Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There were heavy footsteps pounding on the pavement, strangled gasps forcing their way through a mask that was wrapped snugly around the lower half of the face of a vigilante clad in black. He could hear his pursuers getting closer, closing in. How had everything gone so wrong in such a short amount of time?

The vigilante vaguely notes that it’s a nice night, the moon shining in the sky and not a cloud in sight. Not too cold, not overly warm. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he thinks that he’d be pretty okay with dying on a night like this. However, after actually processing that thought, immediately changes his mind. He doesn’t want to die at all, thank you very much.

His breath hitches once again as a stabbing pain shoots through his side,  bleeding heavily from his earlier wounds. They were gonna be a bitch to deal with later. If he even had a later.

Black spots dancing across his vision motivates him to drag himself into an alleyway, before collapsing into a nearby dumpster and shutting the lid after him. Hopefully this would be a good enough hiding spot. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it’s not. He vaguely recalls some meme, an old man shrugging with the caption guess I’ll die.

That’s where he’s at right about now.

The footsteps of his pursuers getting dangerously loud causes him to cease all trains of thought immediately and focus on the much more important task of not being found. He even holds his breath, although his body really kind of needs oxygen right now.

“Damn, we lost him.”

“He can’t have gone very far, especially with those injuries! He may be known for stealth, but he can’t just disappear into thin air!”

“And what if that’s his quirk?”

“Then why bother running in the first place?! I don’t care how, just find him! We’ll be in deep shit if he gets away again- ”

The voices start moving away—thankfully—and Midoriya Izuku releases the breath he’s been holding. His organs thank him profusely, having been deprived of the oxygen they’ve craved for far too long. That was a close call, closer than ever. He really was getting too ballsy.

He peeks out of the dumpster, checking to see if there’s anyone unsavory nearby. Luckily, he doesn’t find anything, and takes that as his cue to vault out of the dumpster. At least, that was his intention. His side screams in pain, brain short-circuiting, and he ends up face planting out of the dumpster instead. Sweat plasters his messy head of curly hair to his forehead, and he quickly pulls down his mask and vomits all over the ground. And a little bit all over himself, if he’s being honest.

Izuku just as quickly readjusts the mask, far too suspicious to go around without it until he got home, no matter how sick he was feeling. His identity was much more important at this point. Who would’ve thought that both villains and heroes alike would care so much about the face behind his mask?

He shakily slumps against his previous hiding spot as he tries to calm down. Lord, he really needs to fix himself up as soon as possible. For the billionth time that night he wonders where everything went wrong. He’d only wanted to help.

While the green-haired boy starts to catch his bearings, he realizes for the first time that night that he has nowhere to go. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, he could deal with being on the streets for one night. But with this injury and those people looking for him…

It’s getting worse, so much worse. He knows he’s about to pass out in the alleyway, left for anyone to find him, but it’s not like there’s anywhere to hide even if he could make it there. His eyelids keep getting heavier, and despite his best efforts, his body shuts down and he descends into a peaceful, peaceful sleep.

He doesn’t stay that way for long. But in those brief moments of bliss he remembers how things were before everything had turned into a shit festival.

_______________

Two years ago

Fourteen year old Midoriya Izuku sits alone on a park bench. The sun was getting lower, kissing the horizon, and he knew that his mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. It had been a few days since the sludge villain incident, and after he’d saved his (supposed) friend and gotten chewed out by the heroes (who weren’t even doing anything) , he had trudged home alone. Unknowingly to him, if he’d stayed just a few minutes longer he would’ve caught the attention of the Number One Hero yet again and had a life changing conversation. However life just liked to rob him of these experiences it seemed, so none of that had happened, and instead he had spent the next few days wallowing in his own misery, thinking that there was no possible path he could take in order to become a hero. All Might had said so himself.

Izuku clutches his latest volume of his Hero Analysis Notebook in his hand, still burnt from his previous run-in with a certain Kacchan. It was salvageable but… What was the point if he couldn’t even use it?

As he mourns his dying passion he fails to notice a man walking towards him, suspiciously checking his surroundings as if looking for something. The man walks up to Izuku and clears his throat, jolting the teen out of whatever pitiful train of thought he’s in.

“Hey, kid, you got the time?”

Izuku stares blankly at him, not registering the question.

The man frustratedly furrows his eyebrows together and waves a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Anyone home?”

Izuku’s brain finally understands what is being asked of him, and he quickly stutters out an apology, face heating up from embarrassment. “Ah- Yes! Sorry, sorry, I’m just kind of, er- Kind of out of it?”

Silence.

“And?”

“And what?”

The man pinches the bridge of his nose. “The time! What time is it?!” This kid was a moron.

“Oh right-! six o’clock, it’s six!” This was the most embarrassing conversation of his life. Forget whatever social skills he thought he’d had. “I’m so sorry, I’m not usually this socially inept, I swear!”

The man sighs and takes a seat next to Izuku. “Good, I’ve still got a few minutes.” Another beat of silence.  “Rough day?” he asks, making conversation as he takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it. The boy next to him barks out a depressed laugh.

“Rough life.”

Jeez, what a depressed little munchkin. But the man still has time, and so far he’s pretty entertained, so he pushes a little more. “Care to enlighten me on what’s got you in such a depressed mood? Or are you always like this?”

Izuku vaguely recalls a warning that every kid is taught from a young age. Don’t talk to strangers. But, hey, people his own age would hardly talk to him anyways, so what’s the harm? It wasn’t a very good argument on his part, he admits, but he isn’t exactly in the mood to argue with himself, so he lets it go.

“I… recently had to give up on my dream of being a hero.” Even saying it out loud sends a shooting pain straight to his heart. “I thought that this”, he holds up the almost ruined volume of his notebook, “would be enough to get me there but…” He trails off, not wanting to say anymore. Tears were already starting to pool in his eyes again, and he really didn’t want to add crying in front of random strangers to his almost completely filled out Pathetic Bingo Board.

The man peers at the charred notebook with mild interest as he takes a drag from his cigarette. “Hero Analysis for the Future?” Intriguing, to say the least. “May I?” He holds out his hand, clearly non-verbally asking if he could parse through said notebook. He still has time, he thinks, it’s fine.

The green haired teen raises an eyebrow at him, but hands the notebook to him nonetheless. The man skims through the pages, eyes widening at each entry. What he sees causes him to drop his cigarette completely, and leave it lying forgotten on the ground. Dozens of entries on heroes with incredibly detailed information written on each page. Overviews of their powers, personalities, strengths, and most importantly: weaknesses .

The now wide-eyed man glances at Izuku from the corner of his eye. This book was incredibly valuable, and he could most definitely sell it for a very high price to certain people in the criminal underworld. He can think of at least ten different powerful villains who would kill to get their hands on this kind of information right off the bat.

He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice level. “Well, if you’re not going to use it anymore, I’ll take it off your hands! I’ll even pay, name your price.” He puts on his best used-car-salesmen smile and prays that this kid is naive enough to take him up on his offer.

Izuku, however, isn’t so easily swayed. He gives the man a suspicious look. “Why would you want it? You don’t think it’s creepy?” Something about the way this conversation is going suddenly gives Izuku an odd feeling, like a thousand insects are crawling over his skin, looking for the best point of entry. Not a nice feeling.

“Creepy? No, no, I actually think it’s quite incredible! It’s just…” He tries to think of some innocent excuse that the kid would buy. “Me and my friends, you see, we have this fantasy hero league game we play. We debate over which heroes could take other heroes in a fight, and this information right here would be very, very helpful to me. So, what do you say?”

“...Well it’d probably just end up useless if it stayed with me…”

And that is how Midoriya Izuku accidentally sells his Hero Analysis Journal to a small time villain. An event that turns out to be a trigger for a series of events that cause an entire city to turn upside down and be shaken to its core.

Later that day, after the sun has finally set and the mysterious man has made off with the Hero Analysis Journal, Izuku is walking home, alone. The money the man had given him weighs almost heavily in his pocket, and he’s still amazed that the man was willing to pay so much money for a measly homemade journal made by some kid that he didn’t even know.

The words that they had exchanged still ring uncomfortably in his ears, and his throat feels tight. Why does he feel so sick?

It’d probably end up useless if it stayed with me

His younger self would be ashamed that he’d given up so easily. Heroes didn’t give up. But it’s not like he was a hero anyways. He was still just a quirkless, friendless kid. A joke.

Creepy? No, no, I actually think it’s quite incredible!

Izuku stops in his tracks as he mulls that sentence over. Incredible. A stranger thought that what he could do was incredible, had actually bought his journal. Maybe this was a sign?

Or maybe he’s just being ridiculous. After all, a prestigious hero school like U.A. would never accept his application, what with him being quirkless. And without proper guidance how could he ever learn to fight super villains when they had incredible powers? He was positive that being quirkless wouldn’t nearly be as rough if someone would actually give him a fighting chance.

Sure, he’d love to prove them wrong, fight crime even without a quirk. Become a hero adored by everyone, live to help and save others. But without guidance it was impossible, futile. He’d never even be able to get a hero license, so the dream is officially dead. End of question. He can’t fight without a hero license--can he? That’s called vigilantism , the rational part of his brain reminds him.

That’s illegal.

Takada Itsuki is currently considering himself to be the luckiest man alive at the moment. Not only is he going to be be on time for his meeting for once, but now he has something nice to bring to the table. He glances again at the charred notebook he’s carrying, impatient to show it off at the meeting. He was finally going to earn some respect in the criminal underworld, and if not, then at least he could get a pretty penny for the notebook. Way more than he’d given that kid, that’s for sure. Thank the stars that the brat was so naive.

He strolls into the meeting place, a dingy little restaurant in the bad part of town. It’s currently 6:45, and he’s right on time. For once. The others glance up from their table in the corner, surprise etched on their features from seeing their friend on time. What a rare occurrence.

He takes a seat next to a woman with long, braided hair. She merely looks at him, unamused. “You sure picked a wonderful meeting to not be late to, Takada. ” His name easily rolls off her tongue, and he can’t help the smirk that adorns his face at her tone.

“Oh? And why is that, Yamazaki? We meeting with someone important today?” Excitement stirs in his chest at the expression that crosses Yamazaki Hina’s face. If they happened to be meeting with one of the big dogs today then this would be the perfect opportunity to present the notebook.

The man sitting across from them lets out an ugly snort. “You have no idea. Biggest client we’ve had so far.” This day was really coming together for Itsuki. He can already imagine himself rolling around in all the money that he’s about to obtain.

The doors to the restaurant open at that moment, and they all turn their heads towards the motion, impatient and hungry for their guest to arrive. Yamazaki won’t stop tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the surface of the table.

A woman and two of her attendants walk in. The woman is dressed inconspicuously enough, wearing a dark overcoat that contrasts the pale blonde of her hair quite nicely. Her eyes scan over the trio sitting at the table, and she walks over to them purposefully, heels clicking on the dark wood floor.

She sits down at the head of the table, where an empty seat obviously reserved for her had previously sat. Her attendants dutifully take their places at her side, as stone faced as you’d expect. Her eyes rake over the three of them yet again, making them feel bare and exposed. She practically radiates power and authority.

Itsuki’s excitement only mounts. She’s definitely a big fish, and he is currently the luckiest man on the planet. He grips the notebook tightly in his hand under the table, not wanting to reveal the prized possession so outwardly yet. He’s the first to speak up. “And who do we have here?”

Yamazaki stomps on his foot under the table and the unspoken warning in her glare is enough to shut him up for the moment.

The man sitting across from him, Mizuno Ryota, props his head on his hands and fixes Itsuki with a dangerous look. “I’m sure even you’ve heard of the infamous Overture? Unless you’ve had your head so far up your own ass recently that you’ve missed word of her empire slowly spreading throughout the entire criminal underground?”

Ohhhhhh, yes. He’s definitely heard of her. Of course a new villain on the rise, such as herself, wouldn’t stick to the usual ways of buying information, not like the others. No, she was clearly looking for a cheap, reliable option. Or perhaps their company’s name had also been growing, big enough to where someone as powerful as Overture had picked up on them. Either way, it’s incredibly thrilling.

Overture herself, however, does not look excited. She looks bored. Although perhaps that’s years of experience on learning how to control what she gave away about herself through her emotions. Her face contorts into a slight frown, disgust apparent in her eyes at the possibility of Itsuki not knowing who he’s dealing with, leading to him inevitably underestimating her.

“If we’re finished with the small talk, could we actually get down to business? Do you have what I asked for?” Ah, yes, what she’d asked for was information on a certain underground hero who called themselves Jack of All Trades. Apparently the hero had squashed one too many of her recent operations.

Yamazaki slides a small pamphlet across the table. Overture catches it with ease, and flips the small book open. Her eyes run over the pages, checking to see if the information is adequate. Apparently she finds it so, and motions to her attendants. The one on her left sets a sack down on the table and Mizuno grabs it and looks inside. He nods to Itsuki and Yamazaki, signaling that all of their payment is present.

“Are we done? I have another matter to attend to.” Overture stands, readying herself to leave, when Itsuki speaks up.

“Just a moment, ma’am. Will you be considering doing any long-term business with us?”

