Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a photograph on Kaminari Denki’s wall, and he did not remember taking it.

Normally, this wouldn’t be cause for concern. He had other photos displayed around his room, ones which he had not taken. A polaroid from Jirou here, a hand-drawn stick figure from Mina there, Denki’s space was practically littered with the keepsakes of his mundane life, to the point that, in the grander scheme of his dormitory, one might reckon this singular, innocuous, unremarkable picture would blend seamlessly into the background. And it would be so, if not for one factor—its frame. The only picture in his collection to be granted such a privilege, it sat behind a shield of glass and polished wood. The paper, slightly crinkled, was devoid of tear, suggesting a level of deliberate care before it had made its way into Denki’s life.

The content of the photo depicted the scene of a city at sunset. Bathed in molten light, the landscape stretched until the upper bounds of the paper, upon which it was cut off by the sea. The angle of the photo, levelled with the golden clouds, informed him it had been taken from high up. The architecture of the city was reminiscent of any other metropolis. Searches on the internet revealed to Denki nothing except an endless amount of similar-looking port cities around the world, and so after a year or two of passively hunting for the photo’s origin, he gave up. Life as a Hero student was hectic enough as it was without being a part of the infamous Class 1-A. Between all of his studies and training and the villain attacks, Denki had no space left in his brain to ponder about something as simple as a picture framed in his room. Once they moved into the dorm, he had hung it up with the expectation of never sparing it another thought. His life continued as it always did as he pursued his dream of becoming a Pro-Hero, fighting villains and mutated monsters alongside his classmates. The photo faded to the back of his mind as Denki concerned himself with more pressing issues—namely, his abysmal grades and the school’s dangerous lack of safety.

Eventually, the time came to apply for their work-studies internship.

To Kaminari Denki.

However double-edged it was, Denki’s flashy Quirk still landed him a fair number of offers. Even more than he had gotten for the Sport Festivals, in fact, and Denki willingly put himself through the process of sorting out his paperwork only because he knew that afterward, the real fun would begin. He would get to work alongside an actual Pro-Hero! Just the thought was enough to fuel him through the hours of sorting his inbox, comparing statistics and trashing shady offers from companies he had never heard of, until, finally, he was able to compile a handful of offers from choice agencies he was interested in.

Denki was debating the benefit of Edgeshot’s high rating against Mt. Lady’s popularity in his head when he clicked on an offer from an unknown detective agency based in Yokohama.

We offer a rare and unique opportunity—a chance for you to experience what it is like to work under the Armed Detective Agency.

Absent-mindedly, Denki scrolled through the rest of the offer. From the name to the lack of online results when he searched it up, he was ready to toss it out before he even finished reading the first sentence. The only thing that held his hand was that, for what he could only assume to be complete ignorance on their part, a detective agency was asking for him specifically, and the fact that they were reportedly based in Yokohama.

Simply the mention of the city made Denki sit up straighter in his chair. Yokohama was one of those taboos, the type everyone knew about, but never dared say aloud. A city with a predominantly Quirkless population—standing only due to regular government intervention—no conversation to be had about it could proceed without a certain amount of awkwardness. It would be tantamount to career-suicide for any Hero to even considered setting up their agency in the area, yet a detective agency, with no fame or fortune of their own, now claimed it to be their base of operation?

Right, Denki did not doubt their existence as much as he doubted the chances of them staying that way. A business like that was considered dead on arrival if it was competing in the Heroism market. Still, a small part of his brain insisted on being intrigued, a response which he frantically shook from his head.

It didn’t matter. Denki would be as stupid as people say if he would choose a no-name detective agency over the No. 4 Hero of Japan.

Keeping that thought in mind, he flitted through the rest of the letter, processing very little past to basic details. Reaching the end, he was just about to click off the screen when he noticed something—an icon—attached to the tail end of the offer. The symbol indicated that it was an image, and Denki had to rub his eyes a few times just to make sure he was not hallucinating from lack of sleep. When it still remained after he blinked, Denki stared at it for a moment, before conceding to opening the file with a shrug.

The image expanded, painting his screen in a golden hue. Immediately, Denki felt his heart drop to his stomach.

We gift you this view of our city.

For a moment, he almost considered calling the cops. He wished he was just hallucinating now. Maybe if he went to sleep, all of this would disappear when he woke up.

Perhaps a day will come when you see it as home.

Kaminari Denki slammed his laptop shut with a bang.

.

“Sensei, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“What is it, Kaminari?”

“So the other day, I was looking through my internship offers, and in the letter they sent me…”

“-An image? What about it?”

“See, I have one that’s pretty much exactly like it. I don’t know. It’s kind of creepy, that’s all. Here, you can take a look.”

“This is Yokohama, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I guess so. I didn’t know that before. Just thought it was a cool photo of the skyline.”

“These sorts of pictures are pretty common online. I can look into it if you want, but more likely than not, it is nothing.”

“I…Yeah, probably. Thank you, Sensei.”

Pacing around his room, Denki replayed the imaginary conversation in his head. His mental image of Aizawa-sensei actually sounded rational—not good. Denki was trying to work up the courage to go see the real deal. Unfortunately, beside the obvious fact that he was the lowest-ranking student in the class, and therefore wished to avoid his teachers at all cost, the two pictures really did resemble typical urban cityscapes. The only notable features shared between the two was a ferris wheel, and even that was to be expected. Once Denki calmed down enough to re-opened his laptop, he searched up Yokohama and found at least ten more photos with the exact same ferris wheel, mostly taken by adventurous journalists who wanted to see the Quirkless city for themselves. The angles and compositions can both be chalked up to creative inspiration. Even the lighting, streaked with its vivid golden hues, had slight variations that differentiated one from another. In all, they were, clearly, not the same photo.

Despite that, Denki could still feel the thuds of his heart beating against his chest. With a deep inhale, he brought his thumb up to the hollow of his chest and began rubbing, willing himself to calm down. When even that failed to contain his panic, he reluctantly sent a shock from his finger into his body. The world lurched, then stilled with a faint buzz.

Massaging the pain away, he turned back to his desk, where only the light of the laptop kept the whole room from descending into darkness. Denki opened up the letter once again, making sure this time to read through every line that had been sent to him—double-checking and triple-checking the ending specifically. The way it was written irked something inside him, a sort of irritation that Denki was not sure he was ready to untangle. Working at the dead skin on his lips, Denki looked to the side of the screen. The offer from Edgeshot Agency stared back at him, judgmental gaze questioning his inappropriate level of indecision.

He tried to click on it. His hand moved. But then it stopped, and Denki was back to staring at the letter from the Armed Detective Agency. He scrolled aimlessly up and down the page, not even reading its content, just staring. At some point, he opened up the image again. The city skyline remained unchanged.

“What the hell,” He murmured to himself, eyes drooping with sleepiness.

If he closed his eyes, Denki thought he could almost picture the scenery in his head. The smell of the sea—would it be salty? He had never been to the coast, but he had heard from his classmates—Momo, with her frequent trips to the tropics, and Tsuyu, who conducted her internship near the ocean—that being near the water was a wonderful experience, freeing. Just recalling their words made Denki's mind burn with curiosity. He wondered what the harbour was like. Would the noise of machinery intermix or clash with the sound of the crashing waves? Could he taste the ocean in the air? For the Quirkless of the world to congregate in that city, it surely must have something special to offer.

It’s probably just because they have nowhere else to go. His mind retorted, but Denki liked his idyllic daydream enough to disregard it. Electricity buzzed down his spine in response to his excitement. In comparison, Edgeshot’s office offered…what, exactly? More of the same usual? The No. 4 Hero hardly needed a high-school student to act as his sidekick. Denki would just be working at a normal office in a normal city, and he already had plenty of experience with that. Yokohama was a new venture, a risk that dared to be taken. His classmates had all gotten their tastes of adventure, some more than others, and Denki wanted it too—craved it, even, for one reason or another.

The only photo Denki did not remember taking hung framed on his wall, the night whispering its golden secret. His finger hovering over the keyboard, Denki felt the old curiosity that lay dormant within him blazed back to life.

He began to type.

.

Half an hour into his train ride to Yokohama, Denki was suddenly struck with the realization that he was doing exactly what the people around him always warned him against—pursuing his impulses without considering its consequences beforehand. He remembered the pinched look on Aizawa-sensei’s face when he told him of the internship acceptance, and cringed to himself. His teacher was probably expecting this whole thing to blow over. Unfortunately, with consent from both Denki and his grandfather for the internship to proceed, there was little he could do in terms of intervention. Thus, here Denki was, mildly regretting the life choices he had made up to this moment.

Still, Denki resolved to buy him something as an apology when he returned. Perhaps he could visit one of Yokohama’s gift shops. Looking around the train, however, noticeably more worn and old-fashioned than the one Denki switched off of from Musutafu, he was beginning to doubt the strength of Yokohama’s tourism industry. A city full of Quirkless people was probably not the first place people would think to go to, not when the main reason the majority of people visited was to see Pro-Heroes at work.

In Denki’s opinion, there were only two ways a place like the Armed Detective Agency could remain open—either they found themselves a personal sponsor, or they received funding from the government. He wasn’t sure what the crime statistics in Yokohama was like, or he was, but it looked suspiciously low for a city with almost zero Hero presence. If he got the chance, Denki expected that to be the first question he asked the people at the Armed Detective Agency. It all hinged on whether he could complete their so-called entrance exam.

The acceptance letter he received was a short and brief one. Denki was told to pack light, and they were explicit in their warning for him not to wear his Hero costume. He ended up going in his school uniform. It saved the time it would take him to change, and allowed him to simply head straight for the station after class. His Hero equipment was stored in his bag. The framed photo, once hung on Denki’s wall, was now safely wrapped in one of his old shirts and shoved in between his spare change of clothes. He debated leaving it behind at first, still unsure as to whether the coincidences were just that, coincidences. In the end, Denki’s paranoia got the better of him. It was better to have it—he convinced himself—just in case.

It was late afternoon when he departed, and now it was the early evening. Sunlight filtered through the dusty window of the cramped train, casting warm light onto Denki’s laps. As his destination approached, an automatic announcer, her robotic voice pleasant and clear, called out a five-minute warning.

Denki arrived at Yokohama at exactly half past six–

“You’re five minutes and fifty-two seconds late. Please ensure that you’re on time in the future, as we won’t be making special accommodations even if you’re a student of U.A.”

–Which was apparently unsatisfactory for the blond bespectacled man who somehow appeared right in front of him the moment he stepped off the train, face already twisted into a frown.

Denki blinked. Looking around, he noticed the other passengers of the train getting off as normal, barely sparing him a glance as he stood in front of the door blocking their path. Glancing back, he gazed up at the man, noting his sharp vest and red ribbon bow. “Uh…” He cleverly let out.

The man bulldozed forward as if he hadn’t heard him, “What’s more—keep in mind that we expect you to pull your weight, even if you’re just an intern. I already have one coworker who slack off at work. If you follow his example, don’t come crying to me about what happens next.”

The man’s eyes, hidden behind his glasses, promised violence. His foot, meanwhile, was tapping incessantly on the floor. The two of them were still standing right in front of the door to the train. Denki heard a ding as it slid close behind him, sealing his fate.

With a gulp, he extended his hand to the man. “Ah…It’s nice to meet you! I assume you’re the representative from the Armed Detective Agency? My name is Kaminari Denki. Please take care of me in the future!” Signing off his introduction with a radiant grin, Denki mentally pat himself on the back for a job well-done. Nobody could resist such a cheerful greeting from a young man like him, or so his grandfather often said.

“No time to waste on pleasantries!” Denki would have to ask his grandfather later if the man had lied to him about anything else, “Let’s go, we’re needed somewhere else right now.”

With that, the man turned on his heel and began descending into the crowd, leaving Denki to flounder after him. The two of them squeezed and pushed their way out of the station, Denki noting along the way just how crowded the area was. Streams of people—ordinary-looking people—rushed past them. Some eyed the streak of black on Denki’s hair, but most were looking at his uniform, evidently recognizing where it was from. The blond man seemed to notice this as well and Denki just about caught the huff he sent his way.

“Is there something wrong, sir?” Denki asked, because even if he was not the best student, he was still proud of having gone to his school. Whatever entrance exam the Armed Detective Agency intended to throw at him couldn’t be worse than the one he already had to do in order to get into U.A.

“Tch, not for now, but something like this may be bothersome to deal with in the future. You’ll see,” They reached a busy street and Denki watched as the man deftly navigated through a series of convoluted crossroads, not a pause in his step even as he grunted, “And don’t call me ‘sir.’ My name is Kunikida. Kunikida Doppo. I’m a senior member of the Armed Detective Agency. We’ll be working with each other often if you manage to pass the entrance exam.”

Denki ran to catch up to him, “I haven’t had any experience with uh…detective work, before. May I ask what this entrance exam is about? Is it general knowledge? A physical test?” He winced. “Math?”

The man, Kunikida, gave him an odd look, before shrugging. “That’s not up to me to decide. You can worry about the entrance exam later. For now-” He suddenly stopped and pulled out his phone, nearly causing Denki to crash into him. “-we have to find my colleague.”

“That’s why we’re rushing?” Denki asked, incredulous, “I thought there was an emergency! Like- like a villain attack or something. What’s so urgent about your colleague?”

Kunikida’s face, already wrinkled up in an expression of utter exasperation, somehow managed to darkened even further.

“He’s a useless-” He punctuated his words with a push of a button on his flip phone—Denki was starting to seriously wonder how old this guy was, or maybe this sort of technology was just commonplace in a city like Yokohama—face reddening at an increasingly rapid rate, “-Bandage-wasting, work-slacking tapeworm who I have been searching for-” He looked up as though checking the date, “For the past two days!”

Denki stared.

“And uh…you managed to find him, right?”

Kunikida exhaled as though the weight of the world was held solely on his back, “One of the transmitters we planted on him just received a signal. He’s drowning himself in one of the river banks. Again.”

They started walking once more, though Denki could barely register himself moving. His mind seemed to have frozen in the process of trying to understand what was going on—the small, rational part of his psyche repeatedly asking, Why? Why? Why? Why? What made you think this was a good idea? An excellent question which Denki desperately wished he had an answer to. Unfortunately, Kunikida appeared to have moved on from the conversation entirely, leaving Denki to feel as though he had voluntarily thrown himself into the deep end of a swimming pool backward and blindfolded.

In a valiant effort to distract himself from his new reality, he piped up, “Kunikida-san!”

“What?” Came the gruff answer.

“I have some questions, if you don’t mind. You see, this is my first time in Yokohama,” Denki said, keeping pace with the other man despite Kunikida’s increasing speed, “I just want to know—how does the Armed Detective Agency operate exactly? Do you only do investigative work or do you also go out to fight villains? Are there even villains in Yokohama?” As the two of them dodged around a group of shady-looking businessmen, he couldn’t help but blurt out, “Do you even have Quirks?”

Kunikida stopped in his path, and this time, Denki really did bumped into him. “Kid,” Turning back, the man began, letting out a long, deep sigh that Denki distinctly remembered having heard from his teachers before, “Look—I just know this had something to do with that bastard, Dazai—get that willy-nilly nonsense about Heroes and justice out of your head now. We don’t have villains in Yokohama. We have criminals. Normal criminals, that may get in the way of our daily lives, and so when the client requests it, the Armed Detective Agency will deal with them. Otherwise, we don’t go out looking for trouble on our own initiative. That’s not how it works around here.”

“But you’re still a Hero, aren’t you? Criminals or villains, you’re still stopping crime. That’s what a Hero does,” Denki argued.

“No, that’s what you expect a Hero to do,” Kunikida’s eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses as he took a deep breath, evidently preparing for something, “And certainly, that is one of the factors that makes up a Hero, but you don’t just learn to stop crime at that fancy school of yours, do you? You learn to manage a business, to market yourself, to stand out from the crowd. If stopping crime is the only thing that makes a Hero, why does crime still occur around the countryside? That’s because it is immensely difficult to make a career as a Hero in a non-centralized location. Metropolis offers Heroes the publicity they need to survive, but as a result, areas outside of urban centers are left to fend for themselves. This sort of disparity drives more to felony everyday, but as Heroes, you don’t have to care about that. You make a living as long as there is an audience, and you have an audience as long as there is crime.”

“A-Are you saying that Heroes are causing crime? But that’s-” Ridiculous, Denki wanted to say. He could think of a few other words as well—delusional, backward, biased, conspiratory. What he ended up settling on was a faint, “That doesn’t even make any sense. You can’t place the responsibility of these…criminals on the back of Pro-Heroes. They’re just doing their job. Just as you are doing yours,” He squinted, “Wait, what are your jobs anyways? It is investigative work, right?”

Having been raising his brow for the length of Denki’s retort, Kunikida coughed into the back of hand at the question, “Yes, the majority of our work is what you would call…investigative in nature.” He sighed, “Since the Armed Detective Agency is first and foremost a detective agency, we often come in after the crime has already been committed, although sometimes we do engage in stopping the crime beforehand as well.”

“Uh,” Denki rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a bit awkward, “That’s nice,” He replied, looking away so that the other man wouldn’t notice his slightly flushed cheeks, “I’m not sure I’ll be the best at it though, if that’s the case. My grades aren’t…I’m not the type to think my way through stuff. It’s a lot more simple to just electrocute the problem away.” He chuckled.

Kunikida’s shoulder slackened as he, too, breathed out slowly, “Don’t worry about it, kid. We did look at your grades before we made the internship offer, but if you pass the entrance exam, you're in whether or not you think you qualify.”

“How reassuring,” Denki drawled, before finally giving in and smiling at the other man. He was never good at staying worked up anyways, “Let’s not talk about that anymore. I don’t want to think about it, and don’t we have a colleague to find?” He glanced to the side, “We have been standing in the middle of the road for a while now. That car had been honking at us for a hot minute.”

As if on cue, the car’s horn sounded.

Cursing under his breath, Kunikida ushered Denki out of the way of the driver, keeping a firm hand on his back as the two beelined for the other side of the road. As the car whizzed back, Denki took a moment to glance behind him:

“Ah, Kunikida-san, I’m old enough to look both sides before crossing the street, but I appreciate it all the same!”

Kunikida’s face went through a motion akin to origami folding before he conceded to wrenching his hand away and folding it across his chest, “Speak up sooner next time, brat! We don’t have enough time to waste on things like this. Let’s go.”

Following the signal on Kunikida’s phone, the two of them made their way to the river bank. At some point, Denki had to start running to catch up to Kunikida, the man growing more and more impatient the later in the day it got. By the time they arrived at their destination, the sun had begun setting in the horizon. The river surface, rippling languidly, reflected the colours of the bloody sky above.

At the first sight of someone else sitting on the other side of the bank, Kunikida yelled, “So this is where you have been! What do you think you’re doing, you oaf?”

Having fallen behind some time before they reached their destination, Denki hurried to catch up, eager to see who this mysterious colleague was. He was just making his way down a set of stairs when a high-pitched, whiney voice that definitely belonged to a full-grown man called out—“Oh, there you are, Kunikida-kun! Thanks for working so hard!”—causing him to nearly trip on his own feet.

Denki suddenly felt uncomfortably sympathetic toward Kunikida's plight.

As if hearing his thoughts, Kunikida looked back at him and nodded. A moment of comradery passed between them, only to be broken when that same voice piped up in a sadistic rendition of polite society, “Hey let me borrow your wallet, will you? We’re going out to eat tonight! No, there’s no take back, I promised Atsushi here at least thirty bowls of chazuke!”

.

Denki’s classmates often called him a pain-in-the-arse, a dunce.

One day, Denki would like to introduce them to a certain someone named Dazai Osamu.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table to Denki inside of a traditional Japanese restaurant was a man covered head-to-toe with bandages. Despite his pitiful state and general dishevelment, he was currently smiling like a cat that had gotten the cream. Next to him, Kunikida was scribbling away on the notebook he had pulled out of his pocket some time ago, the frown on his face having long deepened into a permanent sneer. Dazai, meanwhile, looked as though every minute of Kunikida’s frustration added years to his own life, a behaviour so assuredly counter-productive to his prior action that Denki was forced to assume a truly clinical case of insanity.

“So,” The bandaged man began, his smile saccharine sweet as he looked at Denki from behind thirty-seven bowls of chazuke, “Kaminari Denki, our new intern. Kunikida-kun has been treating you well, hasn’t he? I know he can be a bit…” He drifted off, looking to the side expectantly.

“I dare you to continue that, you sorry waste-of-bandages! Do you understand what you’ve done to my schedule? I have to re-plan my whole day because you wouldn’t show up to greet the intern you recommended!”

“My, Kunikida-kun is so short-tempered today.” The man, who apparently had been the one to recommend Denki—he wasn’t quite sure how he should feel about that—lamented, “Maybe you should lay off on that notebook for a bit. Don’t you know it is bad form to be distracted during a meal?”

The whole table jolted with the force of Kunikida’s palm slamming onto it, “‘That notebook?’ This is my ideal, my guide to living, not that you would understand! Who would look at a nice river and think to dive into it in the middle of work? Nothing in my notebook say to have a suicidal co-worker for a partner!”

