been struck.
Tsukauchi was still talking, hands slightly raised. Aizawa stared at him, any lingering tiredness chased away. His face twisted suddenly, teeth bared in a snarl. Izuku wished he’d raise his voice so he could try and catch something, but Aizawa seemed to only speak lower, like a dangerous growl.
His glare darted abruptly towards Izuku. The boy jolted, gave a rather undignified squeak, and jerked back into his seat. He slowly slumped down to the point of nearly sliding off entirely, pressing into the backrest as though hoping to disappear into it. His face burned hot.
It was a good few minutes more, where Izuku didn’t dare attempt to peek over again, before Tsukauchi came back. There was a heaviness to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Aizawa wasn’t with him.
“Where’s, um, where’s Aizawa-sensei?” Izuku asked.
“He’s needed elsewhere,” Tsukauchi said, then sighed, “I’m sorry, Midoriya-kun, but we’re going to have to place you with a temporary guardian for the night. Many pro-heroes have foster licenses so UA is going to send someone to-“
“Whoa, wait, wait, wh- what are you talking about?” Izuku cut in, his voice growing thin. He got to his feet, bracing himself against the chair when his leg twinged in protest. “Is- Is mama okay?”
“She’s just fine,” Tsukauchi assured, too gentle, too patient, “She’s currently under investigation for the falsified documents and will need to remain in custody. Which means we need someone to look after you in the mean time.”
“But- But she hasn’t done anything wrong!” Izuku exclaimed, his knees knocking together and his breath catching because what the hell was going on? “What do you mean you have to keep her- keep her in custody? She’s not a criminal!”
“I know all of this is really sudden,” Tsukauchi said, somehow looking even more tired than before, “And that you probably want nothing more than to go home after the last few days. But we’re not able to release her at this current time, and as you have no other guardian on file, we’ve had to call in a temporary foster placement. Nedzu’s already scheduled someone to come pick you up for the night.”
“I- I-“ Izuku’s heart was shuddering in his chest. He swallowed thickly. “What about- What about Auntie Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru?” he asked, as much as he dreaded the murderous looks Kacchan would definitely be sending him. He hoped they wouldn’t make them share a room. “Can’t I stay with them?”
Tsukauchi hesitated. “You said they were close with your mother, right?”
Izuku nodded slowly. “Um, ye- yeah. We’ve known them all my life.”
“Then I’m afraid, in this instance, we can’t allow that,” Tsukauchi told him gently, though it still felt like a punch to the gut, “We still need to speak to the Bakugou’s about the case and so that makes them involved, which means we can’t reasonably place you with them.”
“But then,” Izuku gripped his shirt tightly, trying to ground himself, “But then who will I be… ?”
“Nedzu’s contacting a couple of people to check availability,” Tsukauchi told him, “You’ll likely know the majority of them, actually, since they’ll be UA teachers. They’ll give you a place to stay for the night while we sort all this out. Okay?”
Teacher. They expected Izuku to stay with a teacher. He would rather share that room with Kacchan. Let his alarm clock be a couple of explosions to the face. It would be better than a teacher.
“Oh,” Izuku said, weakly, “I… there’s… I- I really can’t just go home? I’ve- I’ve stayed on my own overnight before, mama- mama sometimes has to take night shifts, so… so I’d be fine.”
“While I’m sure you’re more than capable, because it’s an investigation, we need you to have a qualified guardian present,” Tsukauchi explained. Izuku let out a shaky breath.
“Can I- Can I talk to my mama?” he asked, blinking back the tears prickling at his eyes because at this point he really, really just wanted to go home, “Is she still talking with officers?”
“I’m sorry,” Tsukauchi said, softly, “Not tonight.”
“What?” Izuku’s voice broke, wobbled, and oh, there were those tears, “What do- Why not?”
“It’s protocol,” the detective said, “Especially in cases with a minor.”
“But she’s my mama,” Izuku stressed, “How can- How can you not let me see her? I just- I just want to talk to her,” he took in a shuddering breath and, knowing it was a bit of a low blow, “I nearly died the other day and I’ve only been able to- to talk to her over the phone, so- so- so why- ?”