Yamazaki and Mizuno share a startled look with each other, not expecting Itsuki to be so forward with the statement. None of them had even discussed any future plans with the Villainess, and it was an unspoken agreement that this deal was a One and Done type thing. Overture’s reputation will not allow her to deal with any small time players without attracting attention and rumors that she might be weakening. Itsuki’s small company does not deal with any Big Fish for very long, their reputation depending on selling information to desperate small time players. Any long term business would be a disaster for both parties involved.

Unless, of course, you have a trump card.

Overture does not look pleased at the statement. She squints at Itsuki before letting out a small huff. “This tiny glimmer of information, as accurate as it may be, does not garner any trust with me whatsoever. Unless you have something that will actually be of use to me, long-term , then no, I am not interested in your long-term business. ”

And, oh, that is exactly the wrong thing to say to him if she wants to get rid of him, because he definitely does have something that will be of use to her. Long term. He can already smell the piles of money.

Itsuki sets the kid’s notebook down on the table, and smirks up at the villainess. Her eyes shine with interest, he can tell, though she keeps her face expressionless. “This is something I snagged earlier, and I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

Yamazaki is furious, he can practically feel the anger radiating off of her. “What on earth are you doing?! You didn’t tell either of us about this beforehand!”, she whispers into his ear through gritted teeth.

Overture reaches over and picks up the notebook. She raises her eyebrows at the cover and fixes Itsuki with an almost confused look. “Hero Analysis for the Future?”

“Just read it.”

Her eye twitches at the command, but she lets it go and opens the book to the first page. She blinks a few times, trying to register the outpour of information the book is giving her. She quickly flips through more pages, becoming just slightly uncomposed enough to let the trio know that whatever resides in the book must be something worth reading.

As she finishes skimming the pages she looks back towards Itsuki, a new kind of hunger apparent in her expression. “You wrote this?”, she asks completely and utterly different from before. Some sort of insane smile is pulling at the corner of her lips, and she looks upon the man with a new kind of respect.

“Hate to disappoint you, ma’am, but unfortunately I did not.”

“Who did?” She looks slightly less pleased now, frustrated at the lack of information about the author.

“I never learned his name. That’s not the point. The point is that I’m going to sell you this book, and I can tell that you’ll buy it, judging from the way you’re frothing at the mouth just from skimming the pages.”

All traces of whatever emotion was behind her eyes before is now gone. Mizuno lets out an awkward laugh at the silence following Itsuki’s statement. “Wow, what a turn of events! We’re terribly sorry for the outburst, ma’am, our friend here has an awfully big mouth- ”

Overture interrupts his apology, exploding all at once, furious and demanding. “You will not tell me what I will and will not do. You will tell me the name of the author of this book, because if you are not the one who wrote it, I have no use for you. You say this will make me interested in a long term deal with your company, and yet you have no way to obtain any more of these books, considering you’ve no idea the name of the person who wrote them. I will only ask you this once. What did the author of this book look like, and how can I find him?”

This conversation was heading in a completely different direction than Itsuki had wanted. He grits his teeth and glares coldly at the woman standing in front of him. “Our company is known for obtaining and selling information, whether we’re the ones with the original information or not. Even if I did know the author I wouldn’t tell you, because that’s for me to know and you to pay to know-”

He suddenly stops, the breath vanished from his lungs. He stays like that for a moment before clutching at his throat with his hands, unable to breathe in or out. His eyes are watering now, and he’s suffocating- no something is forcing its way out of his throat and it burns-

“It is unwise for you, the head of a small company, to challenge someone like me without even an understanding of what my quirk is. Tell me, do you know what my quirk is?”

He can’t speak, can’t breathe, can only focus on stopping that thing from forcing its way out of him. He doesn’t know why, but he fights to keep it in and he’s failing-

“It’s a direct correlation with my name, you know. Overture? It’s a term that’s related to music, it’s defined as an orchestral piece at the beginning of an opera--an introduction of sorts. My quirk is also music related. I can easily reach into the recesses of your mind, understand your entire life in the blink of an eye. And then I just…” She makes a pulling motion with her hand. “Pull it out. Little by little. Your entire life in the form of a song. Very beautiful, isn’t it? However, if I pull out too much… Well, I guess you’re about to find out.”

Yamazaki and Mizuno are quiet, terrified, as they watch their friend slowly suffocate, not understanding what was happening. Mizuno had warned Yamazaki years ago, when they first started the company, not to let Itsuki on board. He’s too much of a loudmouth. He was right. And then Itsuki opens his mouth, tears streaming down his face, and lets out a blood curdling shriek, too loud to bear.

The pair can’t even comprehend the sound coming from their dying friend--It’s too loud and it hurts and they can’t help but cover their ears. Yamazaki notices Overture’s attendants doing the same, but strangely Overture seemed completely fine. She almost looked to be… enjoying herself.

Then it was over as quickly as it began. Itsuki stops, motionless for a moment, before limply falling to the ground. The Villainess smiles pleasantly at the remaining two. “We’ll be in touch.” Then she’s stepping over a lifeless form on the ground, and she’s gone.

As it turns out, being a vigilante is not illegal! Well, it is, actually. Just not for Izuku! Ever since the manifestation of quirks had become a regular occurance in society, the legal definition had changed to “ A member of a self-appointed group of citizens who uses their quirk to undertake law enforcement in their community without legal authority. ” Which was both good and bad… Good because he’ll get to help people. Bad because he’ll sort of be doing it illegally (even if it was technically legal). It feels a lot like cheating the system.

Heroes don’t do things like this.

But heroes do help people. And heroes don’t give up either.

Telling himself these things whenever he feels unsure about the whole situation doesn’t exactly make him feel better. Not to mention there’s the factor of somehow sneaking out at night and not telling his wonderful mother about his new hobby. If you could call it that.

No, she didn’t deserve to be lied to, but she’d never let him do it otherwise. He hated to admit it, but she hadn’t believed in his dream to be a hero. Memories of that night flood his head-- I’m so sorry Izuku --and why won’t his brain ever leave him alone?!

He sighs and turns off his computer screen. The legal definition of vigilante disappears off of its surface and fades into an inky blackness. The stress was already getting to Izuku and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

But the desire to help people still burns inside him, and the feeling won’t go away. Whenever someone brings up the fact that he’s quirkless, or whenever someone says he can’t be a hero, or whenever he starts to believe it too, it’s like his skin catches on fire, unable to stop burning for even a moment, screaming Please, I only want to help people!

What are you supposed to do when the entire world tells you you can’t achieve your dream? There’s no handbook for this sort of thing, and believe Izuku, he’s definitely looked. All of the answers he’s found so far tell him to keep moving, keep pushing, never give up. And yet when he tries to put it to practice it only backfires.

Was becoming a vigilante really the right thing to do? He didn’t have any fighting experience, didn’t even have a quirk. How was he supposed to do this?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Chapter Text

Being a vigilante officially sucks.

Perhaps Izuku should rephrase that. The getting hurt and having to patch yourself up because you can’t tell anyone where you got the injuries from part of being a vigilante sucks. He didn’t realize how good the pro heroes had it until he tried to fight a criminal himself.

Sure, pros have to deal with major threats to society and quirks powerful beyond belief, while bearing the burden of all of the expectations society thrust on them. But they also get hospitals. Usually for free, seeing as those expenses are covered by the government that hires them to deal with all of these threats to society.

Izuku has had to buy all least twelve more sweatshirts since becoming a vigilante, almost two months ago. Twelve! Not to mention he doesn’t even have a job. He’s tried to apply for jobs, he really has. He knows he needs the money if he wants to continue to be a vigilante at least somewhat safely.

Turns out a lot of businesses don’t really accept applications from quirkless people. Even though a lot of the jobs he’s applied for don’t even require quirks in order to complete the tasks the employees are assigned. Like a fast food restaurant. You don’t need a quirk to work in fast food! But they still pretend to take his application, never intending to call him back even for an interview once they catch a glimpse of the word Quirkless on his application form.

It’s frustrating.

These events just happen to push him to want to be a vigilante even more. When he’s out trying to stop lowly thugs or small-time criminals he feels like something he’s doing is finally important. He has something to live for, something he aspires to be. Which was  something he’d lost when All Might had previously told him he couldn’t be a hero.

While he was out saving people, even if it was just something small like stopping a mugging, the people he saved would thank him over and over and over again. He’d brush it off saying it was no big deal, that he’d done what any decent person would, but his mind was always reeling. People were thanking him. People were appreciating what he was doing. They don’t look at him like he’s trash for being quirkless, they don’t even know.

So yeah, that was an upside.

Currently Izuku is being thanked by a couple who were being robbed just a few minutes ago. The robber was now lying on the ground face down, after having his knees kicked from under him and his face slammed into the pavement. The vigilante is pretty sure he only won that fight due to the element of surprise, but he’ll take his wins where he can get them.

“You guys should call the police and tell them what happened.” He gives the women a reassuring smile as he starts to walk away, going back to his usual patrol route.

“W-wait! What about you? Are you okay?” The woman on the left looks at him with wide, worried eyes, mind still in shock from the events that had just transpired.

She cares, a voice in the back of his head whispers.

“Me? Oh, yeah, totally. Never been better.” He grimaces inwardly at his social floundering. He should really work on that if he actually wants to make it as an extremely cool, dependable vigilante.

“Shouldn’t you wait for the police too?” This is from the other girl. She’s grasping tightly onto her partner’s hand, unafraid to let go for even a moment and slip away. “You were involved just as much as we were.”

This was always the awkward part. He didn’t really look like a vigilante. Izuku scratches the back of his head bashfully. “Oh, no, not really. Just tell them I’m a passerby or something?”

A sort of understanding seems to cross the women at the same exact time and they share a look with each other. The one on the left gives him a small nod.

And with that, he’s off, back on his usual patrol route. Those kinds of interactions really made his entire night, and he was always left with a warmth in his chest even thinking about them hours later. Some people take being appreciated for granted.

It isn’t until two hours later, as he’s climbing in through the window of his bedroom, that he notices the blood, dried under his nose. The robber must have elbowed him in the face or something on his way towards the ground.

Izuku sighs as he makes his way to the bathroom and turns on the faucet. This is definitely not going to look pretty in the morning, and he can’t help but dread seeing the expression on his mother’s face when she realizes he’s gotten another injury.

The worst part of this whole thing by far is lying to his mother. He sees the way she looks at him when she doesn’t think he’s paying attention. Her eyes are filled to the brim with worry as her gaze rakes over his poor, abused face. She notices all of the bruises, all of the cuts and the swelling, but she never says anything.

Izuku is pretty sure that she thinks he’s being bullied again. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d come home with bruises littered all over his face, saying that he’d tripped or just clumsily hit himself in the face. They both knew it wasn’t true, but they didn’t talk about or acknowledge what was really happening either.

What Inko doesn’t know is that most days Kacchan doesn’t physically hurt him, doesn’t chase after him with his goons, screaming about a useless, worthless Deku. Not anymore. Sure, Kacchan still threatens him pretty much every day, and Izuku is pretty used to that little fact by now. But it’s been a while since he’s full on hunted the quirkless boy down and beat the shit out of him.

Izuku can take that physical torment. He’s had to for almost his entire life, and it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, as much as it should. What does hurt, though, is the way he catches his mother looking at him sometimes. He can see the apprehension in her eyes, staring at him like he’s made of glass that’s so close to shattering at any given moment. He knows that she’s only trying to protect him, trying to keep him from shattering for good.

But he’s so much more capable than everyone thinks he is. Why can’t anyone see that?

The next morning he wakes up (unsurprisingly) with a sore face. He can vaguely make out the sound of his alarm blaring next to him, steady and constant and annoying. He reaches over and hits the off switch, drifting back off into a peaceful sleep.

Only to be woken up moments later by the sound of his mother calling to him from the kitchen. He’s running late and he knows it, but his bed is so warm and school is… the same as ever.

His mother calls once again, and the green haired boy drags himself from his bed, getting ready for the long day ahead. He walks out of his room and is greeted with the sight of Midoriya Inko preparing breakfast, setting down two plates of food onto the table.

She turns to see her son enter the room, pleasant expression immediately morphing into one of concern when she sees Izuku’s face. He knows she’s about to say something, her mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water, as she tries to formulate the right words in her mind.

Before she has the chance, Izuku cuts her off. “Wow mom, it looks great.” He doesn’t mention anything about his face, pretends not to notice the aura of worry his mother is giving off. He’s sending a silent message to her. Please don’t ask.

So she doesn’t. But the worry still lingers, the concern is still there. She’s hesitant in interacting with him, scared he might break if she moves the wrong way. He feels guilty about the situation, but the less she asks the better.

“Well. You know me! I love talking to you over breakfast! About-”, she gulps, hands wringing together anxiously. “About your life, and how you’re doing.” Anxious eyes meet tense ones, and they have a silent stand-off. She breaks the silence first, of course she does.

“You know you can always talk to me, honey. About anything.” She gives him a wavering smile. His heart hurts.

“Yeah, I know.” He picks at his food.

Breakfast continues and they don’t speak again.