“Nhmghu?” Eloquently, the boy, whose name was Atsushi according to Dazai, added to their conversation. Next to him, a half-empty bowl of chazuke skidded closer to the edge of the table from Kunikida’s heated slam. Denki kept an eye on it. When the conversation moved on to how much Kunikida had spent on chazuke in a single night courtesy of Dazai’s drowned wallet, he silently reached out and moved it back to the middle of the table.

“Nhmghnh.”

“-I told you, this is work! Dazai and I are hunting a wild animal as requested by the military police. Speaking of which, we don’t have time for this nonsense right now! What do you think you’re doing, Dazai?”

“Only you can be so succinct when speaking to someone who has their mouth full, Kunikida,” Leaning back in his seat, Dazai smiled, “And about the dinner, well, just take this as a well-deserved break after how hard we’ve work in the past few days. After all, we still have the entrance exams to oversee later-”

“Phew!” A new voice snapped all three of them out of the conversation—or well, Denki thought it was a new voice, but it actually was just Atsushi again, mouth now unoccupied by a copious amount of food, “Boy, I don’t want to see chazuke again for another decade. You guys really help me out there!”

As a new wrinkle found its way onto Kunikida’ forehead, Denki turned to the boy sitting beside him and considered his appearance. Atsushi was thin, his clothes worn and draped loose around him. The seams of his pants were all but torn out, and Denki had several guesses as to what his circumstance may be, none of which were fortunate. His bangs were cut atrociously, as if someone took a scissor to it with the intent to harm rather than groom. In all, he gave off the impression of a boy constantly half-a-minute away from death. Even the thirty-seven bowls of chazuke did not do enough to return the complexion to his face.

Turning back, Denki noticed Dazai’s eyes on him, averted as soon as they were discovered.

The man chirped, “No problem, Atsushi-kun. Say, how did you even find yourself by the river today? Surely you weren’t there just to sabotage my drowning attempt.”

It was Atsushi’s head that whirled toward Denki this time, as though asking him if this was really supposed to be the normal sanity level of their conversation. In response, Denki winced. The fact that he wasn’t an official member of the Armed Detective Agency yet did not exclude him from feeling secondhand embarrassment toward the two men in front of them. I have no part in this. I’m just as confused as you are, he tried to communicate to Atsushi, but the other boy had already looked away before he managed to pass it on through their eye contact.

“Uh, so, I’m an orphan, but recently, I was forced to leave the orphanage and travelled to Yokohama without any food or sleep,” Atsushi breathed out, relief evident, “I honestly thought I was going to die before I met you guys.”

“Hm, you were released from your facility?” Dazai questioned.

Denki watched Atsushi carefully, also curious as to the answer. From the bitter smile that was beginning to spread on Atsushi’s face, he doubted it was something so simple.

“Release?” Atsushi echoed, “Hah, more like I was kicked out. Management slumps or downsizing or something like that.”

“Ouch, dude,” Denki said.

“Sounds like a heartless facility,” added Dazai.

Kunikida seemed to notice the expression on both of their faces, for he tuned back into the conversation with the comment, “Watch what you’re saying. We’re not volunteers who give compassion to unfortunate youngsters. Besides, Dazai, it’s about time we go back to work.”

“Work?” Atsushi piped up, his voice choked-full with hope. Denki imagined what it was like to be an orphan lost on the street, and realized that Atsushi probably did his fair share of job hunting so that he could try to feed himself. Given his pitiful presentation, however, the only businesses who might possibly hire him were crime fronts. Denki truly hoped Atsushi wasn’t a criminal. He rather liked the other boy, “Wait, what exactly is your work?”

“They’re a detective agency,” Denki answered, “Uh…apparently they do a lot of investigative work.”

“Detectives…?” Atsushi squinted his eyes at the other two men.

“Ah, so Kaminari-kun will conveniently leave out the fact that he’s going to be one of us soon enough,” With his fingers interlaced together, Dazai leaned forward, a conspiratory smile on his lips, “But that’s okay. He’s right, we are detectives.”

“Not just any kind of detective,” Kunikida cut in, “We don’t go looking for lost cats or investigate infidelity or anything like that. Our field of work is on the wilder side—murders and cases like that. Have you heard of the Armed Detective Agency?”

While Denki was left reeling from the knowledge that he might be seeing real actual dead bodies in the near future, Atsushi opened his mouth and gasped, “That…does sound familiar. Aren’t you guys the band of detectives that specializes in dangerous cases where neither the military nor the police can be relied upon? They say you manage the world between day and night—the twilight,” He pursed his lips, “A-And they also say that all of the employees of the Armed Detective Agency are-

“Oh, Kunikida! Look at that lintel!” Dazai suddenly called out. His gaze was affixed to a spot on the ceiling, “Seems durable, don’t you think? It might even be able to support a man’s weight!”

“…Do you guys not make enough money for psychiatric help or something?” Denki asked as soon as Kunikida descended into another one of his tirades.

Dazai tutted, “But you don’t understand, Kaminari-kun! It’s called neck-hanging hygiene-”

“What? That need to be hygienic?” Kunikida interrupted.

“But of course! Otherwise, you risk the possibility of…” As Dazai began spouting more nonsense to a painfully oblivious Kunikida—who Denki thought was supposed to be smart, mind you, what was with all of his schedules and beliefs—Denki turned back to Atsushi in a silent request for him to continue.

“O-Oh, it’s alright. It’s just…” Atsushi lowered his voice, “They say all of the employees of the Armed Detective Agency have some kind of unusual abilities.”

Denki blinked. The members of the Armed Detective Agency had…Quirks? Before, he remembered asking Kunikida that same question, to which the man never gave him a proper reply. Denki’s assumption was that they were Quirkless like the majority of Yokohama’s population, but with that piece of knowledge, a lot of things suddenly started to make sense—no Hero Agency could possibly operate without having Quirk-users, after all.

However, as if sensing Denki’s thoughts, Dazai interrupted them, “No one in the Armed Detective Agency possesses a Quirk. We’re what’s called Ability-users.”

“Sounds like you just want to be fancy with the terminology,” Denki frowned.

“Now, now, do you really think a city full of ordinary people could have survived for this long?” Dazai stopped, then continued after a moment of waiting for an answer that never came, “It’s an old secret. These days, Ability-users and Quirk-users tend to blend in with one another anyways. The difference can almost never be spotted unless you’re looking at the two side-by-side, but there is still a reason the government keeps us hushed up. Ability-users are,” He sighed, and his voice changed as though he was regurgitating what someone else had said to him, “‘Volatile, unstable. Dangerous. Ability-users around the world are often pariahs whether or not their statuses become known’—Or something like that.”

Listening to those words, even if Dazai’s smile remained the same, Denki could still hear the conviction behind them, as if whoever said it had absolute confidence in the truth of their belief. He wondered if Dazai’s own feelings on the matter also played a part in it. Nevertheless, he told him, “You can’t expect me to believe this. For all I know, this is the entrance exam, and I’m going to fail if I just take everything you tell me at face value. Trust me, I may be dumb, but I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Oh, I can tell you that this is not the entrance exam, but since you’re obviously not going to listen to me, this Dazai-san will just let you experience it for yourself,” Dazai’s smile sharpened, “Yokohama may be the city of Quirkless, but there’s plenty of loose Ability-users running about. Just a warning though, not all of them may be as friendly as us!”

It seemed Dazai was just as much of a joker as Denki was, though he hoped that this wasn’t how he made his classmates feel when he teased them. Abilities, on the other hand, just felt like an especially egregious lie spouted from the mouth of a man who looked like a con artist, and the type that Denki’s grandfather would tell him to stay far away from. The worst thing was that Dazai didn’t even appear sorry about it, his smile as sugary as ever.

Denki turned to Kunikida for help, but the man was still busy writing in his notebook. Meanwhile, Atsushi spoke up, “S-So, what work do you two detectives have today?”

A beat.

“We’re hunting a tiger.”

Putting down his notebook, Kunikida glanced at Dazai. Something seemed to pass between them, before Dazai chuckled and took up the explanation, “There’s a man-eating tiger that’s been rampaging around town lately. It ran wild in a warehouse, ate all the produce of a certain field…basically it’s just been doing whatever it wants.” Shrugging, he continued, “It was sighted around here recently, so-“

There was a loud skid as Atsushi fell from his chair, a haunted expression on his face. Getting onto his hands and knees, he started to crawl to the door, blabbering nonsensically before Kunikida reached out and grabbed him by the collar.

“Hold it.”

“I-It’s impossible! You can’t defeat it!” Atsushi whimpered as Kunikida held him up higher, “It’s after me! It’s here to kill me!”

“Do you know this tiger?” Denki blinked.

“If it’s around, I have to run! Let go! Let go-”

And Kunikida did let him go, only to grab him by the elbow and slam him face first onto the floor. “I told you already,” he grunted, “The Armed Detective Agency specialized in cases like this. Should I break your arm as payment for the chazuke, or are you going to talk?”

Around them, the other clients of the restaurant were beginning to pack up their things in haste, none wanting to stick around to watch the scene unfold. The owner of the restaurant cowered behind a table at the back of the room. Stunned, Denki watched from his seat as Kunikida continued to restrain Atsushi, the boy on the ground struggling in a fruitless endeavour to escape.

“Hey now,” A voice came from beside him, and Denki’s head whirled back to see Dazai still sitting in front of him, “He’ll be fine. If you keep being so high-strung, you’ll end up with ugly wrinkles like Kunikida over there.”

“I’m starting to see why Kunikida-san made such a big deal about the Armed Detective Agency not being Heroes,” Murmured Denki, “Don’t you guys care about your reputation at all? Look how many people saw. They’ll talk.”

Dazai waved to the restaurant’s owner, “We’ll bring some snacks over as an apology tomorrow.”

On the ground, Atsushi’s blabberings had turned into a coherent, if somewhat tearful explanation, “O-Our orphanage was destroyed by that tiger. It ran amok in the fields and destroyed the warehouse. Nobody died, but our poor orphanage didn’t make it. To reduce the mouths they had to feed, they had to…”

He fell silent, but they already knew what happened next. Releasing Atsushi from his hold, Kunikida sat back down and adjusted his glasses with a heavy sigh.

“Well, that was a disaster,” He said, “So, kid, what do you mean by, ‘It’s here to kill me?’”

Atsushi’s hand tightened into fists, his knuckles white, “That tiger…it could’ve just eaten the daikon in our orphanage’s field, but instead, it chased me all the way here! I-I remember running far away from the orphanage, coming here, catching the sight of it out of the corner of my eyes-” He sniffled, “It even came to this city just to hunt me down!”

Denki got to his feet and extended a hand to the boy on the floor. Slowly, they made their way back to the seats, Denki supporting Atsushi’s light body as he lowered the other boy onto the chair.

“My mind was hazy with hunger, so I didn’t know how or where to run…” Atsushi eventually drifted off, lacing his fingers together and looking away.

“When did this happen?” Dazai questioned.

“Well, I left the orphanage two weeks ago, and I saw it…four days ago by the Tsurumi River.”

Kunikida cleared his throat, “If I recall correctly, the victims of the tiger began to concentrate in this area about two weeks ago. We also have an eyewitness account of the tiger having been seen by the river four days ago.”

Dazai hummed.

“Atsushi-kun, will you be free after this?” At the question, Atsushi jumped, “It’s convenient for us that you’re being targeted by this ‘man-eating tiger.’ Will you,” At this, Dazai grinned, and all traces of fishiness Denki previously felt in him disappeared. He looked, for all intent and purposes, like a normal, friendly man, “Help us out on our tiger hunt?”

“Huh?” Denki jolted, a spark of electricity flying off his hair from his surprise.

“No way!” Came Atsushi’s immediate answer as he jumped off the chair Denki had just helped him back on, “I-I don’t want to! That would mean I’m the bait! Who would volunteer for that-“

“We’ll pay you.” Shrugging off Atsushi’s outburst like oil to water, Dazai turned toward Kunikida. Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, he offered it to the other man.

“Kunikida-kun, will you go back to the Agency and give this to the President?”

“If I leave…Are you planning to catch it with just the two of you? First and foremost, we should get the other side of the story-”

”Just do it, Kunikida.” Dazai looked at his colleague, and that hint of fishiness was back—on his face, in his body language, his eyes. Kunikida nodded, and no other questions passed between them.

The look on Dazai’s face, much too serious for someone like him, brought Denki an unexpected amount of tension. He felt his heart skipping a beat, and massaged it away with a light, confused frown.

“A-Ah,” Meanwhile, Atsushi was rubbing his hands together, seemingly having missed the entire exchange, “By the way, may I ask, how much is the pay exactly?”

Dazai beamed.

“Why, I’m glad you asked!”

.

In the end, Atsushi stood no chance. The moment Dazai’s cheque entered his line of sight, it was like all of his previous apprehensions disappeared out the window. With any remaining sense of self-preservation gone, the only things that remained were desperation and a healthy dash of monetary greed, meaning that half an hour later, the two of them were being pushed inside of an unoccupied warehouse, Dazai wishing them good luck before slamming the door in Denki’s face.

For a moment, there was only silence between them—Atsushi, still recovering from being lured in, and Denki, not wanting to push the other boy any further lest he collapse into an actual mental breakdown. The two of them found comfortable enough spots to sit atop a few stacks of crates, whereupon Denki promptly pulled out his phone to show Atsushi his class’ collection of cat videos.

“You know, if you think about it, tigers are just a type of cat,” He commented midway through witnessing a calico get scared off by cucumbers, “So we’re basically just hunting a very big cat. I think that as long as neither of us carry catnip, we'll be fine.”

Atsushi snorted. His eyes, still red from Kunikida’s little interrogation, went up to Denki’s forehead instead of his face, “Thank you, ah…” he hesitated, body trembling, “Kaminari-kun, is it? You really didn’t have to do this. I-I’ll be fine.”

Denki’s mouth twitched. His grades may be at the bottom of a bottomless pit, but he still had eyes that could see. Atsushi was obviously not fine, “Dude, you can’t even look at me.” he informed him.

Atsushi’s mouth made a sort of pursing motion, evidently trying to hold something back. Denki waited for it, and at last, the other boy blurted out, “Alright, yes! This is insane! I-I don’t know what I’m even doing anymore! What was I even thinking…” His head dropped to his laps, “This is too much. I can’t do this. Oh, what am I even talking about anymore? You’re just a kid, and even you don’t act like this. Oh my god, you’re just a kid.” His eyes shot toward Denki, “What are they trying to pull, putting you with me? You’re not…You don’t happen to have any tiger wrangling skill, do you?”

“Does going to the zoo once count?” Denki couldn’t help it. He cackled at the horrified look on Atsushi’s face. In a way, the other boy reminded him of Midoriya. Teasing nervous wrecks like them was always the most fun, “Come on, don’t worry! You may think that I’m just a kid, but I’m a full-fledged Hero-in-training already. Got my provisional license and everything.” He let out a proud huff, puffing his chest and placing his hands on his hips. He had seen All Might do this pose a handful of times on TV, and it always did wonders to reassure people.

Unfortunately, this seemed to have the opposite effect on Atsushi. Curling into himself even further, he let out a shaky groan, “You’re how old? And you’ve already accomplished so much. I…” Atsushi’s face crumbled, “I can’t do any of that. Even back at the orphanage, people always told me that I'm a good-for-nothing freeloader, that there is no place under the sun for me.”

He chuckled, though there was no humour behind it. Meanwhile, Denki was desperately going over any lessons he could recall off the top of his head about the aiding victims of abuse and the statistical link between mental health and villainy. Aizawa-sensei had gone on a tangent about the topic once. Yet, judging from the blank in his memory, Denki appeared to have been sleeping through most of it. At last, he settled on a simple, “That doesn’t seem very cool of them to say, dude. I don’t know. Uh, just live under the sun anyways?”—wincing at how lame he sounded.

Atsushi sighed, “It’s okay. You don’t have to comfort me. I can take care of myself, even if I have no idea where my next meal will come from, or where my next bed is. Ah…” His eyes gained a teary edge once more, as if he had just come to a realization, “No one would care if I died on the street. At this point, I might as well just let that beast eat me and-”

“Don’t say that! I would care!” Denki was quick to interrupt, placing a hand on Atsushi’s shoulder and shaking him as if to physically pull him out of his stupor, “Come on, Atsushi-kun. I know life isn’t great, but you can get through it. I mean, in the first place, I’m really not as amazing as you seem to think. Pretty certain that my principal wants me expelled, but I’m still here, aren’t I?” Releasing Atsushi in a huff, he crossed his arm and clicked tongue, “Anyways, let’s not talk about this anymore. If we’re hunting a man-eating tiger, then I want more information. Tell me again what you know about this thing?”

“Ah- uh…” Atsushi rubbed the back of his head, his body still trembling from Denki’s sudden outburst, “I-I already told you most of what I know back at the restaurant. It attacked the field of our orphanage, and so to cut back costs, the director had me kicked out-”

“He had you kicked out? Just you?” Denki frowned, to which Atsushi nodded

“Yeah. I was initially glad to go, because the tiger was still attacking the field, but even though the orphanage still had plenty of radishes left unharvested, it ended up following me all the way here!” He gritted his teeth, “That tiger must have a personal vendetta against me! Why else would I be seeing it everywhere I go? Four days ago, I even spotted it by the Tsurumi River.”

Denki was still hung up on Atsushi's first statement—the fact that he was the only one to be kicked out of the orphanage. When the food supply dwindled, it wasn’t as though getting rid of one mouth would make a significant difference, not unless Atsushi was eating enough for all of the other children combined. If Denki was a more cruel person, he would have divided the children up and transferred any who were older than him to another facility. He remembered having heard somewhere that younger kids, who have an easier time acclimating to a new environment, had a higher chance of being adopted. They ate less and listened more. There was no practical reason to discard just Atsushi.

No practical reason, but Atsushi made it clear that there was little love lost between him and the people at the orphanage. Denki couldn’t imagine why. Atsushi seemed like a swell enough guy. Somewhat pathetic and a total social car wreck, but Denki had seen worse in his own class of twenty odd students. If Aizawa could handle the Bakugou-Todoroki-Midoriya triumvirate without too much issue on any given day, he was hard-pressed to believe that this orphanage director could not deal with one hapless, Quirkless boy.

Well, assuming, of course, that Atsushi was Quirkless. Thus far, Denki hadn’t come across any evidence for the contrary. Atsushi looked normal enough, though that was no concrete proof of Quirklessness. Now that he thought about it, a difficult-to-handle Quirk could be the exact reason why someone might be expelled from an orphanage, especially in Yokohama where Quirk-oriented infrastructures may not be as prevalent or widespread. In a moment of eureka, Denki’s fist hit his palm, and he turned to Atsushi with a bright grin, “Atsushi-kun, what is your Quirk?”

“Quirk?” Atsushi echoed in disbelief, “You think that if I have something as useful as a Quirk, I would be on the streets like this?”

“But…” Denki deflated. So Atsushi was Quirkless? The other boy looked to be in his older teens, so there was no way his Quirk hadn’t had time to manifest. Either way, none of this explained the presence of the man-eating tiger in Yokohama. If it really was feasting on the orphanage’s daikon field like Atsushi said, and Denki didn’t even know that tigers could eat vegetables, what prompted it to follow him to Yokohama?

There was an urge to connect the dots, except Denki’s dots were so far apart and seemingly unrelated to each other that he might as well redo the whole equation. Some variable was obviously missing, some factor. He already knew where he stood with math, but nevertheless, in an effort to concentrate, Denki got up to his feet and began pacing around.

Faint light shone down from the opening near the top of the wall in front of them. Beneath the clouds, Denki could make out the outline of the moon, perfectful full. Two weeks ago, Atsushi was expelled from his orphanage. He wandered his way to Yokohama, and that was about the time the tiger attacks began to concentrate. Kunikida said that four days ago, the tiger was sighted on the Tsurumi River by someone, except if Atsushi had also been there at the time like he said, wouldn’t they have been able to spot him too? Atsushi was a nervous, Quirkless boy kicked out of his orphanage for no apparent reason. A tiger that was supposed to be carnivorous wanted to feast on daikon radishes.

It’s an old secret.

“Kaminari-kun, is something the matter?”

“Uh, no…” There was a drop of sweat on Denki’s forehead. It had made its way down to his cheek by the time the clouds started to recede, “Just a bad feeling, that’s all—Hey, Atsushi?”

The task of watching over Atsushi was assigned to Denki shortly before they left. Dazai had told him to take it as his first experience with the Armed Detective Agency, the expectation being that, while the two of them stayed snug inside of the unoccupied warehouse, the actual capture and euthanization of the tiger would be done by the other members of the Agency. In all, it was a neat and tidy affair, and Denki was even left feeling somewhat disappointed by the fact he would be missing all the action.

Thinking back, he should have known better than to trust someone like Dazai Osamu.

“Atsushi?” The clouds were gone. That night, the moon glowed the colour of deep ice. It shone down from the opening, casting cold light upon the concrete floor and cutting sharp edges into the shape of Denki’s shadow.