Tsukauchi winced and made a mostly subtle attempt to not appear uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Midoriya-kun. I understand you want to talk to her, I do, but right now we simply can’t allow that. I’m sorry.”
“She’s not bad,” Izuku croaked. His leg was aching again. The skin around it was too tight. “She’s- why do you think she’s bad?”
“I don’t think she’s a bad person,” Tsukauchi said, softly. He placed a hand on Izuku’s shoulder and gently pushed him back into the waiting room chair. Izuku’s leg crumbled easily. “I’m going to get you some water, okay? I’ll let you know when Nedzu confirms a placement for you. Stay right here.”
“Where’s Aizawa-sensei?” Izuku asked, voice clogged with tears. He scrubbed at his face, sniffling. For the first time, Tsukauchi actually seemed to pause.
“He’s helping sort everything out for you,” he said, after a beat that was just slightly too long, “It’s going to be okay.”
Izuku slumped in his chair. “This doesn’t- This doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense.”
Tsukauchi sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’ll be right back, okay?”
Izuku didn’t respond. He listened as Tsukauchi’s heels clicked against the polished tile floor. He pressed his hands into his soaking eyes.
He wished someone would just tell him what was going on.
Izuku had never spoken to Hound Dog before, but they’d had a class with him about mental health and substance abuse the other week. He certainly never disliked him before. But while he knew realistically that none of this was his fault and he was actually doing him a kindness by opening his home to him, none of that stopped the simmering resentment from staining the back of his tongue.
He almost wished the man would get annoyed with him or say something mean, so that he’d at least have an excuse to hate him. But he seemed entirely unbothered by Izuku’s mumbled greeting and then stubborn silence. It wasn’t long after his arrival that he was ushering Izuku into the backseat of a (admittedly quite nice) car. The sun was long gone at this point, leaving the world dark enough that Izuku couldn’t see out the windows. He settled for frowning at the seat in front of him, backpack clutched to his chest as though it could shield him.
“Rice bowls or soba noodles?” Hound Dog asked abruptly, eyes still on the road. Izuku blinked dumbly.
“What?” he croaked.
“Would you like a rice bowl or soba noodles for dinner? It’s gotten a bit too late to cook.”
“Oh,” Izuku rubbed his thumb against the strap of his backpack. The thought of food made nausea swirl in his stomach. “I’m not hungry.”
“Aizawa-san said you only had a bag of pretzels from the vending machine and one of his jelly pouches for lunch,” Hound Dog said, which made Izuku frown because he hadn’t even seen Aizawa since Tsukauchi sent him away to do whatever, “You don’t have to eat anything if you don’t want to, but it’ll be good to have the option if you’re feeling up to it later. So- rice bowls or soba?”
They went to get rice bowls, although Izuku ordered the plainest one. Hound Dog didn’t make any comments about it, and they didn’t have much further to drive before they were pulling up to a large set of gates. Izuku squinted through the darkness of the windows, but couldn’t make out anything past the beam of the car headlights. Hound Dog leaned out his own window to scan something, before the gates slid open to grant them entry.
For a moment, Izuku genuinely thought that Hound Dog must live in some big, fancy mansion. But after the initial gates, they seemed to pull into a whole neighbourhood. The street lamps were a warm yellow, lighting up just enough for Izuku to peer curiously at the passing houses. It was definitely a much nicer neighbourhood than the one Izuku had grown up in. The houses all looked fairly modern, with driveways and a small front garden, some flush with greenery and some kept to simple stone. It was late enough that most people would be indoors, but he still spotted a couple here and there heading down the streets, jogging and walking dogs and making a quick trip to the corner store.
“Here we are,” Hound Dog announced as they pulled into a driveway. Izuku stayed seated even after the hero had climbed out of the car. Once a long moment had passed where Hound Dog didn’t rush him, he slowly dragged his hand down and clicked the button to release his seatbelt, before gripping his backpack and reluctantly sliding out the door.