School has been the same ever since Midoriya Izuku turned four and learned that he had no quirk. His peers turned distant, teachers turned ignorant, and Kacchan turned cruel. The only thing that stayed the same was his passion to become a hero.

The All Might Incident (As Izuku had dubbed it) was the first time that passion had come close to breaking. It hadn’t--it had bent violently, but it held fast, searching for any kind of encouragement. Which he’d luckily found in the man who’d bought his journal.

Izuku’s teacher was droning on and on about some topic that Izuku had already mastered weeks ago, so he let his mind drift.

During his recent patrols he had come across some really interesting quirks, quirks with a lot of potential. His brain had wanted nothing more than to analyze their every strength and weakness, but he’d given up his journals after the All Might Incident. He was itching to start another one, but was unsure if he should continue them.

Sure, the man had bought one, but most of everyone else thought they were creepy.

They were also the same people who treated quirklessness like a contagious disease, so perhaps he shouldn’t be taking their opinions into account.

He was just finalizing the plans to buy another notebook after school when the bell rung, signaling the end of the school day. His fellow students immediately rushed out the door, with Izuku staying behind so as to not get trampled.

He’s gathering his papers, stuffing them in bookbag, when he notices a shadow looming above him. He looks up and his eyes lock with Kacchan’s, as furious and arrogant as ever.

“Oi. Deku.” Uh oh. This can’t be good. “What the fuck is that?” He makes a vague gesture towards Izuku’s face.

The boy in question’s eyebrows knit together, confused. This is most likely another attempt to make fun of him, right?

“That’s… my face, Kacchan.”

Kacchan slams his hands down on Izuku’s desk, explosions firing off and almost breaking the piece of furniture. Izuku tenses, ready to escape at the slightest sign that Kacchan is about to turn those explosions against him.

“Not your fucking face, nerd! That! ” He gestures again towards the boy’s face and it suddenly dawns on Izuku that he means his nose. His nose which was still obviously bruised.

Was Kacchan… concerned?

“Um”, he states intelligently. Kacchan glares down at him, aggressive and much too close for comfort.

“I didn’t do that, so what the fuck? Don’t tell me you’ve been out trying to play hero or something and pissing people off. The last thing people need is for you to butt your nose in to their daily lives. You’d do nothing but bother them, dipshit. Didn’t I tell you that you can’t be a hero?!”

Wow. Izuku doesn’t have time to unpack all of that. This is really the first time Kacchan has confronted him after the sludge incident. Was this the blonde boy’s way of showing concern, or was this just him trying to punish Izuku for existing?

He can’t tell anymore.

The green haired boy averts his gaze, looking out the window next to them, trying to find the courage to come up with a response.

He’s proven that he can take down people with quirks, clumsily but nonetheless, so why is he having so much trouble standing up to Kacchan?

Kacchan is dangerous. Stay away. His mind keeps repeating that phrase over and over, stuck in overdrive whenever he was anywhere near the other boy.

Another explosion causes him to snap out of his train of thought, and he looks up at his childhood friend. “I’m… not.” Okay, that response doesn’t even make sense.

“Are you making fun of me, shitty nerd?!” Shit.

“No! I meant-”, he gulps, trying to get his bearings. “I just meant that… it’s none of your business? I mean, I’ve given up on trying to be a hero, I guess.” Sort of true.

Kacchan’s eyes widen in confusion and he lets another explosion through. “The fuck you mean?!”

“Well--Isn’t that what you wanted? Why are you mad?” Izuku doesn’t understand his former friend, not at all. He tries so hard to be nice, to not start anything with him, but apparently Kacchan just hates him.

Or he hates quirklessness. Weakness , Izuku’s mind supplies.

Weakness and Deku Izuku were synonyms to him.

Kacchan doesn’t say anything after that last comment, and instead favors slamming his hand on the desk once again before storming through the door and away from the green haired boy.

Well... That was strange.

Tsukauchi Naomasa has a headache. For the past two or so months he’s been tracking an unidentified vigilante, and the case is really starting to become a thorn in his side. He’s sent several officers to try and catch the guy, and every time they come back with the same sorry expression on their faces, saying three words.

He got away…

Why was it always Tsukauchi who had to deal with the most headache-inducing cases?

The two officers standing in front of him were keeping their gazes decidedly averted. They’d been the newest ones assigned with the task of catching the vigilante, and of course they’d come back and said those three words.

Tsukauchi sighs and dismisses them after hearing their reports. Perhaps it’s time to call in a pro? He looks at the clock, noting that there’s only a half hour left before he can go home.

Now is as good a time as any.

Picking his cellphone up off of his desk, he dials a certain number and waits for the person on the other end to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Aizawa, it’s Tsukauchi. Could you do me a favor?”

The sound of heels clicking on tiled flooring echoes through a pleasantly quiet restaurant. It was a fancy place, a restaurant that was mostly frequented by rich people. Classical music plays at a low volume through distant speakers, and polite conversation fills the room.

A man, sitting at a table for two alone, sips his drink as his eyes settle on the woman who just walked through the door. She has magnificent yellow irises that scan the room thoroughly, looking for any and all exits. Once she’s satisfied with the layout of the room, she makes her way towards the man and sits down across from him.

A waiter magically appears out of thin air, giving the woman a sickeningly sweet smile. “Drink for the lady?” He speaks with some sort of exotic accent, most likely faked.

The woman orders some type of white wine, and the waiter rushes off, eager to supply the customer with her order.

She brushes pale blonde hair over her shoulder, and fixes the man across from her with a comfortable stare. “Indicator, I’m glad to see you’re doing well. It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to meet up like this.”

The waiter returns with her drink and hands it to her. “Are you ready to order?”

They both place their orders, and the waiter rushes off yet again.

The man, supposedly called Indicator, leans back in his chair and gives the woman a smirk. “Much too long, Miss Overture. Tell me, how is the whole Jack of all Trades situation going? Is that little hero still causing you trouble? I told you, I can easily get rid of her, just say the word-”

She cuts him off with a nasty glare. “I told you, I’m going to take care of my problems myself. I don’t want someone to do that for me.”

“And have you?”

“I have.” Indicator fixes her with an impressed look.

“I see.”

They both stare at each other for a beat. Then Indicator raises his eyebrows, confusion playing at his features.

“Then what are we meeting for?”

“Your quirk. I need it.” Intriguing. He leans forward, still wearing an arrogant smirk. She continues, “Can you gauge someone’s potential based merely on one of their belongings?”

“You have an interest in someone?” This was getting more and more intriguing by the second.

Overture sighs and takes a beaten up notebook out of her purse. “I’ve taken an interest in someone, but I’ve no idea who they are. I want you to assess their quirk and potential.”

The man pretends to ponder over it for a moment, relishing in the frustration that passes over Overture’s face. “I’m quite surprised that you think my quirk can work on people’s possessions. However, that assumption isn’t entirely incorrect, I suppose. Sometimes I can see their residue on items that they cherished.”

Overture makes a face. Gross. “Then will you help me?”

He holds out his hand, clearly asking to see the journal for himself. She concedes, and hands it to him. He examines it curiously. The title is alarming enough: Hero Analysis for the Future. Weird. He raises an eyebrow at his partner.

“Just read it.”

He tentatively opens it, being extremely careful as it seems like the book is going to fall apart at any moment. It looked like someone had tried to burn it. As he looks through the pages, surprise mounting at each entry, he’s increasingly glad that it hadn’t been burned. This thing was invaluable. However, pleasure soon turned into something more negative as he realized he couldn’t find a trace of whoever had owned the damn thing on it.

The entries looked to be extremely well thought out, this was definitely an item that was cherished. So then why was there no trace of the owner anywhere on it?

He looks up at her sorrowfully, and shakes his head. “Nothing. But this craftsmanship is excellent. You’ve no idea who wrote it?”

She scowls at him. Right, she hates repeating herself.

“What a shame, it’s excellently written.”

“Don’t you think I know that?!”, she snaps at him. Oof. Touchy.

He holds up his hands placatingly and offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry, sorry. But if you can recruit this guy then there’s no telling how much dirt on the heroes you could acquire. He could be an extremely valuable asset.” He muses over the thought for a moment, something hungry in his gaze. “I’ll look into it.”

She taps her fingers on the table, an unsteady and erratic beat. “I don’t want just anybody finding out about this. The last thing I need is to lose something like this to some greedy bastard.”

Indicator definitely agrees, though he’s a lot less interested in doing so to help Overture out. No, his number one priority is himself. If there’s a way that he can recruit this guy, he’s definitely going to act on it.

Izuku was having a surprisingly good day. He finally got the opportunity to get himself a new notebook, and wasted no time in marking it Quirk Analysis Volume 1. He’d played with idea of picking up where he left off, but his other series of notebooks were exclusively about heroes. Plus, he didn’t even have Volume 13 anymore, and the fact that he’d never have a complete set bothered him, so he stuck with starting new.

He’s standing over the unconscious body of some thug who has knives for hands, jotting the quirk’s overall abilities and statistics down in his new notebook. This victory had also been won mostly by the element of surprise, but hey, that tactic worked, so he made sure to use it as often as possible.

He’s just finishing up his newest entry when he hears a sound behind him. He stops writing, turning around swiftly, quickly shifting into a more protective stance. There’s someone standing in front of him, yellow goggles atop his face, some kind of scarf wrapped around his neck.

Eraserhead. Of course he recognizes the hero, he’s been doing nothing but studying up on underground heroes these last two months, seeing as he was extremely likely to run into one.

Eraserhead looks him up and down, clearly unimpressed. “Are you really the vigilante Tsukauchi keeps complaining about?”

Izuku is too surprised to respond. Hero worship is so ingrained into his personality by now that he’s not even sure if he can respond.

The underground hero raises his eyebrows at the vigilante. “Nothing to say? Alright, then I guess I’ll be doing the talking. Vigilantism is illegal. You’re a vigilante, I’m a professional hero. That’s a bit of a bad mix for you, but things don’t have to get messy if you’ll come quietly.”

Holy shit. A pro hero was arresting him. That… was… so awesome. A pro hero actually recognized him as a type of threat and not a useless loser how cool--

Perhaps this was not the best thing to fanboy over. If he was caught it was all over, the freedom, the saving people, the having a purpose . Izuku couldn’t go back to what life was before. Not when he now knows how capable he is.

So he takes a step back, which proves to be a mistake when that causes the hero to become suspicious, immediately putting him on guard.

Green eyes scan their surroundings, immediately self conscious of the open air on his face. He thanks whatever gods he can think of that it’s too dark to make out his entire face. He should try and keep it that way, it’d be extremely dangerous if Eraserhead got a look at his face.

Apparently the gods have appreciated Izuku’s thanks, because it’s at that exact moment that Mr. Knife Hands wakes up, and proceeds to lunge at the pro hero in a mad frenzy to escape.

Eraserhead easily takes him down in one fell swoop, but that distraction is enough to let Izuku escape from his line of sight and basically disappear into thin air.

If there was one thing that Izuku is experienced at, it’s running away.

The end of the school year was rapidly approaching, causing students to become distracted in every single one of their classes, all of their minds focused on one thing: Summer Vacation.

Izuku is right along with them. Summer vacation means loads more free time, aka more time to be a vigilante, and less time worrying about dodging Kacchan and his other classmates.

However, thinking about which high school he was going to apply to never failed to depress the boy. U.A. had been his dream for so long, but clearly that would never happen. The entrance exam will no doubt be quirk based, and Izuku is quirkless. Not to mention that if even All Might, the greatest hero of all time, thought he couldn’t do it, there was no way the prestigious, elite school would ever give him a chance.

That doesn’t mean he’s giving up. Not by a long shot. He’d rather die than give up his dream of saving people, and he means it.

His way of getting there will be a little unconventional, but he will get there. No matter what.

That night on his usual patrol Izuku leaps from roof to roof, slowly but surely getting accustomed to the art of roof hopping. It’d taken a little getting used to, and of course he’s had to train extremely hard in order to get his body to this point physically, but the reward was oh, so satisfying.

After his little run in with Eraserhead, he’d gone ahead and gotten a mask to cover the lower half of his face, so that if he ever got into a situation like that again he could at least have the illusion of protection.

Speaking of Eraserhead, Izuku is currently hopping from roof to roof, trying to shake said hero off of his tail. Since their first meeting a week ago the hero had suddenly began appearing, chasing after the vigilante every single night.

It was like he never got tired! Which, sure, yeah, he has years of experience under his belt…

Just as Izuku thinks he’s lost the hero he spots him yet again, trailing behind the vigilante like an annoying wasp you can’t get rid of. An amazing, incredibly cool, annoying wasp.

Izuku spots a dumpster in an alleyway below and estimates that the drop distance is safe enough. He suddenly drops out of Eraserhead’s view, sprinting out of the alley and into a nearby shop that still happened to be open.

The shopkeeper's attention was drawn towards another customer who was looking at a colorful display of postcards, and he luckily doesn’t notice the vigilante slip into the bathroom and lock the door behind himself.

Aizawa Shouta is having a rough night. He’s been having a rough night now for about a week. Ever since he met this damn kid, prancing around in that little mask of his, he’s been having rough night after rough night after rough night.

