Chapter Text
Sayaka is a professional, damn it. She wasn’t going to let an ounce of the surprise she felt show, as she returned the lowered head to the somehow here Rei Todoroki. When she okayed Rei’s attendance if she could convene adequate security, she wasn’t supposed to be able to on such short notice! Gods, she feels like that Wicked Stepmother, with nothing to do but gnash her teeth as her impossible tasks are accomplished with a wave of hands.
“Todoroki-chan, it warms my heart to see that you could make it. And with Himura-dono close behind, and your youngest in hand. You were not hurting for options, it seems.” She offers a smile to Samui Himura, noting with some reticence the closeness of Kotu Hanabata. So the rumors were true; with Endeavor’s falling star, the Himuras had cashed out their bets there, and moved into the local politics game.
Rei keeps a perfectly serene smile, as if the conditions Sayaka set for her were a light jog to a competition runner. “If anything, your devotion to security was the motivation to reunite with my brother. I can only hope the rest of your guests have even half the thought put into their safety, though I’m sure you spared no expense in that regard.”
Rei looks up, as if she was taking in the admittedly gorgeous decorations Black Dahlia had seen too. Sayaka had given the woman a bit of lenience, and that investment was at least proving a useful pilot case. Additional medical knowledge, quite the eye for decoration, and an example for the type of criminals and villains that could be used as additional manpower.
The sort of additional manpower Rei seemed to be searching for, her eyes roaming to the higher levels. Sayaka gives a bit of a laugh, waving her hands and drawing the eyes of the rest back down to her, rather than follow Rei’s. “You’re too kind, Todoroki. Although really, I do have to thank Suzugamori from the Management Department; he’s helped us streamline duties and tasks, allowing our agents to focus deeper on their assignments.”
The purple haired man, on the opposite side of the room and almost behind a wall, turns when he hears his name. Several of the people she was speaking with turn and clock him, and Sayaka grins when she sees two Italian delegates and a wing of the Aoyama clan peel off to speak with him.
He wanted adulation for adding to the Commission’s ranks? And without doing all the years of work she'd had to to get even a tenth of his position? He could have it, then. The fruit and poisonous wine of attention, as much as he could cram down his throat...
“Please, I’ve held your attention for too long. I’m afraid I have more introductions to make; there’s only so many phone calls with Nedzu you can tolerate before you require speaking to ordinary people.” Several of the people around Rei turn to her, notably not including her brother. He simply turns to follow her as she begins to glide around the room, acting more like her bodyguard than her sibling.
Sayaka takes a moment, the Agent shadowing her quickly offering her a refilled champagne flute. Her cup was merely a slightly colored lemonade, ensuring she was entirely on top of her game while the guests were slowly lulled into the depths of a pleasant buzz. She takes a generous sip, pursing her lips as the next man in the unofficial line comes to greet her.
Hanabata raises his champagne flute in a toast, not drinking yet as he begins his greeting. “Kinoshita-dono, I do apologize for the surprise. When my dear friend Himura-san asked this favor from me, I thought it merely a chance to reward a loyal friend who has done me so much good in turn. I do hope you’ll forgive me, for interfering with your plans.”
“Please, I owe you a thanks for allowing Todoroki to return to us in high society. Your connection to her brother is… An interesting bit of information, which more than opens the door for you.” Sayaka raises her flute, and the two of them drink without breaking eye contact.
Hanabata has a few drops sticking to the fur of his mustache, which he reaches up to wipe with the corner of a handkerchief. “I suppose I need to be introduced, to some of you ‘high society’ types. I hope you’ll forgive me for taking this generous chance.”
Sayaka nods, the man turning and selecting his target. He steps away, and the Iidas make their way up. Sayaka holds the now emptied glass to be refilled, the matriarch holding her own glass. With a quick pour that Sayaka is almost surprised doesn’t spill, the two women allow themselves to toast.
Kitamura raises her hand up, a slight hiccup from too much champagne too early. “Kinoshita-chan, I must admit to some surprise. I almost expected more… Outside Influence, to the decorations.”
Sayaka gives the woman a moment to tap her chest, trying to get the hiccups under thumb for their chat. “The Carabinieri had more worry for the guest list, than the decoration. But rest assured, they did have a hand in the aesthetics… Tenya, right? I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to speak since I was just Senior Secretary to the previous President.”
Tenya looks up, a nervous adjustment to his collar before nodding. It was always so interesting, seeing new Heroes and Hero Hopefuls trying to readjust to the tight and restrictive formal wear. “I believe that’s correct, Kinoshita-dono. I hope I can make a better impression on you now, than I would have then.”
“Oh, I already have a wonderful impression of you. A courageous, selfless young man; When faced with the man who paralyzed your brother, you still did your Heroic Duty to save his life.” Tenya’s face clouds the moment she mentions Stain, and Sayaka can almost taste the inner conflict the young man was going through to this day. “The Commission owes you a debt, for the information we’ve gotten from him.”
“Yes… I owed it to my brother, and the Ingenium legacy, to ensure justice was served, that night.” Sayaka and Kitamura both let out the faintest huff of laughter, the awaiting audience all nodding at the spin being given so earnestly.
