Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mineta missed his purple hero suit. And his toenails. This sucked.

In all his years of schooling and hero training, even after he'd come out of a war, grim and reeling, he had never imagined himself in this kind of role. It was unprecedented, and Pro Hero Camouflage had caught him entirely by surprise with his offer.

Mineta wasn't stupid: he knew that post-war changes to the Hero system would majorly mess up his chances of getting into an agency worth their salt, and that wasn't even taking into account how the system changes would affect agencies and rankings overall, so he was prepared to live out the rest of his career in relative anonymity as long as it got him some action from adoring fans.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed that the world was against him and was going out of its way to cockblock him because Hero popularity had taken an immediate nosedive, with many people lobbying for an overhaul of the ranking system and some arguing that the Hero industry itself was toxic and needed to be done away with.

He understood their reasons, but frankly their reasons were stupid. If you used more than five braincells you'd realize that a limited, restrictive authority like the police could do jack against real villains since their jobs lay largely in the containment, interrogation and processing domain. When a ten-foot monster with metal spikes and an alligator tail started chomping on the bank building what were they gonna do? Ask him to please stand down? A quirked society needed heroes, or at least some authority that had the jurisdiction to act freely when incidents got out of hand.

All of this to say, the world hated Mineta and wanted him to die of blue balls. He was still ferreting away at paperwork at his old agency when he'd caught a glance at the pretty secretary who always greeted him in the mornings. She was walking with someone who he'd never seen before but who reminded him of Aizawa sensei in the way he carried himself (and no, this reminder did NOT make tears well up in his eyes, he was just allergic to dust)! But that was where the similarities ended, because the man had broad shoulders, supermodel hair and an unfair complexion.

He was also wearing camouflage pants with a beige shirt. Sometimes Mineta wondered if God purposefully gave pretty people terrible fashion sense to balance the scales. Either way, more for him. However, unlike most pretty people, this man was not smiling. He looked uncharacteristically serious for his age and it was only this that compelled Mineta to follow the two silently out the hallway and into a small conference room.

He'd found that people were less likely to look down or up than they were to look to the side, and he exploited this shamelessly. Even Pro Heroes let down their guards inside heavily fortified agencies, so it was often pretty easy to slip into meetings or skip out on work as long as someone didn't come looking for him.

He maneuvered himself into the corner of the table where the chairs overlapped it and wondered what juicy gossip he'd hear this time. The ladies down at Bento Bake often tolerated him if he had stories to share, rounding him up and prodding until he either relented or left the establishment.

"What do you mean in the red? Rei you can't be serious! It's an agency! How is it possible to run out of people?"

"That's what I'm saying, Ichinose-san! I understand that everyone is understaffed as it is what with everything, but there have been graduates that came through to you guys, didn't they? Class 3-A graduated this year, you're telling me none have been recruited here?"

Silence on the other end. Huh, that was odd.

"So there have been. Please, Ichinose-san, we are in urgent need. I'm willing to train up recruits if needed, and willing to significantly increase not only their salary but your commission too. But please don't make me sit here and watch as Frontliners goes down."

"I understand that, but you've got to understand that agencies picked up the new ones like hot cakes. Everyone is struggling and everyone is understaffed. Things have not been the same since HPSC went down and I can't sell out our only picks and sabotage my place of work for yours."

"If you knew how important this was-"

"I do! But they don't, Rei, and they won't understand my reasoning and I wouldn't blame them for it."

"And I'm not going to sit back either, so either you get me an appointment with your Head or I declare a head hunt at the next Hero event. Your pick."

More silence. Minoru was horribly intrigued. What was going on?

"I'll get you that appointment. But come prepared. You might as well be asking the man to hand you the clothes off his back."

"Thank you." The relief in those two words seemed disproportionate to the situation, but the hero's tone throughout the entirety of the conversation had been much too desperate and panicked than the situation warranted in his opinion.

The secretary - Ichinose-san? - walked him out the door and Mineta quietly made his way back to his office wondering what exactly he had stumbled upon. This train of thinking was of course entirely separate to the little factoid he'd discovered that apparently Miss Goody-Good Good was not as good as she appeared and had a history of shuffling around recruits into different agencies after they'd been accepted into this one for commissions. What an incredible piece of information. Just made her hotter in his opinion.

He resolved to try to ask her out again when he clocked out today. 57th time's the charm, he always says. You have never said that, you boiled grape, and you know it. Shut up, imaginary Denki. She'll say yes today.

She said no.

58th time's the charm I always sa- Shut up Mineta. Shutting up.

Given what he'd overheard, it was no surprise that Bossman blew up his office on Thursday.

The Head of Minoru's agency was temperamental and well-known to lose sight of his reason when confronted directly about things he'd made clear he wanted nothing to do with. It didn't help that his Quirk often ended up disrupting whatever floor he was on with his furious scrabbling and so his office was relegated to the ground floor despite that being against the norm.

However, Bossman didn't mind because even though he seemed really intimidating and harsh when you caught him at a bad time, he was fairly down to earth and quite protective of his employees. He was also a mole, so maybe that factored into the earth bit.

Regardless, Mineta had never felt unsafe with him, except that one time he had gotten caught skipping out on paperwork to go to a blind dating event. And the first time he'd been interviewed for the job.

Mineta remembered quivering in his tiny yellow boots when Pro Hero Ground Break loomed over him, squinting his beady black eyes at him, as if assessing if he was worth it after all.

Ground Break wasn't a household name and never would be - he was too plain for that - but his agency did the important work of recruiting average heroes. All the other top agencies competed for the flashiest quirks and the top dogs of every damned sports festival or ceremony.

Who bothered with the ones who were left behind? Those that had potential, but were neither bad enough nor good enough to draw anyone's attention? Agencies like Ground's took them in and made them the largest percent of any hero task force.

After nabbing all the flashiest and most expensive heroes, top agencies then turned pleading eyes at these middling organizations for backup, clean-up, restoration, evacuation, long-term operations, and undercover work. Safe to say, 'middling agencies' did pretty much all the work while the top dogs got the credit and the fame.

What a miserable exchange.

Okay, so he's still a little bitter, sue him. Most of his classmates were either naturally gifted, or had worked hard enough to surpass their mediocrity and gotten accepted into their preferred agencies. Some were even thinking of opening up their own. Minoru couldn't even begin to imagine being at that point in life. He was still here, several steps behind everyone else, life as usual for the little grape juice hero.

Shoving down his rather uncharitable thoughts for so early in the day, Minoru watered the little grape vine curling it's way across his window (the only personal touch he'd settled for in his office) and tried to concentrate on reading his fellows' handwriting.

He couldn't though, because everyone on his floor was straining to hear the commotion inside Boss man's office. He peeked over to see Ichinose-san looking distinctly uncomfortable and wincing every time she heard the yelling re-ensue. After fifteen minutes, the noise died down and Mineta went back to looking wistfully out the window towards where smoke was rising from the city center. Villain attack, then.

He wished it was him out there.

Hey, he was a hero even though he was a slacker, and all this sitting around and paperwork was making him restless.

A knock startled him out of his seat.

"Grape Juice, sir? You are being called in. Please report to Ground Break's office immediately."

The scene inside the office was disastrous. Mud and cement was piled up everywhere, and at Minoru's incredulous stare, Bossman looked slightly abashed.

"Err, ahem. Grape Juice, this is Pro Hero Camouflage. Please sit down, we have something important to discuss."

Camouflage looked like he'd been pelted with dirty diapers. It was a very specific kind of expression that Minoru was aware of only because his mom made that same face when she changed little Mimi and she decided to use that time to relieve herself onto her caregiver mid-change. It was not a good expression.

"I'm sorry, your name is Grape Juice? I'm recruiting a hero not having a garden party! Mole, what the hell kind of brat are you giving me? Do you remember anything I talked about?" The last part was practically a hiss with how clenched his teeth were.

Minoru was not too prideful to admit his own shortcomings, nor was he hesitant to turn tail and run when things got too dicey unlike some people - cough, Bakugou and Midoriya - and was well aware of his inability to be a good hero, but this beautiful man was pissing him off. He'd have no way of knowing Minoru had spied on him, but still chose to be rude on a first meeting. What a douche.

Handsome too. Shut your lying mouth, Denki.

Before he could retort, Bossman pinned Camouflage with a glare. "You came to me, begging for what I could give you despite my own troubles, and when I offer you a perfectly good candidate you turn around and badmouth him to me? Remind me if I forget, but who's in charge here? This is my office, Camouflage, so sit your ass down and listen. If you don't like it, leave."

Unhappy, but not able to reply, Camouflage did indeed seat himself before Bossman cleared his throat.

"As I was saying, Pro Hero Grape Juice," Minoru's eyes widened at the use of his full title.

What in the world was going on?

"This is Pro Hero Camouflage. Despite initial impressions I promise he is not always this much of a bonehead. He runs the agency known as Frontliners. Given your sensei, you might know it."

Minoru shook his head.

"Unsurprising. Frontliners is primarily for Underground heroes, a lesser-known haven for those who hate the fame and don't want to play the popularity game to get paid. In recent years, the hero population has dramatically receded, and so not enough people means even less of those who are willing to work without recognition.

All agencies have suffered but underground ones most of all. Pro Hero Camouflage here is much the same. He wants to offer you a work contract eligible for one year as a trial period. If you would be okay with accepting, then you will be temporarily transferred to his agency quarters until your period is complete. After that you may decide if you want to renew your contract with him, or come back to our agency. What do you think?"

"Woah, woah, woah, back up. Where is this even coming from? And why me? And what sort of work will I even do? And what do I get out of this? Why am I suddenly being transferred?"

Bossman and Camouflage nodded approvingly. The synchrony made Minoru want to giggle hysterically. He managed to swallow it down.

"You'd be compensated handsomely for your troubles of course. Believe me, I had no thoughts about letting you go, but Camouflage approached me with a request for his dwindling numbers and asked if there was anyone I could spare who would fit the criteria. Among our very talented staff, there are few whose quirks or dispositions are uniquely suited to undercover work, so you were a clear choice."

What? Minoru had never thought of himself as an underground hero. To be fair, most of his time was spent daydreaming about all the girls he'd nab after becoming rich and famous but those were fantasies he'd hung on to even after the war, as a way to escape the reality of his career.

All he did was run away, these days.

"Me? I was a clear choice?" His tone was far too disbelieving, and he heard Camouflage scoff. What a colossal jerk.

Bossman looked at him with some fondness. He was a sap for all his employees. Minoru wished he didn't find it nearly as endearing as he did.

"Of course, Grape Juice. You are small and unassuming, with a fantastic quirk for getting out of tough spots. Your stealth and ability to blend in are great abilities and you lack nothing in the way of social skills, aside from your occasional foray into unfortunate... casanovian behavior."

Camouflage's eyes narrow at that and he glares at Minoru as if Minoru had flirted with his mom. He would have, but she wasn't even here!

"Boy, are you going to harass my workers because if so, so help me God, I'd rather walk out of here with noth-"

"I am a Pro Hero, Camouflage." Minoru interrupted neatly, eyes closed, smile wide.

He was seething. He could handle some disrespect, and this hero wasn't even all wrong, Minoru had done a lot of things until now that could be - and often were - counted as harassment, but he had never jeopardized someone's life, or his vows as a hero, for it.

Maybe he was a pervert, or an incorrigible flirt that no girls seemed to like, but he was not the type of person that bullied people or made them quit out of discomfort. And now more than ever, since he'd had some epiphanies about where he stood, his desire to prove something had come back with a vengeance. He hated the way this man came in and dismissed three years of intense training and a war he'd been through before he even talked to him with a straight face.

"What I do outside of hero work, or in my own time is not your business! In fact, everything you've said so far has been unrelated to my abilities as a hero. As Bossman said, maybe you should sit down and let me consider your offer instead of rejecting you outright as I should. But hey, if you wanna blow your chances, it's cool with me. I never wanted to change agencies anyway."

Eyes narrowing, Camouflage leaned back into his seat. From the corner of his eye, Minoru thought he saw Bossman give him a proud smirk. He felt proud of himself too.

Baby steps.

"Calm your pants, Hero. I was only asking if your habits spill into your hero work. I'm a leader, and I have a responsibility to the people in my team. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel as it is, I can't bring in someone who might hurt my workers, or create an uncomfortable working environment. Things at my agency are often tough and tense. Adding someone with the wrong sort of chemistry could have severe consequences."

Jerk or not, Mineta was intrigued. What kind of work was so delicate that it needed chemistry? And he couldn't deny that his reasoning was sound. Minoru's insecurities were not others' to tiptoe around and he could be quite a disruption at the best of times. Feeling a little guilty at his harsh response and more than a little embarrassed at how wide open he'd left his defense to the others, he nodded in acceptance.

Still smirking, Bossman continued, "Grape Juice, I think you are a good fit for the job. It is also a good opportunity for you to grow and learn in an environment different from one you are used to. Many heroes often find their calling by working in a variety of fields, and I thought this was something that might interest you and help you develop some more skills. Keep in mind that this is a choice you must not make lightly. The next year, should you choose to switch, will be full of challenges. You may not come back until the year is up. That is why I recommend you take the rest of today off to read through Firstliner's paperwork and question Camouflage if you need to. Once you have decided, we can talk about specifics. Are you agreeable?"

Color him intrigued. He nodded and turned towards the hero next to him."I think you'd better come with me to my office. If we keep him here any longer, Bossman is going to do worse than rip up his flooring again."

Bossman grumbled something about cheeky little upstarts who needed boxing around the ears but Minoru just smirked.

"I'll call Ichinose-san in to collect your sorry ass, shall I? Have fun, Bossman! She's not happy with you right now." He slammed the door behind him, chortling at the secretary to go deal with the mess in the office and didn't notice the way Camouflage's eyes widened then narrowed in sudden suspicion.

"Have a seat," he gestured vaguely at the chair, pumping up his own chair to reach even playing ground with this incredibly tall human. Not for the last time, he sent up a complaint to the heavens for having the audacity to give him yet another disadvantage in a world of giants.

"Now, I had a few ques-"

"How did you know about Ichinose-san?" Camouflage interrupted. Man, this guy was really rude. Did he grow up in a barn? Where were his manners? Was he a foreigner? Wait, was he?

Minoru looked at him as if he was very clearly addled. "She's a secretary who sits at the front desk. Obviously I know who she is, I work here."

"No, I mean why did you call her Ichinose-san? How do you know that name? Everyone else calls her Kinoko-san. And I would have known if you two were that close and you are not. I had no idea who you even were until today. So what gives?"

"Again I don't see how this is any business of yours what I call her? Camouflage, this is really not going to work if you keep butting into my life and analyzing all my interactions with girls. There's a lot of stuff you're not gonna wanna see, I promise."

Grimacing, Camouflage persisted, "That incredibly concerning statement aside, I still must insist on knowing why you called her that. She and I are childhood friends, and that name is a bit of an inside joke. There is no way you could have known it unless she told you herself, which she hasn't, so what gives?”

Minoru felt a sweat drop slide down his neck. Oh no. There was no way to laugh something like that off, and he didn't know enough about Kinoko-san apparently to try lying about their closeness.

" I... May or may not have accidentally eavesdropped on a conversation?"

Camouflage raised a perfect brow, "Accidentally?"

"...Accidentally on purpose."

By the end of the day, Minoru had a thick wad of paper at his desk to read through, the promise of more on the way and a job switch recommended by two separate heroes to contemplate.

He'd never asked for this. Why did God insist on testing him so often? There go his plans to spend some 'me time' with a few new beauties on the modeling scene and then pass out on his futon. Now, instead of living a totally mediocre life of heroism, he had to think and consider his options to increase his ambition and reanalyze his motivations.

Yeah, Camouflage had not been super impressed with his work ethic. Whatever. He was sure everyone would agree that Mineta Minorou was burdened with a very difficult life.

Oh yeah, very burdened indeed. Shut up, Denki.

Chapter Text

Whatever Minoru had expected of an underground spy agency, it was not this. The halls were brightly lit, the walls and flooring a cheerful white, opening up the space through the sunlight glinting off tiling, and surprisingly, rather fancy-looking designs carved at regular intervals and above office doors.

Camouflage noticed him looking.

"Ah, now those are courtesy of our very own Kenta-kun who is a bit of an architecture fanatic and refused to have an agency painted a 'soul-sucking white' without being able to add some variety to the building. He insisted on doing it himself despite the risk." Camouflage shook his head chuckling.

Minoru looked around in wonderment. "What risk?" he asked.

"Well, hero agencies are always built to be replaceable you know? Can't really put too much emotion into a building that might get blown up by vengeful villains the next day. It happens much too often, and would cost too much to replace, so it's usually advisable to make it as cookie-cutter as possible for easy reconstruction."

Camouflage, who still hadn't introduced himself properly, had met Minoru at the front door. Part of Minoru knew that this was because the jerk definitely held a grudge from their previous meetings where his appreciation of the female gender had been made very much clear.

Anyhow, he wasn't too pressed about it because it was his first day at Frontliners and he was very much excited. For the first time in a long time, he was doing something new. He had something to look forward to, even if according to Camouflage he was 'an idiot who only had his own death to look forward to.'

For all his irritating barking, Camouflage had not much of a bite. The guy was an ikemen used to being fawned over and had never intimidated anyone in his life. He cruised through life on his good looks and charm, needing not much more than that to make people fall at his feet. On the other hand, Minoru who had had both Aizawa and Bossman as his primary supervisors, seemed to have the upper hand for once.

And boy, did he have fun with it.

He'd made up his mind about joining Frontliners the same day as the offer, but he'd made Camouflage really beg him for it the next few weeks. While he filed away his things and closed up his paperwork, he pretended to be conflicted so Camouflage would have to convince him. The day he explained his job to his replacement, he met up with Camouflage to explain that it was so traumatic for him to think about undercover work because of Aizawa-sensei. He spent that evening internally dying of laughter watching Camouflage flail around trying to reassure and support a fellow pro hero unloading their tragic backstory at him. When he eventually did find out, Minoru could say goodbye to peace forever, but it was so much fun to mess with this guy.

"Ah, and this is Fuji-san. She is the heart and soul of this agency, so please never piss her off, or we will all have to do without tea or coffee or juice or food or oxygen for the next few days."

The lady in question - Fuji-san - raised her eyebrows and gave a small chuckle. "Well I'm certainly flattered. Please don't pay him much mind, Minoru-san, he's a drama queen."

Minoru laughed delightedly, already liking this woman. "He is, isn't he. Do you know he almost got himself kicked out of our boss' room because he wouldn't stop yelling when he first met me?"