Hound Dog was waiting patiently by the front door, the takeaway bag in one hand and Izuku’s hero costume case in the other. He gave Izuku a smile that he wished was at least a little bit condescending, something to give him the excuse to hate all of this as much as he possibly could, before holding the door open for him.
The house was cosy and open. There was a fuzzy looking blanket draped over the back of the couch and a number of flourishing plants. Papers and a closed laptop were strewn across the kitchen table, as though he’d been in the middle of working when he’d gotten the call to come pick him up from Hosu. Izuku toed off his shoes and quietly accepted the offered guest slippers, awkwardly trailing after Hound Dog through the living room and into the kitchen. The papers and laptop were stacked and shuffled to the side, Izuku was encouraged into one of the seats, and his rice bowl was plopped in front of him with a pair of chopsticks and a glass of juice. Izuku stared at the rice and vegetables blankly.
“Hound Dog-sensei?”
Hound Dog paused from where he had started to put away some dishes. He must’ve recently washed them before he left. “Yes, Midoriya-kun?”
“What happens if someone has a fake birth certificate?”
“Hm,” Hound Dog set the plate he was holding down and came over to sit across from him, tapping a claw against the table thoughtfully, “It depends on the context, really. The biggest priority is going to be finding the original one and finding out why there was a fake one in the first place.”
“Could,” he tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry, “Could you go to jail for having one?”
“You can certainly be prosecuted for it,” Hound Dog said, quietly, “There’ll be some fines, at least. It depends on what the fake certificate was being used for, since just owning one isn’t necessarily illegal.”
“Right,” Izuku whispered, a little choked, “Would they- Would they keep her overnight if they weren’t sure she’s done anything wrong?”
“Happens all the time,” Hound Dog reassured, “The police can hold her for up to twenty-four hours before they have to charge her with something.”
Some of the tension leaked out of Izuku’s shoulders. “So we should be able to go home tomorrow?”
“If she hasn’t been charged with anything,” said Hound Dog, carefully, “Then yes.”
Izuku nodded slowly, only just then realising how stiffly he’d been sitting. He rubbed at his aching eyes and, after a moment, picked up his chopsticks.
A soft spring shower had started up at some point, a gentle pitter-patter against the windowpane of Hound Dog’s guest bedroom. It might have lulled him to sleep on any other night, but there was an anxious knot in his chest that he was struggling to loosen. That was how he ended up with the blanket pulled over his head, squinting in the dull light of his cracked phone.
He had their group chat open, originally titled Study Sessions and then almost immediately updated to Squad Goals!!!! Iida’s status was offline, not surprising considering the late hour, the broken phone and the likelyhood that he’s been thoroughly grounded (Izuku certainly wouldn’t have his phone on him if he was actually home), but his other friends seemed to be just as unable to sleep as he was.
Occhan!!: im surprised you’re not sleeping, deku!! arent you just out of hospital??
DEKIRU: I’m okay, really! They said my leg should be fully healed within the week
ribbit: is the pain keeping you awake?
Izuku adjusted his leg slightly. It itched, but didn’t twinge.
DEKIRU: no no it doesnt hurt anymore. I just need to be mindful of it
Occhan!!: that’s really good to hear!!! we were so worried when we heard you had been in hosu during the attack!!
ribbit: we were
ribbit: glad you’re okay, midoriya-kun
A warmth bloomed in Izuku’s chest and he had to hastily blink back the prickle of tears. He still couldn’t believe that he had friends. Real, genuine friends who laughed with him instead of at him and worried about him and made sure that he was okay. He didn’t think he’d ever get over it.
Shouto: Hello.
Occhan!!: hi todoroki!
ribbit: hi todoroki
Shouto: Did you get home safe, Midoriya?
Izuku paused. He could probably just say yes and move on, but these were, again, his real, genuine friends. He didn’t want to lie to them unless he had to. And he was already lying about his quirk and All Might and now the whole thing with Stain. Besides, he kind of wanted someone else’s thoughts because he wasn’t exactly wrapping his head around anything since Tsukauchi showed up.
DEKIRU: uh well not really?
DEKIRU: I mean wait no im safe!!!
DEKIRU: I’m just not home?