So long as Izuku’s stunt didn’t mess with Tenya rock solid faith in the way things should be done, he’d be a useful asset in the days to come. He’d already given them more than any spy could have, with only faint pokes and prods from his parents over the phone. “I was told Tensei would be joining us? Is he still at the door?”
“No, my oldest is impertinent to the last. He’ll come see you, once the line is short enough. Even sitting still, he can’t wait a good few minutes.” The two women share a little tittering laugh, several of the parents listening around them having a good moment to reminisce at that comment.
“Well, I best make my introductions, so he can stop by. Oh, but I do believe Kirishima-chan was going to try to speak to you, over by the Blue Room.” Sayaka had to admit the organization of areas by colors of flowers was a little over the top. But if the system was working, letting the Italian Heroes blend into the background and listen in, who was she to complain?
The Iidas nod, respectfully turning and searching out the suggestion. And hopefully, Kitamura could get Tenya to figure out what Maestra had slipped to those Yuuei students with young Eijiro. Sayaka could not afford to go looking for that information herself, in case it was something involving her.
But she also couldn’t leave fate in the hands of a woman so careless, she would die in less than a day of being without security.
-
Chizome scans the crowd, finding two of the few people here he’d deign to talk to in attendance. Two people who, through fortune of circumstance, had proven they had what it took to bring honor back to the title of Hero. And one of them was continuing to prove it, wheeling around and talking to people, as if the chair he was now in was a mere inconvenience in his mission, then the serious blow the fakes Chizome had dealt with claimed it was.
But the Commission can’t afford to let him be seen… by the Japanese Upper Crust. A half dozen Italians had snuck up here to speak with him, their grasp of the language rudimentary at best. Chizome barely had to sell a lie, each of them having come up with flavors of the same delusion that he just had to not go and refute. That the Commission had grown a shade of benevolence, and was reducing restrictions for minor offenders.
The fact that he’d injured several heroes probably stumped some. Frankly, he was better than Muscular. That man only wanted Violence and Bloodshed, whereas Chizome saw it as the simplest answer to a complicated question. Frankly, the brute was only tolerable in the last two days, when fighting with that blue Chimera creature tired him out, like a particularly taxing child.
“So, they have increased their standards.” Chizome tries not to grit his teeth, continuing his scanning of the room as a familiar Italian walks up behind him. He’d seen the Italian Heroes watching this man, and considering that most of them seemed the tolerably on mission sort of Heroes, he’d seen fit to keep this man in his sight. Until wave upon wave of socialites and children had swept in, this particular man slipping from his vision into one of the side rooms.
Chizome takes a step back from the balcony, doing his best to take in the man in front of him. A few centimeters taller than him, and his hands were covered in gaudy rings that might be real gold. He was confident in his ability to walk away from a confrontation unscathed, either from combat skill or a Quirk that would cover for its lack. “Well? You're the seventh Italian to make their way up here, trying to talk to me.”
The man raises an eyebrow, raising a hand to count off. It brushes against an inner pocket, an opened manila envelope poking out of it as he moves his fingers around. “Huh. Head of Global Security, Embassy Security, The Carabinieri President, The Prime Minister’s Personal Detail, The Rome Humarise Base Representative… I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who I missed?”
Chizome almost lets an eyebrow raise, turning to ignore…
He blinks, the man leaning against the banister behind him. Chizome turns… And he was still where he left him, holding up his hand like he was checking his nails. “One of your countries' Heroes; the woman with the Rapier.”
The man nods, a quick roll of his eyes and raise of his glass. “Ah, I see. They have their eyes on me so often, I’ve started ignoring a number of them out of habit. I only pay attention to those with some talent; Hence, my interest in you.”
Chizome crosses his arms, the man’s obvious flattery almost stomach turning. “If my blades were as pointless as you, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. Make your pitch, so I can refuse it.”
The man sighs, reaching into his pocket… And Chizome feels the card in his collar, his hand flying up and catching it. “Bruno Gollini, of the Gollini Family. I was the one who managed to win the honor of coming out here to Japan, and seeing what local talent the Commission doesn’t allow to grace the front papers. And the ‘Hero Killer’ is up here, with a bird’s eye view? If you don’t have talent, I don’t know what hope the rest of us have.”
Chizome looks at the card, seeing a phone number in fancy golden font across purple stock. “The Gollini family… forgive me, if your infamy hasn’t made it to my attention.”
Bruno shrugs, emptying his glass in a smooth gesture. “You say that you’re against all this unnecessary fluff Japan’s attached to the title of Hero, like a voluntary tumor. Fluff those of us in Italy don’t believe in, either… Well, we believe in some amount of adulation for a job well done. But a medal in a jewelry box isn’t exactly press events and t-shirt deals, is it?”
Chizome looks down at the card, and shifts his stance. Bruno’s eyes immediately go down to analyze his stance… And if he’s half as smart as he’s pretending to be, he’ll notice the bulge on the outside of his right ankle. “My ‘employment’, as they put it, isn’t a voluntary position. And I’ve come to understand that my termination from the position will be swiftly followed by a real termination.”
Bruno shakes his head, sighing heavily. “Well, that’s no way to make someone working for you loyal. If all you do is wave a stick, at some point an animal will just keel over and embrace their death. I’m sure, if you were to consider an offer from us, we could see to a deal that’s more… mutually beneficial.