As Camouflage squawked in rage in the background, Fuji-san's grin grew wider. "Yes, well, that sounds like him. Bullying Camouflage is an unofficial requirement for our employees. I can tell you will fit in well. Welcome to Frontliners, Minoru-san!"

Camouflage grumbled his way into the next introduction. Minoru was feeling really good about his day so far. He'd been introduced to Kawa-san and Yuri-san in the communications room, three other pro heroes in their offices, had a tour of the well-equipped but small training room and gym and were now heading into the support rooms to meet up with the most important people.

When one got into the hero course of any school, one got an over-inflated sense of self. Because his classmates had all gotten into UA, the most prestigious hero school in Japan, they'd all assumed that they were the main characters; that they were the best of the best, and that they needed no one else.

After the war, and during those two years of hero schooling, Minoru and his classmates realized just how insignificant they were in comparison to the support and business course. The thing is, quirks being used offensively is great and all, but most quirks have heavy side effects, which only become greater as their owners push them to their utmost limits every day. All power comes at a price, the ultimate balance of the world.

Fresh-faced fifteen-year-olds don't understand that. Crippled, jaded, scarred sixteen and seventeen-year-olds do.

Aizawa needed support for his eyes and limbs, Bakugou needed constant heart monitoring, and Tsu needed support for the tongue that used to be her ultimate tool and now had very little of the same limber, agile abilities. Jirou needed ear support and so did Bakugou. In fact, at one point, Jirou had even considered dropping heroics completely because her hearing had been so damaged in the war. Mina needed support gear to stop her acid from eating away at her skin from overuse, and Tokoyami needed a lot of extra support for the direction he was taking in his techniques. Everyone suddenly realized that the support course students were the real backbone of heroes, the ones who allowed them to continue their dream jobs past twenty years of age.

And when they graduated, they learnt about how they should have been much kinder to the business course. They really should've begged at their feet, because now their careers were in the hands of these upstarts who didn't look too kindly upon Class 3-A graduates who'd never so much as greeted them in the hallways of a school they all attended for three years.

All in all, Minoru and his classmates were a bunch of idiots who'd shot themselves in the foot when it came to networking and relations and their teachers had apparently thought it was funny to see them suffer.

So now, as they approached the first floor, he readied himself to be on his absolute best behavior. The elevator doors opened to a loud, screeching sound that echoed in the hallway and just about blasted Minoru's eardrums. This was followed by immediate silence and then someone screamed. Fire licked at the edges of the door to the left and before Minoru could run over or yell or anything, because fire, the flames disappeared. There was hushed yelling coming from behind the door and as they approached, Minoru snuck a glance at Camouflage.

He looked…resigned. His face was the one Tou-san made when Kaa-san tried to put up the shelves or assemble a table by herself. It was a face of pure and utter disappointment, resignation, and weariness. It was the face of suffering.

Minoru immediately loved whoever was behind that door with all his heart.

The door opened right as the screeching started again only to die a swift and vicious death as Camouflage stepped in. There were two people in the workshop, clearly the culprits.

It reminded Minoru that Hatsume Mei wasn't an exception in the support course, she was the norm. Correction, she was the only crazy who also somewhat handled social interaction. All the other crazies told/paid the extroverts to do it for them so they could stay in their little caves and tinker to their heart's content all day.

The two - a girl and a boy - turned guilty faces towards their boss. They were covered in soot and grease. The boy was dark-skinned, almost ebony, with all sorts of gadgets and gizmos sticking out from random places, a truly gigantic belt of tools strapped to his waist. He had curly hair, some of it matted down with ash or something like dust. Soot, probably. He had a mischievous expression, face stuck in a constant smirk, like any moment now, you'd fall for a prank you'd never seen coming. Minoru's first thought was that Aizawa-sensei would hate this boy, and then proceed to immediately adopt him. He'd probably call him Problem Child Number Four.

(The thought almost brought Minoru to his knees. A heart-wrenching pang of nostalgia and yearning came upon him. It was so sudden that he felt tears spring into his eyes and all he could do was quickly rub at them and hope the others thought it was soot. It was truly horrendous how much he missed his school some days, the people, the teachers, the building, all of it.)

It was too unpleasant to think about now, so Minoru crushed the sad thoughts under his heel and realized that he was losing his edge. He hadn't even checked out the girl yet!

While the two babbled to Camouflage about how this was definitely not their fault in ever-rising voices, Minoru observed the girl.

She was young, probably around his age, and had her hair wrapped in an odd-looking braid that fell to her chest. Despite her efforts, the hair at the top had exploded out of the style and proceeded to move in wisps around her face as she gestured dramatically at her partner. Her hands and nails were dyed a bright fuchsia, and her veins bulged in thick arms. She looked like she was cosplaying a clown at a smithy. Her skin was brown and covered in alternating dark and light spots, like a leopard, eyes tilting up at the edges and smirk dangerous with the glint of a sharp tooth.

She looked like she ate pro heroes like Minoru for a living.

Oh, mamma mia. No wonder Camouflage had gotten so pissy about Minoru's…hobbies.

When he tuned back into the conversation, the girl was pleading her case to Camouflage. "Look, he came in and said the comms weren't working so I was gonna fix that, honest!"

"And did you?" came Camouflage's stern voice.

The girl pouted. "No," she mumbled.

"What did you do instead?"

More pouting, oh be calm his beating heart. "I rigged him up with some lasers?"

Camouflage spoke clearly with no inflection, "You rigged up. An an undercover hero who has a stealth quirk. With lasers."

"Yes?"

Camouflage deflated like a balloon. He stuffed his face in his hands and started asking God what he could possibly have done that he was forced to suffer this way.

"Do you want that list chronological or alphabetized?" came a low, drawling voice from the corner of the room.

Minoru almost wet his hero suit. How had he not noticed that there was another person?

The man had melded himself with the shadows in the corner of the wall, and as he emerged, Minoru saw the wild lavender hair, the familiar tired eyes (oh, Aizawa-sensei), and the ever-present scarf.

He must have made a squeak or something because the man turned to him immediately. His eyes widened.

"Mineta?" asked Shinsou Hitoshi, "Mineta Minoru?"

On his list of 'things I expected at Firstliners' 'meeting Shinsou Hitoshi' was decidedly not mentioned. To be fair, Minoru was a terrible guesser and really should not be making any predictions about the future at all, but even the fortune tellers would forgive him this one.

"Shinsou?!" squeaked Minoru, eyes near popping out of their sockets. In slow, syrupy movements, as if his quirk had been made specifically to mortify him in front of some of the coolest bastards in Japan, one purple ball plopped off his head and onto the ground.

Everyone's eyes tracked the round, shiny grape thing roll its way over, and over, and over until it came to rest in the shadows of the workshop table.

Tick.

Tock.

Time seemed to align with the blink of Shinsou's tired eyes. The several metal devices on the table clinked.

Tick.

"JUST PRETEND YOU DIDN'T SEE THAT! THAT NEVER HAPPENED!"

"What never happened?"

"DON'T PRETEND YOU DIDN'T JUST SEE THAT!"

"Mixed messages here, Mineta. Do you want me to see it or not?"

"I hate you so much."

"Big mood."

Camouflage chose that moment to make himself known. "Soooo…is it just me, or did your hair just fall off, Grape Juice? Is that normal? Healthcare costs are covered in your contract you know? Do you need to get that looked at, or…"

Minoru shoved his flaming face in his hands. Curse his quirk, curse his entire self, he wanted to disappear from the planet and float off into space. Maybe he should ask Uravity. No, she hated him - actually, that was an idea. Maybe she'd do it because she hated him, yes -

"Earth to Grape Juice-san."

"It's…it's a quirk thing."

"That seems rather concerning?"

"No it's…my quirk adapts the strength of my balls to the quality of my emotions. Being well-rested, clear-headed, or happy makes them extra strong at sticking, or gives them extra bounce. If I'm sick physically, or mentally disturbed it makes them less durable and a lot duller. You just - surprised me, is all."

"So," and here Shinsou's mouth twitches with impending chaos, "You're saying your balls stick more if you've eaten more food, like Momo-san?"

"Not eaten more, necessarily, more like if my digestive system is in peak condition, why?"

"So, what you're saying is your balls are stronger when you take a good- "

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP I'LL KILL YOU- "

"I'd like to see you try, Grape Juice- "

By the time the dust had settled on that argument, Camouflage was holding a broom with a beleaguered expression, and the two Support workers were grinning in delight.

Minoru tentatively hoped that what was probably the path to an early retirement in any other agency was a "welcome! you fit right in!" moment with these chaos gremlins.

Perhaps things were looking up for him, finally.

"I'm never letting you forget that, Mineta, I hope you know that."

"Also, did I just hear you call him Grape Juice, Shin-chan? Why the ever loving mother of Earth would someone name themsleves that, is that your real name?"

Uravity take him now.

Shinsou's office was a small, rather cramped space, with one gigantic window at the back struggling to light up the space all on its own. Unlike Minoru, Shinsou had no need or desire to put up any personal belongings; one would know it's his simply from the smell of stale coffee, and the pillow on the desk.

There were papers everywhere, spilling from the table, stuffed in the small cabinet on the side, and even, to Minoru's bafflement, stuck to the ceiling. When he pointed it out, Shinsou had the audacity to huff a laugh and pull out his phone.

"Hey, so you forgot to take my papers off the ceiling? Can I have them back now?"

The person on the other end said something scathing, and Shinsou's mouth tucked up into a reluctant smile. Minoru noticed how dark the circles under his eyes were. Of course, it was basically a part of his identity to be sleep-deprived but last he'd seen, Shinsou had been doing pretty well in sleep rehab and seemed to be following a plan that worked for him. The difference now was almost concerning, with how his eyes looked like they'd been placed in wells of darkness.

Minoru hoped everything was okay.

Shinsou got off the phone, "She said no," he chuckled.

"Who did?"

"Uravity. She came two days ago to give me some details on a raid and sat there stripping my hide for the next two hours. Apparently the papers are super important but she's punishing me by telling me I need to take care of myself until she decides they can come down."

Minoru smiled, despite himself, "They're a bunch of nosy mother-hens aren't they?"

Shinsou grinned, "That they are. Anyway, welcome to the agency and my office blah blah blah…"

He turned around, muttering to himself and rummaging around his desk, "I'm sure I had it somewhere…yes, aha!" He triumphantly pulled out a mini fridge from under the desk (where had he been hiding that thing?) and presented it to Minoru.

"I knew it was here somewhere! A perfect time to eat it. Do you want cake?"

Minoru nodded, increasingly worried for his sleepy classmate.

Despite looking like death had warmed over, he was chipper and talkative, something Minoru had rarely ever seen in the two years they had spent together. Shinsou's whole MO was that he was a sleepy-looking bastard who was grumpy, rude enough to give Bakugou a run for his money, and chronically tired. It was unsettling to see him act like a normal human being and Minoru was quickly getting tired of these new revelations.

Why couldn't everyone act according to his expectations and be exactly who they were at 18 forever? Unfair. It was unfair that the character development arc always seemed to miss him.

Something light pink was shoved into his face. "Cake?"

While weirded out, Minoru wasn't stupid enough to refuse cake. It was the best cake he had ever eaten.

Seeing his bugged-out eyes, Shinsou smirked. "Good, right? Sato gave it to me when he dropped by. Honestly, bless that man. He's an angel, a being of pure light that blesses us with sugar highs when we need them."

Minoru ignored the urge to point out that the hero didn't need sugar highs. He needed sleep and a hearty meal.

"You two seem…close."

"Me and Sato? Yeah, I guess. I chose this agency especially to get away from the lot, but you know how they are. Stuck like clingy little leeches all of them. Moving halfway across the city didn't deter them at all. I think Uraraka left a tracker on me or something because the way I get ambushed everyhwere is becoming detrimental to my career as an underground hero, not to mention ruining my street cred."

Minoru snorted, "What street cred, you loser," and caught the piece of cake aimed at his face with one of his balls.

He looked directly into Shinsou's tired eyes as he ate the whole thing off of it, relishing the grossed-out expression on his face.

Once they were done, Shinsou offered to take him around to meet the business management team, but he was starting to sway on his feet sort of hypnotically slow and Minoru feared he might split his head open on the stairs, so he commanded him rather sternly to get some sleep and headed upstairs.

The third floor housed the styling team, the PR team, the insurance team, the HR, and all the other none-of-Minoru's-business teams that dealt with the public. Camouflage had remained on the first floor to deal with the damage in the workshop, so Minoru would have to make this trip alone.

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door that simply said, 'Yoshida Miyo - Styling Consultant'. Unlike the bottom two floors, this one was quiet, no hustle bustle, and was painted a plain white.

The knob turned and a woman poked her head out. She was older, rather dignified looking, and wore her hair in a stunning entanglement of braids that reminded Minoru of those Viking styles his mum had once tried to get his dad to do for Halloween.

He immediately felt his shoulders relax. He was in good hands, here.

The lady's eyes fell to him and the frown cleared from her brows. "And who might you be, young man?"

"Mineta Minoru, ma'am, Pro Hero Grape Juice? It's my first day here, I was told to come meet you?"

She smiled down at him, "Oh yes! Please come in."

Minoru walked into a new dimension, apparently, because the inside looked nothing like the outside. It looked like a giant walk-in closet, with a table in the middle, and mannequins standing randomly at intervals. There were clothes simply everywhere, and Minoru's eyes snagged multiple times on the glittery, skimpy, clothing hanging on the far end, and the magazines and posters with pretty heroes scattered around. He decided there and then that he wouldn't mind visiting this heaven every day.

His attention turned back to the lady - Yoshida-san - as she ushered him to the center. "Now then," she began immediately, snapping a tape measure rather violently, "basics."

By the time he had been measured within an inch of his life, he was feeling very verbally abused. Halfway through the measuring of his waist, (and having to listen to Yoshida-san muttering about mutant quirks and their stupid proportions) her assistant had popped around the corner to ask her about something.

It seemed that everyone at Frontliners was an absolute sass bag, because the minute his eyes fell on Minoru, Kenta-kun lit up with mischief. It was obvious that the whole agency thrived on lovingly bullying their employees, but Minoru was beginning to feel slightly harassed. Perhaps this is why Camouflage always looked so bothered.

Ah, maybe there was a reason he was also such a jerk. It must be nice to take a break from constantly being a victim of the evil machinations of his staff. Whatever, he was still a douchebag to Minoru and that wasn't changing anytime soon.

Speaking of douchebags, "My, oh my, well Yoshida-sensei, I know heroes have a terrible sense of style, but it keeps getting worse doesn't it? I think this is the worst I've ever seen, and I've worked at Manual's!"

The smooth, affected voice reminded him a lot of Aoyama, but Minoru didn't want to kill Aoyama. Or beat him over the head with a machete.

Yoshida-san paid Kenta no mind. "Mineta-san, turn this way please."

"So, Mineta-kun…what's your Pro Hero name?"

Minoru glared at him silently. Nothing good will ever come out of telling him that information. Instead, he turned to Yoshida-san.

"Actually, my proportions aren't due to mutant quirks. I have dwarfism."

Yoshida-san snapped her head up toward his face from where she was crouched down measuring his legs. "Dwarfism? And this is you particularly, or does it run in the family?"

"Runs in the family. Except my youngest sister."

"Hmm, I see. Okay, thank you dear. And are you on any medications for this? Which oils are you using for your joints?"

Minoru rubbed his head sheepishly. It's one thing to live as a dwarf in a society full of wonderfully diverse and strange people. It was another thing to talk about how his genetic code imbalanced him and made life harder, as if someone was telling him he was born wrong, and needed to fix it. Of course, he was aware that this was stupid, and that many people including his classmates regularly used medications and ointments to lessen the impact on their bodies, but the immediate shame was hard to get rid of.

And stupid Kenta was still staring.

"I'm not really on any medications, but I have some oils from home that I use when my joints get really sore?"

Yoshida-san looked disapproving. "You don't use any medications? None? Judging from your height, you probably have quite a bit of joint pain, not to mention possible lower back pain, and the amount of pressure on your knees must be considerable. Am I wrong?"

Minoru really felt his Mom must have somehow possessed Yoshida-san's body to scold him from across the country. "Sorry," he muttered dejectedly. "It's just hard to maintain an oiling routine every day. And some days I'm not even moving! It's only paperwork so it doesn't even hurt that much!"

Yoshida-san's eyebrows had reached her hairline. "You mean to tell me, that as a Pro Hero, you are unable to keep a basic self-care routine of some oil and pills? What is UA teaching these days? Make no mistake, Mineta-san, I will be having a discussion with Aizawa-san about how this could possibly have escaped his notice."

Dread zapped across Minoru's nerves. "No, please," he begged, "please Yoshida-san I will take whatever you give me from now on. Aizawa-sensei didn't know. I never told him I wasn't taking care of it."

Aizawa would kill him if he knew. There had been more than one lesson dedicated to self-care and routine-keeping as a pro hero, especially after the war had highlighted how different their lives would be from normal people.

Minoru remembered three very memorable sessions of this sort where All Might had been strong-armed into sitting with the students and had been glared at pointedly whenever the word 'self-neglect' came up. It had been hilarious.

It wasn't so hilarious now. Minoru kept up his best pleading face until Yoshida-san looked slightly mollified. "Hm. I will be discreet for now. I won't give you anything, but you need to get a checkup done before you go for your first mission and get all the basics done. Make sure to file your full eval with admin. I will inform Chief if you do not, are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Honestly, you heroes just keep getting worse. Anyway, now back to styling. Mineta-san, I regret to inform you that despite my eight years of expereince in the specialized field of quirk styling, I can make head nor tails of this suit of yours. What, exactly, is this?"

She pointed to his waist-gear, and he explained with his cheeks burning that it was meant to be both armor and prevent his costume from sticking to his quirk and trapping him. It was also helpful in rolling around, which was a welcome relief for his poor legs in difficult situations when running on them would take too long.

Kenta cackled in the back, yelling about diapers and the babies at UA Support who'd made such a monstrosity.

Without glancing, Yoshida-san snapped out her tape measure, which shot toward Kenta at lightning speed, slapping across his chest on its way back. He choked on the cackle and yelped covering his chest with his hands, gazing at Yoshida-san with wide, betrayed eyes.

Minoru laughed out loud and Yoshida-san eyed him with amusement. "Now then, dear, how attached are you to your costume?"

"Not particularly? I like my cape, though, so can we keep that?"

"Capes are not the most effecient, and are much more likely to get caught in things. Not to mention, this cape is banana yellow, dear. It will not be stealthy. I imagine someone could spot you from miles away."