The pro hero briefly ponders what could have made the kid so good at running and avoiding things, but immediately pushes the thought from his mind. The last thing he needed right now was to get distracted.

The thing that really sets him off happens while he’s finally gaining in his pursuit. The kid just seems to disappear, dropping from the building. That alone is enough to send Shouta into a near panic, thinking the kid had accidentally fallen off the roof and killed himself.

He rushes to the edge of the roof and looks down, expecting to see the broken body of a child only to be met with a blur of movement in the corner of his eye and an empty alleyway.

Shit. He’d lost him again .

Shouta drops down into the alleyway, following the direction of the blur of movement he’d seen. He comes out into a rundown street with a few shops that are still open, but there’s no one out on the street, so the kid must have escaped into one of the shops.

If Shouta picked the wrong one, he’d give the vigilante the perfect chance to escape. Of course, he could just wait out on the street for someone to come out, but he didn’t have all night and there was always the chance that the boy would just ditch the mask and waltz out onto the street, Shouta not recognizing him.

The hero enters the closest shop, basing his assumption that this is the store the kid escaped into entirely on the fact that it was the closest. There’s a shopkeeper talking to a customer in front of a stand of postcards, and a room in the back, most likely the bathroom. Other than that the shop is entirely empty.

He curses and heads back outside, about to enter the next shop when he realizes his mistake.   Bathroom. He’d seen the bathroom in the back and didn’t check it.

He really must be getting old.

Shouta races back to the other store, now noticing the bathroom door open, room vacant. He’d just missed him.

The kid was incredibly lucky.

Izuku can feel the adrenaline pumping under his skin. He’d narrowly avoided Eraserhead yet again, and the satisfaction that came from that realization was overwhelming.

Quirkless, useless Izuku had dodged a pro hero. Multiple times!

Although, he isn’t entirely ignorant to the threat that actually poses to him. Mask or not, the fact of the matter was that there were still many physical qualities that Eraserhead could use to track him down. He needs something to throw him off the scent, something to lead him in the wrong direction.

Like… A wig? No, that was too impractical, it could fall off, and he couldn’t even afford a realistic looking one. Colored contacts, maybe? No, he couldn’t afford those, either. Eye color didn’t exactly play a huge part in how someone physically looked anyways.

Izuku knows he looks like a teenager, a kid. He sounds like one, too, and he can’t exactly do anything to change that--

Voice modulator, His brain provides an answer, as usual. Thank you, brain.

A voice modulator. It was genius. The way a person spoke said a lot about them personality-wise. Izuku was too anxious to say anything to the pro before, scared he’d accidentally give himself away (plus there was also the fact that he was too awe-struck by the hero’s presence to say anything). He was also paranoid about accidentally coming across the hero in public and giving himself away by stupidly saying something to him.

A voice modulator would also fix that problem. It’d make his voice unrecognizable if they ever happened to meet out-of-costume, and it’d leave him free to talk in whatever manner he wanted, giving Eraserhead a different impression about his personality than what was the truth.

There was only one problem. Money.

Though, maybe if he tried walking his neighbors dogs for money? Or he could always try making the gadget himself, but he didn’t have any experience with that kind of thing, and he’d need money for materials anyways.

Dog-walking it is.

Dog-walking sucks far more than being a vigilante. It pays well for the more troublesome dogs but… Izuku is so sick of cleaning up dog crap.

After a little more research, he had discovered that there were a few cheap voice modulators available, but they most likely weren’t very good quality. He’d discovered a make-your-own kit, but it was far more expensive than any of the others.

He’d decided it was worth it, in the end. He needs a voice modulator that will last a long time, seeing as he has no way (other than dog-walking) to make money to keep buying these devices.

He’s only about a week away from having enough money to purchase the kit.

Izuku really thinks that once he gets his hands on this thing that his whole demeanor will change, definitely for the better.

He’s not wrong. Not completely.

Chapter Text

The weirdest day of Shinsou Hitoshi’s life starts on the last day of the school year.

His classmates are up and out of their seats most of the day, the teachers not bothering to wrangle them into order. They’re all socializing, conversing with one another—mainly about which schools they’d be applying for.

Hitoshi doesn’t join them. He already knows how those conversations would go for him. The topics would circle back to quirks, just like they always do, his peers shooting him wary looks, but including him nonetheless just to be nice.

It’s much less troublesome to not even initiate that at all.

Soon enough class is dismissed, and Hitoshi hangs back as everyone stampedes out of the school. He’s pretty sure he sees someone fall in the hallway—rest in peace—but when it eventually clears there’s not a trace of them left. He vaguely wonders what happened, but discards that train of thought upon the unsurprising realization that he doesn’t particularly care.

The teacher is hunched over at their desk, ignoring the few stragglers who chose to lag behind. They don’t even glance up as the last few students trickle into the hallway, don’t even mutter a goodbye.

The boy finally makes his way out of the school and embraces his freedom. Standing at the gates, stretching after a long day of sitting for 8 hours straight as he prepares to walk home, is when he hears it.

Really, he doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but that doesn’t mean he stops himself either. The conversation is actually mildly interesting, believe it or not, and if Hitoshi took longer to stretch than was probably normal then that was nobody’s business.

“—yeah, he’s been causing my dad lots of trouble. Every time they’re anywhere close to catching him he just…” The girl talking waggled her fingers, looking at her friend with wide blue eyes. “Poof. Gone.”

Her friend knit her eyebrows together, concerned. “Your dad’s a cop right?” The first girl nodded. “That vigilante must be pretty good if he can evade all those cops like that.”

The blue eyed girl flicked her hair over her shoulder, scoffing. “Yeah, right. We all know cops are bad at catching criminals anyways. That’s why we have heroes in the first place.”

Hitoshi took out his phone, pulling the expression of i’m a bored teen and definitely not eavesdropping over his face. No one could stretch for this long without looking suspicious, and he was still mildly curious as to what they were talking about.

Something about a vigilante? It was pretty interesting. It wasn’t every day that a new one surfaced.

The second girl, the one with short brown hair, giggled at her friend’s remark. “You shouldn’t say things like that. Your dad is a cop!”

Blue eyes just shrugged. “It’s true, isn’t it? I mean, with a quirk like that obviously a few lousy cops won’t be able to catch him. Assuming disappearing into thin air is his quirk.”

“It must be! No one can just disappear. If you ask me it’s a pretty cool quirk!”

Blue eyes made a face. “No way. It’s useful I guess, but totally lame. Flashy quirks are way better.”

“Well obviously,” the girl tried to correct her opinion to match her friend’s. “but at least it’s better than something like Shinsou’s quirk—” She was elbowed sharply in the side as her friend gestured towards Hitoshi’s direction.

His eyes had snapped towards them at the mention of his name, and he tried to ignore the feeling of dread building up in his chest.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, turned on his heel, and marched home.

Later that day, he leaves his house again. It had felt a little too cramped in there, the silence of his room closing in on him, causing him to repeat that girl’s words over and over in his mind.

At least it’s better than something like Shinsou’s quirk.

The way she’d said his name made his skin crawl, the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

He didn’t care. It was fine.  

He needed a distraction.

What better way to distract yourself than by going down to your nearest convenience store and buying yourself a snack?

As he’s browsing the aisles, looking for something even remotely good to get, it happens again.

This time, from the television.

“Eyewitnesses say that one minute the Number Two Hero, Endeavor, had been chasing the vigilante, and the next he was just gone. One account states, ‘It was like he disappeared into thin air’—”

The person behind the counter muted the channel. They were trying to focus on some romance novel in their hand.

Hitoshi blinks up at the now silent screen, seeing an angry Endeavor giving some testimony of his own to the nearby reporters.

The man was such an attention whore.

He doesn’t pay much mind to it, too focused on getting home to think about things like vigilantes.

He’s not too interested, anyways.

The people on the sidewalks are pointing and cooing at something occurring nearby, and Hitoshi barely has time to crane his neck to see what they’re pointing at before a blur passes his vision. Then another blur.

It’s the vigilante, in the flesh, running on a rooftop from some hero Hitoshi doesn’t care to remember the name of.

There are a few shouts, and then the vigilante drops off the face of the earth, blinking out of sight so quickly that the spectators don’t even register what happened until a few moments later.

Hitoshi looks back to the hero who’d been chasing him, but the hero is… clueless. He’s looking around now, and he’s completely slowed down. He’s no longer running, but is still just as frantic, searching wildly for any trace of who he was just pursuing.

He hears whispers from the people around him.

“He lost him.”

“I thought this guy was supposed to be a pro.”

“Shh! He’ll hear you!”

They were all focused on the hero, who Hitoshi could barely even recall the name of.

He called himself Carnival, of all things. He thrived in the spotlight, and was also an attention whore. His hero suit was entirely made of yellow sequins, and it was absolutely blinding.

No wonder no one noticed where the vigilante had run off to, they were all busy being blinded.

Those girls had said that disappearing was probably the vigilante’s quirk, and Hitoshi didn’t doubt it. His eyes shot back to the roof, scanning for said boy, but he was gone.

After getting back home, Hitoshi can’t help the weird feeling growing inside him. It’s foreign and misplaced, and he doesn’t even know what to call it. It must be a result, he deduces, from the constant bombardment of this vigilante. The topic has practically been shoved in his face all day, and so he tries to distract himself.

Surfing the web for hours that night is just the distraction he needs.

It’s late by the time he finally gets off his computer, and of course he can’t sleep. He honestly hadn’t been expecting to be able to, but had tried nonetheless.

Giving in with a sigh, he trudges up to the roof to spend the remainder of the night in the quiet peacefulness the rooftop provided.

He sat up there pretty frequently, sitting and staring at nothing. It was his way of relieving stress that had built up throughout the day, and it was very effective.

The insomniac is sitting, staring at nothing when it happens for the final time that day.

He hears someone yelling off in the distance, spacing out too much to really decipher what’s being said, which turns out to be a bad move on his part.

The next thing he knows, he’s knocked flat on his back, something having crashed into him.

No, not something. Some one .

Of course it would be him.

The boy who’d knocked him over is wearing a dark sweatshirt and some kind of mask that covers the lower half of his face. He’s also sprawled out on the roof, grimacing in pain as he sits up, rubbing his head.

He turns to Hitoshi and speaks. “Oh my god, i’m so sorry! I didn’t even see you, and I should have— this is my fault, i’m so sorry.” His voice sounds tinny and distorted, kind of like he’s speaking through a fan.

It’s odd, and distracting, and Hitoshi can’t do anything but stare because here’s the vigilante he’s been thinking about all day on his roof.

“Oh god you’re not saying anything. I didn’t hurt you did I? Do you need anything? Water or—?”

The purple-haired boy raises his hand, signaling for the other to stop. “I’m fine…” He trails off awkwardly before continuing. “You’re that vigilante.” His words come out rather bored and slow, his natural tone taking over despite his alarmed state.

He sees surprise flicker in the vigilante’s eyes, before changing to something like pride. The boy gets to his feet and offers Hitoshi a hand, which he promptly ignores, and proceeds to stand up on his own.

The boy lowers his hand awkwardly and clears his throat.

His eyes are green , Hitoshi thinks absentmindedly.

“Yes. Yes, that’s—uhm,” He clears his throat again. “That’s me. The vigilante. You’ve heard of me?”

The boy gets nothing but a lazy nod as a response.

That small confirmation causes the boy’s face to light up like a christmas tree, and even though Hitoshi can’t see the lower half of his face, he can tell that the boy is smiling giddily.

Strange.

“I saw your stunt with Carnival earlier.” He makes a point to sound disinterested, and he knows the message is received when the boy’s eyebrows furrow ever so slightly.

He rubs the back of his neck, almost embarrassed —and wow this day couldn’t get any weirder—before responding. “Oh, yeah? Funny thing is I wasn’t even trying to get his attention and he was closer to capturing me than Endeavor. Which, wasn’t really close, but if we’re comparing the two, taking into account their quirks and overall statistics—”

His voice trails off at the sight of Hitoshi’s infamous deadpan, and the insomniac takes it as his cue to speak.

“You make it sound like you were trying to get Endeavor’s attention.”

The vigilante has the audacity to look sheepish. “I just wanted to round out the personality section of his entry…”

“His entry?”

At that, his eyes widen and he smacks himself in the forehead as if he’s just remembered something important.

“Right—basically I have these notebooks, here I’ll show you.” He pulls some book out of his pocket and shows Hitoshi the cover.

Quirks Analysis Volume 2

Hitoshi reaches out towards it, hesitating slightly before grabbing it and slowly opening it.

He quirks an eyebrow up at the book’s author curiously.

“Cool.”

At that the boy practically glows, and Hitoshi thinks he’s never seen anyone so happy.

Looking at all the entries in the notebook, he notices quite a few criminal’s quirks. How could anyone think his quirk was villainous when there was someone out there with knife hands?

“You’ve come across a lot of different quirks, huh?” He closes the book and hands it back to the owner.

The vigilante takes it back and looks down at it, content.