He turned around.

.

The first thing he noted was just how quiet it was.

Most of Denki’s memories regarding his trip to the zoo was centered around having to stand outside the enclosement of a solitary golden jackal while his grandfather prattled on about the intricacies of their pack dynamics in the wild. Nevertheless, he remembered at least having heard something as the tigers and their cubs tussled around in the grass floor of their indoor exhibit, growling and play-biting each other.

No sound emitted from this beast when it pounced.

Words could not describe how immensely grateful Denki was that he was on his feet. If he had been sitting down, his upper body would have already been gone. The jaw of the tiger opened, and Denki jumped out of the way just as the glint of its teeth entered his line of sight, landing on his knees a few meters away. His eyes immediately affixed on the spot where Atsushi once stood.

The stacks of crates they had been sitting on were gone, destroyed under the weight of the tiger’s body. Wooden debris fell onto its fur, though it didn’t even appear to notice as it started looking around the room for its next prey. Watching its eyes scan the area, Denki’s mouth twitched almost unconsciously into a bewildered smile.

“Hah…” He exhaled, which turned out to be a mistake, as the tiger’s head whirled toward him, and it began to crouch.

Denki leapt. Behind him, more crates were being destroyed. The tiger rampaged through them, trampling over the wreckage and sending clouds of dust up to the air. Using the cover, Denki attempted to run for the other side of the room. He almost made it, ducking behind a pallet of cement bags just as the tiger jumped again and crushed it under its feet.

An explosion erupted, and the area became shrouded under a layer of cement particles.

Having dodged the attack, Denki raised his hand. A stream of electricity, starkly bright amidst the darkness, shot out toward the faint shadow he could see of the tiger beneath the dust. It hit the beast in an uncoordinated mass, its body contracting and spasming upon contact. Moments later, Denki heard the thud of its body dropping, and lowered his hands.

For a second, there was silence. Backing away, Denki attempted to wade through the cement cloud, letting out scream just in case there was really someone from the Agency outside who could help him. No one. The rational part of his mind chided him for hoping. If a miraculous rescue was to come, it would have done so already. He emerged from the dust, coughing into his lungs out and rubbing his stinging eyes.

The full moon still loomed in the sky.

Once again, Denki felt more than hear its approach. An indescribable sense of urgency swelled within his chest, and he spun around to see Death stalking toward him on silent footsteps, fur singed and raised at their ends. A paw, larger than Denki’s head, raised, and Denki’s trained instinct kicked in to duck before he could even think about it. Wind whipped through his hair, the force of the swipe knocking the breath out of his lungs. Denki veered to the side, and the dance thus continued. Dodged, jumped, rolled away—with his eyes fixed on the tiger, Denki’s surroundings faded to the back of his mind, relegated to simply knowing where or where not to move next. If there was an opening, his electricity shot forward. If his instinct surged, he reacted without thinking. The tiger was fast, so fast, but it seemed that his Quirk still had somewhat of an effect on it. Its muscles twitched with each blow.

It was when the tiger’s teeth nearly grazed his arm that Denki realized he had been backed into a wall. The beast stalked toward him, mouth agape, drool trailing on the ground. Denki tried to tell himself that it wasn’t as if it was hungry. Its motor control was likely just fried from his electricity. Still, his body trembled at the sight of those opened jaws. His lungs, heaving, threatened to collapse onto itself with how long he had been running around. Denki’s vision was blurring at the corner. Yet, as the beast circled him, time felt frozen over.

A thought, clear as the moonlight, came to Denki’s mind when he caught a glimpse of the tiger’s fangs. This is where I might die.

He could feel it—the electricity buzzing under his skin, coursing through his veins. He was nearly at his limit, and it wasn’t as if his control was ever good even on the best of days. If Denki were to release all of his electricity, he would die. If he did not, he would also die. Death was at the end of every route, but Denki was almost too exhausted to care. It was shocking he had survived this long in the first place. Being crushed in the jaw of a beast sounded like a quick enough death, painless.

The corner of Denki’s eye twitched at the thought, “Why…” he breathed out, bemused.

The tiger jumped.

Mind going still, Denki threw his hand forward, index finger pointed straight at the figure in front of him. A hoarse scream escaped from his mouth as he prepared to let out all of the electricity in his body, muscles trembling with the force that he was just barely holding back. If he was to fall, he wasn’t going to do it without a fight. Denki wouldn’t dare call himself a Hero otherwise. His gaze locked onto the target.

And in the briefest instant before they made contact, two pairs of eyes met.

Peering into lavender and gold, Denki thought he recognized those shades. Behind the ferocious face of the tiger, they were…sad. The eyes of an orphan who had been through too much, who loved chazuke and laughed at his own tragedy.

That’s right. This is Atsushi, Denki’s mind echoed, I’m attacking Atsushi. I’m trying to kill him.

Didn’t he say that he would care if the other boy died? The tiger had attacked fields, bringing pain to so many. Yet, the one who had suffered the most under its curse may just be itself. Atsushi shook at the very thought of the beast, never knowing that it had been within him all along. He would never know if he was to die here.

Perhaps a day will come when you see it as home.

He couldn’t die here. They couldn’t die here. Denki thought and thought, a single mantra repeating over and over again in his head. They couldn’t die here. They couldn’t die here until they had both got what they came to this city for. In his backpack, left behind in Dazai’s car, was a picture that Denki did not take. He wanted to know where it had come from, craved it for some reasons he could not dig out of his idiotic brain. Electricity coursed through his body, excess flooding back into Denki’s vein and lighting him ablaze. Denki felt his mouth opening, but he could not hear a scream.

Golden light flooded his vision. Nothing seemed to register anymore except pain. Despite that, somehow, as though his body was responding to a language of its own, his arms wrenched out and a stream of pure, concentrated electricity shot toward the tiger. Black dotted Denki’s vision. He felt his own legs giving out. Some sort of liquid—blood—began to run from his nose.

Another second later, another body joined him on the floor. Soft fut brushed against his numb skin. The tiger collapsed, unable to move.

But it was breathing.

And so was he.

And thoughtlessly, Denki crawled toward it. His mind was filled with the images of children. Faceless, nameless. They were crying, and so Denki cried as well, though when he reached his hand up to check, no real tear was running down his cheeks.

The clouds returned and with them, the light of the blue moon slowly faded. The tiger let out a low grunt. Denki shushed it with a small shock to its collar. Wrapping his arms around its snout, he ensured that its jaws were trapped securely within his hold, before slumping against its belly. There they stayed, in a mockery of an embrace, until the moonlight fully faded, and the beast’s body slowly reverted back to that of the boy.

.

People, or silhouettes of people, emerged from the darkness.

He didn’t even try to greet them. His body wouldn’t move. Every breath sent a cascade of pain down to his open palms.

Callused fingers carded through his hair.

“Congratulations, Denki-kun, on passing your entrance exam.”

Chapter Text

Denki woke up sensing a sort of violent impulse bubbling beneath his skin.

His head felt like lead, or like someone bashed his brain in and tried to put the pieces back together. Given that Denki’s brain wasn’t all that great to begin with, he felt rather justified in his resentment of this. Tripping his way to the bathroom, he had a brief moment of realization that he had no idea where he was, before finally giving up and undergoing the most murderous teeth brushing session of his life. Denki washed his face and brushed his hair with the plastic comb he found forgotten in one of the bathroom drawers. His lightning bolt looked more like zagged streaks of black in the dirty mirror, and when he tried in vain to stylize, that was when his memory finally caught up to him. Afterward, there were more pressing problems than his ragged appearance.

Emerging from the bathroom, Denki made for his bag, conveniently placed at the foot of the futon he did not remember putting out. He changed into a new dress shirt and pants, and pulled his phone out from beneath the books it was buried under.

Upon unlocking his screen, he found it bombarded with notifications. Most were from his classmates, asking where he was. He sent a text back informing them he was on his work studies, and that if anything was to happen to him, they should seek out an organization by the name of the Armed Detective Agency. There, that should ensure they knew who to look for whenever his corpse inevitably turned up.

Deploying his friends against the menaces of Yokohama aside, Denki scrolled through the rest of his messages to find a text from Aizawa-sensei asking how his first day went, and a missed phone call from his grandfather. There was also a message from—Denki’s brow furrowed—Dazai, though the sender remained unnamed in his contacts. Either Dazai got his phone number from the school when he was applying for the internship, or the man somehow guessed Denki’s passcode when he had left his bag in the car. Neither boded well for Denki, and he resolved to change his security combination, just in case.

There was a single window in the room. When Denki glanced outside, he found that the sun had just started to rise. The sky was somber gray, and the cool morning air felt crisp against his dry eyes. He extended a hand out to feel the wind, only to find that his skin was numb

And not just his skin. The consequences of yesterday’s action felt like it hadn’t quite caught up to him. There was a detached acknowledgement that, yes, the Armed Detective Agency did indeed put him up against a rampaging tiger with almost no forewarning, going as far as to deceive him about Atsushi’s true identity and endangered both of their lives just to test his prowess on the battlefield. Denki was left with no instruction, no equipment other than the clothes on his back. His Quirk had as good as immobilized him by the end. Perhaps they had a back-up plan in case things went wrong. Perhaps not. Either way, Denki found himself waking up in an unknown room at an unknown place, and his phone had possibly been broken into.

He better not have touched any of my equipment, Denki glanced at the sharpshooting tools that had cost him a pretty penny to have designed and produced. Most of his stuff in his bags remained where they were supposed to be, so Denki didn’t think that Dazai had gone through them. However, the fact that he couldn’t be sure made the ordeal all the more infuriating. Zipping up his bag, he opened one of the closet and shoved it in between some spare mattress, hiding it from view. Only then did he feel comfortable enough to try opening what he assumed was the front door.

To his surprise, the door clicked open easily when he turned the knob. Denki wasn’t certain what exactly he was expecting, but locking him in an escape room with a single window from where he could fall to his death seemed in line with the Armed Detective Agency’s intentions thus far. Stepping out into the hallway, Denki took a look around and encountered the first familiar sight of that day.

“Kunikida-san?”

Leaning against the wall a few meters from Denki, the man glanced up from where he was writing in his notebook, nodding in his direction. “Oh, there you are, kid. I was starting to wonder if this is one of Dazai's time-wasting schemes. How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” Denki echoed, “How am I feeling? Uhm…right. How mad would you be if I got back to U.A. right now and file a lawsuit against the Armed Detective Agency? Do you guys even have insurance? Can you pay for that?”

“…Look.” Pinching his nose at Denki’s very reasonable series of questions, Kunikida gestured with his hand to a random direction. “If you’re going to blame anyone, blame Dazai. He was the one to go and spontaneously make this case your entrance exam. Since he recommended your spot in the Agency, the President basically gave him free control to do whatever he wanted. I tried to tell him that what he’s doing was insane, but…” He adjusted his glasses. “Well, it’s not my place to question the President’s decision.”

“I had a bullfighting contest against a man-eating tiger!” Denki spluttered, “The only thing that was missing was a piece of red cloth and an audience witnessing my every misery- Oh wait!”

Kunikida coughed into his hand. “If it’s any consolation, Dazai was willing to wake up early this morning just so he wouldn't be the first thing you have to see when you open your eyes. Otherwise…” He looked back at the door Denki had left ajar.

“That’s his room? The mirror was filthy!”

“Tch, it figures.” Kunikida sneered at the direction of the room before turning back to Denki. Scanning him up and down, something must have been acceptable, because the man gave him a decisive nod. “Alright, kid. You survived. All your limbs are attached. You can leave your complaints for later, when Dazai is actually there to listen to them. We have more pressing matters to attend to right now.”

Denki raised an eyebrow. “Another rampaging tiger? Seriously?”

“Close,” And there, Kunikida almost smiled, although it looked more like a smirk than anything else. He turned away. “It’s about the time that Atsushi boy wakes up. Come along. Dazai is holding him off while we hash out the details of his entrance exam.”

.

In all, this was one of the best mornings Atsushi had in a very long time. He’d woken up in an unfamiliar room with almost no memory of the night before, changed into comfortable clothing, accessed his new phone (phone!), and went out to rescue a suicidal man from a slow and painful death at the hands of an oil drum. Said man then invited him for a walk around this city, whereupon he revealed to Atsushi that he had secured him some work.

“Really?” Never in his life had Atsushi felt more fortunate. It seemed as though everything he ever asked for had fallen right into his laps without Atsushi even working for it. Years of mistreatment prompted him to be a little more suspicious, but Atsushi was also never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Seriously, but before that, Atsushi-kun…” The suicidal man, Dazai, said, “How much did you remember from last night?”

Atsushi jolted. In truth, he recalled almost nothing after the minor breakdown he had in front of Kaminari. He just assumed that the other boy was gracious enough to get someone to help after Atsushi…passed out? “Wait!” He gasped, “Did that tiger ever show up?”

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai’s voice drawled, and Atsushi held his breath as he waited for the verdict, “You are the man-eating tiger.”

Huh?

Atsushi blinked, but the Dazai that stood in front of him never wavered like one of his hallucinations usually did. He also wasn’t quite hungry enough to be hallucinating, still full from the chazuke bowls he had scarfed down the night before.

Right, what had happened the night before? Atsushi thought he couldn’t remember, but now that he was thinking about it, there were…flashes that popped up in his mind. He remembered looking at the moon, how full it was. He remembered jumping around on his hands and knees like a monkey. He remembered the pain. There was so much pain. A paralyzing sort of pain.

“I-I don’t…” He tried to say, but the denial couldn’t quite escape his mouth. Meanwhile, Dazai was looking downward.

“If you don’t believe me, just try looking at your hand right now.”

Atsushi almost didn’t want to. Having survived on the streets of Yokohama, he was intimately familiar with the age-old wisdom—ignorance was bliss. If he didn't look down, it was as if nothing was ever there in the first place. If he didn’t look down. If only he didn’t look down.

Atsushi looked down.

He had no fingers. Instead, where there were skin and bones and nails, he now had fur, and a set of claws so sharp they glinted in the sunlight. When Atsushi tried to wriggle it around, he found that the paw responded to his command. It was the most surreal thing he had ever seen in his short life. The fur was an almost silvery white, and looked soft to touch. Atsushi didn’t want to touch it. In fact, the only thing he might possibly have wanted in that moment was to collapse onto the ground and perish. Let his body melt into the earth and fertilize the soil, so that he never had to face anyone again.

Yet, given the sheer implausibility of that course of action, he had to settle for the next best thing—screaming his heart and soul away. Dazai already had his hands over his ears. As Atsushi opened his mouth to let out two weeks-worth of accumulated frustration, hopelessness and pain, in the corner of his eyes, he saw the man smile.

“Ahhhhhh!”

“Now, now, it’s still too early to go around disturbing the neighbourhood! Let me help you out with that.” Dazai approached him, and Atsushi tried to back away, only to find himself unable to escape from the surprisingly firm grasp the man had on his wrist. The moment they made contact, blue tendrils emerged from the point where their skin touched. Wrapping around Atsushi’s transformed hand, they tightened up like bandages and forcibly mold his appendage back to its normal shape.

The whole process only lasted for a second, yet it left Atsushi utterly breathless. Panting, he tried to convince himself that this was all just an elaborate hallucination, that at any moment, he would wake up and be back at his dorm in the orphanage. Alas, Dazai seemed intent on bulldozing over all of his delusions.

The man snapped his fingers with a triumphant expression. “And there you go! Another case solved for the Armed Detective Agency. We had a bit of trouble subduing you last night—our dear intern hasn't quite settled into his new role yet—but everything works out in the end. And now, I know just the person to ask so that you could land a job and not end up in jail for your crimes!”

“Y-Yes, that sounds good, Dazai-san.” It was at this point that Atsushi decided it was better not to think. The people back at the orphanage always told him that his brain was useless anyways, so why should he bother wasting time worrying about his bleak future? Better to listen to the man whose Ability made the tiger disappear with a single touch. Dazai’s smile widened at his words.

“Let us be off to the Agency, then. You have nothing to fear with this Dazai-san on your side! I have the full confidence of my colleagues and the reverence of the common folks on my-“

“There you are, you sorry waste of good bandages!”

Atsushi’s head whirled around, the rest of his body taking another moment to catch up. On the other side of the street, a bespectacled man, Dazai’s colleague from the night before, stalked toward them. Behind him, Kaminari followed like a smaller, more yellow shadow. A wince appeared on his face at the sight of Dazai, and between the two of them—blond-haired and twin disgruntled faces—Atsushi was suddenly struck with the image of two ducks bobbing their heads. Dazai must have noticed the resemblance as well, because he paused in the middle of complaining about his colleague’s hurtful words to gush about how ditzy they looked.

“Why are you sauntering out on the street in the middle of this emergency! Off with you right now!” Dazai’s colleague—Kunikida, Atsushi remembered now—yelled over him.

While Kunikida chewed Dazai out for being a lazy slacker, a womanizer, and a total social sleaze intended on bringing everyone else down with him, Atsushi saw Kaminari glanced toward him. The other boy had ditched his uniform jacket. Dressed in short-sleeves and his school’s signature bright red tie, he appeared even younger than he had been yesterday. Atsushi’s brain chose that exact moment to remind him that it had been Kaminari who ultimately fought to bring the tiger down, and he resolved to check the boy over for any injuries. Thankfully, it seemed as though he was unscathed, alleviating at least some of Atsushi’s guilt.

“So…you know what happened last night, right?”

“Yeah. All along, the tiger…was me.” Atsushi lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I put everyone into danger without even knowing. Were you okay?”

“While if you certainly didn’t, I have doubts about who did.” Kaminari’s eyes went to the two men still arguing. Kunikida had begun to list out all the complaints to the Agency that Dazai had collected over the years. “But I’m okay. To be honest, I sustained some injuries while fighting the tiger, but when I woke up this morning, they were all gone. It seems the same thing happened to you.”

“It must be the Ability of one of the Agency’s members.” Atsushi scratched the back of his neck.

Kaminari’s face scrunched up like it did the first time he heard that word. Crossing his arms, he let out a huff. “You seriously believed Dazai’s nonsense about that? Dude, I literally saw you transformed into a tiger last night. It’s not so different from, say, my classmate’s Quirk that makes her a half-frog.”

“I…” Words could not even begin to describe how little Atsushi wanted to unpack that. Growing up around the Yokohama harbour, one simply tuned out the strangeness of the outside world. Quirks and Heroes and villains, those sorts of stuff only ever existed on TV. At the orphanage, Atsushi had barely managed to hear about the existence of Abilities, much less half-frog people. Kaminari might as well have said that all of the world's governments were run by tooth fairies. “Well, Abilities are kind of an open secret around here, and Kunikida-san also hadn’t refuted anything, so I just thought…”

“Nevermind that.” Kaminari looked away. “So you can turn into a tiger, huh? Congratulations, by the way. It’s a pretty cool power. I have friends who would kill for a Quirk like that. Maybe you could even become a Hero.” He grinned.

“Well uh- ah-” Atsushi flushed. It hadn’t quite sunk in until now, but he was no longer what they called Quirkless, was he? Perhaps there was hope for him after all, except… “I-I don’t know. I can’t control this thing at all. Just before you came, my hand-” He dropped his gaze again just to make sure that none of his limbs had transformed without him knowing, then lowered his voice. “I wandered around for two weeks as a tiger, attacking people on the streets without even realizing it. You honestly think I’m Hero material?”

“Dude, you should see what happens when I overuse my Quirk.” Kaminari shrugged. “I’m pretty out of it most of the time, but at least my classmates think it’s funny. Training at U.A. is all about improving and surpassing your past self, so as long as you’re striving for the top, you’ll probably do fine. It is weird that you were never aware of the tiger until now, though.” He fell silent, inquisitive golden eyes scanning over Atsushi’s body. “Normal Quirk-users usually adapt to their powers pretty quickly. Control is another thing, but at least you should be aware of it. It’s a part of who you are.”

Something about his gaze made Atsushi feel distinctly like a lab rat. Kaminari may seem nice enough, but he had to remind himself what the other boy did to the tiger last night. That excruciating sensation—Atsushi never wanted to feel it again for as long as he lived.

The two of them tuned back to the other conversation just in time to hear Kunikida scream. He was still trying to kick Dazai’s spine in. “We don’t have the time for this! Get off your butts and start running! A mad bomber has taken a hostage and barricaded himself in our office!”

.

In all, it was not one of Atsushi’s worst mornings. He’d woken up in an unfamiliar room, got dressed, rescued a suicidal man, discovered he was actually a savage man-eating beast who had been terrorising himself for weeks, and then ran to stop a mad bomber from blowing up the Armed Detective Agency’s office. The last one was still a work in progress, but Atsushi tried to look on the good side of things when he could.

The four of them were crouched behind a decorative hedge. On the other side, the mad bomber had a remote in his hand, and was muttering to himself about the President of the Agency. The hostage, a girl with long lashes and dark hair, had been tied up and gagged. She was seated right beneath the table the bomber was perched upon, so Atsushi didn’t think they would be able to rescue her anytime soon.