Chizome considers the card, tucking it into his sleeve under the basic plastic watch they’d allowed him in lue of a phone. “Your offer is the least insulting one I’ve received tonight. If that’s all…”
“Who are you talking to?” Chizome blinks, turning. Bruno’s disappeared, and Chizome is at least sixty percent sure his Quirk involves increased movement speed. Much like Tensei Iidas, though he wouldn’t be making much use of it. He looks around, seemingly having just missed Bruno’s exit.
Chizome hates being surprised, which was half the reason he was allowing the Commission to think they had him cowed… Alright, they at least had him under their thumb. But they assumed him helpless, which would make his eventual exit that much more glorious.
So Tensei’s easy smile is a definite swing from left field, as is him relaxing in the chair and holding up a hand, basically making himself immobile. “Oh, they have you on comms, huh? Makes sense…”
“You… You’re much friendlier than I’d expected.” Tensei blinks, then shrugs with that same easy going grin.
“I won’t assume I’m keeping it secret, but between the two of us and whatever bugs are up here, you’re a lot nicer than the Commission’s claiming you are.” Chizome raises an eyebrow, the Hero needing to add to that statement before it clicks. “Toga speaks highly of you, when she’s comfortable enough to speak.”
Chizome takes a moment, allowing himself to be frustrated by the memory of that girl. And notice some amount of fondness for her, born out of being forced to watch over her for a few short days before the League had grabbed him… and injured Ingenium. “You… You ensured she was safe?”
“I couldn’t, because of the whole…” Tensei has some amount of pain in his eyes, tapping the arm of the chair and swallowing some amount of curses. “… But she’s safe now, at Yuuei. Recovery Girl and Hound Dog are both seeing to her needs, and she’s got a friend who Nedzu also brought into his orbit. You might know him; Iguchi, with the bright pink hair?”
Chizome takes a moment, trying to place the name and description… And vaguely remembers stalking a warehouse full of heroes, only some of which were actually doing anything Heroic. And a lizard man with pink hair, who had gone out of his way to dress similarly to Chizome, who’d gone the other direction from the heroine and the Young Hero he’d menaced. “Vaguely… We didn’t speak to each other. We’re aware of one another… good for Toga, I suppose.”
Tensei nods, reaching down to wheel closer. Chizome raises an eyebrow as the man gets well within dangerous range, then brings an arm up… Offering a handshake? “I don’t exactly agree with your methods, and I get the feeling your position with the Commission isn’t all together voluntary. But you have some good in you… maybe deep down, under several people’s spilled blood, but still there. If you ever need an Advocate, just ask for me.”
“You.. Why would you do that?” Chizome is so used to veiled threats and poisonous words… And there isn’t a hint of that. A bit of anger, at the man’s current position, maybe. But that was to be expected.
But Tensei Iida is confusingly genuine, offering an authentic grin the whole time. “You’re not the first Vigilante or Villain who switched teams, after getting caught. And reluctant or not, you definitely have skills for whichever side you’re on… Plus, my husband technically started out as a Vigilante. I get the position a lot of Vigilantes and Villains are coming from, so I try to offer them a hand when I can.”
Chizome considers the offer, both seeing it as an actual offer and a lack of strings attached. He still turns, lookin over the balcony to the part of the room he could see. “I’ll consider the offer. Don’t think I’ll come crawling to you, asking for help.”
Tensei’s quiet for a moment, then he silently turns and wheels away. Chizome walks back over to the balcony, carefully scanning and seeing how the crowd has shifted.
-
Samui doesn’t understand his sister, and ultimately never has. But he keeps his face neutral at best, carefully walking beside her as she finally catches up with those who’d left her to rot in that prison she calls a home.
Sure, she’s put in the effort to make that house seem lived in. But it was a sterile and dead place, one Samui is surprised their parents subjected her to. And for what? The promise of strong children they’d never seen besides in photos and videos?
No; If it was the last thing Samui did, he was going to Liberate Rei from these chains she was in. Even if she was the one who locked herself away, he was going to free her. And he knew there were sections of the Meta Liberation Army who would be against the idea, claiming it would be bad press or bad for morale. But Samui knew his sister; if he convinced her to do something, to believe in Liberation, then she’d be one of their strongest fighters. And with the two of them together, perhaps even including her living children…
Samui can’t stop the grin, imagining the carnage the five of them alone could bring. He carefully raises the flute to his lips, the subpar drink barely disguising the slip up as Rei introduces him to yet more people. “The Yaoyorozu Family, who I spoke to you about. Their daughter and Shouto practically grew up together, or so I’ve been told.”
Samui looks at the woman in front of him, seeing another woman using her body as yet another advantage in social combat. Her red dress was just the right side of immodest, adhering to her form without screaming for attention. “Ah, the famous Himura bachelor. I only wish our meeting could have happened earlier, in better times.”
Samui nods, painting a wistful smile as he goes through the necessary motions. “If there has ever been a perfect moment, it passed before it could be recorded in history. But we have enough reasons to be glad tonight, good company certainly among them.”
The Yaoyorozu matron grins, black-painted nails tapping against her glass. “Good company, in more ways than one. I hear the Himura’s have seen a few deals with Feel Good Inc, yes?”