“Yeah. They’re… incredible. Really. People are born with these—these gifts , something special about them and they have so much capacity to be great . Being able to use something totally unique to you in order to help others is an amazing ability, right?” The boy takes a deep breath. “And it really sucks that some people use their quirks for evil or to push others down because they can do so much good , it shouldn’t even matter what the quirk is—or scratch that, it shouldn’t matter whether you have a quirk at all and—”

The rant suddenly stops when he sees Hitoshi’s face, and he hesitates a second before laughing awkwardly.

“Sorry that was weird, huh?”

“No, not really.”

Actually, it was weird, if only for the fact that Hitoshi is pretty sure this kid is the only person on the planet who thinks like that.

During the last few moments of the weirdest day of his life, Shinsou Hitoshi realizes that this one vigilante is probably a greater hero than most pros could ever dream to be.

The green eyed boy waves and is gone as soon as he came.

The following day is not nearly as eventful or weird.

Hitoshi spends most of it researching the vigilante, seeing if there’s anything other than just “The Vigilante” that he can call him, but to no avail. Most vigilantes usually give themselves names or titles, something that can build up clout for them, a name that would send their enemies running in the other direction.

Alas, there’s nothing like that for this kid, and Hitoshi thinks it’s probably more fitting this way.

As he searches various incidents on his laptop, he finds the media coverage of the whole ordeal from yesterday.

As it turns out, Endeavor had been making a speech when he spotted the vigilante and proceeded to attack him, causing a lot of damage. Finding that the hero didn’t get any backlash whatsoever for that definitely provokes an eye roll from the boy. As Endeavor had chased the “criminal” across town, he lost him and was immediately hounded by the press.

Unfortunately for the vigilante, Carnival had spotted him making his escape and tried to pursue him himself, leading to the scene Hitoshi had witnessed in person.

He’s combing through all of the media footage and searching for anything out of the ordinary. Surely, he thinks, someone will see what happened.

Unfortunately the camera is focused on Carnival the whole damn time, which frustrates Hitoshi more than he’d like to admit.

Being invested in something really wears a person out, Hitoshi comes to find. He spends quite a few hours looking for anything on the vigilante, but there’s a whole lot of absolutely nothing.

There were a few other videos about him, but strangely he wasn’t the focus of any of them.

There’s always a glimpse of him in the camera, but then the rest is focused on the hero. It’s incredibly annoying.

A person’s character can flip on its head like some kind of coin, spinning out of control. No one, not even the person themself, can predict which side the coin will land on. Especially if that person has a veil, something that could protect their identity from the backlash that is sure to ensue from the audience there to witness it.

Midoriya Izuku’s veil happened to be a voice modulator.

It was surprising to find that once he changed his voice, he could easily fall into the persona he had crafted for the vigilante version of himself. It wouldn’t be a lie if he said that he liked the persona more than his actual personality.

Once the mask was on, the switch to the modulator flipped, he became someone else. The perfect vision of a cocky vigilante, someone who had never faced the constant ridicule from their peers or the broken stares from their parent. It was easier to be that way, he thought. For once he was looked at as someone normal .

If you can count being looked at as a type of criminal normal.

Which, to be perfectly fair, was more normal these days than someone who was quirkless.

The villain who is lying at Izuku’s feet, unconscious, had given him the same look that the few villains he’d taken down earlier that night had given him. Their eyes had been filled with something. What was it?

Oh, yes. Recognition.

They’d actually recognized the vigilante. Perhaps Izuku was gaining more popularity than he’d realized. It was so unbelievably exciting.

Almost more exciting than running from a pro hero. Although the novelty of that was wearing off considering it happened so frequently now.

So frequently, in fact, that he almost considered Eraserhead and himself to be friends!

Eraserhead did not feel the same way.

This fact is showcased when Eraserhead pops back into his life, familiar scowl adorning his face as he observes the boy in front of him, jotting something down in that little notebook.

Izuku holds up a finger. “Just a minute, Mr. Eraserhead, I’m finishing up this last entry.” He doesn’t expect the hero to wait, so it’s unsurprising when his capture weapon suddenly flings out, perfectly prepared to do some capturing.

Fortunately for Izuku, he’d been counting on that response, seeing as Eraserhead was now his almost-friend, so he was just as prepared.

The boy swiftly heaved up the unconscious villain and shoved him towards the capture zone, while distancing himself.

“Oh come on, where are your manners? Besides, wouldn’t you rather take the actual bad guy to the police station instead of chasing after me all night until I inevitably escape?”

Izuku doesn’t think he’s ever seen the hero so exasperated. Which is really saying something.

Eraserhead sighs heavily, looking more tired than ever. “Someone will come pick him up, so I wouldn’t worry too much. As for you,” he takes a step closer. “If I’m not wrong, you’re a child, and it’d weigh heavily on me if I left you out here on the streets.”

Is that humor that Izuku sees in the hero’s face? Scandalous.

“Awe, you do care! And here I thought those bags under your eyes were just for show! Just how many sleepless nights have I given you?”

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say at that moment.

Eraserhead’s capture weapon shoots out once again, and this time it doesn’t miss. It effectively wraps around Izuku, which really isn’t good . It’s all over if Eraserhead manages to bring him into the station.

Izuku struggles at first, a little caught off guard, before stopping and trying to think of a way out of the situation. He’s not gonna lie, it looks bleak.

They’re both just standing there, facing each other for a few moments, and it’s Eraserhead who breaks first. “That was incredibly easier than it should’ve been. I’m a little disappointed.”

“Disappointed? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Okay, don’t panic, just think.

“What can I say? I like a challenge. Now, let’s go before--”

His sentence is cut off by a strange, muffled ringing coming from Izuku. Weird.

Wait, not weird! “My phone. That’s… my phone. And my mom’s ringtone, no less.” He grins pleadingly at the hero who still has him held hostage.

“You can call her once I bring you in.” Wow. Eraserhead really is in a bad mood tonight.

“What if it’s an emergency? What if she’s dying right now and needs my help? I am in the presence of a professional hero.” He can tell the hero is cracking. Just a little more, and he’ll give in. Then Izuku can make his escape.

The phone stops ringing.

The pro fixes him with a look. “It’s stopped. Oh well, you’ll just have to check what it was about  once you’re in custody--”

It rings again.

Izuku raises an eyebrow at the man. “It’s probably important…”

Eraserhead scowls, firm. “No. You can call her back once we get to the police station.” So much for that plan.

Okay, time for full panic mode. His mother would kill him if she found out about his nightly duties and--wait why was she even calling in the middle of the night?

That train of thought is immediately interrupted by the feel of Eraserhead almost dragging him towards his doom. Izuku definitely drags his feet on the ground.

They’re about halfway there when they hear the screams.

The pair is stopped on the sidewalk by another hero, rushing towards the opposite direction. The hero sees Eraserhead, sees Izuku, and skids to a halt in front of them, gaze turning towards the older of the two. They’re out of breath.

“Villain attack, few blocks from here. Endeavor fought them,” they’re panting loudly, waving their arms in large, wide motions. “Big fire. There’s a fire--several buildings. We need as many pros as possible helping evacuate people!”

Eraserhead nods, demeanor grim and concerned. The hero takes off again.

Izuku would say it was lucky if it wasn’t such a disaster for so many others.

“Of course this happens right now.” The man hesitates a moment before letting Izuku go. “Stay out of trouble for a while.” Then he’s gone, too.

The vigilante goes into a nearby store, and heads straight for the bathroom. It helps hide his cover as he changes back to a somewhat civilian-y look, plus he’s really gotta take a whiz.

He strolls out of the store and starts heading home. His mom had called earlier, which was weird considering it was the middle of the night. Why had she woken up? He hadn’t really had the chance to think about it before. Perhaps she just woke up to use the bathroom or something and seen his bed empty.

Yeah, that was probably it.

He refrained from calling her, though. Might as well face the dragon head on at home. The concerned, teary eyed, shaking dragon. His last few moments of freedom before he had to do that were precious.

He turns a street corner, and stops in his tracks. Heroes, dozens of them, scurrying about, as frantic as humanly possible. A few blocks down he can see the smoke, the orange glow from the raging fire visible over the buildings. It would almost be beautiful if he didn’t know the context behind it.

But… this is the direction of where he lives. And isn’t that weird? He lives right around the corner from the raging fire that’s burning buildings and buildings--

Like the building that he lives in, right?

But obviously his building was unharmed. It couldn’t reach Izuku’s building. That would be crazy. Besides, his mother had called him, so she was obviously fine and not in a burning building.

She called because that’s precisely where she was--

She called because she wanted to see if Izuku was okay.

She called because she heard about the fire, not because she saw it.

She called because she saw Izuku wasn’t in his room, and wanted to make sure he wasn’t caught up in the nearby fire that was nearby but was absolutely not consuming their building, their home.

She’s fine. Stop hyperventilating.

The boy doesn’t really register the pounding of his feet against the pavement, doesn’t even notice that his breaths are coming out in strangled gasps, doesn’t hear the shouts of the pros around him yelling.

He does register the fact that his building is on fire. He registers that very clearly once he’s standing in front of it.

He does notice the arms of the hero around him, trying to stop him from charging into a burning building.

He does hear himself plead with the hero, please my mother is in there .

He does see the building start to collapse, many onlookers staring in horror, screaming and crying and his mother is in there.

He tries to yank his phone out of his pocket, shaking fingers having trouble grasping the object. He gets it out of his pocket, finally, and immediately calls his mom.

He calls his mom again, and again, and again, and again until he can’t see the screen anymore because of the tears welling up in his eyes.

The screen turns black, battery dead.

He lets himself be escorted to the other survivors in the street, huddling together and comforting one another. He tries to find her in the crowd, looks for any sign of long green hair, concerned eyes, worry lines decorating a kind face.

Nothing. She’s not there.

Izuku is going to throw up.

He trips over his feet, trying to get away from all the people who don’t even know that his wonderful mother is--

He vomits.

His mind is racing, a million thoughts per second. Is he an orphan now? Where will he stay? With his dad overseas? No fucking way, he can’t go. He was finally getting his life on track, he can’t just start over in some foreign country.

Then I’ll never get to go to UA.

He actually bursts out laughing at that. In this situation of course all he can think about is that. He’d never be able to go anyways, right? Not without a quirk, and certainly not without a place to live or a job or any of his old possessions. Not without his mom being there.

Thinking about her almost makes him puke his guts out again. He’d give anything to see her again. Even if it came with all of those worried stares, even if it came with all of the fragile approaches like he was made of glass.

Maybe he was made of glass after all.

He can’t handle this.

He really is a piece of glass, one that just shattered into a million pieces.

Chapter Text

“This place is a wreck,” states a woman stepping carefully through the wreckage of a collapsed building. She turns to the partner assigned to her for this particular mission, a man who goes by the name of Masuda. They were supposed to be scavenging the buildings that Endeavor had burned down a few days ago, but they had yet to find anything worth noting. 

Masuda nods his agreement, coughing as what’s left of the smoke tries to enter his lungs. “It’s a shame that Kaneko ran into Endeavor, but honestly, I’m so above a small recovery mission like this. It’s not like her mission was all that important anyways. Why does Overture want us to clean up after someone like her?”The woman rolls her eyes. “She’s just making sure that Kaneko didn’t drop any evidence that could lead back to us. And you shouldn’t use the boss’s name willy nilly like that, you never know who could be listening.”

“Come on, Ayame, aren’t you a little bit peeved off that we have to do the grunt work? We’re valuable assets, you know!” He sighs heavily, shaking his head as he continues to sift through the rubble of the building. 

Ayame raises an eyebrow and moves to follow her partner, before stopping. Something he’s stepping on catches her eye, and it looks rather familiar. “What is that?”

“What is what?”

The woman marches up to him and shoves him out of the way, bending down to pick up a charred book on the ground. Wiping the soot and dirt off the cover, she furrowed her eyebrows, and turns to show her finding to Masuda. 

He takes a couple steps forward, glaring at her indignantly for pushing him. Once he’s finished giving her the evil eye, he  changes his gaze from his rude partner to the book in her hand. His eyes widen in surprise, and he falls over himself trying to get as far from it as possible. 

“Isn’t that the boss’s incredibly valuable and important book? Full of incredibly valuable and important information? Did you steal it? Oh boy, I knew I shouldn’t have been paired up with you, I knew you were trouble. I am not a part of this, okay-”

Ayame cuts him off, irritated. “No, this isn’t that book she has, I literally just found it on the ground, dumbass! But look at the title, Hero Analysis for the Future Volume 11. This is in the same series, probably by the same person! Which means that this could be near where they lived and there are most likely more of these around here somewhere!”

Masuda gapes at the book once again, breathing heavily. “We are so promoted.”

Midoriya Izuku is dead.

Katsuki had never believed anything could irritate him more than the quirkless runt, until the news came out that that very same quirkless runt was dead. 

The morning after the fire was when he’d first heard it. His mother had burst into his room, running rampant and asking him if he’d seen the Midoriyas or knew anything about where they were. 

Of course I haven’t, he’d said, wondering why the old lady would think for even a second that he gave a shit about them. 

Then his mom’s face fell. 

The mother-son duo were nowhere to be found, and everyone presumed that they must’ve burned to death in their apartment. 

They wouldn’t have been the only family to perish. 