Shouto: I thought we were all discharged today? Did Aizawa-sensei not come pick you up?
ribbit: did something happen?
For a moment, Izuku tapped his finger against the back of his phone, chewing on his lip.
DEKIRU: I dont really understand what’s happened tbh, no one’s been super clear about it but apparently my birth certificate they had on file at the hospital was fake?
DEKIRU: so they called my mama in and aizawa-sensei and I had to wait for hours before they told us I couldn’t go home with her for the night
DEKIRU: since theyre still investigating
DEKIRU: or something
There was a heaviness in his chest now. He watched as multiple typing dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. It was almost a whole minute of Izuku working himself up into a slight panic before any actual messages came through.
Occhan!!: ?????????????????
Yeah, that about summed up Izuku’s thoughts too.
ribbit: that’s really strange
Shouto: It is. Are you staying with Aizawa-sensei for now?
DEKIRU: they called in hound dog-sensei, actually
DEKIRU: it’s only for tonight!! Im sure this is all a big misunderstanding
Occhan!!: im sure it is!! your mama is far too sweet to do anything wrong ever!!
Occhan!!: i just can’t see it happening!
Shouto: That’s surprising. UA’s policy says that students’ custody normally goes to their homeroom teacher in the case of an emergency.
Shouto: I’ve been researching it a little.
That made Izuku pause. His chest ached again, for a completely different reason. Of course Todoroki would be looking into something like that. He made a mental note to go back over the rough plans he’d been putting together for him before internships started.
ribbit: aizawa-sensei might be busy helping with hosu
Shouto: That’s true.
Shouto: It’s short notice as well.
Izuku was also fairly sure that Aizawa just didn’t like him all that much. Not that he thought he hated him or anything, definitely nothing like his old teachers at Aldera had. He still had nightmares about watching him leap over the banister towards a horde of villains, of his arms breaking like twigs and his bloodied face smashed into the ground. Aizawa had already proved that he would die to protect any of them, Izuku included. He’d never thought he’d admire someone nearly as close as he did to All Might.
That did not mean that Aizawa personally liked him, though. Which was fine! Sure, maybe Izuku would’ve felt just slightly more comfortable spending the night with someone he actually knew, but it was just for one night. He could get over it. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was breaching his homeroom teachers’ privacy like that anyhow. Bothering a teacher he didn’t see nearly as often was probably for the best.
DEKIRU: I’ll be home tomorrow anyway! It’s not a big deal
Occhan!!: idk deku, obvs there’s going to be a super reasonable explanation but they must think its serious if they felt like they had to get you a temp guardian
Occhan!!: remember when we went over it a lil with 13? that was for rescue scenarios tbf but they said they tend to be super reluctant to put kids with temp guardians cause not enough heroes have foster licenses
ribbit: thats right. so they only do it if they have to
Shouto: It’s a requirement for UA teachers to have an up to date foster license. Might have been easier for them to make the decision because Midoriya is a UA student.
ribbit: maybe
That anxious knot was back again. Izuku swallowed thickly, rubbing at his sternum as though that might help loosen it. It didn’t.
DEKIRU: im sure they’ll figure everything out tomorrow! There’s no way mama’s actually done anything wrong you know?
DEKIRU: hound dog said we might get fined which really sucks but it shouldnt be worse than that
DEKIRU: I just dont understand how this has happened to begin with
ribbit: there’s no use worrying about it tonight, anyway. they’ll probably explain everything to you in the morning once they’ve figured things out
Shouto: You won’t get in trouble with UA though, right? They have your real birth certificate?
An icy chill prickled at his skin. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
Occhan!!: of course he wont get in trouble!!!! deku hasnt done anything wrong!!
ribbit: besides, I doubt something like that would get past principle nedzu
DEKIRU: yeah
DEKIRU: yeah, nedzu would have noticed
DEKIRU: how are your guys’ internships going?
His friends took the topic change in stride and without comment, to Izuku’s relief. Uraraka told them about some of the moves Gunhead was teaching her and Tsu talked them through how they patrolled on ship, as well as the impressive amount of ways she now knew how to tie a knot. Slowly, the conversation started to die down, and it wasn’t too long before they started wishing each other goodnight. Izuku was scrubbing at his aching eyes when his phone pinged and he swapped from the group chat to his direct messages.