The woman allows an edge to become visible in her tone, Samui going quiet while Rei steps in to diffuse. “Please, Marina. Let’s not make a bad first impression; my brother gets out so rarely, only cicadas can be said to sleep longer. What investments our parents make aren’t his fault, even if they happen to step on your toes.”
Samui nods, instantly seeing Rei’s defense. So Chikazoku has undercut the Yaoyorozu’s business on at least one occasion, sometime after the Himura’s publicly backed them. Samui makes a note, to ask Rei which other names to check Skeptic’s list of to prevent this in the future. “Ah, my sincerest apologies. While some companies enjoy the support of our name, the Himura seniors haven’t been diligent in the steering in all of their ships. A weakness I’ve tried to correct, and be a bit more… particular, in our partnerships.”
“Oh, we’ve done our fair share of business with Feel Good, in the past. They just had to have their reconstruction contracts, and we had other worries. How important is Deika City, in the scope of things?” Marina is clearly trying to bait him, tossing a line while trying to look like she was just throwing an off-handed comment.
Samui keeps himself composed, raising his nearly emptied flute. “Oh, just a passion project of the board. Apparently, the mountain makes a perfect place for design and testing of Support technology. It also has quite the scenic view, perfect for a paid vacation as a reward for excellent work.”
Marina nods, her eyes passing over his shoulder as his lie goes unnoticed. “Ah, and Shouto. Already learning from the best, I see.”
Samui tries to hide his flinch, turning when he sees Shouto positioned just perfectly in his blindspot. And the boy had no emotions to detect, merely nodding and speaking in almost perfect monotone. “I suppose so, Yaoyorozu-dono. I merely came over to see if I could borrow my Uncle? Perhaps speak to him, now that I have the chance?”
Samui raises an eyebrow, quickly schooling his face as Marina and Rei both let out little giggles. “Of course, young man. We were just about to invite Kirujosei over; you two young men enjoy the party, and leave us hens to our clucking.”
Samui shakes his head at the insinuation, but turns all the same as Shouto seemingly picks the quietest corner secluded by the hanging flower displays. Samui follows him, the young man doing some sort of check on their privacy before turning. “Sorry. I… It looked like you were growing uncomfortable, speaking with Yaoyorozu.”
‘So he’s unreadable, can read others well, and has two Quirks?’ Samui lets himself genuinely smile, imagining rubbing all of this in Enji Todoroki’s overly chiseled face. “Thank you, Shouto. Rei is right, to a point. I don’t attend events like this often, and usually have someone more competent to do the talking for me.”
Shouto nods, tilting his head to look through the curtain of vines. Samui follows his eyes, seeing Koku engrossed in conversation with a group of Italian delegates of some description. The Liberation Army was mainly focused in Japan, but there were branches in other countries as well. Maybe he was trying to plant the seeds for a stronger presence in Italy…
The party noticeably begins to quiet, Samui noticing conversations coming to an abrupt halt. He steps a bit closer to the curtain of flowering plants, sacrificing the cover they provided to look towards the entrance…
To say Samui’s blood begins to boil would be an understatement. The light in the room refracts off Flect Turn’s blue skin, his blood red outfit recognizable even if he looked normal. It even had little bits in the lapels, also refracting the light around him. His arms are crossed behind him, and his face looks stern with only a modicum of effort in softening his expression.
“Who is that?” Samui takes a shaking breath, sinking back behind the cover of the curtain to speak to his nephew.
“A man you should avoid associating with, at all costs.” Samui looks, seeing Shouto consider the man with a bit of a raised eyebrow. He turns, seeing a blond man with some sort of shining bits of metal on his jacket following close behind. “There are all sorts of people in this world, many of whom would gladly see us regress to the darkest times in human history. And they’ll use whatever means necessary to get them, even lying to the gullible and the weak to do it…”
“Like my classmate, Aoyama?” Samui turns to Shouto, then looks back as members of the Aoyama family walk up to greet either Flect or the man guarding him.
Either way, they were degrading themselves before a lesser being. Samui hoped Rei wouldn’t stoop to such a low, before he could save her.
-
Flect takes a breath, nodding as the members of Loui’s family introduce themselves. Loui is quick to explain in their tongues, most speaking Japanese while others speak… French, if Flect hears the pronouns they toss around right. He can tell there will be few other allies in this room, and none so bold as to quickly move to his side as the Aoyamas have.
The Aoyama Matron, someone Flect at least recognized from a story Loui told on the plane ride over, looks him directly in the eye. The scar across her chin and throat tell one half of a story, the gratitude when she meets his eyes tells another portion. A small ring on her finger, with an insignia not just of Humarise, but of his closest circle of devotees, tells the last piece he needs to understand her without a word spoken.
Flect sees Loui turn, but he takes the initiative to lower his head to her. He was familiar with that part of Japanese culture, since shaking hands or kissing cheeks were gestures he would never be able to do. He raises his head, seeing her smiling softly and lacing her hand with her husbands.
“So, they’ll really let anyone waltz in.” Despite Otheon’s closeness to Spain and Portugal, Italy was the country with the most influence over it and Klayd’s culture. Old shipping routes, common ancestry, take your boring explanation of choice. All Flect knew was Otheon was full of Italian speakers, and he’d not taken an interest in languages until it was too late to learn them. But there were a number of people here who shared his language, meaning he would need to talk to at least a few of them.