Sure, Katsuki didn’t care about Deku, why should he? He was always in the way, always making everything so much harder than it had to be, always there to annoy Katsuki with that stupid nickname. Inko, however, had always been kind and soft, and she didn’t deserve to go out like that. 

Don’t lie to yourself. Neither of them did. 

But either way, Katsuki didn’t know them that well, really, and why should he let a classmate’s death distract him? There were more important things to worry about, like preparing for UA’s entrance exam. He was completely over it. 

Well--at least, he tried to focus on the entrance exam, but things just kept getting in the way. Like Endeavor’s televised interview on the destruction and deaths he had caused. 

“It’s a shame that those people perished, but can you imagine how many more people would’ve died if I hadn’t stopped that villain? I was thinking of the greater good!”

The interviewer looks at him curiously. “Isn’t it true that the villain was doing minimal damage outside those buildings? How do you justify destroying an entire block?”

Endeavor slams his hand on the table in front of him. “Like I said, it was for the greater good! It was not my intention to harm those people, but they died so that others could live! You should be grateful.” He stands, furious, and walks off camera.

Katsuki shouldn’t care, but he does. At least, when it comes to this. If there was one thing Deku idolized more than anything, it was heroes. Hearing the number two hero justify killing the Midoriyas stirs up such a violent emotion inside him that he can hardly bear it. 

But the moment of rage passes, and Katsuki is completely over it. 

Or, he would’ve been if the dumbass irrelevant extras who followed him around would stop talking about it. 

Walking through town, extras following him just like they always do, he finally explodes after they bring it up for the millionth time. 

“Can you guys actually believe that Deku is dead? My mom found his obituary in the paper this morning and asked if I knew him.” The words roll too easily off of the asshole’s tongue, and he gives a little smirk to his friends.

“What did you say?” 

“Obviously I said no. Even if he’s six feet under, I don’t want anything to do with the freak.”

One of the others scoff. “He’s not six feet under, he was burned to a crisp. There was nothing to bury-”

That’s when Katsuki whirls around and slams the dumbass into a wall. “Shut the fuck up!” 

The extras are a little surprised at the outburst, though they really shouldn’t be. The bravest one steps forward.

“What’s up with you? You hated him the most.”

Did you really, Katsuki? 

“Obviously, dipshit! Now that he’s finally out of my life for good, do you really think I wanna keep hearing about him?!” 

The logic adds up well enough for them, and they let it go.

Katsuki releases his grip on the terrified lackey and the group continues on. 

Against his better judgement, Pro Hero Eraserhead is worried. It had been a few days since he’d seen his little vigilante pal nuisance, which was unusual considering they’d had run-ins with each other every night for a month and a half straight. 

There was a bad feeling in his gut that just wouldn’t seem to go away, and when you were in the heroic business gut feelings could mean the difference between life and death. 

Perhaps it had something to do with that terrible fire. Quite a few people had died, after all, and maybe if Shouta had been just a little faster at evacuating people then they’d still be alive. Those kinds of thoughts could weigh heavily on you, and give you all kinds of bad gut feelings. 

“Oh, Aizawa, i’m glad you could make it,” Tsukauchi says as he enters the room. “Sorry I’m late, you know how it is. Dealing with the aftermath of Endeavor’s little accident hasn’t been easy.” 

The detective settles into the chair behind his desk, looking Shouta up and down for a moment before clearing his throat. 

“You thinking about that vigilante again?” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

In that moment, Shouta can’t help but remember something the kid had said. 

Just how many sleepless nights have I given you?

Tsukauchi chuckles, an eyebrow raised. “Yes. You said you told him to stay out of trouble for a while, yeah? Maybe he’s finally listening?”

Yeah, right. It was obvious in the detective’s tone that even he didn’t believe what he’d just said. Shouta gives him a skeptical look. 

“Well, that doesn’t change the fact until he leaves even a trace, we won’t be able to do anything about him. Perhaps focusing on this new case will take him off your mind.” Tsukauchi hands him a folder with information on some lowly criminal activity.

Pretty much all the details needed to incriminate the group of suspects were included, along with the explicit location of their base of operations. Even their supposed quirks were listed, and they weren't very threatening. All you’d really need to complete the job is to gather a small force of officers and storm the place. Easy peasy.

Not exactly the type of thing you’d call in a pro for. At all. 

Shouta eyes him, suspicious. “This is what you called me for?”

The detective nods, keeping a straight face. Too straight.

Shouta narrows his eyes. “Hizashi put you up to this?”

Tsukauchi caves. “Yeah,” he sighs. “He said you’ve had a lot on your mind lately, that something like this might be a good distraction.” 

“And since when do the cops dole out cases on the whims of talk-show hosts?” 

“Since the ‘cops’ owe the talk-show host a favor. And since they both have a mutual friend they’re worried about.” He runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Just… Will you take the case? It’s been a busy day and I have to attend another meeting on ‘courtesy in the workplace’ in five minutes.” 

Shouta stands, still holding the folder. “Courtesy in the workplace?” 

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen the detective so miserable. “People keep eating each other’s food.”

Shouta hardly notices the small smirk on his face as he walks out. 

Finding the location of their supposed base of operations is easy enough. It’s not nearly hidden well enough to hide it from someone who was looking. 

He can count seven entry points just from where he’s crouched atop a nearby building, and no security. Either these guys were idiots or this was a trap. 

Scratch that, they were idiots either way, because if this was a trap, then it was an obvious one. 

At least make an effort.

He couldn’t even count the amount of times that that vigilante had gotten away from him simply from him being careless. Those experiences had caused him to become more thorough than ever, and it was certainly showing. 

He’d managed to catch each and every criminal he’d come across in the time that he’d known the vigilante. Of course, he’d always had a really good track record of catching criminals, but his recent cases were just ridiculous in the fact that… they were over quickly. Usually Shouta might let the villain monologue for a bit, gather some information, and then take him down. These days the villain could hardly get a word in before Shouta knocked his lights out.

The kid was... odd in the way that he inspired change in others. Shouta hadn’t only seen it in himself, but in other heroes who’d failed to catch him. Hell, even in some of the villains who’d had the chance to come across him.

It seemed he was an unrelenting force in everything he did, which made things all the more… odd when he’d stopped making appearances. 

Everything concerning him was odd. 

“Don’t move.” The click of a gun behind him. 

Shit. So much for thorough. 

He slowly turns to face the foe behind him, eyeing the gun that is now directly in front of his face. 

The man holding the gun looks proud, meaning it’ll be all the more fun when Shouta inevitably knocks some sense into him. 

Which he would do as soon as that gun wasn’t aimed at his face. 

The proud man starts his mandatory villain monologue, smirking all the while. God, dealing with him would not be fun. 

“Well, well, well! Look-y here! Eraserhead, I wasn’t expecting you, but I can’t say I'm not glad about this turn of events. You really have lost your touch, y’know. I was expecting to catch you in the trap once you entered the building, but you just sat here, didn’t even notice me sneakin’ up on you.” 

Shouta says nothing, just waits for the moment when the guy inevitably makes his first mistake. 

He continues on. “Now that I have you right where I want you, you’re gonna tell me all of All Might’s secrets!”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“And once I have them, the boss’ll promote me for sure!”

Boss.

...Now that’s interesting. 

The man, lost in his fantasy of being promoted, lowers his guard slightly. That’s the moment Shouta strikes, grabbing the man’s arm and twisting it uncomfortably, leaving him no choice but to drop the weapon. 

Once he’s disarmed, Shouta kicks the gun away and knees the man in the stomach, causing him to double over. The hero takes advantage of the weakness and sweeps his legs out from under him. He falls hard and sputters. 

Sighing to himself, Shouta drags the sorry excuse for a criminal to the edge of the roof and drapes him over it just so. 

The man catches his bearings and pales, clutching Shouta’s wrist, the only thing keeping him from falling off the roof. 

“Now it’s my turn. Who are you? You work here?” He gestures towards the supposed headquarters one building over. 

“H-Hey man, no need to be so hasty here! Why don’t we start with some other questions? Like, I dunno, what’s your favorite color? Mine is blue, and you might think that’s overrated but—”

Shouta slackens his grip, dangling the criminal all the more loosely over the edge.

“O-Okay! Yeah, I work there! What about it?”

“You mentioned a boss earlier. Who is he?”

He pales at the mention of the word ‘boss’. 

“Aha! Did I say that? I don’t think I said that… A-And even if I did have a boss, per se, then I wouldn’t just tell you who she is! I couldn’t! She’d kill me!” 

She. The blabbermouth was revealing information even without realizing it. 

Shouta is just about to continue the interrogation when he spots the man’s eyes light up in relief, looking behind the hero. Never a good sign. He moves completely on instinct, lunging out of the way just as an array of bullets rains down on the spot he was just in. 

The idiot barely makes it, too, looking like he’s just had a heart attack. He quickly gets to his feet, still disoriented from the two near death experiences he’s just had, and scowls at two distinct figures in the distance. 

“Ayame? Masuda? Is that you? It’s me, Azuma, your teammate! You almost killed me!”

The two figures, apparently named Ayame and Masuda, make obscene gestures towards their coworker, most likely because he just revealed their names to Shouta.

It was always an easy job when the foes he was up against were complete idiots. 

“You moron! You just gave us away!” The guy who shouted turns to his partner and swats her shoulder. “I told you we shouldn’t have been paired with this loser! He can’t keep a secret to save his life!”

Azuma, the man Shouta had been fighting, looks hurt. “That’s not true at all, Masuda! How could you even say that?”

“Stop saying my name!”

“Oh Jesus Christ.” This was from Shouta.

Azuma turns to him harshly. “You stay out of this! I-” 

He’s cut off forever when a bullet rings through his head. He’s on the ground in an instant. 

Shouta barely has time to process, turning to the man’s supposed teammates. The teammates who had just shot him. 

The woman, still holding the gun, turns it towards Shouta himself. Even with the threat of death, he can’t help but wonder why she would just kill her partner like that. 

“Why did you kill him?”

She merely rolls her eyes, murder being nothing more than a means to an end for her. 

“He can’t keep a secret to save his life, remember? You may know our names, but our higher ups don’t have to know that.” 

Her and her partner run off, and Shouta doesn’t chase after them. Their names are enough for now. Better to formulate a plan than just rush after them with no knowledge of their real goal or how big their organization really is.

 Glancing at the body still lying a few feet from him, he pulls out his phone. 

“Tsukauchi, hey. How’d you like to get out of that courtesy in the workplace meeting?”

Overture flips through the book her employees had given her, delighted grin spreading over her face as she takes in the new information. 

“It’ll take a while, ma’am, but I’m positive I’ll be able to find the author of that book. If it was really found at this exact apartment building, I’ll just run through the registered residents and do a couple background checks. We should be able to weed out who wrote it within the week.”

Overture smiles at the man who’d just given her this information contentedly. He’s sweating nervously, not meeting her eyes, preferring to look at the screen of the computer in front of him. 

Aw. He’s nervous. Good. 

If people were afraid of Overture, that meant she could control them. If there was one thing that caused all previous, so called great villains to fail in their goals, it would be lack of control. 

She would not make the same mistake as all of her predecessors. 

Midoriya Izuku is not dead. 

Not yet, anyways. That could change any day now. 

The fact that his place to live had burnt down did not help his situation. 

Sleeping on the streets, nothing but the clothes on his back, his vigilante outfit stuffed into a ragged backpack, and no food or water really did one hell of a blow to his overall health. 

Not to mention his mental health was probably even worse than his physical health. Ever since his mom had--

Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it--

Ever since his house had burned down, he’d really been down on his luck. He’d even tried begging for spare change, but got nothing more than enough to buy a granola bar. Not even enough for a bottle of water. 

He was dehydrated, bruised all over, tired beyond belief, and fucking hungry.

He’s never been so hungry in his life!

His stomach won’t stop growling, and he can’t help but think of all the food he’d ever wasted. All the delicious food made by his wonderful, caring mo--

Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it--

Anyways. This was becoming a huge problem. 

Walking around the deserted streets in a worse part of town, the place where all the homeless people lay around and beg for money, he’s scoping out various alleyways that might hide him enough to where he can take a nap or something. Maybe find a nice spot to just lay down and die. 

Wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him this week. 

Don’t think about it. 

Wouldn’t even be the second worst. Or the third. Those awards would have to go to the time he was mugged, even though he didn’t have anything, and the second time he was mugged. That time he actually had some money. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something, and that was a good enough reason to get his ass kicked by a man who didn’t mind beating up on an already bruised 15 year old kid. 

You’d think he’d have learned better self defense, considering he was a vigilante for about two months. Or the fact that he’d spent his entire life getting his ass kicked. But back then he hadn’t been dehydrated, or starving, or dealing with the death of--

Don’t. Think. About. It.

So, yeah, finding a spot to lay down and die sounded pretty good right about now. 

The sounds of an old lady crying for help pull him out of his thoughts, and he looks around, dazed, for the source. 

In a nearby alleyway, another mugging. 

People never get tired of stealing, huh?

Some old goon is pointing a knife at a defenseless old lady, and Izuku is a little shocked at the voice in his head that says leave her, save your energy.