Occhan!!: let us know how things go tomorrow. like you said, its all gonna be some big misunderstanding and we can laugh about it at school next week!
DEKIRU: yeah! Will do!
Izuku smiled, but it fell quickly. He let his screen power off, cascading him in the darkness. The rain had stopped at some point.
He hoped his mama was sleeping better than he was.
Izuku had never been to a police station before. It was busy, people in uniform hurrying to and fro and tapping away at computer desks. He tried to keep an eye out for his mama, in the hopes that she was waiting somewhere for him, but she’s nowhere to be seen. He half expects to be led to an interrogation room, like in one of the cheesy crime dramas his mama and Auntie Mitsuki would watch, but instead the clerk from the front desk guided them to a comfortable side room. It was fairly sparse, but it had nice lighting and a green plant in the corner. The chairs at the table were even cushioned.
Unfortunately, Hound Dog made the chair he seated himself in seem comically small, but he didn’t complain despite Izuku doubting it being very comfortable. He quietly took the seat next to him and tried not to bounce his legs.
Detective Tsukauchi didn’t leave them waiting for long, thankfully. Izuku had been worried this was going to end up being like the hospital all over again. The detective entered the room alone, arms loaded with files, and smiled in greeting. He didn’t look like he’d slept.
“Good morning, Hound Dog, Midoriya-kun,” he said, letting the heavy door swing shut behind him. He slid into the chair across from them, placing the files on the table. They must’ve been upside down, because Izuku couldn’t see any labels on the top cover. “Thank you for coming in so early.”
“Of course, Tsukauchi-san,” Hound Dog said, pleasantly, “Midoriya-kun has been a pleasure to have.”
“Glad to hear it,” Tsukauchi said, then focused in on Izuku, “How’re you faring? Injuries healing okay?”
“Um, ye- yeah,” Izuku said, absently rubbing the thigh of his injured leg, “It’s not been hurting or anything. How’s- How’s my mama?”
“She’s doing just fine,” Tsukauchi told him, shuffling the files a bit, “She would have been served some breakfast a little bit ago. She’s been cooperative throughout everything as well.”
Izuku didn’t know why she wouldn’t be. “Will I be able to see her today?”
“You and her are really close, huh?” Tsukauchi observed. Izuku nodded quickly.
“Ye- Yeah, she’s- she’s my mama,” he said, “I love her.”
“Of course,” Tsukauchi said, but there was something there, something about the tilt of his voice, that had Izuku pausing momentarily. Tsukauchi continued before he could think on it too heavily. “What we’re going to do today is that I’m going to go over some things with you, explain what’s going on, what we’ve found and what’s most likely to happen going forwards. Does that sound okay to you?”
“Oh, um- o- okay,” Izuku stammered. Forced himself to stop bouncing his leg. “You figured out what was up with my birth certificate, right?”
“We did,” Tsukauchi confirmed. He flipped open one of the files- it looked like a report. “I want to start back at the hospital. A receptionist was sorting through some records with police to help cover up you, Iida and Todoroki’s involvement with Stain’s capture while still having reasonable explanation for your injuries. It was meant to be nothing more than a quick note and a confirmation check, when the receptionist noticed issues with your legal documentation.”
He turned the file around. Izuku and Hound Dog both leaned forward, peering at the picture of the birth certificate clipped to the edge. Now, Izuku certainly couldn’t say he was familiar with what birth certificates were supposed to look like, but it had his name, his birthday, the hospital he was born at. He couldn’t help but note that only his mothers name was on it, which surprised him a little. His father must’ve been less present even in his youngest years than he’d originally thought.
Tsukauchi tapped the photo. “Her quirk means it’s easy for her to notice inconsistencies, which is honestly likely the only reason she decided to put it through the scanner to authenticate it. I certainly didn’t realise anything was wrong at first. Look here,” he pointed to some small print near the corner, some legal jargon or something. “Apparently, this section here is a single millimetre further to the left than it should be.”