Not on that list was the belligerent Italian man, who Flect vaguely recognized as someone from the Prime Minister’s security. The man had nothing of particular note about him, being a taller type with some sort of Affliction that increased his strength above regular bounds.
Flect turns to face him, allowing his face to resume its typical displeased expression. “Evidently. Though clearly, no one had a problem with that policy, or you would have been removed before the event started.”
The man grits his teeth, walking forward to close the distance. Loui begins to move to block him, but Flect raises a hand to prevent the intercession. He gives his translator a look, taking the flute the man had taken from a passing waiter before the staff recognized who they were serving.
Flect takes only a handful of steps to close the distance, allowing the man to approach him. He makes sure to take just a few steps to the side, lining the man up with a blank bit of the wall of the room. The man was clearly primed to explode, needing only the slightest excuse… And the imperious smile Flect adopts appears to be enough, the man lining a punch with the bridge of Flect’s nose.
The man’s fist stops as it impacts his face, Flect not suffering the force in the slightest. He can feel coils of energy stretching out behind him, his Affliction working to absorb the impressive energy this man was able to put into the blow…
Flect watches the man fly backwards, slamming through the blank portion of wall he’d been lined up with. Several people from the Prime Minister’s delegation all make noises of protest, turning from the slight cloud of wall plaster to the unbothered Flect.
He merely turns, facing the woman who’d recently been elected Prime Minister. She’d courted his backing, but only so far as it got her into the office. She neither believed in Salvation, or even the skin-deep causes Humarise backed. But he approaches her nonetheless, more than one of her guards reaching for side arms. “I recommend you all put those away, unless you wish to join Maestra. I’m sure you remember that unfortunate incident with a rooftop sniper at my talk in New York; it took the poor hotel staff a week to clean that mess up.”
The Prime Minister snaps her fingers twice, all of her guards looking between the two of them. And weapons that had been half drawn are returned to their holsters, teeth setting and glares leveled as the thirty something years young brunette steps up to him. “Your presence is a surprise, Flect. Are the appetizers that appealing?”
Flect lets out a quiet chuckle, two of the guards moving to extract their disloyal co-worker from the mound of wall he was laying motionless in. “While Maestra and I never had the chance to speak directly, she and I shared several notions. I’ve merely come to pay proper respects to a wonderful woman, who lived a long and full life. I wouldn’t think that a crime, would you?”
He raises his glass in a toast, the liquid not even having sloshed when he’d been hit. The Prime Minister reaches for a glass, quickly raising the one her calmest guard offers her without drinking. Flect does, a sip of chilled champagne soothing his parched throat.
Flect turns, seeing the room quickly reevaluating their disdain for him. They pack it away behind false grins and carefully constructed social masks…
Until those constructed visages all slip away for the second time that night. Flect takes a moment, seeing all of their gazes turning to the entryway. He turns… and sees a little hologram projector on the top of the doorframe, constructing a simulacrum of Maestra.
The woman fixes her hair, evidently having taken a few tries to record this video. She was standing, and she adjusted her ‘Sprezzatura’ wrap, looking almost like she was in the same flower decorations as the rest of the room. Though the projection was washed out, making the ensemble dissolve into shades of blue.
She speaks in Italian, with some form of Japanese subtitles appearing in blazing red font in front of her. “My, if Flect Turn doesn’t know how to start a party. I’d have someone check on that poor Minister’s Guard, quickly. He’s not made of the sturnest stuff; a glass skull, jaw and all.”
Maestra turns, almost like she was turning to watch the man be extracted from the pile. Flect quickly walks over to Loui, who's having a quick conversation with his brother in their mother tongue. Flect turns back towards the hologram, holding up his glass as he considers how Maestra could have possibly made this video. Perhaps it was some duplicate, or an artificial projection?
“Now, before we continue, I have to prove my authenticity. Or else people will accuse this Final Will and Testament of a fake, either created by a doppelganger or computer generation." Flect blinks, the woman almost seeming to address his concerns directly. “In the final twenty four hours of my life, I ensured several packages made their way to the right parties. This proffer was sent to an Interim Vice-President of the HPSC, who currently has a check in her hands for no small amount of money. She has verified the… I believe they're called ‘timestamps’? Dating this video to the day before my death, when I begin to set my last rites into motion.”
Flect turns as the HPSC president quickly steps up towards the doorway, a young woman with bluish hair holding out the mentioned check for the president to grab.
“As the HSPC President can attest, now that she’s all but sprinted forward to inspect, it is as authentic as any check can be.” Everyone flinches at that, Maestra turning as if to look at the gray haired woman. “Dear, you needn’t have worn that blue suit of yours. The League of Villains will be too preoccupied tonight, consulting their records on how to make those… NoMu, you call them?”
Maestra throws her hands up, sinking into a chair. One appears under her, obviously only now coming into frame. The two HSPC women quickly move out of the way, a number of Heroes making their way up to form a defensive perimeter between the crowd and the projection… And struggling to hold that line, as people jostle to read the subtitles.