Kunikida and Dazai were playing rock-paper-scissors.

“What are you two doing?” Kaminari hissed from where he was hiding—behind the hedge, head peeking at the bomber. Atsushi thought he was a bit too tall to be hidden, but what did he know? He was just an unfortunate orphan who had been dragged along to mess by virtue of not having a job. It was better to let the professionals handle it.

“Well, Denki-kun, your poor senior Kunikida just lost his rock-paper-scissors match against me, but if you’re volunteering to take his place, feel free to go right ahead!” Dazai sing-songed.

On second thought, Atsushi didn’t know why he was assuming any of these people were professionals. Kaminari was still in high school, Kunikida’s obsessive tendencies were only matched by his naïveté, and Dazai was Dazai. He watched as Kaminari got coaxed out from under the hedge by his two seniors, his arms raised in a universal sign of surrender. At the sight of him, the mad bomber looked visibly taken aback, not expecting the two actual adults in the room to pressure their youngest into going first. A glance at Kunikida saw the man’s head hung low, shame written all over his face.

“Uh, hey now…” said Kaminari to the bomber. Atsushi silently sent the kid his support. The fact that he wasn’t even shaking at the sight of a criminal was testament enough to how well they trained Heroes in the outside world. Atsushi was already trembling in his boots, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. “Why don’t we talk through this? Do you have a grudge? Is someone putting you up to this? I’m sure the Armed Detective Agency can resolve whatever issue you have with us? We uh…” Kaminari casted a glance back at them. “We can offer you a discount with follow-up benefits if you’re willing to give up the hostage. Ninety-percent, guaranteed.”

“Oh, Kunikida, look how much effort Denki-kun has been putting into his learning! He’s even speaking like a shameless marketeer now!” Still hiding behind the hedge, Dazai wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

“Shut up, Dazai! We can’t be going around offering a ninety-percent discount. That would put us out of business!” Kunikida retorted.

Meanwhile, the bomber was still yelling, “Hey, don’t come near me! If you try anything, I’ll blow this place sky high!” Atsushi peered over the hedge to see Kaminari paused in his approach, his arms still raised over his head. “You’re that new kid, aren’t you? Well, I did my research. Use your Quirk, and you risk hurting the hostage as well!”

“Seriously? Way to hit it where it hurts, dude.” Atsushi heard Kaminari mumble.

Dazai glanced over to the bomber, now with a curious look on his face. He turned back to Atsushi, then stared out again. He hummed.

“Atsushi-kun?”

“Y-Yes, Dazai-san?” Atsushi dearly hoped nobody was expecting him to do anything here. He wasn’t equipped for this. He could turn into a tiger, yes, but he reckoned that would just make things worse for everyone involved. And it wasn’t like he could do it at will.

Dazai sighed, “This bomber clearly holds a grudge against the Agency. He’d even memorized the face and Ability of our youngest recruit, who just arrived here yesterday.” He mused, “If I or Kunikida go, it will just make things even worse. So…”

Atsushi’s stomach dropped.

Two minutes later, he was standing in front of the bomber threatening the Agency’s office armed with nothing but the clothes on his back and a rolled-up piece of newspaper in his hand. Beside him, Kaminari almost seemed to be in shock. The other boy stared at him, wide-eyed, body frozen in place, as the bomber spat on in front of the two of them about how the Agency was definitely finished after this. Atsushi tried to send him a reassuring look, but that only served to make him look more afraid.

This was quickly devolving into one of the worst mornings Atsushi ever had. “S-S-Stop this at once! Your parents must be crying right now!”

The bomber’s eyes locked onto him, causing Atsushi to jump with fear. “What-” The man faltered. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Eek! So scary! Atsushi very nearly dropped his roll of newspaper on the ground. Only instinct drilled into him through years of having to fight for his scraps of the food prompted him to hold on.

“I-I’m just a normal citizen who came after hearing the noises here!” He continued, “And I think it’s great to live a good life!”

“If an employee goes out there, the criminal will be on alert. Therefore, you, who are uninvolved and unrecognizable to him, are the only one who can go. As long as you can distract the criminal, we can handle the rest.”

“I don’t know who you are, but don’t you dare say that! It’s better if everyone dies!”

“But that’s impossible! First of all, what should I even do?”

Dazai smiled.

“Y-You know, I’m an orphan with no friends or family! And recently,” Atsushi’s lips trembled. At his side, he noticed Kaminari turning away to cough. “I was even kicked out of my orphanage!”

“Ah- uh- Well…” There was a strange heaving sound, and if there wasn’t a mad bomber holding a person hostage right in front of them, Atsushi would have turned to Kaminari to ask if he was alright. As it was, he continued to talk over the bomber’s stilted attempt at a retort.

“I transform into a monster and if the military finds that out, I’ll probably be taken in. Also I don’t have any skill or strong points, and others look at me like the dregs of society.” Atsushi felt a little bit pathetic about admitting all this aloud. At the same time, his shame felt trivial compared to the life of the hostage, “B-But I’m still desperate to live, just like every other living thing on this earth. That’s why…” He stared at the bomber straight in the eyes. “Please throw away the bomb! Let’s go search for work together!”

“Eh- I-” The bomber frantically dodged his gaze, his panic evident. “I-I’m not actually looking for-“

“Doppo Poet—Wiregun!” In the brief second where the bomber was distracted, the Agency made their move. Stunned, Atsushi watched as everything exploded into chaos around him. Kunikida had his notebook, and he was the one to yell out those strange words before the piece of paper Atsushi just noticed he was holding morphed into an actual wiregun. Aiming it at the bomber, he took a shot. The wire that exploded from the device whipped the remote in the criminal’s hand away. As it began to swing back and wrapped itself around the bomber’s body, Kaminari jumped toward it. The electricity he released travelled through the wire and shocked the criminal point-blank.

The actual takedown only lasted a few seconds. Atsushi stayed rooted to his spot as the office began to shift, employees freeing the hostage and Kunikida restraining the bomber the same way he restrained Atsushi on their first night. Turning back, he noticed Dazai sending him a grin and a bright thumbs-up. Glancing at the bomb, Atsushi found it already disarmed.

Relieved, he made to leave. The incident would likely put the Agency’s activities on hold for a while, and Atsushi would feel bad if he begged for a job right after one of their members were threatened by a mad bomber. Aiming for the door, Atsushi tried to tell himself that he could just come back tomorrow and beg then. He already had a place to sleep for the night anyways, and was more well-off now than he had ever been.

Just as he was about to wave the Agency goodbye, Atsushi felt something yanked on the loop of his belt hard enough for him to fall. Tripping over his feet, he first felt the impact of his face hitting the ground, before his hand squarely landed upon something, pressing it down.

Beep.

“Ah?” Echoed multiple voices in the room, attracted by the commotion. Atsushi stared at the button he had just pressed, then to the bomb.

“Ahh!” It was him screaming this time. The bomb was on, its timer ticking down, “The bomb! There’s five seconds left!”

Around him, there was yelling. Atsushi ran toward the bomb, unsure as to what exactly he was hoping to accomplish. The only thing he knew was that he needed to stop it from blowing up. He needed to suppress the blast.

Without another thought, Atsushi jumped over the bomb.

His body was the only thing he could come up with that might dampen the force of the explosion. He wasn’t sure how powerful the bomb might be—people might still get hurt even if he was covering it—but at that moment, the only thing on his mind was to ensure the others’ safety. As the timer ticked down, he hugged the bomb close to his chest and inhaled sharply.

“You fool!” That was Dazai’s voice, wasn’t it? Or was it Kaminari’s? The other boy told him that he thought Atsushi, too, could become a Hero. Even if it was only due to his cool power, Atsushi had never had someone say that to him before. He hoped Kaminari enjoyed the rest of his time at the Agency—hoped his death wasn’t going to be too much of an inconvenience. The timer began to beep: three, two, one. Atsushi closed his eyes, awaiting death, whatever form that it might take. Perhaps he would simply cease to be, perhaps the world would condemn him to eternal punishment, like the director always said it would.

Atsushi’s eyes closed, and then it opened again.

What he saw turned out not to be hell.

“Oh?” Before him, dark eyes stared down, crinkling into slits when it noticed him looking, “He really has a knack for being a suicidal maniac.”

“My goodness,” And that was Kunikida, looming over his body. The man adjusted his glasses, “I knew you were an idiot from the beginning, but this is taking it to another level.”

Kaminari was crouched beside him, golden eyes squinted. “I still don’t see how stopping a fake bomb is comparable to fighting an actual tiger, but whatever. Congratulations, dude.” He patted Atsushi on the back, “Employment awaits.”

“Wah- huh?” Atsushi exclaimed, “Eh?”

There was a crack from behind him that drew Atsushi back. Turning around, he blinked at the sight of the hostage they had just rescued, hugging her attacker close, asking if her “Nii-sama!” was doing alright. The bomber, meanwhile, seemed sufficiently harassed by the treatment his apparent sister was doling out.

“Huh?” Atsushi’s eyes were frozen on the sight. Somehow, death was almost preferable to this.

“Kid.” Kunikida stepped up beside him, nudging Kaminari to his feet also (Ducks, Atsushi’s inner mind helpfully supplied). “Curse Dazai if you’re looking for someone to blame, or else curse yourself for being wrongfully chosen by the staff.”

“Heh, it’s just as Kunikida-kun said,” Dazai smiled. “This is a sort of entrance exam!”

“Entrance…exam?” Atsushi breathed out.

“Precisely.” At that, a new voice joined into their conversation, older and deeper than anyone else’s in the room. From the open front door, a man walked through dressed in a green yukata. With a black haori draped over his shoulders, he cut an intimidating figure, and everyone at the Agency, outside of Kaminari, immediately bowed at the sight of him.

“President,” Kunikida greeted.

Atsushi looked up at the man, at his dignified stance and grey hair, and felt wholly unequipped to have this conversation. Beside him, Kaminari was also staring, though his seemed to be a distinctly more searching gaze.

The President folded his arms into his sleeves before opening his mouth, “Dazai told me that we have some ‘capable new youngsters’ for the Agency, so I decided to have your spirit tested.”

Dazai looked up at the mention of his name. Crossing his arms, he chuckled, “Denki-kun is, of course, our new U.A. intern. Atsushi, I recommended you, but the man-eating tiger is still designated as a danger to the town. We have to decide who will look after you. In the end, this is what the Agency decided to do.”

“So, President? What is your verdict?” Kunikida asked.

As the President’s eyes roamed over them, a shiver ran down Atsushi’s spine. Whoever this man was, it was clear that he was not to be trifled with. Atsushi just hoped he wasn’t like his orphanage’s director. He heard a gulp emitted from Kaminari’s direction.

The President continued to examine them for another moment. Then, he lowered his head in a gesture of approval, and turned away, “They’ll be under Dazai’s care.”

And, judging by the smiles that began to form on everyone’s faces, Atsushi supposed that was that.

.

The expression on Atsushi’s face at the moment of revelation was something Denki didn’t think he would ever forget. There was fear, of course. Then came anger and shock, emotions Denki was quite intimate with by now. The other boy started screaming about how he “can’t work for a place like this! You’re all insane! I-I’m definitely going to die!” which was, unfortunately, soon shut down by Dazai’s casual announcement that he would have to pay the Armed Detective Agency back for the boarding and phone they had provided if he was not going to become an official employee. Such a move bordered dangerously close to extortion in Denki’s mind, but if it was going to get Atsushi to stay, then he had plenty of past experience ignoring his own brain. Besides, it wasn’t as if Atsushi could talk.

“All I’m saying,” After cleaning up in the main office, they had all migrated down to the cafe on the first floor. Denki thought it was a cozy little place that definitely did not deserve to have the Agency’s presence above it. The americano they served him had just the right amount of bitterness to match his current outlook on life. “Is that I have to fight a tiger in a dark warehouse all alone, while Atsushi gets to have the whole crew around him as he tries to kill himself with a bomb that won’t even blow up. Is that what you call fairness here in Yokohama?”

Sitting near the counter, Dazai cooed at him, “Aw, Denki-kun, don’t be too mad! It’s not equality, it’s equity! We have to tune the difficulties of our exam to the abilities of our new hire. Atsushi-kun over here is just starting out!”

Denki’s eyes twitched. Even if it made him feel like a whining spoiled child, he still felt the urge to point out. “And what about me? Am I not just starting out? I arrived in this city yesterday!”

“Of course you’re not ‘just starting out!’ You’re a U. A. student, aren’t you?”

Unable to retort, Denki took a sip of his coffee as a way of distracting himself. This action did not escape the eyes of Dazai, who smiled in triumph.

“Don’t worry, Denki-kun. You’re not the only one here who has a memorable experience with their entrance exam. Just ask Tanizaki how his goes.”

Denki locked onto the sight in front of him. The Tanizaki siblings, who had so graciously volunteered to be the main stars of Atsushi’s entrance exam, were currently engaged in some activities that they should definitely not be performing in broad daylight. Sitting next to Denki, Atsushi had been staring at them for the past minutes, his face red and his mouth hanging open. Concerned, Denki reached over to tap on his cheek.

No response.

“No, thank you.” He informed Dazai, who shrugged.

Kunikida sighed, “Just leave them be. Trust me, you don’t want to pursue this line of inquiry too far. Other than that, brats—”

As the blond man approached their table, Denki grabbed Atsushi’s chin and forcibly swirled it away from the scene of the crime. The other boy spluttered in his hold for a moment before slumping down into Denki’s palm.

“—from today, you are members of the Armed Detective Agency.” The tone of his voice, reminiscent of Aizawa-sensei whenever he wasn’t half-asleep, caused Denki to straighten uncomfortably in his seat. “Do not be a burden to anyone and tarnish the Agency’s good name. At the very least, the rest of us are committed to that-”

“Oh, beautiful lady, would you grant me the pleasure of being strangled by these delicate fingers?” And between one moment and the next, any remaining trace of Kunikida’s cool composure washed down the drain. The man stalked toward his colleague, currently flirting with the pretty server who had made their coffee, and slapped him over the head. Dazai’s face slammed onto the counter.

Denki swirled Atsushi’s head back to the front. Thankfully, the Tanizaki siblings appeared to have stopped in their endeavour to collect a public indecency suit. Tanizaki leaned over the table, bowing his head at them, while his sister, Naomi, just plastered a shameless grin onto her face. Neither of them spared a glance at the counter table when Kunikida had started screaming at Dazai about keeping up the Agency’s reputation.

“So, uh…” Atsushi’s smile was shaky, but Denki was just proud of the fact that he was speaking at all—and beginning a conversation at that! “What did you guys do for work before you joined the Agency?”

Silence fell over the cafe.

From where his head was still pressed underneath Kunikida’s palm, Dazai chuckled, “What do you think?”

“Huh?”

“It’s part of the Agency’s icebreaker to guess your senior’s former job. Denki-kun, you try too.”

“Me?” Denki pointed at himself, “Well…”

He scanned the room, eyes going from the Tanizaki siblings, to Dazai and Kunikida at the counter. With Naomi’s uniforms, the Tanizaki seemed like an obvious pick. Dazai could be anything, but Kunikida…Denki seemed to recall him giving a full lecture on what his thoughts were about Hero society and culture on Denki’s first day. The way that he talked—passionate, yet patient—endeared Denki to him from the beginning, even if he didn’t necessarily agree with what the man spouted.

A public speaker? No. Not a lawyer either, Kunikida had wrinkles, but he wasn’t that old.

As he continued to think, Atsushi pointed ahead of them and said, “Tanizaki-san and his sisters are…students? Naomi-san is wearing a uniform, and Tanizaki-san doesn’t seem to be that much older.”

“Naomi-san definitely isn’t my age though,” Denki added. “She looks more like my upperclassmen. They’re all very cool and mature.”

“Aw, you two are so sweet!” Naomi giggled, her hands wrapping around her brother’s arm.

“What about Kunikida-kun?” Dazai offered.

Denki squinted his eyes. At the same time as Atsushi answered, “Government official?” he blurted out.

“Teacher.”

“Bravo!” Kunikida had his arms crossed, and he was blushing in his seat, murmuring about how he didn’t want to remember that part of his past. In a mock gesture of concern, Dazai began to fan him with his hand. “You got it right, Denki-kun. Kunikida was a math teacher before he became a detective. How did you guess?”

“Well, to be honest, I had a teacher kind of like him,” At the praising look Dazai sent his way, Denki lowered his head. “And we had a conversation on our first day where he basically spent the whole time lecturing me about the logistics of Hero works, and how it differs from Yokohama. In truth, it was interesting,” Denki pursed his lips. “Doesn’t mean that he’s right, though.”

“Well, brat, I can already tell that you’re not your teachers’ favourite student,” Kunikida grumbled.

“What? How could you say such a hurtful thing to me, Kunikida-san!” Denki closed his eyes and whined. The moment he opened them again, he brought a hand to cover his lips, uncertain as to what had prompted that reaction. The only thing he knew was that he had gotten carried away in the moment, and teasing Kunikida felt like it was the appropriate thing to do. Thankfully, everyone else seemed to have moved on from the outburst.

“Oh! Now guess me next. Come on!” Wriggling in his seat like a little kid, Dazai said.

“Okay, Dazai-san was…” Starting brazen, Atsushi’s resolve crumbled the more he stared at the man.

Kunikida sighed. “It’s no use, kid. His former job is-”

“Conman.” Denki cut in.

“No, that’s not it either. As I said, his former job is one of the seven wonders of the Armed Detective Agency.”

Tanizaki hummed from his spot where his arm was still locked in his sister’s tight embrace, “Wasn’t there a prize pot for the first person to guess it? It’s been racking up for a while now.”

“I guessed he was some type of criminal,” Kunikida pushed his glasses up. “But even criminals have to work hard, so that’s impossible. He also said I was wrong.”

“So what’s the prize pot now?” There it was. Atsushi’s eyes screamed of the same greed it had spotted back on their first night together. Denki thought finding out you could transform into a tiger, and then nearly getting blown up looking for work would put a damper on things. Apparently not so. “What- What did you just say?”

Dazai repeated what Denki had missed, “Right now, it’s seven-hundred thousand yen.”

Atsushi jumped from his seat.

“Salary man. Researcher. Factory worker. Actor. Writer- You’re not just lying, are you?”

“A suicidal maniac never goes back on his words!” Cutting off his series of no’s, Dazai laced his hands together and started to swoon, “Although, an actor is quite flatter, Atsushi-kun!”

“Give it up! He was either homeless or jobless,” Kunikida clicked his tongue. Denki also nodded. For some reason, he could not see Dazai living in a normal home and going to a normal job. That would be comparable to seeing the villain responsible for U.S.J, Shigaraki, working at retail in his free time.

“No, I won’t lie about it.” Dazai stood up. Right at that moment, Tanizaki’s phone began to ring. Denki saw Atsushi nearly jump at the sound, and remembered that this was the first day the other boy had gotten an actual phone. He began to rub his back soothingly. “Oh? No more guesses? I’ll leave the bills to you.”

“Hello?” Tanizaki brought the phone up to his ear just as Atsushi screamed. “A request? Yes, we’ll be there right away.”

.

The moment Denki caught sight of their client, he had to cross his arms and redirect his gaze. The woman sitting on the other side of the waiting room’s table was beautiful, and not just beautiful in the classic sexy way, no. With her sharp suit and tied-up hair, she looked like she belonged on the front cover of a career magazine. Her eyes were bright and soft, but there was an undeniable sternness to her features that made her seem more mature than her apparent age. She sat, unsmiling, staring at them, and the worst thing was that Denki knew if he said any of this aloud, he would be branded the same type of person as Dazai, who was already starting to sneak his way toward the woman’s chair.

“Beautiful. As bold as a water lily and as sweet as a princess,” The man uttered from where he crouched, holding the woman’s palm in his right hand. Denki didn’t necessarily disagree, but he still wished his senior would learn to read the room. Everyone was staring. Even he had more tact than this when flirting with his classmates. “Would you like to commit a double suicide with me?”

This time, the force of Kunikida’s smack was definitely hard enough to leave a bruise.

As Dazai was dragged away, Denki’s eyes caught onto a movement from his left hand. It smoothed over the woman’s pants pocket, before tightening into a fist. Sweat rolled down Denki’s forehead. He already knew that Dazai was a lying, suicidal maniac, but to think he was a thief on top of it too? Dazai appeared to notice his scrutiny, because the man winked at him right before disappearing into another room, Kunikida on his tail. A moment later, a muffled yelp could be heard through the door.

With their client justifiably freaked out, Tanizaki hurried to bring her attention back to the case at hand. “So, you have an investigation request for the Agency, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct…” The woman looked down at her laps and sighed, “I don’t know much, but recently, some people have been hanging out at the back of my company’s building. These people—they’re dressed in rags, walk in the shadows, and are always heard speaking a foreign language.”