Minoru pondered this, but he had grown fond of the cape, and if it had been because Midoriya had worn a very similar one when they had gone to rescue him, and that memory had made him feel closer to the boy and thus a real hero for the first time, no it hadn't.

"I'd like to keep the cape as it is, please."

"Alright, dear. Then we must work with what we have, now your boots…"

When Minoru emerged a couple hours later, his costume had been through an extreme overhaul, not that there had been much to work with in the first place, and he had not only been restyled, he had also submitted a request for Change of Hero Name.

Apparently, heroes did this all the time, because often, twenty-five-year-olds did not really want to be associated with who they were in high school, and costume or name changes were very common.

Minoru had to admit that Kenta-kun, despite his irritating personality and annoying voice, was pretty good at suggesting alternatives and solutions tailored to a person's tastes.

The Binding Hero: Adhesion was a much better name than Fresh Picked Grape Juice, but Minoru was still not happy with the amount of howling Kenta had done when he'd heard it. The sounds were still echoing in his ear, but at least Kenta had been reduced to a fetal position on the ground, hands clutching the stitches at his sides and stomach cramping. Also, Yoshida-san had been very disappointed in him. Seeing Kenta sulk like a baby at her disapproval had been satisfactory.

Anyway, the designs and forms had been drawn up, and it was only a matter of filing the name change with admin and he was home free.

The day had been exhausting and full of new information and it would take a while to sort all of it out.

It was only as Minoru was passing out on his futon that he realized that it had been the first time in a while that he had completely forgotten to admire the models in his 'special magazines.'

He felt full - like his heart had been completely satisfied with today, his body tired and heavy, and contentment settled over him. It was the pride of knowing today had been productive and well-spent, and that his new agency was home to people he might find a home in, something he had been missing in his soul since he graduated, and it was that warmth that called sleep to pull his eyelids shut.

He that can take rest, is greater than he that can take cities. Thanks, Denki.

Benjamin Franklin, you know. Who?

Chapter Text

Minoru was in deep, deep trouble.

He was supposed to call home every three days, but the honeymoon period of joining a new agency hadn't worn off yet and he'd been busy preparing for his first mission yesterday.

He'd forgotten to call.

He'd forgotten to do the only thing that guaranteed his stay in the city and he was never going to hear the end of it. Kaa-san was a human tornado and would tear down his door to get to him if she had to.

The smaller they are, the fiercer. That's because all that anger has nowhere to go. Thank you so much, Denki, for the unnecessary commentary. I'm glad you can rejoice at my untimely death. No problemo my dude.

With a grimace, he quickly checked his messages.

A singular question mark. Sent two hours ago.

Heaven have mercy on him. He dialed her number.

"Minoru, baby?"

"Hi, Kaa-san. Sorry, I had a lot going on, I really didn't mean to forget promise! Please don't kill me!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting.

"Mimi said she misses you, brat. When are you planning to visit?"

He let out a sigh of relief. Safe.

"Not now, Kaa-san, that's for sure. I just recently changed agencies- "

"CHANGED AGENCIES when was this?!" demanded Mineta Hinano. "Are you telling me," she continued dangerously, "that you got an offer, filed paperwork, and got officiated all before bothering to so much as notify your poor, aging parents?! What kind of son are you? Does filial piety mean nothing to you, Minoru?"

Minoru sighed into the mic. "You're not old, Kaa-san- "

"I AM DYING, BABY, YOUR TOU-CHAN IS DANGLING IN HIS GRAVE! Mahiro tell your son how we're dying!"

His father's amused voice came over the phone, warm and deep. Aptly named, Mineta Mahiro was a stocky, broadly built powerhouse of a man who'd decided early on in life to lean into the whole 'dwarf' theme for laughs and giggles. He looked like he'd walked out of a medieval tavern and sounded just like it too.

His father's deep, hearty laughs punctuated his words as he struggled to pretend that he was dying of malnutrition over the lunch table. As if he wasn't built like a bull and as strong as one too.

Despite himself, and despite the pretense of annoyance he was trying to maintain, Minoru felt himself melt into the merriment. It was always like that when he called home.

Throughout the jumbled-up mess that had been his life, Minoru's family had staunchly stayed the same as ever, roasting him and loving him in equal measures. He'd grown up wanting for nothing, and after the war and the things he'd heard about some classmates of his, he'd appreciated that more than anything.

"What happened, Minoru-chan? Why did you switch agencies?"

Minoru brought his parents up to date on all the incidents that had occurred since their last call as well as regaling them with all the unique quirks his neighbours seemed to have - the grandma underneath his floor, the teenager he suspected was growing weed, and the couple upstairs who didn't let up on their ahem….late-night loving.

"Except," he ranted into the phone, "it's not late night! It's all night, at all ungodly hours of the morning, at high noon, at sunset, and once even at eleven a.m. in the morning, Kaa-san!"

"Stop laughing, it's serious! I have so much to do every day, and I can't get a lick of sleep at night with them just going at it, and what kind of barbarian is he anyway, what type of man has that sort of stamina!"

"Well, son, I'd tell you, but your Kaa-san might not appreciate it."

Minoru recoiled, "EWW," he shrieked, "Tou-chan I didn't need to know that, Kaa-san cover Mimi's ears! She doesn't need to hear this! Tou-chan!"

Over the tinny speaker, he could hear his mother absolutely losing it in the background, and he could imagine his father giving her that stupid salacious grin and waggling his bushy eyebrows like a madman.

This was some kind of foreplay for them, he knew, and the fact that he knew that was depressing enough that he gingerly put the phone to his ear again.

"Son," his father said as he calmed down, "make sure to send us the details for your new agency, insurance, salary, address if you shifted - though you better not have without telling us - and the number of the closest hospital. Have you gotten your yearly checkup already?"

Oh, yeah. He'd forgotten that his parents monitored him like they had a third eye. "Sure, I'll send it after the call. How's Mimi been? Can I talk to her?"

Shinsou was waiting with Fuji-san at Camouflage's office entrance when Minoru approached them after lunch.

They'd agreed to meet up at around one thirty to give Minoru an emergency run-down in case he needed it, or to answer any last-minute questions. Minoru had spent all of last night and much of today's phone call freaking out about it, so he had many.

Much more patiently than he had expected, (and honestly, much more patiently than he deserved) both Fuji-san and Shinsou settled his doubts.

It was his first undercover mission. It was supposed to be super easy, as it was a trial run for his compatibility with Frontliners, but as Minoru had recently been informed, the protocol, response method, expectations, and goals were completely different from the regular hero work that he was used to.

For example, his comms had to be hidden under his clothes, he wasn't allowed to wear his costume because they were supposed to blend in, and this was taking place at a really seedy pub in the red light district.

It was also a bit more panicky because no one was coming in for backup, since Minoru was backup. If he messed up, he could put Shinsou's life in jeopardy, and as he'd been reading, fights in seedy pubs could get out of hand, fast.

The only way to succeed was to do everything perfectly, and as he'd also been told, it never went perfectly. All he could do was obsessively study the map of the place and sketch out all potential escape routes and memorize them.

If he failed, they could all be outed, and then this case was a bust.

It was a case that Frontliners had been pursuing for a whole year, and had just now gotten in with the villains due to Shinsou's quirk. The hero had worked entire nights trying to gain their trust and planning 'random meet-ups' in excruciating detail.

That answered Minoru's questions about his tired eyes.

But it just made him that much more anxious. Had Frontliners not been struggling with staff shortages, he never would have been allowed to come on this mission, especially as someone who was basically on probation period. But Camouflage had to include him because otherwise Fuji-san alone would have to guard both entrances and that would have been dangerous.

Shinsou and Fuji-san were basically on baby-sitting duty and it made him desperate to perform well.

"Ready, Bondo?" Shinsou shot him a firm look.

It was…meant to reassure, he guessed?

As it was, his eyes and flat expression made him look more menacing. He'd opted to get some piercings done, to make first impressions more authentic, and all Minoru could do was admire his commitment to his hero work.

He'd never even consider body modification just for work. Honestly, was he the only one in Class 3-A with a healthy work/life balance, or was everyone else just extremely insane?

They were so passionate about something they did as a job, that Minoru could only sit there in silence wondering what was wrong with him that he sought to be a more normal dude.

Getting pierced to be seen as more 'gangsta' for your job, was like supergluing a briefcase to your hand for a 9-5 boring desk job. Hmm, he could see Iida doing that, actually.

Absolutely bonkers every last one of them.

Minoru didn't know why he associated with them, they were very embarrassing.

"Ready, Nighthide."

Fuji-san - Pro Hero Sentra - cleared her throat, and bobbed her head. "Move out," she commanded.

Despite how long he'd spent memorizing the details of the place, seeing it in person was very different, and Minoru immediately panicked. He couldn't figure out his escape routes like this!

He'd get lost, no doubt about it and then he would fail everyone and then Shinsou would get injured and Camouflage would say, "I already knew you were a disappointment," and then he'd get sent back to Bossman who'd be so sad and then he'd fail as a hero and he'd never get to touch another set of boo-

"Adhesion, remember your task. Enterance B is yours. Keep an eye on Nighthide. This is your last instruction until mission is over. Over."

Right. Time to do his job.

It went disastrously.

The villain was only a lackey, new to the scene and still somewhat naïve. That was why Shinsou had targeted him. But he was flighty and still scared of being found out.

No matter how helpful Shinsou's quirk was, the victim could tell that there had been some amount of time that was missing. Some even said they could feel his presence in their head. And this villain was too on edge for Shinsou to safely keep using his quirk.

He'd tried, Minoru could tell, but the man had narrowed his eyes immediately and shaken his head, looking even more wary.

After half an hour of one-sided conversation, the villain had startled violently when Shinsou reached his hand toward him.

He'd only meant to establish a point of connection, perhaps to place a tracker, but the damage was done. The man yelled something and pushed Shinsou away, running to the exit, breaking up the crowd, and intentionally making himself harder to follow. The other nasty characters in the pub didn't take too kindly to this and immediately, Shinsou was surrounded.

Minoru needed to move, and fast.

He slipped into the pub, using his short height to weave in between people's legs.

It was absolute pandemonium and he escalated it by using his quirk to trip people, flip them over, jostle them, or just kick at their knees.

He disappeared before they saw who did it.

With his heart in his throat, he approached the circle around Shinsou and tried to catch his eye. He hoped Shinsou knew to look down for help, not up.

Trying to block out all the noise and crashing of glass, he found a space between two people who looked less beefy, and so less likely to squash him into grape juice, and as quietly as possible, stuck a ball to one's back. Then he kicked the other one at such an angle, that he would fall directly onto the ball. He only hoped the ball dissolved before they could identify the thing, otherwise he'd be off this undercover gig before it started.

As soon as the one lost his balance, he crashed directly into his neighbor. They had had different tattoos, so Minoru hoped they weren't friends.

He was right.

As soon as the angry roaring started, the circle broke up to attend to that conflict, and Minoru pointedly snuck his eyes from Shinsou to the door.

Then he walked out.

As soon as he was out, he went back to his previous position and waited. Shinsou burst out of the pub, followed by a barrage of people wanting to escape, pushing and shoving and looking like angry bees on the narrow pavement.

Amongst all the noise, Shinsou power-walked over to Minoru who led him swiftly through the alleyways until they finally emerged at their meeting point in the city.

Heart in his throat, Minoru had been right about getting lost. Twice, he'd turned down the wrong path and had hoped beyond hope that Shinsou hadn't realized his mistake.

Thankfully, he's managed to get them back on track. Guess the map made a little more sense now that he had seen what the streets actually looked like. All that anxiety hadn't gone to waste after all.

This whole time, neither had uttered a word. In fact, had Minoru not known he was being tailed, he would have assumed he was entirely alone. 

Losing marks on the situational awareness there, aren't you Mineta-kun? Go choke on a charger, spazz.

Rude.

The two loitered at rendevous point A, getting more worried as time ticked by with no sign of Fuji-san. Suddenly, their comms crackled back to life, making them jump.

"Guess what, boys," Fuji-san smirked over the comms, "I'm making you pay for everyone's coffee for a full week for the favor I just did you. Nighthide, you better kiss my damn feet when I come back. Over."

Shinsou groaned. "Please don't gloat. Yes, we all know you're the greatest. Will you take the win respectfully like a dignified Hero if I bring you your overpriced bean juice? Or will you continue to take advantage of your poor, underpaid juniors, who did I mention, are underpaid? Over."

"Shut your lying mouth, Nighthide, you literally have the highest salary of all of us! Do you know how many years I've been working for Frontliners? Six years! Six years, and all I get is sass from little UA nepo babies who're too high and mighty to show a little respect to their seniors by treating them to a coffee or two! Over."

"Hey," protested Minoru, "don't drag me into this, I didn't even say anything."

"Don't be a kiss ass, Cranberry Juice," Shinsou groused at him, "and you have to say over. Over."

Minoru stared. What juice?

"Are you talking to me?"

Shinsou grinned evilly. "Sure am, Mango Pulp. Why, do you not like your new name? Also, say over. Over."

"It's literally not even close to my hero name. Which, by the way, I just had changed, you know that. I know you know that."

"Yeah but it's so boring. I liked the old one better. But it's no bother. As you can see, I have no problems coming up with my own creations. Say over." He insisted, ignoring Minoru's gasp of offense, and stretching his arms languidly, snapping something to Fuji-san over the comms, and waving as she arrived at their spot.

Minoru was beginning to question his elation at joining this stupid, god-forsaken agency.

Children, all of them.

He refused to acknowledge how their teamwork and chemistry made a little orb glow in his chest. It was simply pride at not having fumbled his first mission, that's all.

The next mission went off the rails too.

At this point, Minoru was coming to the realization that this was basically how missions went in this agency. Or perhaps this was how all underground work went?

He had known, from patrols he'd done with Aizawa-sensei, that underground heroes often patrolled at night and came face-to-face with some of the nastiest bastards out there, but most of it had been extremely boring and involved a lot of trudging through dirty, stinking alleyways chasing cats in dumpsters and getting splashed by sewer water.

Also, his sleep schedule had been basically non-existent at that point. It was the only time he'd managed to scare both Ojiro and Todoroki in sparring.

Despite the overall suck of it all, that remained a personal favorite in his memories.

Todoroki and Ojiro both looked unflappable, but Todoroki had had this pinched, flat-line expression which for anyone else translated into wide-eyed, shocked screaming.

Minoru had been so tired, he'd forgotten to be human. He'd decided that if he was expected to attend classes all day and also patrol all night without any rest like some sort of freak on drugs, then he could damn well act like one.

The minute the whistle sounded, he'd barrelled straight toward Todoroki screaming like a lunatic, throwing balls like his life depended on it. He'd absolutely covered Ojiro in the things, especially because Ojiro wouldn't be able to do much with his limbs stuck together.

Todoroki, he'd gotten by pure shock value since Minoru was a strategic fighter and rarely ever jumped into fights without a plan.

Against monsters like Todoroki nothing usually ever worked anyway.

He'd been lucky that Todoroki had no idea what was wrong with him and was really bad at processing change, so he was frozen there, awkwardly staring at Minoru as he jumped on him screaming bloody murder and using that opportunity to bind his hands together.

Unfortunately, Todoroki didn't stay still long enough for him to do maximum damage, but he still struggled to melt or freeze the balls off. During that time, Minoru had picked up Ojiro and proceeded to absolutely throw him - balls and all - onto a distracted Todoroki.

All his situational awareness couldn't help him with his hands bound together and he crumpled underneath the boy, both going down with a scream.

They staunchly refuse to admit whose scream made Bakugou break out into bellowing guffaws every time he remembered it for the next month.

Out of mortification at his own feral behavior (seriously, he'd seen the taped version back and he looked like the alley cats he'd fought against the night before) he'd not mentioned that it had been a harmonized scream where Ojiro did the bass and Todoroki supplemented it with his own high notes.

Minoru hadn't even known Todoroki had that range.

Only for the duration of that one class, did Uraraka and Jirou look at him with something like respect in their eyes.

Anyway, all this to say: underground work sucked and Minoru had promised himself that if he ever agreed to such a thing voluntarily he would officially check himself into a mental hospital.

Unfortunately, he couldn't do that because mental hospitals also had bills, and the very thing causing his downfall was also the only thing capable of paying it off.

His personal vendetta against capitalism aside, Minoru was exhausted. He'd been on three missions back-to-back with various Frontliner heroes and had learned a whole lot of very useful information. As he'd been informed before, the modus operandi for things in this line of work was worlds away from what he'd been used to as a daytime hero.

For one, if it was a newer case (as it should be if they were doing their job right), they were going in blind for the most part. There just wasn't enough information because they were the ones who provided all the data.

The files Minoru had received before, he'd never considered how they'd reached him. But now he was made aware of just how important they'd been, and how many people put their lives on the line just to get them to him safely.

Agencies like Frontliners sent their heroes in on the down-low to various villainous groups and tried to gather all the information possible before destroying or majorly damaging their operations.

If they didn't succeed, or if they suspected there was more than one location, they sent the file that Minoru, Shinsou, Fuji-san, Camouflage, and others risked their lives for, to a big daytime hero agency where they reviewed it and carried out raids with their heavy-hitters.

"Hence the name Frontliners, by the way," Shinsou had told him on one of their stakeouts. "We're the first in line, like pawns on a chess board. We take all of the initial risks and damages, but the final blow is usually credited to the rooks, knights, and queens."

Minoru made a face at that. "Seems a garbage deal," he complained, "I never understood why you guys would volunatrily go for this rather than daytime heroism. This is harder, and you get no credit, no babes, and no awards either. All I've learnt so far is that I could die in a ditch doing my job and nobody would care. How does this industry even run?"

Shinsou tilted his head. "You're right," he said simply, "if you go into this job with the idea that you will be performing feats of dramatic heroism that people will applaud you for, or get screentime on TV, then this is a terrible deal. You won't survive this."

"But," he continued, looking at Minoru in the eyes, "if you come into this job with the knowledge that true heroism is doing what must be done for the good of the world, whether you get recognition or not, it won't be a deal breaker for you. In fact, you'll prefer being able to do your work quietly and be more than okay with those boneheads taking the credit because it takes the spotlight off you.

For me, in particular, my quirk is only beneficial when everybody and their cat doesn't know what it does. The minute I come into daytime heroism or get any media attention, my entire schtick is over. I can still get by with quirkless fighting, but I can count my hero days over. Either that, or I start from zero again with some gear that may or may not function as I want. Both ways, it's a hassle and not likely to happen."