Maestra starts speaking, and the subtitles shift to be over her, as if fixing that problem as well. “Now, there will still be some doubt in my authenticity. To finally put those to bed, I have one request. My nephew, Bruno Gollini. Stop Haunting the champagne station, and bring that manilla envelope I ensured would be delivered to your hotel this morning. At no small expense, delivering a letter to someone not yet at their hotel.”
Flect turns, seeing the man make his way through the crowd. He has a smug grin on his face, holding up an already opened letter, the manilla envelope freshly cracked.
“I know you were raised with more sense, boy! You couldn’t wait to open it until it said so?” Maestra chides him from beyond the grave, but Bruno doesn’t look a bit put off. Flect wasn’t an expert on the Gollini crime family, but he looked positively giddy for the message to continue.
He allows the papers to be snatched by the Prime Minister, who quickly peels through the writing… And she quickly turns to the hologram, the old woman having picked up a glass of wine. Her already pale cheeks blanch, staring as if the hologram began singing her dirtiest secrets in a crude limerick.
Maestra gives the wine a swirl, grinning evilly at the Prime Minister before taking a long sip. “I’ve been waiting for you to hear those words from me for at least thirty long years. Now, with no one to dispute the authenticity of this message, you all had better listen well… Or start recording this message.”
Maestra drains her cup, clearly giving people time to pull out phones. Flect drains his glass, watching the hologram woman almost burst out laughing as she revels in the chaos she had yet to unleash.
The woman smacks her lips, taking a moment before continuing. “It is my last request, In Sound Mind and all that legal jargon, to divide my mortal assets into three neat piles. The manor I have been held prisoner in since I was four, and all important contents recorded in the log I’ve sent to the Gollini family, is to become the rightful property of Bruno Gollini, solely and under no contest. My one condition, which he has happily accepted, is that it become a shelter for the remainder of my living relatives, for seventy four years from the my own demise.”
The Prime Minister and her guard turn to Bruno, who can’t suppress his joyous laughter. Flect almost disagrees with that notion, if only because it brought someone so detestably Afflicted such joy.
Loui leans in, whispering as quietly as he can to Flect. “I apologize, for your arrival being overshadowed.”
Flect shakes his head, almost enjoying the wicked glee as Maestra turns to look at where the Prime Minister would be in nearly a week. “My second division, of several digital assets my lawyer has been cashing out in the past weeks, is to be given to Flect Turn. For all the wonderful work he does with Humarise, protecting those that the government would dub subhuman.”
Flect feels glances aimed his way, leaning to whisper to a stunned Loui. “I think my dignity will survive this assault. Don’t you?”
“My final act to affect this world, as all my others will have been carried out, is to bestow a gift upon Chizome Akiguro.” Flect blinks, the air pressure in the room being affected by the number of people gasping. Because Maestra stands up, looking at an exact spot on the third floor. “Well, come down here. I can’t very well see the Prime Minister shaken by these papers on the ground floor, and see you up on the third. Have that feathered boy you tormented bring you down here, and quick-like.”
Flect turns, looking up to the balcony of the seemingly unused Third Floor. He can’t see it from his angle, but he hears gasps as a man begins descending. He was in as nondescript clothes as the HSPC could find on short notice, with red feathers bringing him down at a slow pace…
Stain is unceremoniously dropped the last eight feet, quickly catching himself like a cat. He straightens up, the blond hero who was controlling the feathers, quickly offering a fake apology.
“Have some manners, Keigo Takami. You’ll need them, when you’re in charge of the Heroes of Japan.” The boy, Keigo apparently, does a full body flinch when Maestra calls him out. Flect can literally see the wave of it pass over him, his feathers fluffing out as he turns. So, he can control each feather individually, but it also has some sort of bodily reaction?
Flect shakes his head, refusing to let himself be distracted. Everyone allows the Villain a wide berth as he walks forward, the man slowly padding forward while scanning towards where the HPSC President ran off to the side.
He finally stops in front of Maestra, whose wine glass has since been refilled and partially drained as she waits. “There you are… Goodness, the Commission is not treating you well. You need to be eating more, young man; I know you’re all lean and fast, but you don’t need to Faste to be fast.”
Chizome crossed his arms across him, reading the subtitles as they hung in the air. He begins tapping his foot, as if each beat of his foot can make the hologram go faster.
“To Chizome Akiguro, I have two things I offer you. I offer you my condolences, for what your government has done to you. And what they will do to those who support you, and merely harbor well wishes for you in your heart. And I would give you a gift, if it wouldn’t merely be ripped from your hands the next moment. So, I’ve seen to it that the student you never wished for will keep it safe for you. You will see her again in a scant six weeks time, and she will ensure you have it. And then, you will prove to yourself the real content of your character.”
Maestra stops, the seven lines all displaying at once in a cascade… A series of seven lines. Flect raises an eyebrow, knowing how that woman dealt in sevens on sevens. It was almost as annoying as the Americans, and their insistence on never having multiple sixes together...
Six months. Six months was the assumed time table of the Trigger Bombs testing and deploying. The only problem with the plan was the astronomical funding, which was part of why Flect had been willing to bend his head to the Carabinieri and HPSC. But now… Flect raises his glass, careful to tamp down his grin and hide what he couldn’t stop. Because now, the Disease that afflicted so many had it's days numbered.