The members of the Armed Detective Agency glanced at each other, Denki included. The description was a bit vague, but even before he arrived, Denki knew from researching Yokohama that it, like any other port cities, had its fair share of smugglers and vagrants. There were some sources that claimed these sorts of activities made up the bulk of Yokohama’s crime statistics. Denki wasn’t sure how much he trusted those numbers—there weren’t many in general of Yokohama—but the fact that they existed had to count for something. Emerging from the room he had dragged Dazai into, Kunikida also confirmed their thoughts.

“Tch, no matter how much the police force cracks down on them, they keep popping up again like roaches.”

Hearing that, Denki couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Sounds like Yokohama is in desperate need of its own Hero agency.”

Silence.

Between one moment and the next, Denki found all eyes in the room trained on him. The client’s gaze was especially intense. He stared at her for a moment, then glanced away with a murmured apology. Perhaps he spoke too soon about Dazai not being able to read the room.

Kunikida shook his head, “If you only know, kid.”

Then, before Denki could even try to parse the meaning of those words, the client continued. “If there’s any evidence that it’s a hoodlum, I’d go right to the police, but…”

“There isn't yet. That’s why you want us to find some.” Kunikida hummed, looking around the room. His eyes paused on Denki. “Kids, you’re going.”

“Huh?” It wasn’t Denki who spoke this time, but Atsushi right behind him. “I-I’m going where?”

“Relax, it’s just going to be a stakeout job.” Kunikida regarded them. “Besides, smugglers are usually harmless. They’re much better at making a break for it. This is perfect as your first assignment. Tanizaki will also go with you.”

Naomi, who had been silent until now, suddenly jumped up and threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders, “If Nii-sama is going, then I’m going as well!” She squealed. Both Atsushi and Denki’s heads whirled toward Kunikida, scandalized, but the older man just crossed his arms. His tone broke no room for discussion.

The gathering quickly dispersed after that, each member of the Agency going their separate ways in order to prepare for the imminent outing. Taking a look around him, Denki’s eyes returned once to their client, before slowly drifting up at Kunikida. The man stared at him with a gaze half-hidden beneath his lenses, his face frozen in an exasperated grimace as though to say, Come on, brat. Just get it over with.

Denki shuffled his feet. He could already hear Aizawa-sensei in the back of his head, scolding him for his ineptitude.

“Kunikida-san, please walk me back. I forgot the direction to the dorm…”

.

Kunikida cemented his place as Denki’s favourite senior when he walked him back to the dormitory with only some minor grumblings. It made him reevaluate his comparison of the man to his teacher, since if it had been Aizawa-sensei, he would have been chewed until next week for forgetting both his gear and the directions back to a building only fifteen minutes away. Like this, Denki was able to retrieve his equipment without issue, and even had time to shrug back into his school blazer. The two of them made it back to the office just in time to reconvene with the others, and Kunikida finally let Dazai out of the backroom before sending them off with a warning.

Now, Denki was walking alongside Atsushi, the Tanizaki siblings talking with the client somewhere in front of them. His hand twitched, resisting the urge to check over his equipment not only due to Dazai’s meddling, but also from just how out-of-place he felt carrying such high-tech equipment in a place that was almost dated in its technological advancements. He conceded to leaving his hand hanging loosely by his side, distracting himself by watching Atsushi freaked out over the picture Kunikida had given them.

“Mafioso, mafioso,” He heard Atsushi murmuring beneath his breath. Kunikida had said that the man in the picture—a boy, really, since he looked to be Atsushi’s age—was a part of the local mafia group.

Denki hadn’t even known there was a mafia group in Yokohama. “You really think there’s a shadow organization controlling the underbelly of Yokohama all along?” He asked, though the question was directed mostly to himself. Atsushi had been a wandering orphan on the streets mere days ago, so any information he had was shaky at best. “This sounds like the kind of conspiracy theory one of my classmates might come up with. Kunikida-san did say he’s another one of these Ability-users, though. If even Kunikida-san is afraid to face him, I wonder what his power is…”

“Please, don’t you start. All of this talk about vicious mafia and getting killed.” Atsushi shuddered. “What on earth have I walked into?”

From the front, Tanizaki’s head spun back, attracted by the commotion. “You shouldn’t worry too much, Atsushi-kun. If someone like me can keep up in this line of work, you’ll do just fine.”

“Yeah! And if push comes to shove, you can always rely on my Quirk!” Denki grinned. Despite all his grievances about the entrance exam, knowing that he had the ability to stop a rampaging tiger by himself had done real wonders to his ego. Tanizaki chuckled at his outburst, while Atsushi’s face twisted, before slumping.

“R-Right. Speaking of, don’t you have an Ability too, Tanizaki-san?”

Denki perked up.

“Ah well, don’t expect too much.” Tanizaki brought a hand hidden beneath long sweater sleeves up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s not really built for combat-”

“Nii-sama’s Ability is amazing! I love it!” Denki covered Atsushi’s eyes the moment he noticed Naomi’s hands sneaking up her brother’s shirt. Unfortunately, this left his own vision exposed to the Horrors. He was able to endure it for all of half a second, a feat Denki suspected even All Might in his prime wouldn’t be able to beat, before having to avert his gaze. “Oh, ‘not in a place like this?’ When did you start talking back, Nii-sama? Such a cheeky mouth-”

“We’re here.” If this was the Agency’s usual modus operandi, Denki was starting to get why they had to find work in Yokohama. Their client, who had thus far paid them a fair amount of money to do absolutely nothing of substance, suddenly came to stop in front of a dimly lit alleyway. After glancing back at them once, she started to make her way inside.

Denki stared at her retreating form, his head slightly tilted. Even in the midday sun, the alley she had led them to was shrouded in shadows. Yet, there was confidence in her steps as she led them further and further along the dingy path, a surety that felt uncharacteristically detached from the concern she had displayed earlier. Rounding the corner, he tried to keep her in his line of sight, but the task quickly became difficult to hide with her slowing steps.

Tanizaki was the first amongst them to notice the dead-end, “Huh, strange.” He hummed, still attached by the hips to his sister. “Feels like I just stepped into a demon’s lair. Is this really the right place…uh…”

“Higuchi.”

“Higuchi-san, usually when outlaws run away, they make sure to prepare an adequate escape route. This place, on the other hand…”

Denki’s electricity rushed through his veins, setting off sparks along the line of his arms. Goosebumps began to form on his skin. The tenseness he had been feeling in his chest abruptly dropped off, leaving Denki in free fall.

“Did you just say Akutagawa?” He heard Tanizaki mumble too late. There was the sound of a gunshot, followed by a cut-off scream. Denki’s muscle strained with the effort to hold back his Quirk. With Atsushi standing so close, any attack he released would hit him first before Higuchi. The gunshots continued, and, unable to see a way forward, his hand shot out to grab onto the loop of Atsushi’s belt.

“Get down!” A bullet grazed Denki in the ear. He bit off a scream, then, using all of his might, managed to hurl the two of them to the ground. Atsushi tumbled, landing with a faint grunt just as another barrage of bullets soared over them.

“She’s P-Port Mafia!”

“Yeah, I think I got that already!” Daring to take a peek behind him, Denki squinted his eyes at the twin pistols in Higuchi’s hands. It had been so long since he had seen a fully functioning gun—villains and Heroes alike preferred their fancy Quirks—that it would be tricky to try and evade it. Still, he had his sharpshooting gear. If only he had the room to aim, then maybe he could hit her.

As abruptly as it had started, the gunfire stopped. Denki heard the thump of a body hitting the floor before Tanizaki’s hoarse scream echoed through the alleyway. “Naomi!”

Denki’s eyes widened. His head spun back toward the other members of the Armed Detective Agency.

Atsushi was still on the ground, thankfully unharmed except for a small cut on his biceps. This, if nothing else, was evidence that they weren’t the main targets of Higuchi’s aim. Behind them, Tanizaki was crouched next to his sister. The hand he was holding up was stained scarlet.

“…Hey.” Denki breathed out as Tanizaki began to panic. His hands brushed all over his sister’s frail, bleeding body in his futile attempt to stop the blood flowing from her wounds. The bullet holes that covered Naomi’s body continued to bleed, unheeding of his pleadings for her to open her eyes, to tell him what to do. “Hey, this…this isn’t funny.”

Wasn’t this just supposed to be an internship? If one of his classmates had sustained an injury to this degree during a villain attack, Denki would have been mad with worry, but ultimately reassured by the healing capabilities of Recovery Girl. However, here in Yokohama, there was no Hero, no Quirks to help them. Naomi was still bleeding, and no matter how much Tanizaki yelled for bandages, anything to cover up her wounds, she was dying all the same.

Amongst them, Denki was the only one with a Quirk, except his could only be used to harm, not heal.

“Enough.”

There was only one target to harm at the moment.

But Higuchi still had her guns in hand. She approached Tanizaki, trembling on the ground, and pressed one of them against his head. “I’ve done my research. You’re not a combat personnel. Do you wish for me to send you to meet your sister?”

Denki gritted his teeth. Still on the ground, he pushed all of his doubts away and focused on taking aim at Higuchi behind her back. His sharpshooting gear was a heavy weight on his arm.

“Huh?” At Higuchi’s question, Tanizaki’s voice quieted. “What did you just say? You…who just hurt Naomi…you…”

Denki inhaled. He had a clear view of Higuchi’s nape at that moment. His disks weren’t sharp enough to cut, but they would still be able to do decent damage if he was to shoot it at someone. Tanizaki stood up. Right as Higuchi was about to press down on the trigger of her gun, Denki let loose the mechanism on his sharpshooting gear.

“Light snow.” Higuchi grunted upon the impact of the disk, and Denki took that opportunity to lash his electricity in her direction. At the same time, Tanizaki, with Naomi’s body in his hand, started to blur. “Atsushi-kun, Kaminari-kun, please get yourself somewhere safe. That bitch-” he said, then paused, and Denki saw his eyes physically dilated at the sight of Higuchi. “-is mine to kill!”

The world dispersed.

From the sky, snow fell. Denki reached a hand up to touch them, only to feel nothing as they melted away in his palm. He didn’t even have time to think of the implication behind Tanizaki’s words before Higuchi recovered from his electricity and began to open fire. Her bullets shot through the air, yet none hit him, her aim wildly off course.

Despite this, she yelled, “Even if I can’t see you, my bullets will still hit you!”

Wrong, Denki’s mind corrected. Tanizaki’s Ability, and he felt comfortable calling it an Ability now, as no Quirks Denki had ever seen could do something like this, had hidden all of them from view. An illusionary film blanketed the battleground, falling like snow, evidently mutable as Tanizaki’s hand suddenly appeared from view to wrap around Higuchi’s neck.

“Die!” He shouted. Denki’s fingers twitched with the urge to stop him, to stick with the code of Heroism and not let anyone, even criminals, be killed. Yet, the mere thought of Naomi’s bleeding body was enough to keep him stuck in place, gritting his teeth. Higuchi’s grunt was cut off from the asphyxiation, and for a moment, it truly looks as if Tanizaki was going to kill her.

Then, the snowfall ceased and Tanizaki fell to the ground. A cough came from behind all of them, near the opening of the alleyway.

A man—a boy, really, as Denki had thought—covered his face with his palm. He wiped his lips over his fingers, and when he opened his eyes, his empty gaze instantly locked onto Atsushi.

“Fear death. Fear he who brings death. Those who seek death.” Another cough escaped from his mouth. “Shall be sought out by death in turn.”

“That’s…Akutagawa,” Atsushi whimpered.

Akutagawa’s eyes crinkled. “So you already know who I am. Like Higuchi over there, I am a humble dog of the Port Mafia.” He coughed again, and this time, Higuchi rushed to support him.

“Akutagawa-senpai, please let me handle this! You need to take care of yourself-“

The harsh sound of a slap echoed through the alleyway. Higuchi’s head whipped to the side, mouth still hanging open in the middle of her words. Looming over her, Akutagawa hissed, “Useless cur! We were instructed to capture the weretiger alive! What do you hope to accomplish in killing them?”

“I-I apologize, Akutagawa-senpai!” Denki glanced over at Atsushi, whose face had gone pale. Shakily, the other boy got to his feet, his breathing heavy. Denki followed him more out of concern than any real desire to be confronting these insane criminals. He saw Atsushi’s lips trembling.

“Weretiger? ‘Captured alive?’ Tanizaki was still slumped on the ground, his sister’s body a few meters away from him. Both of them were bleeding from their wounds, crimson red seeping into their clothing, their hair. Feeling Akutagawa’s eyes on him, Denki had to stop himself from running over to them. He cursed himself in his head, berating his own inadequacy.

“That’s right,” Akutagawa crooned, “Our target had been you all along, weretiger. Your companions lying over there, I guess you could say they turned out that way, because of you. Your existence brings calamity upon those around you-”

“Bullcrap!” Denki interrupted, grabbing onto Atsushi’s hand, “Hey, are you hearing this guy? He’s dressed like a vampire in the middle of the summer. I’ve seen villains with better fashion sense–Are you listening to me?” Atsushi’s eyes were blank, his body unmoving. Seeing this, Denki’s brain helpfully brought up the images of traumatized victims Aizawa-sensei often showed them in class. He let out a frustrated groan.

“You must have sensed it yourself, right?” Denki really wished this guy would just shut up. He glowered as much to the criminal, who made a show of raising his eyebrow, “Ah, so you’ll insist on being trouble. Very well, Rashomon.”

“Atsushi-kun!” For the second time that day, Denki found himself in the unfortunate situation of having to push both him and Atsushi out of the way of an attack. A current blew through the alley, brushing past his arm and lifting up Denki’s hair, only to blow it right back into his face. Spitting out a mouthful of his own locks, he turned to find the spot where they just stood obliterated, with a trail of darkness leading up to Akutagawa’s coat.

“Rashomon is omnivorous.” Pieces of his sharpshooting gear were on the ground, having been caught up in the blow. Denki stiffened when he saw the coat begin to morph and shift, forming into an animalistic head with ravenous fangs. “It devours everything. Weretiger, if you continue to resist, its next bite will be your leg.”

“W-Weren’t you supposed to capture us alive?” Denki spluttered. Against cloth, if Akutagawa’s coat was actually made of cloth, his electricity wouldn’t be so effective. Worse, with his sharpshooting gear gone, he was back to restraining his own Quirk so that it would not cause his allies harm. Eyes darting at Atsushi, he began to shake the other boy. “Atsushi-kun, come on! I need some help over here!”

“It’s a shame, to think that things would turn out like this—but no matter. Our order was to capture the weretiger alive. We don’t need you around for that.”

“Atsushi-kun, Kaminari-kun…” Denki’s heart soared with hope at the sound of Tanizaki’s voice, but he was on the ground, injured from Rashomon’s first attack. He coughed, and blood trailed down from his lips, “Run…ugh…” He groaned.

Akutagawa stepped forward. As Tanizaki’s words echoed in his head, Denki got ready to flee, Atsushi in tow. His vision was clear now. They would make their way back to the Agency, where Denki would phone U.A. or Aizawa-sensei or any Pro-Hero that was willing to pick up. No one needed to have a villain like this running around the Yokohama harbour, and that was not to mention the possibility of even more chaos whenever he decided he was done playing mafioso. Another step. Denki’s electricity roared in his ears, begging—pleading to be released. Thankfully, he had plenty of experience ignoring it. The third step, and he averted his gaze from Tanizaki’s dying body.

Rashomon shot forward in a rush of black, faster than Denki could ever have predicted. He was aiming to get through the hole on Akutagawa’s right, but between one blink and the next, the coat was already there, sharp blade pointed right at Denki’s face. Instinct yelled for him to jump back, but Denki’s body wouldn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. Only his Quirk lashed out in time, as though of a mind of its own, lighting the whole alley up in an unprompted burst of electricity.

Unfortunately, this did nothing to deter Rashomon. It paused with Akutagawa’s jolt, but then continued its descent when he saw that the electricity simply coursed the fabric without even leaving a mark. With that, Denki closed his eyes, hoping for his death to at least be faster than Tanizaki’s, still bleeding on the alleyway floor. Call him a coward, but he didn’t want to have to bear witness to his own death, to feel the pain of its embrace.

“Arghhh!”

Pain stinged the top of Denki’s forehead, but it was not him who had screamed. Rashomon’s blade stopped right in front of his eyes, and when Denki forced his gaze away, he saw Atsushi standing to his left, hand straining to hold back the attack.

“Before, Kunikida-san said…” The boy hiccuped when he noticed Denki staring. His eyes shone with unshed tears. Grunting, he began to try and wrench Rashomon’s blade away, “Having passed our entrance exams—that we can’t be a burden to anybody, and tarnish the Agency’s good name!”

Denki choked back a bewildered laugh at those words. A moment later, he dropped his head, feeling the heat of shame crept up his face. Without even knowing it, he had been so close to giving up that a penniless orphaned boy had to pick his sorry Hero arse off the floor. Blood dripped from the wound on Denki’s forehead, and he wiped it away before once more raising his head, face grim.

“Sorry, Atsushi-kun. To think I’m supposed to be the Hero student here,” Denki shook his head, and in the direness of the situation, almost didn’t care about how grotesque the spray of his blood on the ground looked. “Nevermind that. We don’t have the time. Do you think you can fight?”

Instead of responding, Atsushi chose that moment to propel himself toward Akutagawa with a guttural cry. Denki heard an annoyed click of Akutagawa’s tongue, and hurried to support him. Dismantling the pieces of his broken sharpshooting gear until he found one of the disks lodged in one of its mechanisms, he threw it in the direction of the mafioso. It landed by his feet just as Atsushi skidded beneath an attack from Rashomon.

Atsushi came to a stop behind Akutagawa, who turned his way with a faint. “Oh?”

Denki directed his electricity toward the disk.

This time, not even his Ability could stop Akutagawa’s body from seizing up. He choked out a scream. At the same time, Atsushi picked one of Higuchi’s discarded guns off the ground and pulled the trigger three times on his back. Rashomon lashed out, but it was too late. Denki saw Akutagawa’s body reeled from the impact of the bullets, hunching over and jerking painfully. Electrical sparks flew off of his coat, and in the wisps of smoke that had begun to emit from his back, they appeared like bright dots of will-o’-the-wisp.

And so, it was over. Dropping his still-bleeding head, Denki let a relieved sigh escape his mouth.

He closed his eyes.

“A-Ah, Kaminari-kun…” When Denki’s eyes opened once more, he saw Atsushi’s mouth hanging open. The other boy had a haunted look on his face, and that, even more than the warm, wet feeling that was spreading down Denki’s body, was what made him realize something was wrong. Denki’s gaze dropped, and gingerly, he brought a hand up to cup the spot on his stomach where Rashomon’s blade had penetrated his body.

The smoke dispersed. The lights disappeared. Straightening up, Akutagawa turned to stare at him, eyes wide and crazed. “A nice attempt. I suppose I should be thanking you. Your electricity really wakes Rashomon up.”

“How come…” Atsushi’s hands, wrapped around the gun, were shaking.

Bullet shells tinkled upon hitting the ground. Standing over them, Akutagawa smoothed a hand through his coat, unphased. “Nevertheless, this was foolhardy. Have I not told you?” He extended a hand toward Atsushi, “Rashomon is a carnivorous beast that can consume anything—even space itself. The space of the bullets’ trajectories from the fun barrel to the target was eaten away, and thus, neither gun nor fire can harm me.”

Blood pooled at Denki’s legs, but strangely, he did not feel any pain. He supposed it was the shock. Rashomon wrenched himself from his body, returning to Akutagawa’s side and sending more of Denki’s bodily fluid splattering to the ground. The gruesomeness of the scene did not stop Denki from spitting in the mafioso’s direction. “Damn you! That doesn’t even make any sense!”

He yelled mostly in an effort to distract himself from the threat of his guts spilling onto the dirty alley ground, but also, partly, because Akutagawa’s explanation really didn’t make sense. No power could do something like that. Even Best Jeanist, whose Quirk allowed him to manipulate fabric like Rashomon, would be laughed out of his career if he suggested that he could use it to cut through empty space. Denki’s stomach rolled at the mere thought of it, and he didn’t think it was because of the stab wound.

“You keep talking big like that…Hah…” He groaned as a shiver ran down his spine. His body was hot, almost feverish. Was this how an injury was normally supposed to feel? “Couldn’t even stop my electricity…”

“You…” Akutagawa’s growl was deafening in the quiet alleyway, but more surprising was Higuchi’s immediate-

“How dare you speak to Akutagawa-senpai in that way!” For a criminal, Denki almost smiled at how ridiculous she sounded. He was definitely in shock now. Everything seemed humourous. Pulling his hands from where they were pressed against his wound, he watched as strings of blood stuck to his fingers, dyeing his palm crimson red. “Hey, pay attention when I’m talking to you!”

Higuchi raised her guns. Almost in slow-motion, Denki watched as Atsushi jumped to protect him. Akutagawa reacted to the movement immediately, and Rashomon swiped around to sever Atsushi’s leg clean off. Despite this, Atsushi’s momentum did not stop, and like this, it was like the world was holding its breath for a brief moment.

But why have your eyes gone sad again, Atsushi-kun?