This was the most Minoru had ever heard Shinsou speak. He stared at him, slack-jawed trying to process all this information he'd never thought about, and wondering how he'd never clocked Shinsou's passion for hero work despite how his transfer to the course must have taken real dedication.

"What's up with you people, you're so motivated. Leave some heroism for the rest of us, damn. Don't you get tired of being such a good person all the time? You need to stop or I might catch your disease," he muttered under his breath, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could check himself.

Then, he huffed a little laugh, "No offence, though, man. I'm just a little jealous of your drive, that's all."

He was gratified to see Shinsou 'I'm allergic to emotion' Hitoshi rise in color like a blushing maiden, pale pink blossoming from his neck and rising rapidly upwards to his hairline.

A vein bulged in his forehead and suddenly he looked very shiny under the dim lighting of the street corner they were hiding in.

He looked at Minoru with wide, unseeing eyes, stuttering out several 'what's shoujo protagonist-style. He also looked like his life was flashing in front of his eyes.

It was all extremely comical.

Forgetting all about his embarrassment at saying things he had never truly verbalized before, Minoru chuckled evilly, "Cat got your tongue, Shin-chan? I told you, that feline obsession you inherited from Aizawa-sensei is no good."

Shinsou stuttered at him.

Paying him no mind, Minoru tsked, delighted at this opportunity to tease him when he was down, "Tsk, tsk, you know, you're only feeding Todoroki's conspiracies when you do that. Not to mention the insomnia, the gear, the hair style, the creepy grin…Really, you're a worse fanboy than Midoriya and he's crazy."

Pro Hero Nighthide growled. But it was like a kitten growling at a bulldog for how intimidating it was. Minoru had the upper hand right now, and he was relishing it.

It wasn't easy to best Shinsou at verbal sparring because he was usually so quick-witted and unfazed. Being able to win at something against him was giving Minoru a sadistic rush of pleasure.

Minoru had long suspected that he was not entirely normal, but then, no one had ever accused Class 3-A of normalcy.

"Why, I should just start telling Camouflage the reason our missions take twice as long in the Western sector," he said smiling innocently, "because it's so unprofessional isn't it, to stop every two minutes to pet a little kitt- "

It was this that finally broke him. "Don't you dare take away my cat petting time, Space Balls," he hissed slapping his hand over Minoru's mouth.

It was gross and they were standing on a dirty pavement, so Minoru gagged and succeeded in freeing himself from an irate Shinsou.

The surprisingly philosophical man was still somewhat pink, although irritation had replaced the wonder in his eyes. Minoru wondered if people just didn't compliment Shinsou to his face very often. Perhaps, like Bakugou, they assumed he already knew and didn't want to add to his ego.

Well, that's a secret Minoru was willing to exploit until Shinsou quirked him into stopping.

Maybe there were some good aspects to underground. All the waiting around let you in on some very delicious blackmail material.

Regardless, it was something to think about. Heroism had always been about applause and attention to Minoru. He'd always thought that if one was putting one's life on the line to perform mind-bending feats of bravery that normal people weren't willing to do, then it was because the attention gave them the energy.

In fact, people better applaud if Minoru was fighting monsters that made him want to piss his pants. It was a fair deal; he was doing them a favor, and in return, he asked for their neverending praise and validation.

This thought had only gotten stronger after the war. He'd always understood Bakugou's motivations in that regard at least. The man was crazy, but he and Midoriya basically shredded their bodies (and to some degree their souls, he was sure) to save Japan. Many of the heroes too, like Miruko and Hawks losing entire limbs or quirks to make it happen.

What was all of it for, if no one ever acknowledged it?

There had to be acknowledgment to balance out the loss, he'd thought.

And until now, despite all of Midoriya's heroic speeches, he'd never considered that it was anything but lip service. He'd imagined these were all the pretty things one had to say as the Symbol of Peace, to soothe the people.

He'd thought they all knew differently in their hearts. Bakugou's bragging at every opportunity and Todoroki's tendency to show off had cemented it.

For the first time, he was forced to consider that all that lip service might be actual feelings.

Decisions.

Real intentions.

To do good no matter the cost if only for one's principles.

Damn, he hated this job.

First, he had to have a good work ethic to go on these nasty missions, and now it was forcing him to examine his place in the world or whatever.

He hadn't as much as looked at a woman in weeks, he was so busy! Well, except Fuji-san, but she was too likely to kill him and send him home in a body bag for him to safely admire her the way her body deserved.

Scary women were easy to fantasize about until you saw them casually stab a man in his crotch for trying to kidnap a little student, and then grind their heel into the knife still stuck there.

Minoru and Pro Hero Salamander couldn't look her in the eyes for a week after that.

Remember how he talked about the Grade A suck that was underground missions?

Yeah.

Mineta missed his purple hero suit. And his toenails.

His body was one giant point of pain. His nail beds were red and crusted over, still oozing in some parts, and overall very disgusting. His back and knees hurt from being bolted into place for hours as he tensed and untensed erratically. His head throbbed so badly, he thought he'd pass out if he screamed again. And oh, his throat.

He hadn't ever thought about his nails as a part of his body as much as he had thought about them in the last two hours.

For one thing, pulling out nails was not as swift as he thought it was. It was an extremely slow, agonizing process that left him screaming for it to end, rather than the intensity of the torture.

UA had given them some tools to prepare them for resisting pain, but those were mainly mental exercises and asking various classmates to try their quirks on you while you fought not to give up the quiz answers.

It was all safe, consensual, and you could stop anytime. After all, it wasn't like UA could practice torture on students.

But now he really wished they'd done something because Mineta Minoru had never known pain like this. Curse Camouflage, curse heroics, and curse anything and everything that had led him to this exact moment.

Gremlin - yes, that was really his name, no Minoru was not joking, he'd asked - gave another raucous laugh. He had been there for the last hour, generally passing obnoxious commentary and throwing out questions like, "Are you ready to give up now, little hero? Hahahahahaha," etc., etc.

Despite the name, he looked perfectly well-groomed and reeked of new money. Some classy upstart fancying himself a little rebellion before he got married off to a CEO's daughter with gigantic assets then.

(Another pulse of pain from his feet. He was going to have to survive on pain meds for the next year, he just knew it. No way the oils were going to help his poor knees after all this torture to his limbs. God, Yoshida-san was going to kill him.)

Gremlin laughed his rich-boy laugh again. God, when were his problems going to become Minoru's problems? Because he was begging for it. Give him a rich, expectant millionaire father and a gorgeous potential equally rich wife over getting his toenails pulled and taking the fall for these operations any day. Was suing an employer you had explicitly agreed to work with - and made a conscious decision to choose - possible?

Maybe he should ask Camouflage.

No, the bastard might actually call in a meeting on contractual law and laugh himself sick watching Minoru struggle to stay seated on those metallic slidey chairs for two hours.

Also, he was the employer in question, so.

Either way, he'd clearly chosen the wrong path in life, because while his classmates were out there living it up on the streets, probably getting smooched by hot, adoring fans, he was here in the biting cold of an underground dungeon, strapped to an icy chair, getting his pain levels redefined by a weirdly enthusiastic oxymoron. Emphasis on the moron.

Mineta sighed. He guessed this was penance.

Backup was late.

Actually, that wasn't quite true.

It was more that he didn't have any clue when backup was even due. He'd gone into this knowing that he was taking the fall for a botched mission.

He'd hoped, of course, to be able to do the rescuing rather than be rescued, but the vents had been far too noisy to navigate even for his stature and he had clanged his poor knee against the metal right over the control room.

Also, the movies were a total lie and Minoru deserved compensation for being told such falsehoods about something that was currently killing him. Vents did not, in fact, lead everywhere in the facility to make for easy spy routes. Vents were often connected only based on convenience and you were more likely to come across a dead-end than not.

Long story short, Minoru had been caught like a bug in a glass jar. It was very humiliating, having to be lowered from the ceiling slowly while making intense eye contact with the villains that were about to torture you.

Minoru was sure that moment alone was more humiliating than pissing his pants from the pain.

Anyway, so yeah, he had no idea how long he was here for. He could sense them getting restless as no new information came out, but unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he didn't even have anything to hide.

As a safety precaution, people who were sent together to such risky missions were told to do their tasks individually unless in dire need of help. As such, they were not made aware of any data that could put them in danger.

Minoru hadn't been told a damn thing except for the location and the mission task. He was just as in the dark as the rest.

The Pros on the task would be ushering out the prisoners right about now, hopefully, so Minoru decided he had had enough and passed out blissfully.

When Minoru next opened his eyes, he couldn't. There was so much crust dried around it that he was fully incapable of waking up for a minute.

Once the initial panic faded, he blinked forcefully, as if establishing dominance on the act of waking up, and tried to lift a hand to his eyes. Unsurprisingly, he couldn't do that either. Something was holding onto it…something warm and sticky, wait-

"Mimi?!"

It came out as a rather long croak and he choked halfway through, but it accomplished its goal.

There was an excited shriek, "NIIIII-CHAAAAAN!"

And something (it still hurt too much to swivel his eyes) grabbed at his arm again, a body clambering up onto his stomach to sit.

"Oof," he wheezed, as Mimi's face came into view, her long hair hanging rattily all over his face as she peered at him.

As if the first time wasn't enough, she stuck her face directly in front of his, and shrieked, "NIIII-CHAAAAAAN," a second time.

Well. If he wasn't deaf before, now he was.

Some angel sent down from the heavens pushed her out of his face and replaced it with a glass of water to his lips. He gulped down the whole thing. The dryness in his throat didn't go away, but at least he felt slightly more human.

The angel turned out to be Kaa-san. She looked…normal. So normal, in fact, that it took him a second to recognize that this was a hospital and not his childhood bedroom.

There was a flash of white in the corner of his vision. He turned his head away stubbornly.

"Hi, Kaa-san," he tried for a smile.

He never knew what to say in these scenarios. It was far from the first time he had been at a hospital for injuries but usually they were minor and he was accompanied by people who had gotten even more roughed-up so he could use them as a comparison. Bakugou and Midoriya immediately came to mind, and Sato and Uraraka too.

As it was, he was walking a landmine here, and he had no previous experience to draw from. His mother just looked at him in silence. Then, "Do you want something to eat?"

Yes, actually, because he suddenly realized he hadn't eaten since before the raid…

"Kaa-san," he said suddenly, "what happened? Did they get out? Obviously they did because I'm here, but what about the prisoners? Did anyone get hurt? Oh who am I kidding, they probably won't tell a civilian this, Kaa-san where's my phone, have you seen my phone?"

Silently, still staring, she handed him her phone and lifted Mimi off his stomach. She whined a little but Minoru paid little mind, clacking away at the screen to see the latest news.

The minute he saw the words "Pro Hero Kickback rescues 21," he fell back onto the bed, hands relaxing until the phone slid onto the sheets. The sigh that escaped his mouth was long and burdened. But it was full of relief.

Belatedly, he tacked on, "Thanks, Kaa-san. I just had to make sure, y'know. Can't have gone through all of that for nothing."

He tried for the same old cockiness she knew him for, but it was like his mother had been replaced with a robot. She didn't yell or smother him in affection, she just…looked at him. Then she settled Mimi on her hip, and said, "I'll call your father in."

She leaned over him to press a button and walked out of the room with his sister. He could only stare.

By the time Tou-chan walked in, clearly having rushed from somewhere, Minoru was feeling more settled. A nurse had come in to check on him and explained that he was okay because they'd had a volunteer come in to fix his injuries and that right now, he was simply on some slight painkillers for his toes and throat. Also, he was required to attend therapy every day for a week, then twice a week for the next two months. Joy. Oh, and what was his insurance again?

She'd left him with a bunch of paperwork to fill out, which mysteriously had some parts already written in, and he sighed. Figures, dying in a hospital bed and he still got paperwork.

He'd managed to locate his own phone on the side table and filled out the remaining parts until his father barged in.

"MINORU-CHAN!" he yelled, banging the door open as always. "I'M GLAD YOU'RE OKAY!"

See? That was normal. He instantly relaxed and smiled. "Thanks, Tou-chan, me too! And apparently the doctor fixed everything up so there will be no lasting damage!"

"We were so worried, what happened? Your Kaa-san almost broke a guy's kneecaps in the hallway interrogating him."

Despite the concerning statement, Minoru felt that familiar bubble of mirth grow in his chest. "Did she, now?"

"I tell you, Minoru-chan, every day I fear for my life with this woman. She'll get us blacklisted from this hospital and then where will we go? I keep telling her to tone it down, but noooo."

At this, Minoru actually barked out a laugh even though it hurt his throat. "That won't happen," he declared, "have you seen Bakugou's mom? Or Midoriya's? They're both way worse than Kaa-san, believe me," he reassured him. "Not to mention Yaomomo's dad. Once, he threatened to get a nurse fired when he said Yaomomo wasn't allowed to perform surgery on herself while she was high. It was hilarious."

Tou-chan shook his head, muttering about hero kids and their crazy stories. He pointedly did not look at Minoru's feet. But that was okay. Minoru was also pointedly not looking at his feet.

There was a moment of silence, and Minoru gathered the courage to ask, "What's wrong with Kaa-san?"

"What do you mean?" Tou-chan was trying too hard to sound normal.

"C'mon Tou-chan. She wouldn't even speak to me properly and she took Mimi away too. What's wrong?"

His father sighed. He was silent for such a long time that Minoru thought he was being ignored.

Then, he heaved a great breath and said, "Look, son, we try as much as we can to be regular parents, you know? We do, but it can be so hard sometimes. Hinano and I, we try not to show it because you don't need that on top of everything else but we worry for you all the time."

He hesitated, speaking with great care, "We thought….we thought that the war was the worst of it, that we'd seen the extent of it all, but clearly that was wrong. At least, at that time you were still a minor and they were forced to keep us fully informed by law, which was some consolation. Because even though you were out there, risking your life, we still knew where you were, what you were doing.

I think your Kaa-san had a bit of a shock when her usual methods of extracting information didn't work. She hadn't realized that with you no longer being a minor, she'd be barred from any personal information regarding your missions and such."

"Also," and here he glared at Minoru, "it was news for me that we are no longer your primary guardians. What's that about?"

Minoru gulped. His father was usually mild-mannered, so when he got even a little angry it was always a bit frightening. "Sorry, Tou-chan, but the agency I'm under is my working guardian for work-related injuries. Guardians have to answer all sorts of questions, y'know? And undergo interrogation, or provide urgent updates on cases if they involve medical complications. You guys wouldn't be able to answer all that, or be available all the time. All that information can only come from someone with clearance, and that happens to be my boss or supervisors or other heroes. Especially if it's an ongoing case, or happens to be in a far away location. It's just easier and safer that way."

So… Tou-chan had definitely not liked that answer, but he pursed his lips and didn't argue.

"Minoru-chan," he said seriously, "you're not doing anything too dangerous? You're not going to leave your mother and I…that is, you won't needlessly endanger yourself for a job, right? If…if it's too much, you can always switch back to your old agency. You didn't have any problems there."

The thing is, if Tou-chan had asked this of Minoru even five months ago, he would not have hesitated in reassuring him of his safety. He would have said that there was no way he'd throw himself into risk for a wage because heroism was a job that paid the bills and got him attention, nothing more.

But Hitoshi said that true heroism was about setting the world to rights, that this job was all the more important for how dangerous it was. I remember.

The first time Minoru had seen Camouflage, he had been desperately begging a friend for more people because there had been such a shortage of those who cared about true heroism - those who had saved Japan with their bare hands - heroes from the shadows.

And Aizawa-sensei had never pushed any agenda, but what made a man as tired as he was take all that burden of being a teacher and a part-time hero too? He was always working, giving his all to both jobs and Minoru's classmates had wondered more than once what drove a man like him into such fervor.

Minoru disliked very much that he was perhaps, sort of, beginning to understand.

He looked guiltily at his father, standing there, asking his only son to take care of himself, and whispered, "I'm sorry I can't promise you that, Tou-chan."

Then, rushing to explain himself, he continued, "It's just that I didn't realize until recently how much better I feel being in this new agency. I feel alive, renewed again. Before, it had been safe, but it was so boring after all we had been through, Tou-chan. I thought I'd retire a mediocre hero, and I might still be that, but I feel actually useful here, I feel like I can make a difference. Even the…even the injuries I got - they meant that the prisoners got out and that makes it worth it, right?"

Heart pounding, he looked up. "People are safe, so I'm finally doing my job right, and that's good isn't it, Tou-chan?"

Mineta Mahiro must have seen the naked plea for parental approval in his son's eyes.

Minoru begged him internally to agree.

Tou-chan was a jolly old man now, but he'd not always been that way, and young Minoru had once or twice managed to be on the other end of his ire. The memory was blurred by age, but he could still recall how he'd trembled in his boots, dripping wet on the kitchen floor, the muddy footprints behind him damning evidence of his forgetful actions.

Kaa-san had been no saint either, struggling to have Minoru, disadvantaged in almost every way, confronting the grim reality of her own mortality every day in the face of the world's careless nonchalance, and on the bleached tiles of hospital bathrooms.

But despite all that, when Minoru had announced his decision to go down the reckless path of heroism, out of only the shallowest of desires to reap the benefits of fame, they hadn't refused him. They had sat him down and talked to him, reassured themselves that he didn't go into it ignorant of the risks, but once they had confirmed, they had simply helped him fill out his application.

Mimi hadn't even been born then, and it occurred to Minoru that they had not known if they could ever have another child. Still, they had let him do what he wanted because they were actual angels, who had decided that if their child wanted to challenge the limits of the world, he was entitled to it because his birth had been his parent's challenge to the world too. Born of defiance, and trundling down a path of destruction, head lifted proudly, that was the Mineta way. And Minoru had fulfilled the legacy.

He hoped they were still proud of him.

His father's shoulders sagged and he gave his wife a tired smile. She'd come in while her son was giving his little speech, holding their daughter's hand. She'd looked so on the edge for the last eight hours, and now he saw in her face the same resigned acceptance that he'd mirrored.

She knew he didn't like it. And he knew she didn't either, but they were not quitters. So as one, they squared their shoulders and turned to the little hero on the hospital bed. Mahiro said, "Okay, Minoru-chan, we understand."

His wife nodded at her son. Her acceptance was given, but her exuberance would take a while to come back, and that was okay.

"Time for some food, I'm starving!" Mahiro clapped his hands together. The tension shattered like thin glass.

Later, Minoru would absolutely refuse to admit that he had cried like a baby when Mimi finally achieved her dreams of crushing her big brother into a pile of Minoru goo while his parents yelled out "Another punch!" and "Say uncle!" from the sidelines.