And Humarise would ensure that disease was stamped out. And ensure Humanity’s Salvation…
“And never let it be said I am an ungracious guest. I should hope all of you in attendance enjoy this party, celebrating my life better than I was given the chance to. So eat, drink, and be merry! I only ever got to do two of those, so indulge!” Maestra raises her wine glass, a few Italians in the crowd raising their nearly forgotten flutes.
The hologram glitches for a moment, seeming to reset to the beginning. It then shuts off, a long few seconds of silence as everyone tries to think of what to do. Loui takes a breath, leaning in and whispering. “And you thought our meeting tomorrow with the Hassaikai was going to be chaotic.”
-
Tenya tries not to show anything, standing next to Eijiro and Momo in the party. Partially because everyone will assume he’s the one boiling over in anger, and not look at Momo's shaking hard enough to flatten her sparkling water. Whether it was residual anger at the imposition of her Uncle, or dread at her villainous roots, wasn’t something Tenya was worried about.
No, he was doing the math in his head. Because… Well, he was starting to notice a few things he’d not thought to check. Like the Commission’s story about Stain, even when there were intentionally contradicting details. Details he should have noticed, but allowed himself to ignore…
Stain begins walking away from the hologram projector, back towards the stairs to the top levels. The level he’d been hiding on the whole party, watching them as from his new position as a Commission Draftee. So Kodai’s information had been right, even if it had been the wrong person…
No, Tenya is proven wrong again. From the shadows of a side room emerges a darker skinned woman, one who could probably fade into the background without many noticing the departure. Only she had flower buds growing out of her skin, up and down the arm to contrast against the sleeveless pastel dress she wore.
She quickly saddles right next to Stain, grinning and excitedly whispering to him. The man goes still next to her, only to quickly melt into a discomforted but acquiescing partner as she walks him towards that side room. Tenya watches the two of them, tracking how the social dynamics of the party had changed. And how Hawks quickly begins crossing the room after them, whispering remarks to the people he was passing the whole way to crudely cover the tailing.
“Wow… That is crazy, isn’t it?” Eijiro ties the whole thing up in a bow, from the brawl that wasn’t to the will reading to the flaunting of the Hero Killer working for the Hero Commission.
“Quite… Yaoyorozu, I believe your mother mentioned some introductions that need making over that direction. May I accompany you?” Momo looks at Tenya, who tries to offer a steadying arm to rely on. She takes a moment, and passes her glass to a passing waiter to take his arm.
Of course, it wasn’t just as easy as following where they’d seen Stain last. Tenya fixes his best smile on, nearly everyone they passed making the time to greet them. There was a rhythm to these sorts of events, rings within rings spinning in opposite directions. You introduce yourself to the Host, and slowly make your way around the important people on the walls, hoping you pass the less important introductions between the bigger ones.
Cutting across the floor together certainly drew them attention, Momo quick to head it off with a depreciating comment when someone asked if they were dating. “Not tonight, Moto-dono. If we can keep a secret between women, I just need a hand finding a quiet place to trade into lower heels.”
Momo needed to only whisper that deflection a second time for Tenya to side-along into it, rumors of their romantic lives laid to rest for the time being. They would flare back up again in the future, but Momo and Tenya seem to be in agreement that they weren’t that sort of compatible.
They finally cross through the doorway that Stain and Black Dahlia had not minutes ago, seeing a faint trailing path of darker black flowers leading around a corner into a smaller side room. And Tenya could see a number of red feathers, remembering how Hawks would sneak a few around Manual’s Agency to know whenever someone was coming near their conversation.
Considering the Hero was still out on the floor, being swarmed at a leisurely pace with eager introductions, Tenya supposed he and Momo would have at least a minute to say their piece. If they were lucky, they might have three. And considering there wasn’t anyone in this area to try and stop them, they might guess that was the case.
Tenya and Momo carefully check the corner, seeing a sitting room that seemed to be a Forward Disengagement Zone for the Heroes and Commission staff. Several chairs and a pair of couches line the walls, a central table with a fair piling of mini-snacks. So when there wasn’t a major disruption, Tenya would assume about a half dozen Heroes would be in this room, and substitute out with whoever was on their feet the longest.
There was also an ice chest, probably with water for everyone. But Black Dahlia has Stain’s feet on it, his pant legs rolled up as she checks his ankles. Tenya spots the ankle monitor on Stain, taking a second to realize Black Dahlia had one too. All the flowers and the bright pastel dress made it hard to look anywhere on her in specific. “Barely a sprain, might not be bad enough to count as Grade 1. Some icing tonight, and you’ll be right as rain.”
Stain takes a breath, swinging his legs off the ice chest. “You didn’t have to do any of that. I’ve leapt multiple stories before, and walked it off…”
“Yeah, well that sort of strain is exactly why you need to be careful. Never know when you’ll need to leg it, with these… people…” Tenya looks up, Black Dahlia obviously spotting them as they peak around the corner.
Black Dahlia gives a little twiddling of her fingers, her version of a wave ‘Hello’. Stain immediately turns, instantly ready for the worst… And Tenya sees him relax slightly, still tense but not immediately ready to act.
Tenya takes a breath, walking around the corner. Momo moves with him, the two of them immediately checking the corners for the cameras they assumed were there. “Comfortable, but efficient.”