Was, for some reason, where Denki’s hysterical mind ended up at. He wondered what the other boy was thinking right now, witnessing everyone dying around him. Would he blame himself like the people at his orphanage had blamed him? Did he think of Denki the same way as he thought of the director, someone who had to punish him for his sin? Denki didn’t like that. He didn’t want to be judge, jury, and executioner to someone else’s actions, especially when it was someone like Atsushi, who had done nothing wrong.

But neither did he want to die, and because of that, Denki turned toward Atsushi, whose gaze was directed at him despite aiming to stop Higuchi.

“…Please, Atsushi-kun,” Denki didn’t think he could muster a cry, but this plea alone seemed to have been enough for Atsushi.

Rashomon lashed out again, coming in contact with fur instead of skin. However, this only seemed to irritate the tiger. Atsushi, having now transformed, resumed his trajectory toward Higuchi. The mafioso raised her guns to point them at Denki in response.

Lowering his gaze to the ground, Denki closed his eyes for what was the second time that day. Instead of false relief, he felt nothing but a strange sense of guilt and responsibility. I’ll stop him, he thought to himself, distantly aware of his faltering breath. I did it once before. I’ll do it again.

A series of loud clacks came as Higuchi unloaded her guns. Denki couldn't see it, couldn’t crack open his eyelids, but he could hear her choking out, “What? They’re not piercing through-”

“Rashomon!” Denki couldn’t see, could barely hear anything past the sounds of gunshots, but he still had his hands. Raising them, he tried to imagine in his mind the position of the disk he had thrown before. It had landed right at Akutagawa’s feet, the man’s long coat billowing over it, hiding the device from view. Now, the snapshot of that image framed itself in Denki’s mind as he drew upon the last of the electricity he had in his body and redirected them all in front of him. Metal flooded his mouth. Distantly, he heard the muffled sound of Light Snow being activated. The tiger’s growl rang in Denki’s ears.

“Okay, boys! That’s enough!”

Something about hearing that voice again finally made Denki’s pain set in, and his teeth began clattering, fingers thumbing at the hole in his stomach. Were his organs being pulled out? They felt like they were being pulled out. He heard from Akutagawa a coarse exhale— “Dazai-san…”—And what the fuck? Denki was done with this. He wanted to go home and lay in bed until his grandfather visited with his favourite fast food. Then maybe he might be bothered to get up for long enough to sue the Armed Detective Agency out of existence.

Higuchi’s heels clicked on the concrete as she seemingly took a step back, “You’re from the detective agency! How did you-”

“Oho! I have the tendency to be wary of fetching young ladies, so I did a little recording.” Something clattered on the ground. Denki’s mind offered up a foggy recollection of Dazai’s hand slipping into Higuchi’s pocket—not to steal, but to plant something.

Bastard! Denki’s mind vaguely resembled Kunikida now.

“So right from the start, you saw through our plan.”

A shuffle, and someone groaned. Not Dazai, though. Dazai sounded like he was having a grand ol’ time. “I would take all the credit, but that would be doing a great disservice to my lovely subordinates! Atsushi-kun, come on, wake up! I don’t want to have to carry four people home, and Denki-kun looks like he would fry me if I dare touch him.”

“W-What? You think we would just let you go?” Higuchi’s guns clicked back into place. “Stop right there-”

“Back down, Higuchi.”

“Akutagawa-senpai!” Denki coughed. He couldn’t hear what Akutagawa said next, only Dazai’s final declaration that he would like to see Akutagawa try, a mockery that Higuchi immediately defended again.

“You’re a mere detective agency! The Port Mafia controls the entire underground of this city!” More babbling. Denki tried to open his eyes, to at least take in the scenery. No luck. It was like the dried blood on his eyelids had glued it shut. “What would a handful of detectives hope to do? We could raze your entire office to the ground within three days! No one has ever stood against us and lived to tell the tale!”

“Yes, yes, I know. Now can you hurry it up? I have an intern who I’m sure is starting to feel a little bit under the weather. Since I’m such a good senior, I’ll be taking him to the clinic soon.”

“You- How dare-”

“Tch, of course.” It was all fading. Denki really hoped Akutagawa’s voice wasn’t going to be the last thing he heard before he died. It made him want to clear his throat, or gargle salt water for a week. “I suppose it couldn’t be helped. You would know better than anyone, Dazai-san, as the ex-executive of the Port Mafia.”

Denki tried to widen his eyes one last time, failing to move it even a centimeter. His mouth tasted of rust and bitterness. He felt the mafioso’s presence disappear, at which point his body finally caved in, hitting the ground just as footsteps began to approach.

“Oh, Denki,” He heard, faintly, a voice against his darkening consciousness. “What a terrible child you are. Rest now.”

And it sounded fucking amused. Irregardless, unable to muster the strength to argue, Denki reluctantly obeyed.

Chapter Text

With a bleary blink of his eyes, Denki stared at the man sitting next to his hospital bed.

At least, he assumed it was a hospital. It was difficult to recall what happened after he was stabbed. Denki’s head hurt just thinking about Rashomon, and he was still stubbornly ignoring the thick layer of bandage over his stomach. The blanket draped over his body helped, to the point that if Denki concentrated really hard, he could perhaps imagine he was just here for a serious case of stomach ache. Even so, whenever he closed his eyes, he could hear the faint sound of children crying. It was distracting.

He looked away. Dazai, still sitting next to him, hummed.

“I was expecting Kunikida-san.”

“...Denki-kun.” Denki’s brow furrowed when he saw Dazai rising to his feet. The man approached the bed, a hand reaching out to smooth over the blanket on Denki’s body. It paused in his stomach. “Do you not love me as much as Kunikida?”

“Hah?” Denki didn’t know what time it was. There was no clock, meaning he might be late for class for all that he knew. Nevertheless, it was too early for this.

Dazai wagged a finger over his mouth. “Shush, shush, shush! Don’t say anything, I already saw it in your eyes. You thought I was a thief, that I flirted with that lady just to pickpocket from her, didn’t you? What is this unfair treatment when I already gave you my room and futon? I bathed you and fed you and patted your head, and this is how you repay me?”

“What was with the transition? You haven’t even done half of those stuff,” grumbled Denki, “Also, your room sucks. Do you even clean? You know you have to wipe down the mirror after you wash your face, right? I could barely see my own reflection in that thing!”

“Uh, that’s a plus! You wouldn’t want to see all those ugly wrinkles, would you?”

“Do you see blond hair and immediately think of Kunikida-san? I don’t have wrinkles, and I would rather die than become a math teacher.” With a disgruntled huff, Denki wriggled around the bed until Dazai wasn’t completely leaning into his physical space. He only paused to say. “Ugh, talking about dying. Please tell me this isn’t the afterlife. I’m too young for this. I have dreams and aspirations, you know? And a grandfather I still have to call. Where’s my phone?”

“Oh, that! It can wait. For now,” And Dazai’s fishy smile, which he had thus far been plastering on his face, abruptly dropped. “Denki-kun, I’m glad you’re feeling better, but perhaps you can enlighten this senior on what happened?”

Denki pursed his lips. Looking down at his stomach, he casted a judgmental eyebrow at Dazai, who stuck his tongue out in response.

“How mean! Who do you think carried you all the way back to the Agency’s clinic, huh? Kunikida-kun? Atsushi-kun? No, it was me! And you can’t even answer my one very simple question. Oh, woe…” There was a shuffle as Dazai collapsed back onto the chair by the hospital bed. Crossing his arms, he reached up to wipe away an imaginary tear. A sniffle came from the nonexistent snot in his nose. Hearing it, something in Denki snapped.

He gingerly raised himself into a sitting position. Dazai didn’t offer a single hand to help, and Denki didn’t ask, finding the man much more pleasant when he wasn’t just throwing empty words out into the air. Keeping an eye on his stomach, he readjusted his posture until the bandages no longer pinched his skin, before lacing his fingers together and sighing.

“I’m not sure what you even want to know. Haven’t you seen everything already? Or heard? That Akutagawa guy showed up, almost murdered everybody, and the only thing that stopped him was apparently…” Denki gulped, recalling the mafioso’s words. Suddenly, the fog in his mind became a lot clearer. “You were a mafia too—an executive.”

“I am.” To Denki’s surprise, instead of trying to deny it, Dazai simply shrugged. “I was.”

“Is that…a high-ranking position?”

“Second only to the boss, although there were many of us. Executives, that is.” Denki glanced away. His head felt light, almost empty, as though he was looking at a test he forgot to study for. Without even attempting to answer the question, he knew he was out of his depth. The letters that further strung together into incoherent sentences were not ones he recognized.

“I haven’t…I didn’t know any of this. Does anyone know? Isn’t Yokohama supposed to be…” He trailed off.

Dazai smiled. “Yokohama is the city of Quirklessness, that fact hasn’t changed. However, just because we are Quirkless does not mean we haven’t found any other ways to fight. I asked you this before—do you really think a city full of ordinary people could have survived for this long? If we are really as defenseless as we appeared, villains would have flooded our streets now, wouldn’t you think? Ah- Ah- Let me finish, I can see you trying to interrupt. The Port Mafia is as Quirkless as we are. Here in Yokohama, they are criminals, not villains.”

“Semantics.” Denki murmured, suddenly feeling exhausted. “They’re killing people, just like villains are. Tell me, what’s stopping me from calling the cops right now? My school? All my teachers are Pro-Heroes. They would be horrified to hear that gang members are going out on the streets and gunning civilians down. Forces would be deployed to Yokohama almost immediately.”

“Ah, but they won’t.” Despite those words, Dazai was still smiling. “Because you won’t tell.”

The exhaustion faded, or maybe Denki had just reached a point where his tiredness cycled back into outrage in an endless loop he would never escape from. “What?” He hissed, “Tell me one reason why-”

“This Dazai-san can do you one better!” Dazai snapped his fingers. “Come now, Denki-kun! Let’s break down the arguments! Number one—the Port Mafia are gunning civilians down in the street. Now, I would hate to defend any of those dogs, but I feel compelled to correct my dear intern when he’s going around making uninformed assumptions. They are not!”

“Are you aware of how utterly insane you sound? Do you think I passed out from a sudden onset of pneumonia? They killed Naomi-san!”

“Oh, she isn’t dead, but nevermind that.” And just like so, Dazai continued, completely bulldozing over Denki’s horrified screech. “I said this before too, but I’ll say it again. You’re not a civilian, Denki-kun. You’re a U.A. student—your uniform is in my dryer, by the way, so make sure to pick them up before heading to school. Like all of the other members of the Agency, the Port Mafia sees you as a threat. Civilians, on the other hand, are nothing! They don’t offer competition, so why would the Port Mafia bother with them? That is why Akutagawa could be so brazen in his attack against you, but you would be hard-pressed to find any mention of a ‘Port Mafia’ in news outlets outside of Yokohama. Massive civilian casualties, the sort that might draw a curious Hero’s attention, simply don’t exist here.”

Examining Dazai, Denki couldn’t shake off the feeling that the man was not telling the whole story. However, there were more concerning matters to attend to. “They may not attack civilians like typical villains do, but they do still commit crimes. Why not just let Pro-Heroes take care of them all and make Yokohama a safer place to live in?”

“Is it not already as safe as can be?”

“Please be serious for one moment, Dazai-san.” A nagging feeling told Denki that he was going to have to say this a lot more in the future.

Dazai seemed physically pained by the effort he had to exude in order to smother his giggle. “But I am telling the truth. Walking around yesterday, didn’t you notice something strange?” He closed his eyes, as if imagining himself actually walking down the streets of Yokohama at that very moment. “It’s quiet. The people are unconcerned by the threat of villainy that constantly plague the outside world. Picture, if you will, schools that are not always on the verge of an invasion. No metal detector, no barricades, no dormitories where students hole up because their teachers could not adequately prepare them for the real world. If you want, you can try asking Naomi-chan.”

“Hey, I like the dorms,” Denki protested.

“But you know the reason they exist. That kidnapped classmate of yours….what was his name again?” Dazai snapped his finger again. “Forget it, I don’t really care, but the point remains. What do you think would happen if Heroes floods into this city? Assuming they can even defeat the Port Mafia, that would just make Yokohama like every other place in this country, exposed to the ever-present danger of villainy. I dare say, that would be a change for the worse. The majority of the population here are, just as they are widely known for, completely and utterly Quirkless. Disgusted as I am to admit it.” Shoving his hands back into the pocket of his trenchcoat, Dazai let out a long, suffering sigh. “If there is a sudden influx of crime, not even the Armed Detective Agency could fill the holes the Port Mafia leaves behind. And the government is limited in their capabilities to help. It really is a gigantic pain in the neck, which is why your senior would always recommend giving your all to a fulfilling and painless suicide instead, Denki-kun.”

Sparing any amount of sympathy to someone like Dazai was hard, so Denki didn’t even try. “No one asks it to be your problem. Even if you used to be a big-shot mafioso, I hardly think a business as tiny as the Armed Detective Agency has much say in Yokohama’s day-to-day function. If it was me, I would just leave it to the people actually trained to handle these sorts of things. You know, Heroes and cops and the like.” With that, he turned away with a disdainful sniff, intending it to be the end of the conversation.

He should have known better than to think any dialogue with Dazai could ever conclude in such an easy escape. “How about this then? With an increase in villain activities comes governmental scrutiny. You may be right that the Agency possessed no real power, but individually, we are all highly valuable Ability-users. What do you think would happen if someone looked just a little too closely and realized that one of our members is the man-eating tiger the authorities have been looking for?” He laughed, “At best, I would say house arrest. More likely though, given the severity of his crime, they’ll lock him up and throw away the key. Things are just so much less complicated that way, aren’t they?”

Denki threw a pillow at him. It bounced off Dazai’s head and landed on the ground with a soft thump.

“Don’t talk about Atsushi-kun like that,” he sneered. Around them, the air crackled with electrical charges. Dazai gave a low hum. “He’s- He’s not some prop for you to use against me!”

“Oho! How frightening!” Opening his palm, Dazai reached for one of the sparks flying out from Denki’s body. It fizzled upon coming into contact with his skin, coating his lithe finger in a layer of static, before fading completely. “And I suppose you said the same thing to yourself when you sent him against Akutagawa?”

Denki’s finger tightened around the blanket until his knuckles had turned white. “What do you mean by that?” He uttered, voice breaking on the last word. His eyes darted to avoid Dazai’s gaze. “I didn’t do anything. Atsushi-kun chose to attack that guy on his own.”

Dazai nodded along. “Of course, and in doing so, he overcame all of the fear he had surrounding his Ability and being unable to control himself—all on his own.” He clapped. “How heartwarming, Denki-kun! To think that he would go so far to protect the Tanizaki siblings. Naomi-chan would be grateful to hear-”

“Enough!” Denki yelled, “Just get on with it! So you think I was using Atsushi to, what, defeat Akutagawa? If you haven’t noticed, that was what we were all trying to do! For fuck’s sake, he was about to kill us!”

Dazai held his hands up. “Now, now,” He soothed. “I know I took in a more reasonable intern than this. Let’s not kid ourselves anymore. Denki-kun, you and I both know how Atsushi behaves—what he is like with you.” His voice lowered until it was almost a whisper. “The boy is a nervous wreck. The first morning you two reunited, even Kunikida was able to pick up on the tension. He’s terrified at the thought of hurting you again. He thinks he owes you some kind of debt, just because you had to stop him on your first night-”

“That’s not my problem,” Denki cut in, “It’s- It’s not. If he feels guilty, that’s his issue. I’m not responsible for that.

“I found out something very strange after the fight, Denki-kun. Atsushi-kun was in a state of shock until the very last moments of the fight. Akutagawa got to him, and you had to pick up the pieces. What changed? What prompted Beast Beneath the Moonlight to activate?”

Denki almost didn't notice the reveal of Atsushi’s Ability name. He stared ahead of him, unseeing. Every gears in his head seemed to be turning in order to find a reasonable justification, but combined, they did nothing outside of making him feel more overwhelmed.

…Please, Atsushi-kun.

“I- I- She was going to shoot me!” Finally, his face crumbled. Eyes stinging, Denki slumped onto the bed. “I just…If Atsushi-kun hadn't transformed, we would have died anyways, so I thought ‘what would it matter? I’ll take my chances.’ It’s not- I’m not, like, weaponizing him or anything.”

“Did you think Atsushi-kun was someone you could leash?”

“What sort of question is that?” There was no pillow left on the bed, so Denki conceded to just screaming at the man, “Atsushi-kun is his own damn person! And a good person at that. He doesn’t deserve…” He drifted off, licking his lips. His eyes felt dry—so dry that it stung whenever he blinked. Abruptly, they made him remember that he had forgotten to bring his eye-drops with him to Yokohama. “I promised I would stop him. I’ve done it before. If it comes to it, I would have been able to do it again. I-”

He raised his head high then, daring Dazai to argue. The man remained silent.

“I just needed both of us to live.” Denki pursed his lips. His gaze darted back to the bed. “First.”

He let out a shuddering breath, and all of the sudden, it was like a weight he hadn’t even noticed he was carrying just slid off his back. The world felt light and meaningless. Denki stared at the wall in front of him, silently debating the merit of carrying on as a Hero student despite all of this. He recalled the anger he had felt toward Akutagawa, how much he had been willing to kill him, to the point of trying to rope Atsushi into doing it in his stead. What would Aizawa-sensei think? His fingers tightened around the blanket. What would All Might? Maybe Principal Nedzu was right to berate him during the exam, if this was how prestigious Hero student Kaminari Denki turned out at the first sight of danger. A Hero should never kill. A Hero should put others before himself. A Hero should never lose his cool like this.

And he had been so gung-ho about this internship, thinking it would be a fun vacation to the “Quirkless” city. Denki tried to rub his stinging eyes, but he only succeeded in making them more dried out. He wished he had brought his eye-drops—should have obeyed his grandfather when he said to carry them along with him everywhere he went.

A hand landed on top of his head.

Holding his breath, Denki squeezed his eyes shut when he felt it move, but it did nothing but ruffled around his hair, leafing through unruly locks and massaging his scalp.

“You should probably shower before you head back.”

“You don’t get to call me smelly,” Denki murmured back.

The hand retracted, and Denki paused for a moment in mourning of the contact. Then, Dazai snorted, reminding him of who exactly he was talking to. “I didn’t say this so you could feel sorry for yourself. Come on, Denki-kun, no one here is going to condemn you for wanting to live. I was just curious.” The last sentence sounded honest to god like a pout.

“Why do they even allow you on the visitor log? I want Kunikida-san instead.” Now that Denki’s breathing was returning to normal, he could recall having talked to Kunikida about Heroes and Yokohama in the past. Perhaps it was a common view shared by those living in the city—this bias about having their own “Heroes.” In a way, it was poetic that Yokohama talked about the outside world the same way they talked about Yokohama, with a mix of trepidation and defensiveness.

As he closed his eyes, letting the epiphany wash over him, Dazai continued to whine, “-with how dirty it is, Kunikida-kun wouldn’t even touch your head! Also, if you think there is a visitor log, you are sorely mistaken. This here” The man stretched to his full height in order to loom over Denki, who just continued to eye him, unimpressed. “Is the Agency’s personal clinic. Don’t worry, we have a very capable doctor with us. Perhaps you’ll meet her later.”

Denki made a grabby motion for the pillow, which Dazai picked up and handed back to him without a pause in his words.

“-Yosano-sensei said she would love to treat you properly. You were unconscious this time, so…” Dazai put a finger to his lips. “Hm, nope! I’ll just leave it up to her how she would like your first meeting to go. You don’t have a fear of needles, do you?”

“Uh, as long as you’re not the one holding them.”

“How about chainsaws?”

Denki squinted at him. “Are you messing with me?” He shook his head, dusting off the pillow and adjusting it so that it was once again behind his back. Once he felt it was adequately comfortable, Denki’s body started to slide. Down and down. “Nevermind, I don’t care. I’m tired now. Can you leave?”

“So rude!” Dazai puffed his chest out as Denki continued to disappear beneath the blanket. “But fine, since I’m such a nice senior, I suppose I’ll let my dear intern have his rest. Remember to wake up in time for school! You don’t want to miss out on any of that, ugh…silly Heroism work now, do you?”

“You only say that, because you used to be a criminal.” Denki’s voice was muffled beneath the fabric. He blinked, one eye opened. Now that he thought about it, shouldn’t he be arresting Dazai?

As if reading his thoughts, the man jumped out of his chair. “Alright, then I shall take my leave! However, before I go,” He stilled, and Denki waited in uneasy anticipation of another verbal bombshell, but all Dazai let out was a quiet. “Denki-kun…you are safe here, you know that, right?”

Denki’s brows furrowed. Was this some kind of trick question? A new, fun way for Dazai to torture him? “Are you delusional?” He asked, just to make sure. At Dazai’s headshake, he proceeded. “Okay. Do you have eye problems? Something that might make you miss the giant hole in my stomach?” He punctuated his words with a hard yank on the bandage wrapped around his belly.