The less said about his agency's visit the better. Shinsou had made no less than eight foot-related jokes, some of which were wildly inappropriate, and even Fuji-san's slipper to his head hadn't managed to truly shut the man up.

Fuji-san had fussed around in the beginning which was really nice, and given Minoru an absolutely divine view down her shirt (he was thinking a C for sure), but the minute she'd heard that he was basically all healed because a doctor had regrown his nails perfectly with their quirk, she immediately stormed off to complain about the patriarchy rampant in medical practices because once she'd refused to treat a wound in due time and then thrown a tantrum when they said they couldn't heal the scarring anymore.

It was sad. Not only that Fuji-san had gone and taken his view with her, but also that this was supposed to be the most dependable person at their agency. Lord help him but he was probably going to die of stupidity alongside his comrades rather than any villain at this point.

Camouflage, he hadn't seen much of. He'd come in early on to check on him but had spent most of the visit handling Minoru's paperwork and talking to doctors. He had, of course, in the short time that he had been in the hospital room, made multiple references to Minoru's stature in comparison to the bed, and called him Grope Juice.

Which - rude - but fair because it was the least offensive thing he could've said when he saw who Minoru was eyeing. The jerk probably felt bad for him, lying pathetically on a hospital bed, so he was saved from being beaten into the ground for his drooling.

More importantly, Camouflage - man, what a tool and Minoru still didn't know his name - had instead chosen a less violence-ridden way, ("Peaceful protest," he'd claimed), to drain Minoru of his will to live.

It was a coin jar. A large, absolutely gigantic glass jar that might have once housed a whole thing of mayonnaise (gross) that had been carefully washed out and labeled Operation The Fault In My Grapes. Oh, lovely.

"You people do realize that I changed my name, right? I didn't get rid of a perfectly good name only for you guys to literally never use it!"

"Yes, pity that. We all were a little too attached to Grope Juice. It suited you much better."

"Oh piss off."

"Good for puns too," hummed Shinsou-the-bastard contemplatively.

"You're a horrible man," Minoru informed him. "Also, what is this for, anyway?"

"Ah," began Camouflage delightedly, "this, you see, is a Swear Jar Which Is Not A Swear Jar. You have a very bad habit of being an insufferable pervert. Don't even start with me because I heard all about your 'mishaps' in the styling room, not to mention the way you just blatantly stared down my employee's shirt. So now, anytime you even think of anything pervy you will pay the price. The usage of any inapporpriate words will result in you pouring you salary down the mouth of this here jar, and if you go broke we will simply replace it with shifts and overtime."

"Boobs," said Minoru immediately.

"Ah! Look at that! You just lost a hundred yen."

"Ass."

"Two hundred."

"No, I was calling you an ass."

"Wow! Three hundred, keep going maybe you won't make rent this month."

This. Was. Ridiculous. "You realize how ridiculous you are? How weird this is? Please tell me you are self-aware enough to recognize that."

Shinsou offered his input, as unnecessary and unwelcome as always, "What's weird is that you're a full-grown adult who acts like a boy barely into puberty. What's actually ridiculous is that you're allowed to exist, so."

"I'll sell your kidneys on the black market," Minoru told him politely.

"Oh my God, please do. At least I'd make some freaking money that way. Lord knows this job is bleeding me dry- "

"Again, you are literally the highest paid hero at the agency- "

"Says a lot about your agency, then- "

"- your coffee consumption alone is draining our coffers like it's- "

"- at least I don't go around whining about my privelege lil' pansy boy- "

Minoru promptly rang the bell for a nurse. "Please kick these two out of my room, I don't know them."

"Uh… Minoru-san, they are your fellows at the agency- "

"Nope," he said smiling beatifically. "Total strangers. I have no idea who these people are. Buh-bye!"

Once the room was silent, he leaned back into the crinkle of the hospital sheets, picking up his phone and scrolling through his favorite sites.

Finally, some alone time.

Chapter Text

Minoru thought that after he had been on a few of the hands-on missions, he'd get used to it, but he really, really does not understand the appeal of caves and tunnels. He also really hates that the stereotype of villains inhabiting these places as their headquarters is accurate. Would it really be that difficult to find a nice, legally registered office building for their little criminal activities? Maybe a place with AC, a coffee shop on the first floor for Minoru's poor stress-induced headaches, and a good-looking secretary to make up for the crime of having to get up at 6 a.m. to commit slavery?

Okay, to be fair, it was hard to traffic the Quirkless in full daylight with a coffee shop on the ground floor. He got that. But still. This underground crime business was taking itself way too literally. Especially for the fact that it had taken him two weeks just to gain the trust of this Tanaka fellow so he could assure him about what a good addition he would be to their team.

"And this room here is yer basic supplies and whatnot."

"What does that mean - basic supplies?"

"Y'know, supplies. The basic ones."

Please, God, please strike me down. And send your prettiest angels. "I see."

"Yup, and oh, this here is the bathroom. Yer gonna need to air it out though, that's one rule we all stick by, here. Toilet time is sacred and we all agreed when we joined that we won't shit - heh - on each other's desire to be alone and comfortable in a pleasant smelling bathroom. I'm afraid if you disagree or don't follow the rules you can't be a part of this gang." Tanaka turned towards him, pushing his brown hair out of his eyes and down at him seriously. Minoru wanted desperately to laugh, but toilet time was indeed sacred, so he nodded with equal seriousness.

"Oh, for sure. A good smelling bathroom is a basic necessity for every man."

Immediately, Tanaka's face melted into a warm smile, his features softening and transforming.

Minoru watched in shock. Had he not known who Tanaka was, hell had he not been standing in the honest-to-god headquarters of a Quirkless trafficking ring, he would have never in a million years believed that this man had committed a crime, ever.

He looked like one of those incredibly kind delivery guys who gave you extra from the shops and raced across the city at 5am to get you your snacky-snack on time.

Just how many times, Minoru wondered, was he going to have to fight with his inner bias on the clock? He'd been on twenty-three undercover missions with Frontliners so far, and it felt new and raw every time. How many times was he going to have to confront the reality that people were just people no matter how they looked? How many times was he going to wrestle with his inner nature to be as objective as being a hero required? It was a mess.

Any more of these missions and he'd begin suspecting the cranky grandma downstairs of being a drug dealer too.

Or a really well-known mob boss.

Maybe she was.

She knew Minoru was a hero and hated him with a passion only really old women with nothing to do had the energy for. If nothing else, Minoru envied the energy she must have to hate so consistently.

She liked to make complaints about him every other Monday like clockwork and used her broom handle every night to aggressively bang at her roof (his floor) to get him to stop making noise. Except he was not making any noise, she just didn't like that he was still breathing.

Tanaka's voice shook him out of his inner ramblings which were starting to make less and less sense as the stress of what he would have to do for the next few months caught up to him. "Erin, you listening? You gotta keep up man, I don't have all day. I gotta go ahead and check on the new ones and deal out some trainings if I have to and lord knows how long that will take. C'mon, you still with me?"

Oh yes, he was Erin. A foreign name to hide his tracks, a suitable background, and a few (many) insoles in his boots to make up for his distinctive height.

"Lead the way, Tanaka-san."

The man laughed, his voice high and clear, "Man, y'really gotta get used to calling us by our names here. In this little place, we are all equal; no -sans or -kuns or anything like that. It's all part of the dream y'know? Us as people, we got too many hierarchies and it's all a pile of absolute crap. 'Aint nobody better than anybody else. We're all human, and we're all screwed equally by law if we ever got caught so we don't kid ourselves."

Minoru has nothing to say to that. He just stares at Tanaka. In all of his imaginations of what traffickers looked or acted like, he never imagined they'd be battling Japanese culture, or formality norms. Tanaka takes his ludicrousness as an invitation to expand more on his little informality club.

"Personally, I always felt like it was stupid of us Japanese to be so formal all the time. Why do I gotta call everybody with a stupid little add-on, and why can't I use people's names when I meet them? What d'yer parents give it to you for? So when I joined here, I told Kobayashi Ren - did you meet him yet, no worries I'll show you - that I wasn't gonna sit there listening to -sans and -kuns. I'd just call everybody straight up. By their names."

Here, he stopped looking incredibly proud of himself, "And from then on, I got everybody in on it. True teamwork and all that jazz. 'Cuz of me. 'Aint that such a great thing Erin?"

When Minoru did not respond with effusive praise, he tilted his eyes down suspiciously. "'Aint that great Erin? You must be used to it already being from America and all."

The suspicion spurred Minoru into action. "Oh yes, of course, America, yes. We call everyone by their names there! Haha. No formalities! Yup."

Too late he remembered his seventh-grade teacher telling the class about Mr. and Mrs. and Miss, but Tanaka didn't seem to pick up on it and hummed in agreement. Over the two-week introductory period, Minoru had fumbled so many times that Tanaka likely thought it was just his personality to be a dumbass. Minoru could work with that.

Doesn't take too much effort to play the part I'm guessing. Shut up, Denki.

"So Tanaka-s…Isamu, where would the, ah, shipments be located?"

"Just call them prisoners, my guy. And they're at the end of the hall, so hold on to your little prissy booties because it's a bit of a walk. Security reasons, and all, y'get me?"

He turned to sashay down the leaking hall, not caring for the splashes his shoes made against the muddy puddles, leaving Minoru to stew in the magnificent roast he had just been served.

Prissy booties?!

In his mind's eye, Imaginary Denki howled with laughter, folding himself in half and cracking his face against the floor.

This was hell.

Whatever could be said about Tanaka, and Minoru had a lot to say, even more could be said about his partner in (real) crime, Kobayashi Ren. He was a lanky, dehydrated-looking dude, whose eyes told Minoru all he needed to know about his unfortunate edible habits.

For someone who looked like he battled with the grim reaper every day and barely made it out, he was hopped up on energy all the time, his fingers constantly in motion: picking, tapping, scratching, and jump-roping over the last of Minoru's nerves like it was recess at elementary school.

He moved like a lizard, which was the only way Minoru was willing to describe this guy.

"Um, so Isamu, are his nails always…like that?"

Tanaka laughed the clear laugh again. "That's Ren's quirk. He can grow his nails and hair as long as he wants. Comes really handy for trainings and lock picking too."

Ice slipped into the back of Minoru's spine.

'Trainings' was a duty he would be asked to partake in.

So far, being with Fuji-san or Shinsou had kept his hands relatively clean, but here, he had no such safeguards. He hoped against all hope that it wouldn't come to that before the heroes could bust this ring. He smiled tremulously at Kobayashi.

"Cool quirk, man!"

Kobayashi scowled at Tanaka playfully. "How many times do I have to explain my quirk to you Isamu? I swear to god, every time with this guy…" He muttered, shaking his head. He raised his head and smiled at Minoru, elbowing him familiarly.

"Kobayashi Ren, you?"

"Oh, uh, Erin."

"No last name, huh?" Before Minoru could stutter it out, he smiled again. "No problem, man. Place like this, you get to be whatever you want. Everyone is weird in some way. Isamu maybe looks normal, but this guy reads philosophy for a hobby. Also, did you hear the toilet spiel? Ah, looks like he got to you already." Kobayashi looked at his grimace and laughed in his face.

Minoru just wondered why the sentimental, sappy villains were assigned to him. Was this normal in gangs? Did every undercover hero get tortured like this? Was he an idiot and this was actually a hazing that Camouflage did to every new recruit? Because this really couldn't be the team he was stuck with, right? A philosopher who had too many thoughts about the Japanese hierarchy system, and a hyperactive twitchy stoner who looked like an off-duty witch? Also, where were all the badass women traffickers?

Mineta, you absolute scumbag. Okay, that was deserved.

Unfortunately for him, he was thrust into the role of errand boy for the honor of being the newbie. He was designated all sorts of tasks from coffee runs (yes, it was very much like what he used to do for Bossman but he didn't wanna think about it), to clean-up of general spaces and his absolute favorite - the prisons.

The prisons were where the ah - shipments - were kept and they were often dank, musty, and smelt of rot or filthy, sweaty bodies. It wasn't anyone's fault, he was sure it had been a perfectly normal cave spot, but they were usually built towards the back where it was unreasonably cold even in the summer, and water continuously plopped onto the stony floor.

And it was not as if he could blame the prisoners (tiny little children sniffling into their thin outerwear, snot clinging to their upper lips and Minoru had to turn away because he had a job to do and older quieter adults trying to soothe the children and hugging themselves like it would give any warmth to this experience or screaming alongside the little ones lost to their madness and to the dark after one too many 'training' sessions gone sour and Minoru hated it hated it hated that he was helping but he was so helpless-)

So, yes, there was a reason the prisons stank, and cleaning them out was a new kind of torture. He was a hero, even though it became monotonous and normal sometimes, he had to keep reminding himself that his mentality and his job rebelled so aggressively against the kind of work he was pretending to do and it made him crazy.

He lost hours in his own head, sometimes, bent over his protesting knees, cleaning, and coming to only when Isamu called out his name, or some other goon shuffled the next batch of prisoners in.

He could hardly look them in the eyes the first couple of times. He kept his head low and took advantage of his tiny stature to duck in between the craggy outcrops of rock, weaving his way to the entrance where he slipped out unnoticed.

He is a hero.

These are the people he is supposed to save. And he could. If he wanted.

He could just…glue this goon to the floor and escape with them all, it's downtime right now. He knows all the entrances and exits, had learnt them within the first several days, and could easily make his way to the agency.

It would only take one little alarm from his comms to Camouflage or Shinsou or anyone. They'd come, he knew they would.

That was the deal. The mission. Minoru would go in, and when he decided it was the right time, he would call for a raid to pull him and the others out. He could do it now.

He could, he could, he could. But he can't.

It's not time yet. A raid now would mess up the full-bust operation Frontliners had been setting up for months, years even. Quirkless trafficking was one of the most popular types of crime in the whole world. As such, there were huge, international trafficking rings that supplied such people as commodities for several lucrative, underhanded experiments and dealings.

Despite how odd it may seem that it was the Quirkless - in a world of super-powered people - that got kidnapped, it was in fact simply that people of any genetic minority were often caught in the spotlights of those with less than pure intentions.

It was the terrible reality of things. Those with the least defenses. Those with the least support. Those willing to give up. Those with no future, and no dreams. Those who, should they disappear, would not leave any mark.

No, the Quirkless, Minoru has learnt slowly, painfully, often leave not a single trace.

Not because they live silently (although that can be the case) but because no matter how they live and strive, people simply do not care enough. The classmates laugh it off, the colleagues shrug their way to ignorance, and the bosses and chiefs were forced to take them in and so are happier to be rid of them. Their friends and families, if they have any (and that's a big if), try their best, but they are turned away at every opportunity, made fun of, or do not possess the finances or connections to get the story out there.

Court cases are long and unwieldy. They take ages to execute, and when they do, they do not decide in their favor. It does not help that the Quirkless often do tend to run away, or commit suicide. If someone insists that they didn't, well, the judges are quick to remind them that the parents know a lot less than they think. The statistics are pulled up, and at this point, Minoru has seen them so often that they are branded into his eyelids.

They are wrong, anyway. The numbers.

There's a lot more than that.

Fuji-san told him that more than half of those 'suicide' or 'run-away' cases were simply kidnappings that succeeded. Missing kids. Missing teenagers. Missing adults.

It doesn't matter the age, the job, the intellect, the ability. If you were born - through no fault of your own - with a slight genetic variant (which up until a century ago was the norm) that rendered you physically equivalent to someone with a useless quirk, or a mutant-type quirk that had not much use, you were somehow less than.

Somehow, that made you different, and thus, unlikeable.

Minoru often wondered what it was about being different that scared humans so much.

What was it about being strange, that terrified mankind so? What was it that curdled their fear and curiosity into burning hatred, even jealousy, eating away at their sympathy and love until there was only acid - rotting, decaying flesh, the leftovers of a once-beating heart?

No matter how much he strained his brain over it, at the end of the day, he was nowhere closer to an epiphany, at least not one that ever made logical sense. Regardless, his bewilderment over Quirkless discrimination wasn't going to save them, so he sometimes had to pull himself out of those spirals of how, why, for what purpose-

It wasn't easy. Trying to get back to working order as a villain who was secretly a hero after drowning in these thoughts was like fighting his way out of slime, the sticky kind, where you had to use all your muscles to move, inch by straining inch.

He always had to come back to this: that's the way it was. That's how the world worked. He'd heard it so many times, even in his own head when he got tired of mulling it over.

But.

It was so brutally unfair that Minoru felt it like an oppression upon his heart, crushing his optimism, under its unforgiving heels.

He gets now, why Camouflage had impressed upon him the need for 'chemistry' in his agency. Why no one else was allowed to stress out his employees, because Minoru had only just started and he was already gone.

He had lost sight of his carelessly held beliefs within the first few months of undercover work.

It was all well and good to meet villains as a daytime hero. It was usually short-lived and either you caught the villain or they ran away. But it was quite another to meet them at their turf, masquerading as one of them. If hero work didn't kill him, the constant stress would.

One of the most important things, Shinsou had cautioned, in an undercover mission, was to preserve your own morals. You could not fall into despair, or afford to question yourself and your work mid-operation. That was career suicide.

And so, before he had embarked on this one, Minoru had taken his time to sort out his thoughts. He hadn't expected to be tested so thoroughly.

He had been so naïve.

As a hero, you had to know that yes, there were flaws in the system and that life itself was a journey of injustices and trials. That's what made the happiness and victories taste so sweet.

Sometimes, the world turned its back on you, but unlike Timone's carefree philosophy, the answer was actually to run up behind the world, tap it on the back, punch it in the face, steal its valuables, and run until it was forced to chase you.

The answer was to never back down, never lose hope, and seek out those who could connect to you and support you.

It was easier said than done, and Minoru was deeply aware of that. He reminded himself every day of what was worth fighting for, especially when he got dragged into those types of missions, the ones that shattered his soul and ground his sanity to pieces.

The ones where the villains were kids, or rough and tough siblings just trying to survive in a society that refused to help, or just cruel people ravaging the world for the fun of it.

In those times, he struggled to stand upright, to not ask a hundred questions, to not wash out his intentions for the hundredth time, looking for any change in his beliefs.

And each time, body hollowed out and mind defeated, he'd arrive at the same conclusion: he was a hero to save others. And if someone was being harmed, no matter the cause, it was his job to save them. There were laws against killing villains and rules that kept society safe, although they were not perfect. But they were better than the chaos and turmoil that villains preached, so he was in the right where he stood.

Such a simple, generic bunch of statements.