He’s even more surprised at the fact that he wants to. 

But, it goes against every fiber of his being, which still scream hey I want to be a hero! 

So, he groans internally, and leaps onto the man threatening the poor lady and knocks him to the ground. The guy isn’t very strong, but he’s bigger than Izuku, and is used to running on empty. 

Izuku had thought he knew what empty really was. He did not.

The man has him pinned now, knife to his throat, and Izuku isn’t entirely sure how that happened.

I don’t care. I was trying to find a place to keel over anyways. 

The old lady whacks the man over the head with a metal pipe. Where’d she get a metal pipe? Was that just lying around?

The mugger is out like a light, and slumps right off of Izuku. The old woman extends a hand, smiling kindly. 

But Izuku is running on empty, empty, and he can hardly lift his arm he’s so tired. The woman’s smile morphs into a look of concern, and it’s the last thing the boy sees before passing out. 

He comes to in a comfortable bed, the smell of warm food wafting through the air. 

Mom must be making breakfast. 

His eyes pop wide open, and he’s up in an instant. And then down again. His stomach growls.

Looking around, he sees he’s in someone’s room. There’s a homemade quilt covering the bed, a neat little bookshelf in the corner with books that look like they’ve been read so many times that they’re falling apart. 

It’s a very lived-in room, and Izuku wonders why the hell he’s in a place like this. 

His question is answered a few moments later when an old lady peeks her head into the room. She smiles warmly at him, and walks through the doorway, holding a tray of food that smells delicious.

His stomach growls again. 

“I’m glad you’re awake! I was so worried…” She sets the tray down on the nightstand next to the bed.

He wants to dig in. He’s never wanted anything more in his life, but…

“Is something wrong, dear?”

“You… made that for… me?” She nods sweetly. “Oh, that’s okay, you didn’t have to! I don’t want to intrude or anything, especially if this was for you or--” 

She swats him gently on the arm. “Oh, stop that! This is for you, now eat it.”

He eats it. It tastes so good that Izuku is pretty sure he shed a tear or two.

Once he’s done, he sheepishly looks up at the woman. “So… Where am I?”

“After you saved me from that horrible, horrible man, you passed out!” She takes the empty tray, gathering up his trash. “I couldn’t just leave you there, so I brought you here.”

“...Thank you…”

Part of him wishes she’d just left him there. 

She stops in the doorway, turning to face him. “If you’d like, I can give you a room here. This is a small motel that I run. We don’t make much money, and you can’t stay for free, but I’ll gladly give you a job. You did save my life, after all, and I need some help around here anyways. What do you say? A place to sleep in exchange for a few odd jobs around here?”

“Are you sure…? I mean, I couldn’t do that to you. You might need that room for someone who pays actual money--”

She burst out laughing. “Yeah, right. When all the rooms are full I’ll be sure to let you go, kid.” With that, she went back to the kitchen to clean the dishes Izuku had just used. 

Izuku stood, now feeling like his legs were able to do the job of holding him up. If he was going to intrude then he’d at least wash his own dishes.

That evening, after the old lady, Mrs. Suzuki, had laid out all the ground rules of living in her complex, Izuku stood in front of his new room, key in hand. 

He was reluctant. 

This would be the first real place he would get to stay since he lost his home.

Since he lost her.

He hadn’t told Mrs. Suzuki anything about his what happened. She hadn’t asked, anyways, and he didn’t exactly want to bring her down. All she knew was that he was homeless. Nothing more. 

He puts the key in the lock, turns the doorknob, and opens the door, laying eyes on his new home for the first time. It’s small, but quaint. 

In one corner there was a bed and a dresser, in another there was a small kitchen. There was a bathroom off to left. That was about it. 

A total upgrade from his previous situation. 

This is what kindness gets you.  

That’s what he wants to believe. After everything he’s been through it’s what he needs to believe. That things will get better, that he shouldn’t give up his ideals to be good, because it will pay off.

And yet that small part, that new part of his mind tells him it was a fluke. If it had been anyone else they would’ve left you for dead. 

And you would have been okay with it.

Izuku would rather sleep in a real bed right now than think about exactly what those feelings mean.

Izuku’s new schedule for the next few weeks is such a drastic change from his old one. 

Waking up at 7 a.m., doing maintenance around the various rooms, eating lunch with Mrs. Suzuki, doing odd jobs and cleaning for her, then dinner at 5:30. 

Sleep from 6 p.m. to 7 a.m.

He probably shouldn’t be sleeping as much as he is, but it’s not like he has anything else to do.

He can feel all the “vigilante training” he spent so much time on draining away, yet he doesn’t care.

He should care.

It’s not like I’ll ever be doing that again, though. Why does it matter?

It most definitely matters. 

It matters when someone walks into the front office of the motel while Izuku is manning the front desk. 

It throws him off at first because this is his first customer. People don’t usually check in to Suzuki’s Olde Inn. Maybe because the name is so bad. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Mrs. Suzuki.

The woman who enters is surprisingly intimidating, though she pretends not to be. It’s clear she’s used to commanding respect as soon as she walks into a room, and she’s trying to downplay it.

As Izuku is analyzing her, he can tell she’s analyzing him, too. She appears to like what she sees, a pleasant smile spreading on her lips. 

He’s trying to remember the script Mrs. Suzuki had told him to greet customers with. He’s supposed to say something like Welcome to Suzuki’s Olde Inn, how may I be of service?

The aura the woman gives off is making the boy trip over his words, and finally when he finds the right ones, they die almost immediately in his throat. 

“Uh- Welcome to Suzuki’s—” 

The woman carefully places something on the desk, eyes lighting up mischievously as she takes in Izuku’s reaction.

He just stares at it in disbelief… 

He picks it up off the desk, scanning his eyes over the title again and again.

Hero Analysis for the Future Volume 11

How did she get this? How did she know he wrote it? How did she know who he was?

Izuku looks up from the journal in his hands, his journal, at the woman. She’s smirking triumphantly.

“Midoriya Izuku. My name is Overture. So glad we finally get to meet." Each word rolls sweetly off her tongue, and Izuku can tell manipulation comes like a second nature to her.

The next thing she says sends a shiver down his spine.

"I have a proposition for you.”

Chapter Text

“So that’s him?” Overture is leaning over the shoulder of the man in front of her, staring at the open screen of the computer. A bright, young, and freckled face stares back at her. 

“Mhm. Midoriya Izuku.” Indicator glances up at the woman looming over him, a lazy smile plastered onto his face. She catches his eye and her expression immediately darkens. Huffing, she turns her attention back to the computer screen.

About a week or so prior a few of her subordinates had found one of his journals, Volume 11, and after that he hadn’t been too hard for the smug bastard she called an associate to track down. Assuming the wreckage of the apartment building was where he lived, Indicator had quickly made the connection between the supposedly dead Midoriya Izuku and a certain Vigilante that had surfaced in the recent months. The physical frame of the two seemed to match a little too well, and when Indicator looked into more personal records the word Quirkless was the first thing that caught his eye.

Of course a child, one who most likely wanted to be a hero (what kid didn’t these days?), looked down upon by society for being quirkless would turn to vigilantism. 

Overture glances at Indicator again, lip curling in distaste when she sees the look in his eye. He’s going to try and take the kid for himself. 

She can’t stand the smug looks he keeps giving her. They had started the minute she had asked for his assistance in tracking down the boy, seeing as all of her subordinates had failed. Every time they locked eyes she could almost taste the satisfaction radiating off of him.

She had been especially reluctant asking for his assistance this time around, seeing as he was also interested in the identity of the person who had written those journals. She would have to do something about that to make sure he didn’t get his hands on the boy first.

Luckily she already had her approach planned out. 

“I have a proposition for you.”

The woman blinks at him deviously, waiting for his response, and Izuku’s mind grinds to a halt.

He frankly has no idea what she wants with him, and there’s only so many things that could give him a clue as to why this is happening. Giving the woman another once-over he notices that she’s dressed inconspicuously, a small bag slung over her shoulder. 

His brain can’t help but visualize all of the horrible things she could be hiding in it. 

Sure, she’s smiling at him, clearly trying to come across as unassuming and non-threatening, but the bright smile etched in her face is wrong, like her muscles aren’t used to the feeling. That alone causes every alarm bell in Izuku’s brain to go off. 

He glances down at the desk, still in shock over the fact that the woman, Overture, she had called herself, had managed to salvage it and bring it all the way here. 

Ignoring the fact that she’s using an alias (which is making him even more suspicious), he picks up Volume 11 and flips through the pages, swallowing harshly. A blast from his former life was not something he’d had on his agenda today, and it’s making him feel a little nauseous. 

Overture clears her throat loudly, and Izuku snaps his head back up to look at her. She’s standing impatiently with her hands on her hips. Right. He’d almost forgotten she was even there. 

He places the journal gently back onto the desk and narrows his eyes suspiciously, brow furrowing with confusion and concern. 

“A… proposition?” 

As soon as the response leaves his mouth, she’s talking again, eager to continue the conversation, and Izuku can’t help but feel like everything she’s saying is scripted, like she’d already practiced each and every word a thousand times over, and the work is definitely paying off. 

“Oh, yes! Don’t look so concerned, I’m here to help you!” The words fall out of her mouth, quick and sweet, dripping with honey. 

The thought briefly crosses his mind that she could be a social worker, but he very quickly decides that that is not the case. There’s no way she could ever work with children, and besides, why would she bring his analysis journal? How would she have even found out about him? No normal person would have put so much dedication into finding a legally dead quirkless kid. Not to mention the alias.

Which only makes him all the more wary. Why is she interested in some legally dead quirkless kid? 

Overture’s eye twitches. He can tell she’s not very ecstatic about the pace of this conversation. She’s impatient, his trusty brain supplies, and he mentally catalogues that little fact away.

“Help me with what?”

“I want to help you take down the men responsible for the death of your mother.”

His stomach lurches and the world stops moving around him. Just the mention of her is enough to cripple him, and he tries to shake the sudden dizziness and devastation away.

“What?” The word sounds chokes, and it feels like his throat is closing up.

“You heard me right.” Her words sound far too chipper for the situation. Overture makes her way to a small table in the corner and sits down, patting the open chair next to her. “You look feverish, you should probably sit down.”

He takes a step back instead. “No thanks, I’d prefer to stay right here.”

She shrugs and crosses one leg over the other, the picture of a relaxed woman having a normal conversation. 

But this isn’t a normal conversation.

“You,” Izuku takes a breath, trying to form the right words. “You want to take down… Endeavor?”

“Oh no. Well, yes, but that will come later. You can’t just immediately take down the number two hero. First, I want to help you take down the villain he was fighting that night.”

“But… she died.”

Overture tsks, a shaper smile taking its place on her face, and this one looks much more suited to her than the previous happy smile she’d been wearing. 

“Yes, but her boss is still out there. Taking him out will gain everyone’s attention, and once you gain more traction, then you can take out Endeavor.”

Izuku shakes his head, not understanding. “Her boss?”

“Mhm. I’ll give you all the information you could ever want about him, for a price.” The way she’s staring at him makes his blood run cold, and he grits his teeth, trying his hardest to stay in place rather than run the other way.

“I’m sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m just some quirkless kid, and I certainly have no plans to take down a pro hero. Even if he did something… bad.” Izuku wants to throw up. It was more than just bad, but he bitterly digs his fingernails into the palm of his hand and forces himself to keep going. “He still saves people, and I… don’t want to ruin that. So, you should probably go.”

Overture looks unbothered by the refusal, tracing out shapes on the surface of the table with long, pointed nails. “I thought you were into vigilante justice? Didn’t you want to change society and heroes for the better, maximize the number of people saved? Isn’t that why you went on all of those vigilante escapades?”

He freezes, and the nausea comes racing back, hitting him like a truck. She knows it was me. How does she know?

Overture just looks at him, amused. “Let me guess. You’re wondering how I knew that you were the vigilante? It was easy to figure out, almost laughably so.”

The boy scowls, starting to get irritated. “Well, no one else seemed to figure it out.”

“That’s because they didn’t know where to look. It was painfully obvious. The approximate height and weight and overall appearance matched yours too well to ignore, and all of your little escapades happened within a 15 kilometer radius of your apartment. Anyone who was looking for you could have found out. You’re too inexperienced.”

He cringes at the criticism. He knows he’s inexperienced, but hearing all of his mistakes laid out at once is just painful.

“Of course,” she continues, “You have potential.”

Oh yeah, sure, he has loads of potential. Potential to be a huge letdown on literally every level.

“Not to worry, though! I’m not here to beat you up, just here to set you on the right track! I’d hate to see your potential go to waste. So, like I said before, I can give you all the information you could ever want about that villain, for a price.”

He narrows his eyes. “What price?”

She practically jumps out of her chair, making her way back to the desk and snatching Volume 11, holding it up like a prize.

“Write one of these for me.”

He looks at her incredulously. She wants a journal? That’s what she came all the way here for? One of his creepy little journals?

“...Why?” Izuku cannot fathom why she’d want one so bad. Everyone else had always thought they were trash. 

Except for that one guy who bought one. 

“I have my reasons. Does it matter?”