Except this time, it appeared as though Denki severely underestimated the level of his own strength. Under his touch, the bandages unravelled to reveal the pristine layer of skin beneath, unblemished by even a surgical scar. Looking down at it, Denki found himself letting out a faint. “Ah.”

“Ah.” Dazai mocked, then promptly hurried to the other side of the cubicle curtain so that Denki’s pillow wouldn’t hit him in the face.

.

In the end, it was as Dazai said. Denki woke up in what was the most surreal moment of his life to the realization that, despite everything, he still had classes to attend that afternoon. Any hopes of needling his teachers into giving him a sick leave was quickly dashed when he checked over his own body and found that it had completely healed, smooth skin unmarred by even a single scar that might remind him of what happened. That left Denki with two choices. Either he could skip school, which always carried the risk of Aizawa-sensei berating him for thinking he could just take an easy day off of Hero work, or he could trudge up to class doing his best impression of normalcy, messy bed hair and reddened eyes aside. That morning, he ran for the seven o’ clock train heading for Musutafu, and rightfully blamed the whole ordeal on the Armed Detective Agency.

Another set of problems soon posed itself once he arrived, however. Denki stared straight ahead at the blackboard as he let the drone of Aizawa-sensei’s monotonous voice pour into his ears. After an hour or so of trying to pay attention, undercut by the constant buzzing of electricity in his ears, he had finally resolved to just scribbling doodles onto his paper and pretending like he was recording notes. So far, Jirou was the only one who noticed, judging by the side-eye she was sending his way. Denki changed the pattern of his scrawl and started on a new page when Aizawa-sensei turned back to face the class.

“-Ethics is the core of Hero society…as celebrated figures and public servants, we have the responsibility to…” Denki’s electricity sparked, garnering some strange looks from his classmates, and he resisted the urge to sigh aloud. As though getting back at him for months of being put under control by his gears, his Quirk had been acting up ever since he had gotten back from Yokohama. When he had asked Dazai about it, the man surprisingly apologized and took great care in detailing to him the exact state of his equipment. Apparently Akutagawa was “very angry” and “absolutely totalled it around the same time Atsushi shot him. Oops, sorry Denki-kun!” If Denki wasn’t still so shaken up about the whole incident, he would have been more bitter about how his expensive and highly-specialized gears were so thoroughly mistreated by a criminal. More pressing, however, than the issue of someone like Akutagawa being unable to appreciate the artistry of good design—without his sharpshooter, Denki could no longer control his electricity.

Denki really didn't want to have to fry himself whenever the next Heroics class with All Might arrived. Not only was it embarrassing, he was supposed to have moved past it by now. Skip the sharpshooting gear being gone, his grades were about to crash and burn with the fact that he seemingly progressed backward in his Quirk capability. They might even bar him from going back to his work studies, and while this wouldn't be too troublesome of an issue given how his internship had gone so far, it might prevent him from completing one thing.

The task that had gotten him to accept the offer from Yokohama in the first place—in the chaos of his trip, Denki had forgotten all about it. Now with the hustle of trying to get to class on time and paying attention to the lectures far in the past, Denki’s mind drifted back to the photo, still shoved somewhere in between all of his clothes and stationary. He would have to look for it during breaks.

The sharpshooting gear, the photo, his Quirk, it was almost too much for Denki to deal with. He drew a poor caricature of Dazai onto his page and barely restrained himself back from crumbling the paper and throwing it in the trash. Aizawa-sensei was reaching the end of his lesson. “-For homework, read and answer the question of page…of your…” he said, looking around the room. Then, his eyes zeroed on Denki. “Kaminari, I want to see you after class.”

Denki jumped.

Next to him, some of his classmates giggled. Rubbing the back of his neck, Denki sent a despairing look to Mina, who responded with two thumb-ups. Good luck with that, she mouthed, smirking.

I’m uninviting you to my funeral, Denki exaggerated each word to her.

Wow dude, that’s dark, she whistled, Well, gotta go. Bye bye.

With a carefree shrug, she skipped away, leaving Denki’s eyes to dart from her retreating form back to the front of the class. Leaning against his desk, Aizawa-sensei stood like a dark cloud against the school’s bright decor. His arms were crossed.

Picking up his bag, Denki slowly rose to his feet. “Sensei?”

“Come here, Kaminari.” Denki would very much not like to come, but then Aizawa-sensei started gesturing with his hand, an impatient frown on his face. “I just want to know why you were so distracted during class today? Is everything okay?”

Shuffling his feet in front of his teacher, Denki looked away. “Everything is fine. I’m just a bit tired from my work studies, that’s all.” He punctuated his last words with a big smile.

“Kaminari,” Aizawa sighed, though out of his throat, it sounded more like a garbled groan. Denki’s brows furrowed, partly concerned for his teacher, partly wishing he would gargle some salt water already. “You know that if you need anything, you can come to me, right?”

Denki froze.

For a brief moment, a part of him that yearned to confess to everything. The trip to Yokohama, the entrance exams, the existence of the Port Mafia, he wanted to know if Aizawa-sensei could help him make sense of all of it, walk him through parsing each of these disconnected puzzle pieces which befuddled and deceived him at every turn. Heroes and detectives, criminals and villains, Quirks and Abilities, there were just so many things out of his reach that Denki was scrambling to comprehend. Like stars in the sky, they twinkled, then blinked out of view just as he was about to reach out and grab onto them. He wanted to ask Aizawa-sensei what he thought about the photo. At the same time, he simply wanted to hear him say that Denki had done nothing wrong.

Denki’s rationality took over a second later, but something must have shown on his face, because Aizawa-sensei leaned closer to him. “Kaminari?”

“I’m okay,” His voice wavered. Denki swallowed, and grinned widely. “Sorry, Sensei. I guess I just wasn’t too engaged with the topic. What was it…ethics of Heroism?” He glanced at the blackboard, where Aizawa-sensei had yet to wipe away his writing. “We talked a fair bit about this during my work studies too. Honestly, I’ve just been assuming all this time that a Hero’s job is simply to fight crime and uphold justice.”

“Kaminari, I would recommend you pay more attention to class in the future,” Aizawa-sensei’s voice gained a harder edge. Denki was just glad he finally leaned back. “These sorts of topics are crucial in your future career as a Hero. Do you understand?”

Denki nodded absent-mindedly. He knew this already.

“I’m not saying this to try and scare you.” Aizawa-sensei met his eyes, and the empty classroom suddenly felt too crowded for the two of them. “As you well know, exam marks have just been returned. You’ve ranked bottom in all of your subjects once again, outside of English and Classic Literature. If you keep this up, you won’t be able to continue your work studies. It sounds to me like you’re rather enjoying your time there, so if you need any help, I would suggest you say it now. Only then can I help you with your problems.”

You can’t even help me with tangent fucking limits, Denki thought somewhat unfairly. In no world should Aizawa-sensei feel obligated to pick up after his most troublesome student, not when they were both in U.A, where only the crème de la crème of Japan should reasonably be. Nevertheless, it could not stop the bitterness in his chest from swelling. Aizawa-sensei was supposed to be their teacher, someone they could rely on and look to for help. So why was Denki standing here and hesitating?

He didn’t know, and frankly, there was not a lot of time for him to spend on pondering. He wanted to go eat his lunch. Denki hadn’t eaten a thing since he drank that americano in the coffeeshop underneath the Agency, and he was dirty and irritated. His skull felt too tight for his own brain, “Sensei,” He said, no longer bothering with inflection, “I understand. Is that everything?”

Aizawa-sensei sighed through his nose. “I should be asking you that question.” He rubbed his eyes, and if Denki was in a better mood, he would feel serious kinship with the man. “Is there anything else you need?”

Denki thought about his healed stomach, his phone which had definitely been tampered with, his fight with Akutagawa and the talk with Dazai thereafter. “No,” He echoed, blinking away the electrical sparks on his eyelids. He wasn’t about to get Atsushi into trouble.

“Then you can go. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thank you, Sensei. You too.”

.

It has to be here somewhere. As panic seized his heart, Denki made the executive decision to leaf through everything once more. The sound of zip ties and velcro patches opening filled the room as he opened one pocket after the next, shoving his hand inside and smoothing over the rough fabric of the bag to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. There was a pile of dirty clothing on his floor from where he had dumped them out, and his materials all laid on his desk next to the bento box Denki still hadn’t eaten despite the fact that the bell was going to ring soon, because he was too occupied looking for this stupid thing-

He collapsed onto his bed, letting out a frustrated moan. Two hands reach out to claw through his matted hair. Denki closed his eyes.

The photo was gone.

He didn’t know where it could be when his bag had been in the Agency’s dormitory the whole time. Skip that, he did know. The answer began and ended, as it always did, with suicide. He just couldn’t figure out why. Dazai may have loved tormenting people, but amongst all the things Denki had in his bag, the photo seemed like the most innocuous thing in the world. Denki didn’t even remember when it had been taken.

It wasn’t as if it was something sentimental. It was just…a photo. And perhaps that was what Dazai was like, taking and doing meaningless things. Denki was still pretty certain he had gone through his phone on their first night, but after looking through everything, he couldn’t find any evidence of actual tampering. There was just that single text, an introduction and a hello, and that was it.

His stomach growled and Denki rolled across his mattress until he was face-down into the bedsheet. There wasn’t much point to him eating when the lunch bell could start to ring at any second, but at the same time, he was so, so hungry. In an effort to distract himself, he grabbed his phone, lying on the headboard counter. Unlocking it, Denki began to scroll through his contacts.

That was when he remembered the missed call from his grandpa. Denki’s heart, which had just started to slow with his acceptance of the missing photograph, immediately quickened once more. Tapping the old man’s number, Denki let it buzz one time before bringing it to his ears.

There was a click as his grandfather picked up. “Denki?”

“Ojii-san!” Denki whined into the phone, “I’m sorry for missing your call! Things have just been so hectic lately. I’m almost dead on my feet!” He sniffled, “Honestly, I almost fell asleep in class today. Aizawa-sensei even had to call me out on it! We still have class until four, but I really don’t know if I can handle it...”

There was a shuffle on the other side as his grandfather seemingly adjusted the phone. Someone else was speaking in the background, but their voice was too quiet for Denki to hear. “Apologies, I need to make this call.” He picked up his grandfather's voice saying in response.

“Are you busy, Ojii-san? I can call back later.”

“No, no,” Denki listened to the sound of his grandfather’s footsteps, barely audible above the murmurs in the background. It became clearer and clearer as he seemingly walked away from a noisy crowd. “I was just finishing some things. You said you were tired, Denki? Wasn’t it you who said you wanted to be a Hero when you grow up?”

“I know that!” Denki pouted. “And I still do! It’s just…”

“You know what I always say, Denki—a good house cannot be built off a shaky foundation. Pay attention to your study, and someday, you will become a great Hero. It will just take some time.”

“I know,” Denki repeated, more serious this time, “I know, Ojii-san. I just…I…” He gulped. “Lately, there’s been…”

“Out with it, Denki.”

“Have you ever gone to Yokohama?” Denki couldn’t help it, he blurted out. In the past, whenever something was troubling him, he could always rely on his grandfather for help. Even if the old man had a tendency to say cryptic things sometimes, as all old people do, he had never led Denki astray before. It was his grandfather who had encouraged him to pay less attention to the photo as his entrance exam neared. Denki was certain that extra studying was the only thing keeping him from becoming a high school flunky. “Uh, I mean…”

The image of Atsushi popped up in his head, but Denki quickly shook the thought away. His grandfather wasn’t associated with any Heroes, and he mostly seemed to keep himself away. Things would be fine. “You’ve been to Yokohama?” Just as he expected, his grandfather’s voice remained as even as ever.

“I know it has its reputation,” Denki sighed, “...Frankly, I don’t know why I was about to defend it. Things have been, for a lack of a better word, warped.”

“Warped, you say.”

“I-I don’t know. It all just feels wrong!” Denki groaned into his sheets, “Like I’m swimming in a deep ocean that I can’t see the bottom of, but I know it’s there and it’s distracting as hell! Agh, I’m not making sense anymore, am I? Have you ever heard of the Armed Detective Agency, Ojii-san?”

For a moment, there was silence.

“Ojii-san?” Denki repeated, hoping that the connection hadn’t just cut off as he was in the middle of his little tantrum, “Ojii-san, can you hear-”

“My apologies, I was momentarily occupied with something else,” There was a cough as his grandfather’s voice returned on the phone. “Denki, it sounds to me like you are in somewhat of a personal crisis. Perhaps it would be beneficial for us to go out for a meal this afternoon, to help you mentally reset, so to speak. I would also like to know more about what you have been doing in Yokohama.” A tongue click. “I haven’t heard anything from your school about a field trip…”

Denki chuckled, “It’s not a field trip, Ojii-san, it’s for my work studies! You even signed the document for it, remember? At least skim through the papers so next time Principal Nedzu calls you, you know what to say.” He ended the sentence with a cheeky wink, though he knew that his grandfather couldn’t see.

The old man seemed to get it anyway, because he huffed, “I am fully prepared for any calls I might receive from your Hero school, Denki, do not worry. Now, what do you say for gyoza at four?”

“So long as you don’t smoke, Ojii-san,” Denki retorted, “Also didn’t you hear what I said? My class goes all the way until then. I won’t be able to make it.”

“I will write a note for your teacher saying that you are not feeling well. Take the rest of the day off and rest.”

Denki’s heart skipped a beat. If his grandfather was going this far, he must really have something important to say. He almost never let Denki off of school early. “Wow, really, Ojii-san? You’re the best!”

“I will come pick you up. Be sure to eat something beforehand. My subordinate says he could hear your stomach growling through the phone.” And just like that, his grandfather hung up on the call with a beep, leaving Denki to dash for his forgotten lunch box.

.

Modest wooden decor and tatami mats greeted Hirotsu Ryuurou into one of his favourite restaurants outside of Yokohama. Waving the hostess aside, he ushered Denki to their spot, waiting until the boy was properly situated before taking his own seat on the other side of the traditional low table. A waiter immediately brought out appetizers and drinks—beer for Ryuurou and tea for Denki—and Ryuurou heard Denki quietly thank the man before taking a small sip. Neither of them place their order, the restaurant staff having already acquainted themselves with their regular preference.

Despite knowing this, Denki nevertheless opened the menu and began flipping through it, occasionally humming and hawing when he came across a new seasonal item. Having raised the boy for so many years, Ryuurou knew it was more out of an instinct to occupy his hand rather than any real desire to look at their options, and so let him be without a word of reprimand. Denki’s favourite food were burgers and fries, fatty and energizing cuisine that were more suited for the youths than someone like Ryuurou. He tolerated gyoza only because they were fried, and because Ryuurou wanted him to. On his more optimistic days, Ryuurou expected things to be as simple as that between them.

Raising a child, even one as low-maintenance as Denki, was truly never one of his life’s aspirations. Ryuurou sighed and snapped his fingers. “Denki.”

It took a second for the boy to catch on. When he did, Denki jumped. “Ah, Ojii-san?” Rubbing the back of his head, he slowly lowered the menu onto the table. “Were you…saying something? Sorry, it’s been a long day.” He chuckled

Ryuurou let Denki work out all of his nerves before proceeding. This was a delicate matter. “I haven’t said anything, but now that we are here, why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“Where do I even start?” Denki’s voice was almost inaudible as he murmured under his breath, “Uhm…right, do you remember that photo I had framed in my room? The one that you said you didn’t take?”

“If I recall correctly, both of us agreed to not bother with it again,” said Ryuurou, “You were letting it distract you from your studies, while I, for one, think it’s just a simple photo. You could have picked it off the side of the street one day and simply forgot.”

Denki frowned at that, evidently displeased by the dismissal. Ryuurou resisted the urge to sigh.

“But I do admit, it is a strange thing to be in possession of, especially without how it could have gotten there.” He amended, watching as Denki visibly relaxed with the knowledge that someone else agreed with him. Such an open display of emotion was tantamount to suicide in the Port Mafia, but Ryuurou let it go. It had benefited him thus far to be able to read the boy like an open book. “What does that photo have to do with your recent foray into…Hero internship.” He continued, making sure that neither his voice nor his body language gave off a sense of impatience.

Picking up his chopsticks, Denki began to poke at the small dish of tofu the waiter had brought out for them as an appetizer. He speared off a small piece, then, in a move that seemed designed to test Ryuurou’s composure, painstakingly balanced the delicate morsel onto the tip of his chopsticks. “I don’t know.” said Denki as he slowly raised the food to his mouth, stopping just short of his lips only to sniff the content of the dish. “It could be something, it could be nothing.”

There was a pause between them, before Ryuurou caught on. “Hero work is a respectable career,” He did sigh this time, unable to keep it in. Children, especially those raised outside of Yokohama, could be so utterly asinine. “I neither agree nor disagree with the path you have chosen to follow.”

“You could at least pretend you care for it even a little,” Denki ended up putting down the tofu without bothering to eat it, pouting. “It’s not just the stuff you see on T.V. Look how much I’m suffering, learning about limits and, ugh, calculus. You know, normal school stuff. Not just punching and kicking.” He stuck out his tongue, making sure to turn to the side as he did so.

Denki’s priority about when and when not to use his manners, unlike his emotions, continued to befuddle Ryuurou to this day. Perhaps it was because of their difference in age. “I have nothing against these so-called ‘punching and kicking’ of yours. As a matter of fact, I rather enjoy watching sumo wrestling in my free time.” Amongst other hobbies. “And physical activity is an important factor of any child’s upbringing. However, what I take as questionable is the insistence on justice as a driving force for these sorts of…” At this, Ryuurou paused, remembering all of the handbooks he had read throughout the years. “What I mean to say is, justice and television—rather antonymous, are they not?” He coughed into his hand.

To his surprise, Denki hadn’t already drifted off like he always did whenever Ryuurou went on a tangent. Instead, he had his elbows on the table, his hands smoothing over his face. “Ojii-san, please stop,” groaned Denki, his voice slightly muffled, “I don’t even want to begin to tell you just how many times I’ve heard this in the past few days. Is this, like, a thing for you Quirkless people? Do you guys get together and dunk on Heroes in your free time? Wait, skip that, those guys aren’t even Quirkless…”

The Armed Detective Agency, recalled Ryuurou’s mind. And what a shock had it been to hear that name came out from the other side of the call. That was when he realized things had gotten truly dire. “We don’t have much time. Let us return to your work studies, Denki. Whose offer is it that you accepted, and where did you end up?”

“So there’s this detective agency,” Denki threw his hands up with a whine. The waiter, who was just passing by to drop off their plates of gyoza, eyed the two of them nervously. “I know, I know, why did I even consider such an offer. I mean, I’ve never even heard of an ‘Armed Detective Agency,’ and one based in Yokohama at that. Have you even been to Yokohama, Ojii-san? It’s got a big Quirkless population, reportedly, so you’ll probably fit in better than me. Ah, but back to the point…” He heaved a sigh, “I didn’t plan on accepting their offer, initially, but the more I look at it, the more suspicious it gets. First of all, they’re a detective agency, asking for me.”

Ryuurou wasn’t sure how to break it to the boy that out of the ten known Agency’s members, only one could actually qualify as a detective. That was not even touching on the whole Yokohama mess.

Denki grabbed a piece of gyoza off the plate and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. “Secondly, can you guess what I saw on the email they sent me? It’s that picture. Well, not the same thing, but it’s uncannily close, down to the angle and everything. I don’t get how I even ended up with a photo of Yokohama Harbour in the first place.” He gulped, before turning toward Ryuurou. “You never answered my question. You’ve never been to Yokohama, have you, Ojii-san?”

“No,” Ryuurou said. “I can’t say I have.”

“Ah, well, it was worth a shot.” Denki looked away. “Anyways, I can’t show the photo to you again. Dazai-san took it, and when I tried to find the email, it’s not there, so he probably deleted that as well. Ojii-san, I think I might need a new phone.”

“I’ll get you one,” Ryuurou immediately noted in his head to get Denki a more secure phone. Merely the mention of Dazai was enough to put him on edge. There was no reason for ‘Dazai’ to look through Denki’s phone. There was no reason for ‘Dazai’ to be anywhere near Denki in the first place, after all these years. “Is that what makes you decide to go to Yokohama? The photo?”

“Well, there’s also…” Denki scratched the back of his head. “See—and I just know you’ll laugh at me for this—the thing is that for the past few months, a lot of exciting things have been happening at school. You already know about the kidnapping stunt.”

“It has to do with that one classmate of yours, yes? The loud one.” Ryuurou squinted into the distance. “Bakushou Natsuki.”

“I’m totally calling him that the next time I see him,” Denki snatched another piece of gyoza. “Now that I think about it, you really would fit in with the people of Yokohama, Ojii-san. They don’t really care about keeping up with current news either. Dazai-san doesn’t even remember his name, which makes me wonder if he did any amount of research into U.A. before sending me an offer. Knowing him…” He chewed on the food thoughtfully.

“The kidnapping, you were saying?”