The simplicity was meant to be comforting, but it didn't feel that way to Minoru. Often, he wondered if that meant he was… defected in some way - wrong, and not nearly worth the station he'd been given - because these missions always forced him to think, to reexamine his beliefs, trying so desperately to be right, always.

To make the right choice. To not give in to the easy despair of the world. Heroes didn't do that. They didn't battle their own worst thoughts every day, they battled the villains.

So why couldn't he? He thinks uncomfortably, that if it was Midoriya or Todoroki or any of the others in his place, they wouldn't be going through this. They'd be so sure of where they stood, and they wouldn't need to set themselves to rights every time something shook them up. They wouldn't be having panicked self-evaluations every time a villain challenged their beliefs.

They were stronger than that. Than him. He should've worked harder at UA. Listened closer in lectures or something. He'd been at the top of the class but maybe he'd missed something everyone else had heard.

The dark brings him no comfort, and the dawn rises over his prone form just the same.

He meets her on one of his better days.

She's huddled just like the others, folding herself into one of the corners Minoru likes to hide behind, and that is the only reason he sees her.

He's hiding from Ren, this time, extra hard because they are so familiar and spend so much time together these days. Ren and Isamu have quickly become his full-time buddies, and the longer Minoru stays in their company, the better he feels about his work. They pull him out of his funk on many days, involving him in their shenanigans and he is grateful for that. So much so, that he wonders sometimes, shamefully, if he will turn his head to their escape when the heroes arrive.

It's a small, niggling idea. But it's there and Minoru refuses to acknowledge such unheroic thoughts except in the privacy of his mind.

They're not so bad. And they keep him company now that Imaginary Denki has gone silent in his brain. It gets lonely, stuck here, all by himself.

Regardless, he doesn't want Ren to see him because as soon as he does, he will once again be invited to trainings and he is running away for as long as they don't drag him there.

Most people don't even notice him, too stuck in their own impending doom or anxiety to observe. She does, though, her large eyes glinting with the sliver of light coming from where Ren stands at the door.

He makes an aborted motion towards her, a silent plea to not draw attention, and she turns away casually as if she never saw a thing.

It's a small movement, but it's graceful as if she's been doing this all her life. Her hair swings as she turns, greasy and stringy but still fuller and thicker than he's used to.

It's too difficult to make out her features in the dim light, so their first conversation happens entirely blind.

"Who are you?" she whispers, her voice sharp with curiosity.

"I'm…" he's lost on what to say. He has never talked to any of the prisoners out of guilt, but that also means he has no idea whether he should give his hero name or still act as a villain.

"I'm Erin," is what he settles on. No point in potentially blowing his cover if she blabs.

"Are you Quirkless?" she asks. Her eyes really are very huge.

Minoru acts on impulse. He nods.

If possible, her eyes grow larger with sympathy. "You got anyone waiting?"

Instinctively, Minoru shakes his head again. Then, realizing what he's done, he corrects and nods. He's messed up.

She peruses his antics with interest, he can tell, because she huffs out what sounds like an amused laugh and unwinds her arms from around her knees.

They're sitting so close that he can hear every rustle as she adjusts her sitting position.

"It's complicated, I get it," she sounds like she's heard a hundred such tales, "It's not easy, living like this."

He can only nod.

She huffs out another laugh, careful to keep a low voice, and perhaps also because it is difficult to laugh full-bellied when one has been kidnapped. That she is not already crying and screaming is a testament to her strength.

Minoru has cried over less.

"What's your name?"

"Nayumi," she says, "Takahashi Nayumi."

There's something about Nayumi that feels like coming home.

It's not - it's not weird or strange like he expected it to be. There's none of that guilt he thought he would feel, not at first. As he talks, he realizes this is the first time in three weeks that he's spoken to someone who isn't a criminal.

They talk for two hours.

Nayumi is Quirkless. She is half-Brazilian, half-Japanese, and all of twenty years old.

She doesn't look different, Minoru couldn't even tell she was mixed, no accent or oddity in the way she carries herself, but she points out that that has never mattered.

Nayumi is currently in university for dentistry and hopes to graduate with honors in five years.

She's quite possibly the kindest person he's ever met.

In the background of wailing children and whispered conversations, no one pays attention to the two of them, huddled secretively in the corner, lost in their own little bubble.

She reminds him of Midoriya when she speaks of the children she helps tutor, even the ones who hated her at first for her Quirklessness. The ones who threw her book-bag in their frog pond and never apologized. She speaks fondly of the cats and birds in her neighborhood, how she names them and feeds them every day with what little money she earns.

"Don't you need to save every last bit of that?" he asks, wondering if she's what Denki would unironically call a 'manic pixie dream girl'. He immediately regrets ever actually listening to Kaminari's nonsensical rants.

"I do," she admits ruefully, "but Mama says that taking care of the things around you brings blessings from the heavens. Mama even got Papa-san in on it and now he scolds her if she forgets to feed the birds everyday."

Minoru giggles, "Papa-san?"

Nayumi smacks at his arm which veers off sideways in the dark and ends up rather awkwardly pushing him in the chest.

She's strong for her age.

"Not a word," she says strictly, but Minoru can feel her embarrassment seeping in.

"No seriously," he laughs, suddenly overcome with lightheartedness for the first time in…months, it feels like. "Why Papa-san? Don't the kids make fun of you for that?"

The mood turns instantly somber. It's not anything Nayumi does. It's just…Minoru is hyper-aware of the fact that the kids make fun of a great many things when it comes to her and calling her father Papa-san is not nearly as humiliating as the things she might've had to endure.

"They would, if they knew," she says lightly. To her credit, she doesn't show any signs of awkwardness or offense. "I call him that because when Mama was teaching me how to speak, she always called my father Papa. That's what the kids say back in her homeland. So that's what she taught me. When I started going to school, everyone called their father Tou-chan or Tou-san and I tried to copy them."

She smiles slightly, light catching on her teeth for a moment, "Turns out old habits die hard and I never could make the switch. So we agreed on a compromise: Papa-san!"

There's a moment of quiet, not uncommon in this odd little exchange of theirs, but it's suddenly interrupted by an enormous thudding sound.

Everyone jumps. The latch opens and Ren peeks his long head back inside.

This time, there's no hiding. Minoru needs to go back out. He mourns this break, this wonderful exchange he's had with another human being who's not a total lunatic, and the freedom it has granted his soul. He's not ready for it to be over, but time waits for no man or dwarf, and he has work to do.

He stands up, as casually as he can, hands in his pockets, willfully avoiding everyone's eyes, so he can't see the confusion or betrayal there.

"About time, you airhead. I've been locked in for two hours!"

Ren's head snaps to him and he has the grace to look guilty. "Sorry, dude, you're so small I didn't know you were here. You should've said something!"

"Tch who're you calling small, punk? C'mon let's go, I'm starving."

He shuts the door behind him and watches Ren carefully turn the key and pocket it.

He's forced to attend trainings. All his excuses count for nothing against the possibility of suspicion if they find him to be too reluctant. So he goes.

It's as horrible as he imagined. Worse, in fact. 'Trainings' are torture sessions to tame the ones who show any unpleasant behavior. There is no way to sugarcoat it, though Minoru tries, if only for his own sanity.

Any prisoner who might cause issues depending on where they are planning to sell them is thoroughly subjugated through hours of pain to expect consequences whenever he or she shows any sort of resistance. Anything short of, "Yes master" is unacceptable.

And here, Minoru is confronted with the worst aspects of his gang mates.

Standing quietly, stiffly in the corner of the room because he draws the line at using his quirk for this (unlike the others who sneer at him and call him soft, advancing on the poor prisoners like hyenas on dead meat) Minoru struggles to stay in the present. He struggles to block out the screams so he can keep a straight-ish face, struggles to draw breath.

These monsters don't care about age or gender. They don't care about how much pain someone can take or how much they beg. They want results, and they'll keep going until there's no fight left.

Thankfully, this doesn't take long. Most prisoners are small, tiny little girls and boys with leaking eyes and trembling voices, screaming unabashedly at the pain. Minoru's world quakes around him, falling down about his ears, and the tears springing to his eyes are never allowed to drop, but it's always so close.

Sometimes, when the girls are screaming, he hears little Mimi, and for a second, it's her in that chair, crying and crying and crying-

(He's gonna save them all, he'll save them he'll save them he'll save them he'll save them he'll save them he'll save them he'll save them-)

The children learn their lesson quickly, their eyes and faces drying up quickly replaced with stony silence and swift obedience.

It's the older ones he hates. They don't listen. They try again and again, even though they know it's not worth it. They'll spit and yell and claw their way out of the chair, chew their ropes, and kick their captors, but it's all in vain.

In the end, they all end up back in that horrible chair, leashed and collared and screaming their lungs out.

The thing is, Minoru has realized, that the 'training masters' aren't even cruel for the sake of it. They don't do it because they enjoy pain (not really). They do it because it must be done.

"It's all part of the business, man," one says to Minoru, clapping him on the back with a hand that had been dragging a knife down a boy's arm just half an hour ago. Minoru feels his throat spasm, and his breakfast rises, sharp and acidic. He swallows so hard, it clicks on the way down.

Focus.

"You don't wanna deliver a faulty product, right? Bad for sales and bad for business in general. Trade etiquette y'see? We're working on the clock just like any sucker out there, difference is we deal with people, and they're on computers."

There's nothing he can say that might accurately convey his revulsion or the way those words make him sick down to his marrow.

It's getting too hard. It's too difficult to live life every day like nothing's wrong. It's too long, too continuous, too constant. It's a movie on loop that he can't escape, and he needs a break so badly he's shaking with it.

She's been on his mind for a few days now, slinking in and out of his inner turmoils like hands on a spindle, spinning threads of warm yellow amongst the blues and the greys.

He tries to hold out until lunch when everyone is taking their naps. Then, he goes.

She's hard to catch alone, harder to approach.

When he does, at first, she doesn't even see him. When he squeaks out a "Hey," she snaps around, eyes hard.

"What do you want, you bastard," she hisses, and in the afternoon sun, she is radiant.

Her brown hair glints, and he can see her properly this time. Her rounded features, her big brown eyes, and the expression of absolute spite spanning her face, like an artist slashed through his own painting.

It looks out of place on her sweet aura, but it is more frightening for it. It shocks Minoru a little. He's not used to being important enough to be glared at like that.

He's not strong enough right now to bear any more hatred, deserved though it may be. "I can explain, I promise!" He pleads, hands in the air to show he's harmless. "I promise, I'm not one of them, let me explain."

She's on edge and clearly still suspicious as he explains. Her narrowed eyes continue to look at him with disdain until he finally admits to being an undercover Hero.

She doesn't know his hero alias which is disappointing but not a surprise, but she obviously recognizes his classmates. He talks and talks and talks, watching her face and the way it changes with each new fact.

It's like someone has flipped an off switch in Minoru's brain. All his spiraling, burgeoning thoughts wind down, making way for that rare buoyant feeling that has him chasing her. So he shuts his brain and opens his mouth, and refuses to deal with whatever comes out.

He talks for an hour straight.

When he finally pauses, she blinks at him, completely unfazed by his babbling. She's an attentive listener, humming and nodding and gasping in the right moments.

"So," he says sheepishly, a little mortified at his own behavior, "uh…how'd you end up here, anyway?"

Seriously, Minoru?! He can hear his mother shout in his head. He winces immediately, wondering despairingly over how downright odd he's acting. One minute he's a motor mouth who can't tape his mouth shut in front of a pretty girl, and as soon as he thinks to ask her something too, he goes for that question of all questions?

She only smiles at him, softly, as if that isn't the most insensitive thing he could've said. "I, uh…got pushed into it, you could say," she offers up easily. "I was pretty lonely throughout school you know? I'm always the little konketsuji at the back of the class, always picked last for everything and never on time for anything."

She says the last part with a little amused tilt of her mouth like it's an inside joke, but Minoru very pointedly tries to ignore anything her lips are doing. She's talking right now. And if he looks once, he won't be able to hear her speak again and that would be bad for his brain.

Nothing is better than hearing her speak. Not even that old habitual pull towards her chest. Try as he might, his eyes drag him to her face, his ears to her voice and he wants to fling himself into her orbit.

He's registering this odd behavior - he's not completely unaware of himself - but contentment is filling him up in waves and he's too tired and weary of the worst of humanity to not latch on to anything life gives him with both hands.

Shut up, Minoru, he tells himself because Denki isn't there to do it anymore. Shut up, Nayumi is talking.

"I thought maybe things would be different when I graduated high school. Everyone online always said people grew up a lot in university and didn't bother you as much anymore." Her tone holds traces of bitterness, like an old hurt that stays fresh no matter how many times you try to bandage it. "Maybe that's only true for other places, or maybe my uni was just different and the people were…not so understanding of differences. They went out of their way to make things harder. On my way home, they had…planned to take the long route together. We were going to go for ice cream. We were passing by one of those unsavory districts with suspicious people, you know the type," she waved her hand around in explanation, "And when we were directly at the mouth of it, I was pushed into the bins that line the sidewalks. I hit my head rather hard and woke up disoriented, without my phone or my book-bag. I couldn't go very far because there was glass everywhere and I was barefoot. It was just bad luck that one of these villains were nearby and I was easy bait. They knocked me out, and when I came to, I was in the back of a van with all these people."

Even now, in the underground prisons of a trafficking ring, she refuses to paint her evil little classmates in a light too harsh, refuses to put the entirety of the blame for her capture on them. Even though they deserve it.

"Why?" he asks her, not comprehending, that old anger building in him again. It's the same one he used to feel around Midoriya and Kouda, the one that comes from knowing someone is better than you, but not understanding why. "Why do you let them go so easily? They're literally the reason you're here! They're terrible people, as bad as the ones who kidnapped you, so why don't you cuss them out, be angry, go crazy? They deserve it! You deserve it! Don't you feel so angry?"

She raises an eyebrow at his outburst, but her face grows stern. "No, Minoru-san," she says, "That is not true. The blame for my capture goes entirely to the villains that tied me up here, not my university classmates. They are not the best people, I admit," she sighs, "but they are not the monsters of this story, and it would be a disservice to claim that their level of schoolyard bullying is equivalent to torturing and trafficking the Quirkless."

"But it's true! If they hadn't pushed you, you wouldn't be here, Nayumi! You'd be home safe. You'd be studying to become a dentist like you want, not imprisoned here, not knowing what comes next. You've suffered so much, everyone here…you've all suffered so much, where do you get all this hope?" It comes out plaintive, like a plea rather than a question. He's not sure who he is trying to convince anymore.

Perhaps it was a question more for him than for her. As selfish as he was, as much as she'd given him, Minoru couldn't help but want more of whatever made up her strength, her peace of mind. He was greedy for whatever words of wisdom she could impart upon him, whatever that could soothe his own tormented heart.

Anything to help him survive.

"Hope," she says contemplatively, "You know, Minoru-san, I once saw a post someone had made on a Quirkless forum that stuck with me for all my high school years, especially when things got really bad. These days, I think of it, often. The post said, that everyone thinks hope is this fragile, delicate thing that hangs on by a thread and could shatter at the wrong word. But hope is a survivor, she's got mud on her face, blood on her nails, and she falls a hundred times but she claws her way back out every single time. She's snarling, she's limping, she's absolutely feral with misfortune, but she is getting up again. Because she's your last stand and it's in her nature to go down fighting."

Minoru's ears are ringing. Everything around him fades into a blur.

She's still talking, he knows, but he can't make out the individual words. His brain works to swallow what it's learnt, to fit this new concept into the distorted ideologies that used to come so naturally to him once upon a time. It's not even been half a year, but it feels so long ago. That Minoru - God, he can't even remember what it was like being him back then. But he knows it was much simpler than this.

Later that day, still in a haze, Isamu informs him that there had been complications with the shipping out of prisoners yet again, and deliveries had been postponed to at least another month. This means his mission has also been extended by another two months at least.

He's not as anguished about this news as he might have once been.

It becomes a habit.

Every other day, Minoru will sneak into the prison room during downtime if he can, or at night when security is lax, and be drawn irrevocably to the sun that is Nayumi.

He will sit down next to her, or crouch in a corner under the rock wall, listening to her talk about her day, asking her questions, or simply existing. He has become a familiar presence among the prisoners, but none of them say anything.

When he expresses his surprise and fears to Nayumi she simply lifts her eyebrow at him, something that he's learnt means she is judging him. "We are a bunch of Quirkless civilians who've been kidnapped and trafficked together alongside an undercover hero. We're the last people who would rat you out. We're very loyal, you know. Every Quirkless person I've ever talked to has been the most loyal person I've ever known. We protect each other because we know there is no one else."

He asks her about her parents, once. With her, he never needs to filter out what he says. She's made it very clear that she appreciates the honesty, though others might not, and that if he has a question, he should speak up like a man instead of dithering at her until she gives in and snaps at him to ask.

She's very direct. Her words hold gravitas and meaning, so she speaks carefully, but she cannot stand when he stammers his way around a topic trying to be sensitive. "I'm not a delicate little flower," she tells him, straightforwardly, "I'm a girl imprisoned in a cave to be trafficked to God knows where, you don't need to coddle me."

So he doesn't. He asks whatever he wants, and she responds if she feels up to sharing.

Today has been free of any 'trainings' so her mood is considerably lighter, and she doesn't look at him with that sudden suspicion she sometimes gets before she can wipe it clean. Nor does she stare at him, clearly warring with herself on whether to ask about his involvement in the torture or not. She has never been to the training room, thank the heavens, but she's heard her fair share of what happens from the others who have.

Some of the adults there will not look Minoru in the eye. These are the ones he's sacrificed to the altar for the sake of his cover and he will never forget.

But this is not the time for that. "Are they looking for you?" He asks.

"They are," she smiles. "In fact, Minoru-san, that's why I haven't been sold to the highest bidder as soon as I stepped foot here."

He tilts his head, confused.

"Mama and Papa are both important people in their social circles. Traffickers usually only pick those which are easy to…forget. They are perhaps orphans, or have small, poor families. In my case - I was a fluke. A lucky catch. But Mama and Papa-san are not so likely to sit silently while I am taken. They have probably opened an investigation, and that means people are looking for me. I could still disappear, but it will be harder for them."

"You sound very confident about this. Which is good, not that it isn't!…I mean, you just seem to know for sure."

She nods, "When I turned twelve, Mama and Papa-san sat me down to talk about the Quirkless experience. I was already used to the way it was at school, but they'd sat down with a detective and even hired an analytics guy to draw up the possibilites for them. Mama had been worried sick over my safety after the articles she's been reading on the Quirkless forum I was in. Together, we developed a sort of plan - to follow if anything ever happened to me. And now it has."