“Oh,” Izuku blinked dumbly, “Um. Okay. So… so it’s- it’s really fake?”
Tsukauchi nodded, pulling back. “Yes. The scanner confirmed it for us. We called in Midoriya-san to figure out why and how this happened, and where your real birth certificate was.”
“Did, um, did you find it?” Izuku asked.
“We did,” Tsukauchi said, “We also found out why you had a fake one to begin with.”
Izuku frowned. “It- It was some sort of mistake, right? A mess up at the- the department? Or something?”
“No,” the detective slowly shook his head, “It wasn’t a mistake.”
“What do you mean?” Izuku asked, “Why else would… ?”
“Midoriya-san confessed,” Tsukauchi’s voice was soft, delicate, careful, “To the possession of false identity documents with improper intention, as well as to the abduction of a minor.”
Izuku stared. Opened his mouth. Closed it. His face twisted into pure bafflement. “Huh?”
“She gave us a time, place and date of the abduction, so we were able to go through-“
“But I would’ve seen a child?” Izuku cut him off, and it came out like a question, because huh? “We live together, I haven’t even been away from home that long for my internship, when would she have- when would she have abducted a kid? Why would she do that?”
Tsukauchi raised both eyebrows at him. It reminded Izuku of Aizawa. “Midoriya-kun,” he said, not unkindly, “You’re the minor in this case.”
There was a heavy blanket over the room. It muffled everything, like cotton in your ears. Izuku was suddenly very aware of his tongue and how it sat awkwardly in his mouth, like it was too big, pushed up against the backs of his teeth. The room was too warm, too small, too stuffy. Sweat clung, hot and sticky, underneath the bandage on his leg.
“Midoriya-san told us,” Tsukauchi continued slowly, after he had been silent for too long, “That, nine years ago on July 15th at around 11:45am, she found a young boy playing outside by himself. She used her quirk to pull his toy and lure him away. She claims that it wasn’t pre-planned, that it was her first time in that neighbourhood and that she had never seen him before.”
He paused, as though waiting to see if Izuku would say something. He continued when he didn’t. “We traced back our missing persons cases to coincide with the date and location. On the same day, around the same time, a young boy was declared missing from Takoba Ward, Chiyoda District, Block 12. He was reportedly playing hide and seek at the local playground with his older cousin. After a while of not being found, the older cousin came out of hiding and the young boy had disappeared.”
Tsukauchi picked up the topmost file and slid it over to Izuku, flipping it open for him. It was a missing persons report. The boy pictured was small, freckled cheeks chubby with baby fat, and couldn’t have been any older than four. It looked like a daycare photo, one of those ones where they shuffle toddlers in front of a pale backdrop and try to keep their attention long enough to snap a decent picture. It must have been a struggle with this particular toddler, because he seemed distracted with something off camera, his green eyes crinkled from how big his smile was.
It looked a lot like the baby photos dotted around the Midoriya living room, it did, but-
“His hair’s white,” Izuku pointed out, dragging his eyes from the photo without looking at anything else. Hound Dog shifted slightly next to him, but didn’t speak. Tsukauchi’s eyebrow twitched like he had to fight back a frown.
“It is,” he said, his gaze briefly darting to Izuku’s own dark green, explicitly Midoriya hair. Izuku ran his tongue over dry lips.
“I’ve always had green hair,” he said, firmly, fingers curling into the fabric of his trousers, “Just like my mama’s hair. That can’t be- that’s not- that’s not me.”
“Midoriya-kun,” Hound Dog spoke up for the first time. Izuku’s eyes shot from Tsukauchi to the hero, who suddenly appeared uncharacteristically uncertain. He seemed to share a brief look with Tsukauchi before quickly refocusing on Izuku. “Midoriya-kun, you smell of hair dye.”
Izuku frowned. “I don’t dye my hair.”
“I have a very strong nose,” Hound Dog said, “Does your mother have any kind of rituals or regular times where she’ll do some haircare with you? Perhaps without quite showing you the products in their original packaging?”