She bats her eyelashes and Izuku thinks yes, it most certainly does.

But it’s just information, and, believe him, Izuku does know that information can be powerful. But it’s not like he has a quirk that gives him access to special information. It’s really just information that anyone could get if they watched closely enough. 

Besides, she was offering information in return, information that Izuku can’t get his hands on so easily. 

Information that has to do with his mom.

Thinking about her makes his eyes sting, and thinking that the person responsible for her death is still out there, unaware of the consequences of their actions, makes a feeling rise up in him that he can’t quite place. But he knows that he can’t just sit here anymore while knowing that that villain is out there. 

It would kill him.

He bites the inside of his cheek, tuning back into the real world, hardly noticing that his cheeks feel slightly wet. 

And then he says two words that he hopes he doesn’t live to regret. 

“Okay, deal.”

Overture looks immensely pleased with herself, and pulls a little notebook of her own from her bag. It’s flipped open to a page with a bunch of names written on it. 

“This is a list of people I’d like in the notebook. Can you complete it by next week?”

That is not a lot of time, his brain warns, but it’s probably fine. He nods, looking at her expectantly. 

“Okay, and what about my information?”

“Right, I can give you his name now, and the rest next week after you give me the notebook. Just a precaution.”

Izuku sighs. “I guess that’s fair.” 

She takes a breath, barely holding in her excitement.

“He goes by the name Indicator.”

It’s only a few hours after Overture leaves that Izuku realizes just how ill prepared he is for going back out into vigilantism and plotting to take down a villain. 

He’s certainly let himself go these past few weeks, and having done nothing for days on end was probably taking a toll on his physical state. 

Sure, he’d spent months training and getting to the point where he could hop from roof to roof, but he was out of practice. And in a week he was supposed to start his crusade, or whatever, on this Indicator guy. 

So, with a heavy heart, he drags himself out of his room and prepares to get to training.

That is, until he bumps into Mrs. Suzuki in the hall.

Izuku decides to not tell Mrs. Suzuki about his newfound business partner. The last thing he wants is to drag her into his mess after she’d literally saved him from starvation and homelessness. 

Her face lights up when she sees him. She flashes him a real, genuine smile.

“Midoriya, dear! How lovely to see you up and about! I was just about to come get you for dinner.”

Ten minutes later the two sit across from each other at a table in the dining area, and the smell from the meal in front of Izuku is downright intoxicating. 

“I’m honestly surprised you’re not a chef or something, you could definitely open your own restaurant. Actually, why do you own a motel? What’s the story behind that?”

Mrs. Suzuki chuckles and stares off at nothing in particular while trying to remember. “Well, it wasn’t exactly my dream to run a motel, believe it or not. I actually had planned on becoming a pro hero.”

Izuku nearly chokes on his food before letting out a strangled, “What???”

She nods sagely, playful smile lighting up her face. “Yes, my whole family thought I’d be perfectly suited for the job. But I suppose it wasn’t written in the stars. I went for my license and got disqualified for improper use of my quirk. I had really just gotten into a small kerfuffle, but that was that. I always meant to try again, but I never got around to it. I ended up buying this motel with one of my childhood friends, but she’s moved onto other things by now. So it’s just me.”

What the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck. 

Before he can stop himself, the green haired boy blurts out, “That is so awesome, what the hell?!”

He suddenly realizes he just yelled that at an old lady. His face lights up like a christmas tree, blushing so much from the embarrassment of actually having said that out loud. 

But Suzuki doesn’t care, just laughs it off. 

“Um,” now he has to know, “What exactly is your quirk?”

She glances around dramatically, taking a long pause. 

“Do you really want to know?” She says slyly, leaning in close. 

“More than ever now that you’ve said it like that.”

She holds up her arm. “Watch this.” Right before his eyes her entire arm turns to solid metal. “I can turn any part of my body to metal. From the top of my head to the tip of my toes.” She looks really pleased with herself and Izuku can definitely see why. That is such a cool quirk.

Then the realization hits him.

“Hang on a second, so that metal pipe that I thought I saw you beat that guy with was actually, what? Your arm?”

She nods. 

“So you could’ve totally handled that guy by yourself, and I made myself look like a chump by trying to fight him and failing miserably?”

She looks aghast at the very mention of that idea. “Oh no! My joints are so old these days that by the time I could’ve turned my arm and started swinging, he would’ve done some serious damage, and I’d be a goner! You saved my life.”

Izuku is 99% sure that that’s bullshit because Mrs. Suzuki is the most badass old lady he’s ever met. But, he’s not gonna lie, it feels good to hear her say it. 

He picks at his food, the beginning of an idea forming in his head. 

“So, with you almost becoming a pro hero and all, you probably know a lot about fighting and self defense, right?”

She purses her lips. “I suppose, though I’m bound to be awfully rusty. Why?”

“Do you think you could, I dunno, give me some tips?” She raises an eyebrow at him and he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just--um, just in case I ever get in another situation like the one with the mugger?” 

He feels bad lying to her, he always feels bad when he lies, but he just can’t drag her headfirst into the real reason why he wants to learn how to be a better fighter.

“I’d love to.” 

Mrs. Suzuki is staring affectionately at him, and Izuku feels content for the first time in a long time. 

Heading back out into the city for the first time since the fire is nerve-wracking, and it takes all of Izuku’s willpower to not go back and just curl up in his bed. He’s only been out for about an hour, but already he’s exhausted. 

Luckily he hadn’t slipped too far out of shape to galavant around, but those weeks off had really done some damage to his stamina. 

He decides to take a break, sitting down on the ledge of the rooftop he’s currently on, and pulls up his new mask to get some fresh air. 

After Overture had pointed out that he was too careless and inexperienced, the first thing he’d decided to do before going out was to up his wardrobe. This time he’d gone for a mask that covered his entire face, instead of leaving half of it exposed like a moron. 

And, of course, having little to no experience in actual combat, seeing as most of his previous wins were due to his best friend, the element of surprise, he’d decided to get a knife as well. 

Not that he was gonna go around stabbing people! Or become some freak knife murderer. No, it was mostly for self defense in case he found himself in a bind. 

Plus knives were, like, the easiest weapon. You didn’t need any special skills to use a knife. All you had to know was how to jab someone with the pointy end, right? Not to mention, it was small and easy to tuck away. 

Back to business. 

He stands, stretching, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out Overture’s notebook.

There were a lot of names on it, and he was an idiot for telling her he’d have it done by next week. He only had a few days left, and he hadn’t even started. 

Scanning his eyes over the list, he looks for any familiar names. The task would be easier to accomplish if it included names that he was already familiar with. He could just knock those out, and then spend the majority of his time on the rest. 

He’d prefer to look most of these names up on the internet and try to get a good look at their quirks through news footage and the like, but the computers at Suzuki’s inn were… ancient. He couldn’t make out any details whatsoever on the grainy screens. 

Before he knew it, it was dark, and all the public libraries were closed, so he couldn’t use any of their computers either. 

He wasn’t about to waste the entire night, so, here he was. Scouting around for any of the heroes so he could see them in person. Plus it was good practice. 

On the list are actually a lot of familiar names, including, to Izuku’s mild concern, one Eraserhead. 

It’s probably fine, the boy reassures himself. 

He already knows all he needs to know about Eraserhead’s quirk, having already done a fair amount of research on him, so there was no need to seek him out. Izuku’s not particularly excited at the thought of facing him again. 

The last time he’d seen the underground hero…. He doesn’t like to think about it. 

Maybe I could have made it on time if he had just--

Nope. Not gonna think about that. 

One name on the list Izuku barely recognizes, as opposed to the others, which he already knows a fair amount about, so he figures that’s as good a place as any to start. 

He vaguely remembers a quirk having to do with food, and the small hero owning a restaurant somewhere in the heart of town. 

What was it called again?

“Eggcitement?” Shouta looks up from the mountain of paperwork on his desk towards the man standing in front of him. 

“Yeah, the restaurant’s been the talk of the town! Nemuri and I are going tonight to celebrate the egg-celent start of the new school year.” Hizashi grins at him, waiting for him to catch the pun.

Shouta stares at him with dead eyes, unimpressed. 

“Anyway,” he continues, not the least bit discouraged by the lack of reaction, “You should come.”

“Can’t, I’m patrolling tonight.”

Hizashi practically falls over himself with shock, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He hurriedly pushes them back up. 

“What? Again? You’ve been going out every night lately, you need some proper rest and relaxation! Especially now that the semester has officially started.”

“I don’t exactly have time for ‘rest and relaxation’. In case you’ve forgotten, I have to deal with the case that you made Tsukauchi give me in the first place. There’s a new criminal organization brewing and I have leads on at least two of their members, which I have to act on quickly or I may lose them altogether.”

The more he goes on the more deflated his friend becomes. “I thought it’d be an easy case, open and shut! I was trying to give you a mental break from all that vigilante stuff.” Shouta sighs and looks away, frowning. 

“Oh yeah,” Hizashi continues, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you constantly moping around. He’s the reason why you’re out all night every night, right? You’re never gonna find him if you keep exhausting yourself…” He trails off, looking at Shouta hopefully.

They make eye contact and have a staring contest, mentally fighting for control.

“Fine,” Shouta huffs after a moment, “I’ll go with you tonight.”

Hizashi is right, he needs a break.What could possibly happen on the one night he takes off?

Eggcitement is not a very large restaurant. It’s more modest than you’d expect, it being run by a pro hero. But, Shouta supposes, it must serve pretty great food, because the line at the counter goes out past the door. The people waiting in line vary in all different shapes and sizes, so that must be a good sign. 

The trio, Hizashi, Nemuri, and Shouta are across the street from the place. 

“Damn that line is long! I hope you have a reservation, Hizashi.” Nemuri stares dejectedly at the line of people pooling out onto the sidewalk. 

“Of course I do! You think I wouldn’t plan ahead?” He pulls out his phone and pulls up the restaurant app. 

“I wouldn’t say you’re particularly known for that.” Hizashi glares at him, betrayed, before turning back to his phone screen. 

“I--Oh wait, hang on…” He fiddles with his phone, expression of mild concern adorning his face.

Nemuri taps her foot impatiently. “Don’t tell me something is wrong with the reservation.”

“Nothing is wrong with the reservation! I don’t think… This app is just glitchy.”

Shouta runs a hand through his hair and makes his way to a nearby bench, only occupied by one other person, and sits down.

This might take a while. 

“Give me that!” Nemuri snatches the phone away, stares at the screen for a few seconds, then groans in frustration. “Why is this page saying error? Don’t tell me it fell through.”

“I’m telling you, the app is just glitchy! Here, if we take it to the counter inside they’ll fix it for us!”

Shouta rolls his eyes, glancing at the person sitting on the other side of the bench. It’s some kid. His posture is stiff and he’s wringing his hands together anxiously. He glances his way and Shouta's heart stops for a moment. 

For a moment he swears he’s face to face with the vigilante, and he’s half prepared for some smart remark to come flying his way and leave him thinking about it for weeks afterward, but it doesn’t. 

The kid looks away, and Shouta has to shake himself out of the sudden stupor he’d put himself in. Of course this kid isn’t the vigilante. He’s just imagining things because he’s been overworking himself, trying to find the real vigilante, and now he’s just seeing things. 

Glancing back the other way, he sees Nemuri and Hizashi still arguing. 

Nemuri sighs. “Fine, whatever, let’s just go in.” She starts making her way across the street, Hizashi quickly following her. 

Shouta stands, hesitant as he turns to look back at the kid one last time, just to make sure he’s not going crazy. 

Except, where the kid previously sat there was nothing but empty space. Had he left? Shouta didn’t see him anywhere. 

“Shouta,” calls Hizashi. “What are you doing?”

Shaking his head, he finally crosses the street and joins up with the pair waiting for him.

“What’s up? Something happen?” 

“Did either of you see where the kid on the bench went?”

The blond gives him an odd look. “Kid? What kid? I didn’t see anyone.”

Nemuri stares at them incredulously. “Am I the only one who cares about this reservation?”

Shouta shrugs, trying to push down the bad feeling he was starting to get in his chest. “No, sorry, let’s go.” Ignoring the concerned look on Hizashi’s face, he enters the restaurant. 

As soon as their food arrives, all worries slip away as the trio lose themselves in the food and talk of the upcoming crop of the new hero course students. 

Shouta somehow manages to forget about the entire incident on the bench until later that night. He’d parted ways with his two friends and was walking home when something stopped him. The smell of blood drifting from somewhere nearby. 

Immediately on edge, he makes his way quickly and quietly to the source, turning a corner and stopping in his tracks. 

A man is lying unconscious on the ground, blood speckling the pavement around him. 

The next thing he processes is the person standing above the unconscious body, bloody knife in hand. 

Shouta activates his quirk, and moves to apprehend the figure, expecting some resistance. 

However, the person, wearing a mask, Shouta notes, puts their hands up jerkily. 

“Wait!” The voice comes out tinny and distorted, and somehow familiar, and that’s when it hits the underground hero. 

The look is different but the height is the same, and he realizes that it’s him.

The vigilante. 

The kid. 

He drops the knife and it hits the ground with a clatter. 

“I can explain!”