She was quiet for a bit, letting him fully swallow such a bitter pill, then she added lowly, "I've been lucky until now, what with," and she swept a from head to toe.

Minoru didn't need an explanation. He nodded in agreement.

Nayumi was exceedingly lucky that she hadn't been claimed already. Being mixed-race and Quirkless was like hitting the jackpot for the nastiest characters on earth. The criminal mob bosses of Japan loved themselves little defenseless hafu slaves, and the fetish was not uncommon.

It made him shudder to think about, what plans these degenerates had for people like Nayumi. The longer he thought about it, the faster his dread traveled down his veins, creeping into his heart and freezing it over with icy tendrils.

What if he couldn't save these people in time? What if he woke up one day and she was gone? What if he botched the rescue and failed?

The steady hum of his own spiraling was almost soothing, now, and the rickety bed frame creaked him to sleep, where only nightmares awaited.

His sudden panic at the possibility of her being sold without his knowledge drives him to start a conversation with Isamu and Ren.

They're his official partners at this point, having taken him into their fold as easy as butter, chatting with him over lunch and dinner, and defending him when some of the bigger gang members try to force his hand at trainings.

Minoru can't help being grateful. This whole endeavor has been soul-sucking and would be worse if he hadn't their easy company and laughter. Even Isamu's mind-numbing philosophy rants are becoming tolerable, and Minoru neatly avoids thinking about what he's been told of the application of Ren's quirk.

He's got to maintain his sanity somehow, he reasons, he can't always be battling his loyalties. And these guys are surprisingly okay.

He asks about 'special deliveries' during their smoke break. He'd heard another member bark out the word when he was handling Nayumi and another boy who looked about seven.

Ren's face splits into one of his characteristic smiles. His long, skittering fingers are deftly rolling leaves to stuff into an ancient, rancid-looking pipe. Minoru grimaces, as he does every time, sticking his nose into his fist judgmentally.

His friend rolls his eyes at the drama. "I get it, you're too straight-laced to smoke a bong, Erin. Ya don't need to do this every time, you dramatic bastard. Anyway, special deliveries, ya said? Well, those are a speciality of mine."

Immediately, Minoru tenses up. He's developed something of a concerning tick when it came to anything being 'special' or a 'favorite' or exceptional in any way. It probably meant no good for the poor sucker involved.

Isamu puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head like a mother hen, but he is grinning. "Ren likes to have too much fun. But so do we all. Sometimes," he explained, "we get requests for certain prisoners to be 'broken in'. Y'see not everyone wants a wailing, scratching little tyke - although why I can't tell, those're the best ones to break! - sometimes y'want them a little used and bruised, know what I mean?"

He cocks his head at Minoru, winking cheesily like he's posing for a fan. He makes finger guns.

"What's that mean?"

Minoru's tone is calm. He waits for the quick wave of rage, the shake of dread, but it's not there. He's a statue made of ice, like the ones Todoroki used to sculpt on his days off.

Silent, and cold all over.

Isamu is unbothered. "Oh come on," he drawls, pulling on the 'o' sound as if Minoru is deliberately feigning ignorance. Which he is, but only because the reality is impossible to consider.

He hates that he thinks of Nayumi then.

No. It can't be.

"Y'gotta….rough 'em up a bit, y'know? Give 'em the old hotdog, a little bone in steak action, a lil' pipe in the…uh….Ren help a man out here, what else?"

Ren cackles and hacks up smoke. He's grinning and speaking, coming up with more and more vulgar ways to tell Minoru what he already knows.

Minoru looks at him. The Ren smile he has come to know grows and grows and in that moment, his vision tunnels and distorts, zeroing in on that mouth stretching impossibly wide, the pointed teeth becoming sharper, growing, growing, growing until he looks like a demon who's risen from the pits of hell.

But he blinks and they're back.

They're normal. They look normal. Just two guys joking around. Everything would be fine, if Minoru didn't know what it was they were talking about. Every time they crack up into laughter, Nayumi flashes through his mind. The little girl in the chair yesterday. The teenage boy with red eyes like Kirishima. The one woman who was clearly a Momo fan, clad head to toe in her merch.

He thinks of screaming, and broken laughter. He thinks of brown files with red and blue stamps, CLOSED and M.O., multiple offenses, and red meaning assault. He imagines files with their names, with Nayumi's name on plain brown paper, and spirals.

He sits there, staring through the tendrils of Ren's smoke. The chatter buzzes in his ears, but he's not there anymore.

Someone claps him on the back, then taps his shoulder. He registers none of it.

In his head, there is a sharp snap. The thought zings through him like lightning: there and gone again, taking down all his barriers in its wake.

Something is dawning on him, and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

I can't exist, Minoru thinks.

Not the way I am now.

Minoru had been going to Nayumi for weeks now, hoping she'd fix him. Hoping her words and her easy optimism would patch over his crumbling soul, his deviant morality.

For weeks now, he'd clung on to this new partnership with Re- Kobayashi and Tanaka. He'd liked them. He'd wanted to save them from their own mistakes, to spare them the punishment for acts they'd done.

He'd misjudged. Again. He'd forgotten that these people were here for a reason. That he'd been sent here for a reason.

He'd been so caught up in his own complicated thoughts, trying to keep his sanity that he'd forgotten what had always been true.

If you painted a smile on a bleeding maw, it would still rip through your flesh just the same.

He'd done that. He'd been endeared by their personalities, colored in these feral beasts with sympathy and friendship, as starved as he'd been for company. But that was no excuse.

He wondered, if Aizawa, or Midoriya and the others could see him now, what would they say?

A disappointment, a liar, a pathetic fool who got taken in on his very first mission, Aizawa would tut. So naïve, he imagined Bakugou's sneer. And Midoriya - oh God, Midoriya - would look at him with those large, green eyes, full of concern and pity. What a poor guy, he'd cry for him, he's not a hero, he's a victim. We should save him, Kacchan.

And they'd be right.

He was nothing.

He'd been made nothing by this mission, carved out hollow, and given nothing back but betrayal and sorrow.

And hadn't he been warned this would happen? Didn't the others tell him? He'd been told to finish the mission. There was more at stake now than there ever had been at any point in his life. So he couldn't afford to stay as an empty little shell forever.

There had to be more to him, wasn't there? Was all of Minoru simply a pile of shallow dust - there and gone again at the slightest stirrings of trouble?

Wasn't there anything of worth in him? Anything to set him apart from the creatures that prowled his little world, anything to justify what he'd done?

But is what you've done really so bad? Some long-forgotten voice whispers to Minoru. You were just appreciating a god given gift. So what? Don't your perfect little classmates appreciate art? How is this so different? It's there, and it's on display! Are you expected to starve at a banquet of beauty? You wouldn't harm anyone, not for real, you're a hero!

This is what he'd thought for the longest time. This is how he'd reasoned with himself when they yelled at him for his behavior at school.

But not everyone wanted to be a hero, right?

Not everyone would stop at appreciation. They'd go too far. They'd cross the line. They'd hurt someone.

Just like the hundreds of criminals Minoru had seen arrested for sexual assault, with their hateful eyes and wandering hands. They'd get greedy and they wouldn't stop until they'd broken the very thing they'd swore they were appreciating.

In their obsession to own their art, to possess it, they'd tear it down and destroy it beyond repair.

And his attitude had made it easier for bastards like Tanaka and Kobayashi to get away with it. To even the playing field for others to do worse. To let it go, to not make a fuss.

He'd failed as a hero.

For someone who was constantly picking apart his own morals, he'd been frighteningly blind to his own actions. And it was true that he'd never as much as pulled down a girl's neckline, and the most he'd ever seen of a naked girl were the tiny shaky glimpses through cracked doors, but it was enough to unearth the guilt from where he'd hidden it away.

Maybe he'd only ever stuck to small things, but what guarantee was there that someone else would do the same? One day, years down the line, if he ever grew tired of the fleeting glances, could he be convinced into doing something drastic too?

And he'd been a hero, a voice wailed in his head. He could've gotten away with it. Who would have stopped him? And isn't that what the war had taught them? That heroes weren't infallible, that someone needed to keep them in line too?

But here was Mineta Minoru, the epitome of the system's failure. A so-called hero who'd never have given a rat's ass about how wrong he'd been until he'd joined a trafficking ring and found himself on common ground with a bunch of rapist slavers.

And what of the girls? He'd never understood why they'd disliked his compliments, but standing here, warring with himself about his own conflicting opinions, it wasn't too much of a stretch to understand that he wouldn't always agree with other people.

That didn't mean they didn't have a right to their own opinions. Or the right to be respected for them as equally as if they were his own.

Perhaps, just like everything else, he'd justified the dirty truth of his pervertedness with ignorance too.

His life was defined largely by his looks. He'd known that since the day he was born. He was not unfamiliar with stares and swallowed giggles. But Minoru had been born craving attention, and he'd been willing to do anything, cross any distance to get it. And girls' attention felt the best.

In others, ambition looked like Bakugou's fire, or Midoriya's scars. Or maybe it looked like All Might's quiet pride, the dorky teaching manual sticking out of his back pocket. In others, it was something to be proud of, something to strive for.

But Minoru had never had the patience and the hard work it took to strive for something so far away for someone of such little stature. For everything others could do, he had to reach twice as far, pump his little legs thrice as fast. He'd resented the distance, the injustice of it all. Others could get by through charm, through personality, but Minoru had never been anything special.

He wasn't Todoroki, who'd never had to ask anyone out, or beg for someone to look at him. He was as cold as his ice, usually just as brainless, and yet he had the life Minoru so desperately wanted.

When Minoru had begun dreaming of being a hero, he hadn't been stringent about justice or spurred by personal development. He was selfish and had had dishonorable intentions.

He hadn't been the only one, he knew. And this is what had bothered him so, back in high school. Bakugou hadn't been too honorable either. When he'd first come in, he'd been a horrible individual, selfish to the bone with no regard for others, and a violent streak a mile wide. He was a monster that all his classmates were scared of.

Minoru had never been that. At least he'd never threatened to kill his classmates or cause them any harm. He should've been appreciated for being better. But he got more slack for his flaws than Bakugou did for his because Bakugou had been good-looking, and freakishly talented at everything. Denki had been right there beside Minoru for a lot of his first-year shenanigans with the girls, but he, too, had been handsome and charming enough to make up for his faults.

God had not made Minoru handsome. He was small and chubby, never quite striking enough to be noticeable, always forgotten or cast aside to make way for others.

Simply put, Minoru was unattractive. He was incapable of ever being a great hero because he was a coward. He was incapable of performing great feats of athleticism or of capturing people with his charming personality. He was just an average-looking guy who was unambitious, unremarkable, at best uncomfortable company, at worst a pervert to be avoided, and who happened to land himself, through his own bad decisions, directly amid a bunch of people who were by nature of their jobs forced to be paraded like peacocks around the entirety of Japan. He'd shot himself in the foot.

Not that this was a new realization.

At a very young age, his mother's 'smart little Minoru' had figured out his place in the world. And it had devastated him. His little brain, unable to deal with the fallout of his realizations, had descended into denial. He would not accept it. He would live life just like all the others who were so gifted but so ungrateful for what they had. He'd take what he wanted and seize it with both hands and damn the consequences. He'd grab the girls and he'd look. They'd never let him otherwise, and he wouldn't hurt anyone, so what was the harm?

But there was harm. There had been. He'd spent his whole life being branded as a freak and a pervert all in an effort to stay true to himself, to not let circumstances decide what he could or couldn't want, but what had that gotten him?

After all these years and all these old scars, what reward was there to be earned for this thankless journey? He'd been shunned by his female classmates and made things awkward with the boys for three whole years, only to realize at twenty-one years of age that it had been a mistake. That wanting to be equal was a pipe dream and that there were things in life that you couldn't change no matter how desperate you were. Or if you could, then it wasn't Minoru who was capable of it.

That being a hero was not a road to fame and fortune. That it couldn't be used as a tool to better his life, to find love. That being a hero was like holding onto burning coal even as it blistered your hands and split apart your skin because not letting go was the job.

That it was a responsibility with barely any reward and too much punishment. Real heroes were traumatized, haunted people with wide eyes and night terrors. They had no time, and certainly no patience for the dalliance of flings.

At the rate he had been going before this mission, Minoru had resigned himself to a life of silent operations, stable wages, and maybe a grave injury that would force him to retire some years down the line. Life had been dull and not anything like he'd dreamed.

But no matter his reasons, no matter what had caused his selfishness with the world, he'd been wrong. It didn't matter what his intentions had been when he'd started, or how unworthy he'd been of his titles.

Much of being a hero was taking responsibility and not running away from your own demons. Confronting the injustices and the nightmares of the real world with your shoulders squared. Aizawa had tried so hard to make sure the lesson sunk in. It never had then, but it had been his job to figure out that it didn't matter that life had been unfair to him. What mattered was whether he responded to that injustice with quiet acceptance and an ambition to change his circumstances, or whether he trampled on others who were faultless and blameless on his path to secure what he wanted.

It wasn't Minoru's first waking sunrise, hadn't been in weeks. But it felt better that day as if the breeze blocked by the cave systems had finally broken through the unforgiving rock.

Chapter Text

It’s happening. It’s finally happening. 

Shipments had been backed up for weeks because the ring had been on high alert since the last raid. The only reason he had as much time to spend with Nayumi and the little kid that had attached himself to her - and consequently to Minoru - was because heroes kept meddling in their business. 

Minoru had had to listen to an hour-long rant about how much people in his profession sucked and how they made life so hard for some honest villains trying to make a living. It was a very weird conversation given the fact that Tanaka had no idea he was one of the ‘sneaky little weasels’ that usually put a dent in their operations. 

In the last year, there had been no less than six different attempts at disrupting their trade, which was why it was so vital that Minoru do his job well. Trafficking rings were tightly secured and broke up at the smallest signs of a leak. It was a miracle this one was still working, frankly, and Minoru felt the pressure of doing his job well like an anvil to the head. It had been almost two months and he still had no contact with the head honcho, no idea of his identity, and absolutely no good opportunity for an ambush big enough to bring the whole thing down. Since shipments weren’t being made, there was little to do around the base except keep track of the prisoners and participate in trainings for entertainment. 

In any other situation, Minoru would have been itching to get out, perhaps even demanding it from his agency due to the sudden lengthy nature of the assignment, but he was uncharacteristically calm about it. It definitely had nothing to do with the young, Quirkless lady who lit up his afternoons. Security had become more lax, and he found that he was easily able to slip into the prison every day for a couple hours without being noticed. 

“What the heck is that?”

“You and me! And Aunty Maburou and Sakura-chan and Katsu-kun too!”

“That looks nothing like me!”

“Sure it does! Doesn’t it Aunty?”

“Of course - it’s wonderful darling. Perfect to life.”

“See!”

“Nayumi-san. That is a blob of blue. I have no features? And I’m not even blue! I’m purple! It’s, like, my whole thing!”

“Hey! I literally have only three colors of crayons from Katsu-kun’s backpack, okay? I can’t exactly draw a masterpeice!”

“Okay, but consider: You didn’t need to draw anything.”

Nayumi pouted. “You’re so mean, Minoru-kun.”

The afternoon sunlight burst in through the tiny window, lighting up the faces of those inside, more familiar to Minoru now than his own parents. And in all the little, stained faces, he saw Mimi. 

Something fierce and determined had grown in his chest since he’d found himself at peace with his ambitions, and he’d quietly vowed to not fail. 

No failure, not this time.

At whatever cost. 

These adults, these kids, they were his charges, yes, but they were family too. United in their cause against the Quirkless traffickers, and perhaps it was because it was the first time he’s truly cared about anything since the entrance exam, but Minoru felt a sense of belonging, of home. It was purpose, it was life. It was exhilarating, wanting to live for something instead of die defending it. 

I will get them home was his mantra, repeated every day when he woke, and every night before he tried for some sleep, safe and sound. 

One afternoon, a week before the shipment, Nayumi taught him a little skill her mum had once taught her. Minoru had seen her fiddle with a piece of torn fabric and asked what she was doing. 

“Tying a knot!”

“Uh…For what? It’s just a handkerchief.” 

“Well, once when I was younger, my mum told me that if ever there was something I didn’t want to forget, I should tie a knot. And that way, if I ever forget, I can look at the knot and remember what I tied it for!”

When Minoru grimaced at this funky logic, she laughed in his face and tugged him down to tie another knot. “What am I trying to remember?” Minoru asked. 

“Up to you,” she said, “I’m thinking of the drawings I made with Katsu-kun today, and how happy I am that no one was called for training today. I’m thinking of being able to eat a big portion of rice which I’d been wishing for…It was a good day.” She tilted her head, and the ever-present ray of light caught the edges of the hair that was falling into her eyes. 

As always, Minoru looked at her and thought, perhaps if there were more of you in the world, it would have been a better place. 

But Nayumi wouldn’t like that. She constantly said that people needed to be different for society to flourish. Minoru privately felt that not everyone was capable of such magnanimity. 

Nayumi snapped her fingers at his eyes. Minoru shook himself upright. He always got so introspective on these visits of his, it was such a waste. 

“Minoru-kun are you listening to me?” demanded Nayumi. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckled.

She huffed, turning her head and avoiding his eyes. Immediately Minoru grasped her elbow, gently trying to bring her back. “I’m sorry, Nayumi-san, I really didn’t mean to. I was just thinking about how unfair it is that you are all kept here and failed to listen to the last part.” He turned pleading eyes on her. “Tell me what you wanted to say?”

Nayumi tried to keep up the huffing but for someone who was pretty much incapable of grudges, it was a lost endeavour from the get-go. “Fine,” she conceded, “but it’s really important and I was super nervous to tell you, so you have to pay attention.”

Minoru nodded rapidly. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Nayumi took in a deep breath, then exhaled, “My name isn’t Nayumi. It’s Neuma. Nayumi is my Japanese name because I live here, but the name my mother gave me is Neuma.” She looks down at her hands, twisting in her knotted handkerchief. “I guess…well, we’ve been down here long enough,” she lets out a little laugh, “I thought someone…ought to know. And you’ve been down here with us so often, and you’re a hero. Who better to trust this with than you, right?”

She looked up at him, finally, her eyes big and hopeful, lip between her teeth. Minoru felt that expression lodge itself in his lungs. 

“Of course,” he rasped around the lump in his throat, “of course, your name is safe with me, Neuma-san.” 

The smile she gave him could have lit up the entirety of Tokyo. 