“I- I don’t…” he trailed off, throat tightening. His next breath was a little ragged. “I would have noticed. It’s- It’s my hair, wouldn’t I have noticed?”
“Maybe not anything that couldn’t have been brushed off,” Tsukauchi said gently.
Despite himself, Izuku’s eyes found the file again. The little freckled, white-haired boy smiling at something off camera, tiny hands clutching at his daycare uniform. The typed kanji next to it was just ever so slightly faded, the paper just ever so slightly yellowed, tucked away as it had been for the better part of a decade.
The name Yamada Soukou stared back at him, completely and utterly unfamiliar. And then-
“That’s not my birthday,” Izuku said. He even unclenched his fingers from around his trousers to jab one at the printed date. “Look, that’s not even- not even the right year.”
“There’s a possibility that you’re a little younger than we thought,” Tsukauchi quietly explained. He lifted his own hand and pointed to the second date, the reported missing date, not far from the one Izuku was staring at. “Midoriya-san told you that you were born July 15th, right?”
“I’m sixteen in a few months,” Izuku said, hating how his voice came out tight and choked. He didn’t understand what was happening. “I know I’m- I’m smaller than most of my class, but if this were me, which it’s- which it’s not, then I’d be- I’d-
“You would be thirteen,” Tsukauchi nodded, “Yes.”
Izuku laughed. It wasn’t funny. “That’s ridiculous.”
Tsukauchi just nodded again. “I understand this is a lot.”
“I get good grades,” Izuku continued, as though he hadn’t spoken. His hand had curled into a fist on top of the file. It trembled. It was heavily scarred. “I get great grades. You’re saying I skipped two years of school without struggling?”
Except he had struggled. Kacchan had had to tutor him at one point, back in elementary. Izuku had wrestled with graduating from hiragana and katakana to the more complex kanji; his stubby little fingers hadn’t quite been able to hold his pen right, and there had been so, so many different characters to remember. He’d been frustrated to tears more than once. It was not the first time Kacchan had to help him.
Izuku scrubbed at his face. Tried to will himself to wake up.
“Why would she lie about my age?” he asked, desperately, “The hair- okay, sure, white hair isn’t super common, not that my hair is white, but- but- but my age? What would be the point?”
“There could be a couple,” Tsukauchi hummed, watching him almost carefully. It made Izuku’s skin prickle. “It would be another way to distance you from Yamada Soukou-“ Izuku had to resist the urge to cringe at hearing the name out loud, “-But, also, she might have just guessed your age wrong or you told her you were older than you were. You were close with Bakugou Katsuki growing up, yes?”
Izuku dropped his hands just enough to squint at him. “Wha- What about Kacchan?”
“If you were close with Bakugou-kun,” Hound Dog said, slowly, like he was piecing things together in his own mind, “Then you may have wanted to be in the same classes as him at school. Or you may have wanted to have something in common with him.”
Izuku’s breath stuttered. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” Tsukauchi said, firmly, deliberately, “We’re all on your side. No one wants to hurt or upset you. We want to make sure that you’re safe.”
“I am safe,” Izuku stressed, “I am, at home, with my mama, all my life- I was never- I was never not safe.”
A silence fell upon the room. He could hear the distant, muffled chatter of the rest of the precinct. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Hound Dog staring at the file, his eyes trailing slightly as he read further. Izuku nearly, nearly missed the startled twitch of his muzzle.
“I think,” Hound Dog said, breaking the silence, “It may be a good idea to take a break.”
Izuku’s eyes focused in on the file again. Tsukauchi was saying something that sounded like agreement, something about getting him a drink, reaching out to flip the file closed. Izuku’s hand was pinning it down, keeping it open before he could even think and- what-
Listed just a little further down the page, right under a written description of white hair, green eyes, freckles, was a section labelled Parents/Guardians and a string of contact information. There was an old coffee stain smudged there, long faded to a dull brown. It didn’t ruin the kanji, even though he wished it would.
Yamada Hizashi, Pro Voice Hero: Present Mic (Father)
Yamada (Aizawa) Shouta, Pro Erasure Hero: Eraserhead (Father)
Ridiculously, bafflingly, Izuku’s first thought was Aizawa-sensei’s real name is Yamada Shouta. His second thought was Aizawa-sensei is married to Mic-sensei, which made absolutely no sense and completely perfect sense. His third thought was, quite rightly so, what the actual fuck is happening.