“Older model cameras, sight and sound with a hard to hack system.” Tenya turns, Momo spotting the details before looking at Stain. “I could make you a gel pack for your ankle, if you’d like.”
Stain raises his eyebrows, shrugging. Black Dahlia stands up straighter, Tenya having a hard time squaring her appearance with the previous images he’d had of her. A quiet, calculating serial killer as the news had reported her when she was sent to prison, and a softer moral grey figure from Kyouka’s music, all the way back when Aizawa was in the hospital after the U.S.J. attack. “Oh, you’re that Printer Girl… Yao-Momo, no?”
Momo nods, her face flushing a little. “Yaoyorozu, but yes. Just give me a moment… Tenya, could you help me with my shoulder?”
Tenya blinks, Momo reaching to adjust her right shoulder. He quickly follows, desperately ignoring what looked like a bra strap as the light blue liquid contained in plastic emerges from her upper back.
Tenya fixes her shoulder back up, Momo waving his hands away to finish it herself. He slaps the thing in his hand, the crystals in it quickly bringing the mixture to a freezing point that he can then hand to Stain.
The Hero Killer watches the whole process silently, waiting for Momo to let out a breath and stop fixing her dress before speaking. “You’re a confusing person, Yaoyorozu. Considering the last time you saw me, you ran a blade through what you thought was my chest with little thought.”
“Yeah, you were saying she matched your Clone pretty well in a sword fight. You’re a legend around the Commission, little lady.” Black Dahlia plucks a rose from her arm, offering it to Momo with a smile and a wink. Momo takes it, the villainess plopping down in a chair a few steps from Stain.
Tenya sees Momo trying to compose her words, so he goes to his point with Stain. “The Nomu that attacked you… Was it the same one that ambushed you and my brother, a few weeks ago?”
Stain looks at him, folding a leg up on the couch to ice it. “It isn’t very easy to tell those things apart, and I didn’t get a good look the first time. But I’m told the wound profile was very similar, even if the recovery differed greatly.”
Tenya takes a breath, taking that information and contemplating it. So Stain knew, Tensei probably knew, and Him and his Classmates probably knew… But the world was being fed a different story. The Commission was lying, purely for their benefit…
“Yeah, give my compliments to your classmate with the Healing Quirk. I would have done a lot of things for one of those, with my typical patient way back when…” Black Dahlia shrugs when the three turn to look at her, turning and plucking a few more flowers from her arm. Her skin didn’t look like it was being ripped up, which almost interests Tenya enough to have a minor Midoriya moment to consider its mechanics.
But Momo finishes her composing, finally asking her question. “I… Would your double have held back, in our fight?”
Stain looks at her for a long moment, then offers a bowed head. “The clone is its own entity, so I can only guess. But you and that tail boy, Ojiro… I wouldn’t hold anything back, especially since I knew I wasn’t making it out of that situation without being captured. You bested me in a fair contest.”
Momo takes the bowed head in, returning the gesture when Stain straightens up. “Then I owe you a thanks as well, for a true match of skill. If the Commission sees fit to compel you into service, I might appreciate the chance to challenge you properly, with wooden blades instead of steel and plasma.”
Stain takes a moment, letting out a little huff of a laugh. “And the Commission wonders why I dislike their corruption of Heroism. Two promising individuals like you, their potential ready to be squandered for a camera…”
“Screw the cameras.” Tenya cuts Stain off, the man almost having a triumphant glimmer when Tenya speaks. “I wanted to know the truth, not the Commission’s spin of what happened. I knew they did it, in response to other events. Even when they shouldn’t, and people would be better off knowing the truth. But I didn’t think… I thought they wouldn’t lie to my face about events I was there for.”
Stain grins, that triumph becoming very obvious as he leans back. “If they lied to you about something you were there for, what else aren’t they telling you?”
Tenya grits his teeth, Momo taking a moment to check the room. She steps near the entryway, then doubles back for Tenya. “I think it’s best if this meeting stays between the four of us, for the time being.”
Tenya looks at Stain for a long moment, then nods and takes Momo’s offered arm. “Agreed. Stain… Akiguro-kun, I hope your ankle feels better in the morning.”
Tenya turns, and he and Momo quickly make away from that room before anyone can see them. Two Italian Heroes see them as they come within public view, neither of whom Tenya knows enough about to guess if they were subtle.
“Wait… Right.” Momo stops, and fiddles with the side of her dress. Tenya turns, and moves to block that side from view as she pulls open a narrow hole hidden in the fabric.
The stomach of the dress bulged out slightly, Momo quickly pulling out a shorter set of heels. Momo leans on his shoulder as she trades out the shoes, looking at her current set with a bit of fondness. Tenya looks for a long moment, then turns to the coat check at the front. “I can get those back to you tomorrow night, Monday morning at the latest.”
Momo follows his gaze, and nods before passing them along… And she looks up at him, giving him a concerned look. “You… I think we should talk, a bit more often.”
Tenya takes a breath, holding up the shoes. “I agree, but not here. After class?”
Momo nods, and the two of them break away. Tenya takes a long moment, running through the notes in his head of all the things the Commission could have told him that wasn’t true… And a number of things he told the Commission that definitely were.