Time passed with such speed, that by the time it was confirmed that the big shipment was finally being made, Minoru had almost forgotten that this mission hadn’t always been his life. 

For the first time in months, the blood was roaring in his ears, and the flurry of activity around him in preparation for the boss to arrive allowed him to slip silently out of the cave system and onto the rocky surroundings. With shaking hands, he made his calls, keeping his voice low and steady despite the thrill in his veins and the anxiety rocking his legs. Aside from Shinsou, Sato, and Shoji, one more hero would make up the ambush team. They were hoping for a senior hero so the spot was open to whichever was available and willing to do so at such a small notice and without the draw of a big salary. The Frontliner budget did not really have a history of cooperation with the top ten, but someone always caved. It was that old hero instinct - save whoever you can and all that. 

For the rest of the day - until the planned ambush in the afternoon, Minoru was tasked with helping to clear out operations. He packed up his tiny room and cleaned up the halls and spaces one last time in anticipation of the boss’ visit. The medical room was being cleaned and boxed up as well - hundreds of little instruments and big chains being tossed into unmarked cardboard boxes. With the exception of the main sitting area, within a span of two hours, it was as if the last few months of Minoru’s life had never existed. 

Kobayashi and Tanaka were as jittery as the others; no one had really seen the boss so everyone was either terrified or excited, or both. Minoru couldn’t convince himself that this was finally it. Every few minutes he had to remind himself that it was happening and that this was his time to make good on his promises. If everyone else hadn’t also been shaking with nerves, he would have looked incredibly suspicious. 

Despite the anticipation, however, the boss’ arrival heralded very little fanfare. One minute they were huddled around a table, the next a group of people pushed into the room and there was an immediate hush. Minoru promptly pushed past the others in order to get a good look. Not for the first time, he cursed his height and wished things were just a little bit easier. After all, it didn’t look very graceful, precariously balancing on a stool stacked on a chair, trying to catch a glimpse over the freakishly tall bodyguards blocking his view. 

The boss was an average-looking man, with silvery hair and glasses. He looked like a grandpa. He looked like he could have been a university professor. 

Minoru tried to brand his face into memory. This was the villain who’d made his and the prisoners’ lives hell for months. This was the man behind it all.

An unremarkable-looking elder. 

He strained his ears to catch a name, and finally, one of the tall brutes bent down to mutter to his boss. Minoru caught what might have been a “…. line them up, Tanabe-sama?”

The boss turned around, catching Minoru’s eyes for one, heart-racing moment, before his eyes crinkled and he shook his head ever so subtly in the direction of the speaker.   

His address to his lackeys was short and as unremarkable as his own appearance had been. Minoru didn’t know what he had been expecting, but disappointment was not it. 

He dismissed the thought and tried to see if he could catch the name again. It did not come up. 

Minoru and the others were commanded to round up the prisoners and make preparations for shipment. The prisoners had to be chained up and all cargo accounted for before they got on the white vessel that had anchored outside. The engine was making a rather large amount of noise, and Minoru wondered if this was what had given the group away so many times before. It was a terrible way to transport illegal cargo. 

Tutting and mocking the operations manager of this gang, he robotically followed his orders, making trips to and from the ship, struggling under a criminal amount of boxes. Honestly, it was like these people didn’t see that he was basically the size of a six-year-old boy. Then he remembered he had given himself some height in those god-forsaken shoes he’d worn with his disguise, so they only thought he was the height of a twelve-year-old boy.  

Determined not to look at the clock for the sake of keeping his cover, Minoru didn’t notice when it struck one, so he almost tripped over his own shoes when he heard the commotion. 

“HEROES OUTSIDE!” bellowed Karma-san, his loud voice penetrating through the din of conversation. 

Minoru’s heart dropped to his stomach. For a second, he was frozen as if between pages. And then, he ran. 

It takes him longer than he expects to get to the prison room. He has to get into his suit and the cave is cramped; the hallways are made for two abreast at most, so Minoru gets absolutely trampled on his way to the door. He’s limping, his cheek smarting from the wham of someone’s elbow directly onto his face, and breath is a foreign concept as of seven minutes ago. 

He doesn’t care.

The only thought in his brain is a constant loop of save them save them save them save them. 

When he arrives, his hands slip on the stubborn door handle, and Chouji - the guard - widens his eyes in surprise. There’s no time. Chouji opens his mouth to yell, and Minoru throws a ball directly into it. The man doubles, making choking noises that make Minoru a little nauseous, so he kicks out Chouji’s feet and sticks his legs to the floor for good measure. Then he opens the door. 

“Come on!” he yells, “Come on, come on! Heroes are here, we’re leaving! Come on!”

The people inside look at him with wide eyes, then as one, the adults are scrambling to their feet, pulling up children by their arms, and generally getting in each other’s way. 

“One line!” Minoru screams, “One single file or we all get left behind! Stay in line! Let’s go, let’s go!” 

Like an angel, he sees Shinsou’s tall figure round the corner and almost cries in pure relief. 

“Shinsou!” 

Shinsou looks immediately, running forward to catch the hand of the first in line, leading them towards the exit, guarding their front. 

The others file out with minimal interference. Some of the more scared individuals found it difficult to move, and by the time Minoru had helped the last one out, he was bone-tired. 

He bounced his gaze around the room one final time when he noticed the paintings. 

Wait. 

He hadn’t seen Nayumi. Or Katsu-kun. There was no backpack. 

They had to have been here. Maybe he hadn’t seen them? They had to have been here, right? 

But Katsu-kun always calls. Minoru would know his voice anywhere. And he hadn’t heard it at all. 

He swerves on his heel and sprints into the hallway. 

The storage rooms and barracks are empty. He explodes in and out of the rooms, all fury and brimstone and panic. He thinks he hears the roaring of a great beast outside, but he is too focused to wonder about it. 

The only one left is the medical room. He crashes into the door with all his weight. 

There is a scream and a loud crackle of electricity. 

Minoru locks eyes with the lackey, and then at his hand. It happens like the blink of an eye. Nayumi stiffens. Steam rises from her body. Then she collapses backward. There is a loud thump when her head meets the wall. 

The air fills with the smell of burning flesh. 

Minoru’s brain is screaming. He turns his head to the other corner. Katsu-kun’s mouth is still open in a shout. A hulking, armoured turtle has him by the throat with a knife. A third head pops up from under the table, arms poised to shoot, and he moves. 

In a flurry of arms, he swings at the knife with one ball and at the kidnapper with his chain. The knife clatters to the floor, and with his other hand, Minoru pulls. The ball sticks to the turtle’s chest, and he falls forward, beak-first. He hears the sound of a snap, and Katsu-kun’s wail, before swinging around to the other villain.

A screech of electricity barely misses his cheek, grazing the bruise and stinging his face but Minoru can’t deal with him right now. He swiftly closes in on the third, and throws out his ball chain, sticking and swinging to pull him off his feet before kicking his face in. Spinning on his feet, he throws up pepper spray at the one creeping up on him and uses his face to bash in the one on the floor. 

When he’s done, there are three men on the floor, and two hostages. 

He bounds towards Katsu-kun who’s properly crying now, breath hitching and fear clouding his senses. 

Minoru tries to filter out the sound, focusing on breathing, on bundling up the uncooperative boy into his cape, sticking him on with strategically placed balls, hauling him onto his back. Katsu-kun has gone entirely limp, and Minoru’s sweat is getting into his eyes. 

But he can’t stop now.

Once Katsu-kun is settled, he runs towards Nayumi, immediately sweeping his eyes over the areas where he can safely stick and carry her. She’s almost double his height. But his suit is made for this. 

His hands are slipping. He’s nearly blind with panic and sweat. His back is soaked. He has no idea if the villains will get up, or what has happened outside. His hands are slipping on the knots. 

His hands are slipping on the knots. It’s not working! 

There is a siren in his mind that keeps blaring louder with every second. In desperation, he rips three balls off his scalp, sticking them to his chest. With a grunt, he lifts her up and sticks her to him. She hangs off like a crude peeling sticker, arms and legs flying everywhere, head tossed back. 

Minoru doesn’t know what expression she’s making. 

When he finally stands up with two people stuck to him, he lets out a sob of relief. 

He runs. When he smacks her hand on the corners, something clatters out of her fist, glinting on the stone, but he doesn’t stop. And she doesn’t cry. 

Minoru has no idea how he makes it to the exit. He encounters no one on the way, but he has to make a final round to check for survivors, and it almost kills him. 

He spies Shouji’s broad back from five meters away. 

“Shouji!” he screams, “MEDIC!”

Shouji whips around with wide eyes before he barks an order to the left. 

Sato rushes in all big, bulky savior, and picks Minoru up easily in one arm. They’re out in seconds. 

It’s a pathetic sight. There is one ambulance, and two police cars. The others are all Frontliners’ personal cars, no press, no pickup. He picks out Shinsou near the police cars, snapping restraints and shoving people in. Another hero is offloading the ship - Ryukyu. So that’s what the sounds were.

“Mineta-kun!” calls Sato. He looks like he’s been calling for a while. 

“Hm. Huh?” 

“The medics need a look at the girl and the boy. Can you unstick them, please?”

With a start, Minoru realizes that he hadn’t even noticed their weight still on him. Katsu-kun was still wailing in his ear, and Nayumi was still hanging off him like a limpet, except the hand he’d smacked seemed very red. Actually, she seemed pretty red and white all over. 

“Right,” he says hastily, slipping the alcohol from his belt. Sato bends down to help. 

Except it wasn’t coming off. Minoru kept rubbing, working his way around the ones on his chest, trying to free the adhesive, but it was stuck fast. 

Minoru grunts, running his rag over and over, faster, faster, faster until a big hand claps down over his own. He looks up at Shouji, looming over Minoru’s pathetic attempts, probably looking more like a hero than Minoru ever could.

He speaks, calmly, “Mineta-san, let me help. Please relax.” Minoru can’t. His hands are shaking, his panic is overwhelming his senses and he can feel himself slipping away. 

Shouji tries to pull him and Nayumi apart without ripping off Minoru’s hero costume. 

He fails. 

The balls are stuck with something greater than glue. In stuttering breaths, Minoru explains that his panic may have made the Quirk even stronger than usual, and there is no way to know what would dissolve them. 

In the end, Shouji has no option but to rip Minoru and his charges apart. There is a horrible tearing sound, Minoru’s costume and cape falling in tatters, lined with his skin and blood, drops welling over Minoru’s wounds, drawing out an elongated, muffled scream from his lips. 

Immediately, Shouji goes to work, dropping Katsu-kun and Nayumi off at the ambulance, while Sato falls to his knees to bandage Minoru. 

He’s called over to the ambulance immediately to detail what he knows about their conditions. Of all the victims, it seems only these two have suffered any injury. Two medics are bent over Nayumi, faces stoic. “Status?” one asks curtly. 

“Electricity shot to the chest,” Minoru answers dully. There is a shock blanket on his shoulders, and the adrenaline high is on its last legs. He thinks his legs might fall off. 

The medic nods gravely, lifting an eyelid to check her pupils. Faintly, Minoru registers that Katsu-kun is still bawling, but it’s shifted from the earlier mindless screaming. Now, it seems interspersed with words. 

His eyes drift to her wrist, and he notices with heavy shock that the skin there isn’t swollen on a bruise. It’s a burn. Nayumi has third-degree burns everywhere, visible all over in patches where her skin shows through. Her shirt is in tatters from being ripped below the waist. His eyes catch on her collarbone. 

Then his brow furrows. On her school uniform shirt, the second button is missing - ripped out from the looks of it, as if someone yanked it out in a hurry. Between the open flaps, her skin has melted and blistered. 

But she wore her uniform in perfect condition until yesterday. Did it catch on something? He stares at the space, trying to figure out what could possibly have possessed a girl like Nayumi to rip at her own clothes. Perhaps she’d had a tussle with the villain? No - the rest of her hadn’t looked at all rumpled until the electricity had blasted her point blank. 

Her hair looked like Bakugou’s, except way worse. The thought makes him chuckle, but he chokes on the scent of burnt hair and skin, the bandages wound tight around his lungs. 

The return of his humor clears his head somewhat, and he finally looks around, coming back into himself. The blur of noises in the back sharpens into Katsu-kun’s clear voice, yelling something about…

“…let me go, let me go! I gotta get to Onee-san, I promised! I promised! Please I gotta tell him! He lost it! He lost it! Let me go!” The cry peters out into a wail of frustration and Minoru’s world comes back into focus. 

He jerks his head up, catching the boy’s eyes, yelling to be heard over the screams. “Katsu-kun! I’m here, I’m here! Lost what?”

The boy turns to him, glaring with unexpected hostility. If Minoru was standing, he would have taken a step back. “You lost it!” he yells again, “Onee-san said it was for you and you lost it! Bring it back!”

Minoru has never felt so overwhelmed. “Bring back what?! What is it? Katsu-kun, why are you yelling? What’s wrong?!”

“BUTTON!” screams Katsu-kun, his little lungs working overtime, his voice carrying into a shrill shriek. “It was for you, Onee-san said! You lost it! Bring it back! Stupid, stupid hero, bring it back!”

The button? The one she’d ripped out? Minoru looks towards Nayumi’s hand hanging from the stretcher, curled loosely into a fist. 

The button. A closed fist. Something had clattered on the ground in the caves. Something had rolled and glinted. 

Minoru looks at Nayumi, trying to catch a glimpse of the hole again, but his eyes meet the medic’s instead. 

She says nothing. To her credit, there is no outward indication. She meets his eyes steadily. 

He holds his breath. He thinks, irrationally, that if he keeps her stare, nothing will ever happen. 

Her hand inches toward the white blanket underneath Nayumi. Underneath Nayumi’s body. 

Her body. Her body and her limp hand. Her burnt hair, stinking something awful, her useless uniform shirt, and her burnt skin. It was only two seconds. He hadn’t even seen the full thing.

The other medic makes a soft, pained sound before he lifts her legs gently to tug out the white sheet. Her legs are blistering and oozing. Minoru hadn’t noticed that. 

When he carried her before, he hadn’t noticed that she was burnt so badly. He’d just been trying to get her out. How hadn’t he noticed? 

When she didn’t yell, when she didn’t speak, when she didn’t stir, why didn’t he notice? 

When the button fell, when he’d hurt her, why hadn’t he - the button. 

The button. Second button on the uniform, closest to the heart. Middle-school shenanigans. Like how Ryo-kun had given to Hana-chan on graduation, while Minoru watched jealously from the sidelines. 

The button, Katsu-kun had yelled, the button, Onee-san said it was for you! Bring it back!

Like a terrible and wrathful wave, the realization crashes upon him. For the fourth time today, he turns on his heel to sprint down into the caves, into the abyss of torture that had kept him for the past few months. Right down into the depths of the horror that he’d escaped from, right down the familiar hall, on the right, then the left, where her wrist had smashed against the rocks. The fallen treasure, the promise he’d made, the youthful confession of a bashful schoolgirl with her first real crush. 

“Have you ever?” he’d asked, somewhat hesitantly. 

“No,” she’d smiled sadly, perhaps with a tinge of bitterness, “University is good, but not that good. Besides, I think I’m a little too boring anyway. I’ve never been struck with that fluttery feeling, y’know? Maybe I’m just a little odd, or maybe it’s God’s way of sparing me the disappointment.” She’d laughed like it was funny. 

Minoru had laughed like he didn’t believe it. “You? Boring? Please, don’t mock my intelligence.”

“I don’t have to, you do a very good job of it all by yourself, doesn’t he, Sakura-chan?”

“Hey! Don’t forget I’m the one saving you all. Be nice to me or I might lose one of you accidentally-on-purpose.” 

“You would never.” Sakura-chan said confidently. 

He ruffled her hair. “No I wouldn’t.” 

The memory hurts like hot iron.

He realizes that the wailing isn’t coming from Katsu-kun anymore. He can’t move, and someone is bearing down upon him with all their might in a familiar, fleshy prison. 

Shouji. 

“Let me go!” he shrieks, “I need to find the button! The button, I need to find it! It fell, it fell down there, I gotta go grab it! Let me go, Shouji, damn it, let me go!”

He pounds on whatever part of the body he can find, kicking and pulling viciously when nothing moves. Shouji flinches, his body opening up instinctively, and Minoru slips out and takes off like a shot into the entrance. 

He hears someone pounding after him and yelling, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything other than that damned button. 

He collides with one wall, then the other. Half blind, and feral with grief, he scrabbles on the floor for the treasure, nails scraping this way and that with abandon. 

When Sato finds him, he’s on his hands and knees, looking at a small round thing of plastic as if it can bring the dead back to life. 

He looks away, if only to give a classmate the chance to reclaim some dignity. Or perhaps, some space to grieve in silence. They’ve never seen something like this before, so Minoru understands, later, when they say that it was hard to watch. That it haunts them, the whole ordeal. 

He is asked to debrief. There is still paperwork to be done. 

Shouji will handle the casualty report personally, he says, but there are things only Minoru can recount. It is necessary to charge the villains with their share of damage. The electricity one will get death penalty. But only if Minoru can write it up and sign off on it. 

He has to. For her sake, he has to. 

Katsu-kun is quickly bundled off into someone’s car, but he’s quietened, and Minoru caught him staring with big, shocked eyes right before he was turned away. It has not yet sunk in - he’s too confused - but Minoru’s heart squeezes like it does when he’s ashamed. 

His mind is hazy. He keeps forgetting what he’s doing, and stumbling all over the place. His cheek has begun to hurt something fierce, and he thinks his shoes are broken. It would explain why he’s all tilted. It doesn’t explain the sharp pain in his arm, but he doesn’t care enough to explore. 

He tries to give the button back to her. “It’s her butt’n,” he insists, “it should return t’her. P’sessions y’know?” Words are bafflingly hard to form, and the thick scarf that suddenly wraps around his waist makes him even more confused. 

“Aiz’wa sensei?” he slurs, “Jus’ wan’ed to give it back. It’s her’s right? An’ I’ma hero, gotta…gotta g’ve back. N..no failures.” He nods in assurance, “th’t’s what I said. Yup.”

Aizawa-sensei pulls him closer. He asks in a weird, tight voice if Minoru wants to sleep. 

Minoru frowns, then laughs. “Aiz’wa s’nsei g’ss what! Broke both you and y’r son’s record, ha! Hav…haven’t slept in three days.” He holds up his fingers to show sensei, but he can’t quite get his hands to work. He struggles, frustrated.

He hears Aizawa-sensei telling him to go to sleep in that weird voice again, and then he’s gone. 

For the first time in six weeks, dreams do not trouble him. And for a very long time, he does not stir.