“You haven’t told them anything,” Izuku croaked, finally, quietly. If Aizawa-sensei hadn’t liked him very much before, then he definitely wasn’t going to like him if he found out he had been mistaken for his missing son. “You- You did not tell my teachers that you think I’m- I’m their-“
He clicked his teeth together. The picture of the little boy- the poor, missing, white-haired little boy, beaming smile and splattered freckles, crinkled eyes far too green- glared up at him. Taunting, almost. Mocking. Izuku wished the floor would swallow him whole. He wished he would wake up already. Surely he was still in hospital, sharing a room with Iida and Todoroki. Maybe he was just really, really high on painkillers.
“Eraserhead and I,” Tsukauchi said, slowly, finally, carefully, “Have worked closely together for a long time now. I would never tell him that his missing child had been found unless I was absolutely certain of it.”
“Good,” Izuku’s voice trembled in his throat, “Good, then- then you haven’t told them anything.”
“Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi didn’t sigh, but there was a heaviness in his voice that sounded a lot like one, “We compared your DNA sample from the hospital with the one we have on file for the missing persons case. You and Yamada Soukou are an exact match.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” if either Tsukauchi or Hound Dog were offended or annoyed by the snap- and it wasn’t the first one since this had started- they didn’t show it, and for once Izuku couldn’t bring himself to care, “That doesn’t- DNA evidence gets mixed up all the time. How can- How can you say that for certain when- when his sample would be from nearly ten years ago?”
“That’s why we called a specialist in,” Tsukauchi explained. He tapped a second open file next to him, covered in diagrams that Izuku didn’t understand. “Gao-san flew in from Taiwan this morning. Her quirk is called Match and she can identify multiple matching subjects down to the molecular level. She can tell you if the colour of paint you bought is a smidge off from the rest of your wall or,” he looked Izuku directly in the eyes, “Whether or not two DNA samples came from the same person, even years apart.”
Izuku’s heart was thudding a rapid rhythm against the cage of his ribs. Thud, thud, thud, thud. In the back of his mind, he thought about how useful that quirk was for detective work. How it could be applied to heroics. “This only started yesterday,” he whispered, weakly, “Why would you fly in a specialist from another country over- over a fake birth certificate?”
Tsukauchi paused. Seemed to consider his words carefully. “Do you know about the Heroes Family Safety Act?”
He wasn’t from a hero family. “Yeah?”
“Then you’ll know that family members of heroes are more likely to be targets for kidnapping, especially children. So when we got even the slightest suggestion that this could be a similar situation, it was immediately made a high priority case.”
“But my mama didn’t kidnap me,” Izuku croaked. His aching hands shook. His scars hurt. Tears were finally starting to prick at his eyes- the famous Midoriya tears, Auntie Mitsuki always called them, because Midoriya’s were such crybabies and Izuku was a Midoriya not- not- “You realise this is insane, right? She loves me, she- she cares for me, she’s a good mum, why are you- why are you saying these things?”
“Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi said, softly, “You remember my quirk?”
Izuku blinked. The tears bubbled and dribbled down his cheeks. Green eyes. Freckled cheeks. The water tinted slightly green as it swirled down the shower drain. “I’m not lying.”
“Midoriya-san,” he said, and Izuku distantly realised that he hadn’t once referred to her as his mother, not since the hospital, “Confessed to abducting a young boy from his neighborhood. She took him home and, when she didn’t get caught for a while, she moved to a different ward and raised him as her own son. I asked her if this young boy was you and she said yes.”
“And she lied?” Izuku asked. Hound Dog had started rubbing his back at some point. A massive paw gently stroking in small circles. “Your quirk told you she lied?”
He couldn’t make out Tsukauchi’s face properly. It was a blurry smudge of colour. There were just too many tears.
“I’m sorry,” whispered the detective. He sounded genuine.
Izuku pressed his forehead to the table and cried.