“Oh, yeah!” Denki sighed before taking a sip of his tea. “What I meant to say is that—for the past few months, all of my classmates’ got their own taste of adventure, their own glimpse into the actual world of heroism, you know?” He looked down at his plate and used his chopsticks to fidget with the food. “Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve just been dragging myself behind them. I didn’t place that well in the Sport Festivals, and even though a lot of agencies still send me their offer, it’s more because they want to use my flashy quirk for marketing than because they actually think I will excel. I didn’t get to participate at all during the Training Camp incident.”

“Some would say that’s a good thing.” Ryuurou’s eyes went to his tankard, nearly empty. He signalled for the waiter to refill them.

“Well, now I know,” Denki’s voice went flat. “Seriously, I thought this work studies is going to be a walk in the park, that I would just go there and enjoy my time in a new city before returning to write a report on it or something. Ojii-san, I know I’ve been asking you a lot of things today, but you’ve never heard of the Port Mafia, right?”

Ryuurou was definitely going to need that beer. “On the contrary, I think I’ve heard of the name in passing before. Why? Are they active in Yokohama?”

“Dazai-san makes it sound like they run the whole city,” Denki huffed, “Ah- I…don’t actually don’t know if I should be telling you this, but oh well, I guess it’s not like he can hear me.” Despite those words, the boy dropped his voice to a near whisper as he leaned toward Ryuurou. “I fought one of those guys yesterday. Some man…boy named Akutagawa. I’m pretty sure Dazai-san is lying on his report to U.A. about me, so my teachers hadn’t realized, but I nearly died in that attack. He stabbed me with his cloak demon thing.”

Ryuurou coughed. That explained why Akutagawa had been in such a bad mood, if that was how Denki talked to him. “If you suspect he has been lying to your school, perhaps it’s time to consider legal action. That would surely violate some kind of contract for the internship.”

“Exactly!” Denki clasped his hands together. “You have no idea how much I’ve been saying that! The Akutagawa guy was one thing, but on my first night there, he put me against a man-eating tiger alone in some sort of evil perversion of an entrance exam! I actually passed out! He couldn’t be doing all of this legally!” But then, as if a switch was suddenly turned on, Denki deflated. “I can’t make a report though. That would place the whole Agency under suspicion. There’s a friend I made there that really couldn’t afford to be out of a job, and I don’t want to cause him any more trouble.”

Their plates were nearly empty. Ryuurou looked out the window at the darkened streets, and desperately wished he was in possession of a cigarette. Even beer was not strong enough to dampen the pain in his neck from when the Agency had thrown his whole squad out of the window this morning. He hoped whoever Denki’s friend was, it wasn’t the super strength kid that roundhouse kicked him in the face.

Nothing about this situation seemed coherent anymore. Denki bit into the last of their meal, while Ryuurou finished his beer. He wanted to ask the boy what he intended to do, but knew that Denki wouldn’t be able to answer him. There was no answer to be given when you were part of a circus with Dazai as the ringmaster. The only thing Ryuurou could do was wish Denki luck and hoped that nothing would end up blowing back into his face.

He still had to report to the Boss about this.

In front of him, Denki wiped his mouth on a napkin. Leaning back, he patted his stomach, an easy grin on his face despite all that they just talked about. “Ah, thanks for the meal, Ojii-san! A few more of these, and maybe I’ll come around to liking gyoza.”

“Impossible boy,” Ryuurou shook his head. He waited for Denki to finish his tea before indicating to the waiter for their bill. “If you want my advice, Denki, I would keep my head up. Constantly worrying about others….” Ryuurou let out a slow exhale. “If it is between your survival and that of another person, you should always place yourself first.”

For all that he had not been the most attentive caretaker, it still had been a long five years that Ryuurou had been watching over the boy. It would be a shame if Denki was to die so soon.

“That doesn’t sound very heroic of you, Ojii-san.” Denki tilted his head.

“I do not believe there is such a thing as a Hero in this world.” Ryuurou sighed, returning his gaze to the window. The night sky was starless. Through the window, he could see the moon looming over them. “A license is hardly more than a piece of paper.”

The same moon hung over Yokohama as the rest of Japan. Yet, only a fool would consider them the same. Heroes and villains—Ryuurou frequently counted himself amongst the fortunate that he would never have to buy into that farce, and he knew that Denki wasn’t raised to be a sheep, either. One day, the boy would come around, whether he wanted to or not. The only question now lay with a single, infuriating man.

“Are you busy after this, Ojii-san?”

“Yes, I expect so. I’ll let you return to the dorm on your own.”

Denki hummed, face as it always was whenever he was feeling dejected and didn’t want it to show. Ryuurou paid for their bill, pretending not to notice. The simplicity between them was as such, a delicate balance of attention and spurn, never tipping to a single side. This meal was a rarity, an event for Denki to commemorate, and a headache to bother Ryuurou for the rest of the night. He would go home that day, and prepared to take a call that he never wanted to receive again. The worst thing was that he couldn’t even bring himself to blame Denki.

Raising a child was never one of Ryuurou’s life aspirations. That was why he rented an apartment in Saitama on one of his spare, unaffiliated credit cards and never bothered to look back again. Walking outside, Denki under his arms, he cursed Dazai’s name into the night. Coincidentally, in that moment, the sky began to pour.

“It’s okay, Ojii-san,” Denki shrugged off his school jacket and pulled it over his head before Ryuurou could think about how he was going to get both of them home on one umbrella. “Please get home quickly before you catch a cold. I’ll call you when I get back?”

“No need. I will be too busy then anyways,” And then, opening his umbrella, Ryuurou turned away before he could hear the boy’s answer.

The rain followed him home.

.

The phone call came late into the night, but it did not interrupt Ryuurou. He was already expecting it. Answering the phone, he made sure the curtains were drawn shut. The shower ran in another room, preventing anybody from listening in. A beep signaled that he was connected.

A moment passed. Then, Ryuurou heard it.

“Yo Hirotsu-san, long time no see!”

The night was long yet. Ryuurou set the cigarette he had been nursing onto the ashtray by the bedside counter, and briefly wondered whether Denki was actually doing his homework. Hopefully so, for Ryuurou had no intention of wasting his time meeting Hero teachers. The voice on the other side of the call waited for his answer patiently, as though it had all of the time in the world. Finally, Ryuurou set the phone against his ears with a sigh.

“You know this isn’t what you promised, Dazai. Now, how may this old man be of service tonight?”

Chapter Text

The mute, mechanical taps of keyboards filled the Armed Detective Agency’s office, and though Denki, lounging on a couch to the side of the room, could barely hear it beneath the sound of Atsushi’s rambling, he knew it was there, and it was distracting.

Eyeing the equations spread out in front of him, he stubbornly ignored the long, wordy one at the bottom, and resigned to start working on all of the questions that he had skipped the first go around. The sole reason why he even had to do his math homework was because, of course, he fell asleep right after he had gotten back from the meal with his grandfather. Denki supposed he should count himself lucky for not having caught a cold, as running out in the pouring rain wasn’t exactly conducive to a pleasant evening. Even so, he cursed his past self for the sheer audacity of leaving him with this pile of problems. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, Denki was just not in the mood for rates of change (he never was).

In fairness, he should really be working on the report about the Port Mafia’s attack. Kunikida had been kind enough to provide a sample, so Denki supposed he could just copy it and fill out the details in the blanks. It was unfortunate that something like that didn’t exist for mathematics, or if it did, Denki wouldn’t even know where to begin applying it.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t work on his report until he had finished all of his homework. That was the thing with work studies. Unlike internships, they didn’t even get a break from school while throwing themselves at life-endangering situations. Denki would call it a scam if he did not choose this for himself. As things were, he collapsed onto the couch midway through erasing the work he did on a particularly confounding problem, and let out a mournful whine.

“Kunikida-san…”

“Be quiet, brat.” Came the immediate answer. “Dazai hasn’t gone missing for long enough for you to immediately replace him.”

“I resent that. Someone like him wouldn’t even pass middle school.” Denki’s face scrunched together. “Dazai-san is missing?”

He glanced beside him at Atsushi, Kunikida having long turned his focus back to work. The other boy paused in the middle of the story he was recounting to say, “Yeah, Kunikida-san said he’s not picking up his phone, nor has he returned to his apartment…uh, yours too, I guess.”

“He’s probably in the river again.” Kunikida cut in.

“Or six-feet-under? “

“He’s detained.” Two more people who Denki hadn’t been introduced to spoke up. The first was a sweet-looking blond boy even younger than Denki himself, the second—a man ripped straight out of a classic detective novel. Denki was surprised he wasn’t going around with a magnifying glass.

Throwing his pencil on the table, he watched it tumble toward the edge, then came to a stop just before falling off. “If he’s dead, I’m asking to switch rooms. It’s bad karma to live in the homes of the deceased.”

“Doesn’t that mean the whole building will have bad karma?” Atsushi pondered.

Denki tilted his head. “Maybe. I’m just repeating what I heard from my grandfather. He’s an expert at these sorts of things. All old people are.” He hummed, looking thoughtful. “With how he is, though, anywhere Dazai-san goes will probably have bad karma.”

“That’s…true.” Atsushi cringed. “But should you really be talking to him like this behind his back?”

“Just don’t tattle and we’ll be fine, Atsushi-kun.” Denki made sure to pat Atsushi on the head before leaning forward and snatching his phone from the table. Math problems abandoned, he unlocked the new cellphone his grandfather bought for him and began to scroll through his class messages. “Now go back to telling me about your trip yesterday. Hey, doesn’t that mean you were the one to see Dazai-san last?”

“Come to think of it, you’re right,” The cellphone arrived in front of Denki’s dorm room that morning, and a part of him wondered how in the world his grandfather had gotten it so quickly. The second, larger part of him was excited by the notion of a new, extra-secured cellphone. “He was just floating in the river while Ranpo-san and I solved the case. The police ended up fishing him up…” The only problem was that it was an older model, much older than Denki remembered the company still manufactured. At least it wasn’t a flip phone. “He said something about double suicide, but I don’t think that matters much. Anyways, he helps us solve the case, which turns out to be someone pretending to be the Port Mafia.”

Denki fidgeted with the setting of his device. “Pretending to be? Why would they do that? Are they hoping to be off-ed in the streets?”

Atsushi chuckled, “Ah, no, they were hoping to frame the Port Mafia for the murder they committed, but Dazai-san caught it on time and Ranpo-san solved the case. It’s amazing! I didn’t even have to do anything in the end! Well, outside of incapacitating the suspect.”

Hearing that, Denki’s heart swelled up with a mix of complicated emotion. On one hand, he was ecstatic that Atsushi wasn’t put in harm’s way. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat envious. The strangest thing was that he didn’t know who the subject of that envy was: Atsushi—for receiving the fun, peaceful adventure Denki had been dreaming about, or Dazai—for achieving what Denki failed to do, and ensuring the safety of his friends and coworkers.

Before he had much time to delve more into the matter, however, another voice interrupted their conversation.

“That’s right! It’s amazing, isn’t it? My Ultra Deduction solved the case within seconds, and the suspect was detained.” It was the detective-garb man—Denki assumed he was the “Ranpo-san” Atsushi spoke of—who snapped his fingers. “Just like that! Dazai’s little intern, correct? You should have been there. Perhaps you could have learned some things.”

He ended his ramble with a flourish, and Denki felt an odd urge to clap and then slap him in the face. Atsushi seemed entranced. Even Kunikida was nodding at the man approvingly. The world was a strange, strange place.

Still, he felt the urge to point out. “Dazai-san hasn’t exactly been doing a lot as a senior, so please call me by my name instead. You, uh…do know what it is, right?”

“Nope!” Ranpo adjusted his detective hat. “But I’ll figure it out when I have to. For now, you are Dazai’s little intern. Now go on, Atsushi-kun, sing my praise more.”

Denki didn’t even have time to ask why, between the two of them, only Atsushi was deigned worthy of his own name, before Atsushi blurted out, “A-Actually, Kaminari-kun, I think you got a problem wrong here. Shouldn’t it be, ah-”

Denki’s eyes swept down to the math questions he had momentarily forgotten about. Atsushi was pointing at one of the easier problems to solve, and Denki was sure he had gotten it right. Upon a closer inspection, beside symbols and numbers, there was now an odd block of text that Atsushi had scribbled down. “Atsushi-kun, you’re right! Let me fix that real quick.”

He erased some of his homework, then rewrote them again the exact same way, eyes scanning the text beside it all the while. When he finished, Denki set the paper on the table and tapped at a new section of writing he had added. “Is it correct now, Atsushi-kun?”

Atsushi looked at the page.

Please think of a better lie next time. Denki would have added the part where he doubted Atsushi had ever been taught academic-level math at his orphanage, but that would have taken too long, and he had been distracted reading the message Atsushi wrote to him. Most of the details were irrelevant, pertaining to the description of Ranpo’s Ultra Deduction, which Denki could already have guessed based on the name alone. What actually mattered was the final line.

It was short, succinct. Not a real Ability—Dazai said.

Pondering on the implication of this, Denki let out an odd sound of surprise. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Kunikida whip his head in their direction. The glare of his glasses were enough to communicate his warning, no hidden message needed.

Don’t even think about it.

Yes, sir, Denki exaggerated his mouth movement just so the whole sentence came across to Kunikida. It worked, and the bespectacled man spun away with an irritated growl.

Ranpo continued to sing his own compliments, and Denki promptly tuned them out with the expertise of someone who had been classmates with Bakugou for half a school year. He let Atsushi field any comments the older man might have, and took his math homework out into the main office. Dropping them onto the desks, a dramatic groan escaped his throat. “Kunikida-san, aren’t you a math teacher? Can’t you help me?”

“There is a reason I stop,” huffed Kunikida, “Least of which is because I can’t deal with brats like you. Now sit down. At least do your report if you’re not going to complete your schoolwork.”

“This is child exploitation.” Denki sniffled. “But okay, writing about how I almost got killed is more fun, I guess.”

Kunikida ignored him. Perhaps the man had reached his quota of nonsense for the day. Denki noticed him glancing over at the math paper in the corner of his eye, and had to stifle a laugh when Kunikida’s face went through the full array of expressions, starting from shock and ending at a reluctant acceptance of reality. Mercifully, Denki reached out to flip the paper upside-down, before plopping himself onto an unoccupied chair and booting on the computer.

Just as he was about to start on his report, the door of the Agency clicked open. Stepping in on hesitant feet, Tanizaki greeted them with a gentle smile, which evolved into a laugh when he caught the sight of Atsushi’s opened mouth.

“T-Tanizaki-san!” The other boy squeaked, hands waving in mid-air as if he wasn’t quite sure what he should do with them. “You’re alright!”

Denki had assumed that Tanizaki was fine ever since Dazai told him about Naomi’s survival. Nonetheless, the mere sight of him lightened a weight in Denki’s chest that he hadn’t previously noticed was there. Turning away from the computer, he examined Tanizaki’s body, then let out a whistle. “You really are unharmed. It must be…Yosano-sensei?” This, he directed toward Kunikida’s direction.

“Indeed, it’s all thanks to Yosano-sensei’s treatment.” Kunikida adjusted his glasses, a grim expression on his face. “Tanizaki, how many times?”

Denki blinked.

“F-Four.” Body shaking, Tanizaki regarded the two younger Agency members. Though physically, he seemed to be well, there was a haunted shadow in his eyes. “Atsushi-kun, Kaminari-kun, as part of the Agency, you’d do better not to get hurt.”

“A bit late for that.” Blank-faced, Denki informed him.

“R-Right.” Atsushi said.

“Tanizaki brought this onto himself.” Added Kunikida. Denki thought it was a bit harsh, but as nobody else seemed to be saying anything, he stayed silent. “Not choosing to run even when you knew it was the Port Mafia, I hope you learn from this mistake, all of you.”

“Yes, Kunikida-san,” The three of them chorused, Denki tagging on a “sir” at the end just for the sake of annoying Kunikida, before slumping back onto the office chair. He noticed Atsushi sending him a look of camaraderie on the other side of the room and tried to grin back, but all it ended up resulting was a tight, weary smile.

Just then, Ranpo piped up from where he was sitting at the back of the office. “To realize something is wrong and run to avoid it, that is the gift of sensing danger. For example.” His eyes darted down to the stopwatch he had pulled from his pocket. “Ten seconds from now, everyone.”

Denki tilted his head back, whilst a faint, “Huh?” echoed from Atsushi. Together, both of them watched as Ranpo hopped onto his feet and filed out of the room, steps light and unconcerned.

A second later, the door opened again, this time with a booming slam.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Denki noticed Atsushi’s breath hitched, which was overall not the greatest of signs for their general wellbeing. Just in case this was where he died, he made sure to curse Dazai in his head one more time. However, instead of a government attack squad, or a group of mafioso as the Port Mafia had threatened, what greeted his vision was a single person.

A lady, to be more specific, and a beautiful one at that. Her heels clicked on the office floor as she marched in. Yawning, she squinted one of her soulful eyes as she let out a, “Sorry, I overslept.” followed by a glance around the room. Another moment passed, and her eyes zeroed on the two of them. “Ah, our two new recruits, right? Are the two of you injured anywhere?”

“N-No, ma’am.” Denki blurted out before Atsushi had the chance to answer. “I mean, Yosano-sensei.”

This turned out to be a mistake, as Yosano’s gaze instantly turned to lock onto him. “You sure?” She asked.

“Quite.” Denki backed away, the queasiness in his chest suddenly growing stronger. Perhaps this was the gift of sensing danger Ranpo talked about, but mainly, Denki was just left feeling nauseous. “How can I be unwell at the sight of such elegance?” He tried to jest.

Somewhere next to him, he heard Atsushi whisper. “Kunikida-san said we don’t need another one.” As if Denki needed the reminder.

As a flush began to crept its way up his cheeks, Yosano clicked her tongue and glanced away. Atsushi jolted when he noticed her eyes on him. Before she could ask, he shook his head. “I’m okay!”

“Tsk,” Yosano’s eyes immediately dulled, and she stepped further into with a non-committal hum, head swirling around to examine the office once more. “By the way,” She said, a finger tapping on her soft lips. “I’m about to go shopping, and I need someone to carry my stuff…”

Denki casted a glance back to see if anybody would volunteer. To his surprise, the room was emptied of people. Even Kunikida, previously working on the desk right beside him, had seemingly disappeared into thin air. His computer was still left open on the last file he was working on. He let out a confused squawk. “Wait, where is-”

“It looks like there’s just the two of you. Perfect, come along now!” Then, having finished her piece, Yosano spun away without another word. Denki glanced over at Atsushi, noticing his twin expression of bafflement.

Atsushi’s eyes went to the spot Ranpo previously perched upon.

Denki shrugged, then nodded. Gazing down at his homework, he briefly debated the merit of grinding through another question, before letting out a sigh. At the same time, Atsushi seemed to arrive at the same conclusion, and he reached out to retrieve Denki’s forgotten phone from the desk for him.

With that, the two of them ran to chase after Yosano’s retreating back.

.

Atsushi balanced the gift boxes in his hands, careful not to trip onto any unsuspecting passersby as he navigated the crowd. There was a certainty in his heart that any given items Yosano handed to him would cost more than his entire life. He wasn’t even sure what she was shopping for, just that the look on her face when she warned him not to drop any of the goods was not one a doctor should have.

Then again, what would Atsushi know? The other day, he discovered that he was wanted by the Port Mafia for his Ability. He hadn’t even told Kaminari about the Black Lizard attack, half because he didn’t want to recall how pathetic he had been in the face of the threat, half because he knew it would freak the other boy out. Kaminari seemed to have some kind of issue regarding control (Atsushi hesitated to call it a complex, because that was rude, and Kaminari was certainly relaxed enough most of the time)—not necessarily that he wanted to impose his will over others, but more like he craved total understanding of the world around him. Even Atsushi, unknowledgable bumpkin that he was, could tell the combination of Abilities, the Port Mafia, and whatever else Dazai had in store, was shaking the foundation under the other boy’s feet. He could only hope that Kaminari would keep a level-head. Between the two of them, someone had to.

Although looking at him now, Atsushi felt as though his concern was, altogether, misplaced. Kaminari’s eyes were fixed on Yosano’s back, hardly blinking in the hour-and-a-half since the three of them arrived at the mall. He was carrying significantly less than Atsushi, but that was more to do with Atsushi’s insistence that he was the older one between them, and so should be carrying the majority of the load. Kaminari had wanted to argue, he knew, but soon after, the boy was all too happy piling more stuff onto Atsushi’s hands. Turned out, Kaminari kept up with trends, something that had already endeared him to Yosano, in stark contrast to Atsushi. The result was that two of them racked up on limited merchandise about as fast as Atsushi could eat a bowl of chazuke.

Just as they were about to head into another grocery store, Atsushi felt the wind shift around him. Suddenly, the growl of the tiger echoed through his mind, and he whipped his head around faster than he could blink. His eyes caught onto a lock of hair, too low for him to see. Atsushi looked down.

The sight of a little girl in a red kimono made him pause, more so from exasperation than from surprise. Readjusting the boxes in his hands, he was about to shoot her an apologetic smile when he felt his body coming into contact with yet another person. The bump sent the top-most items in the pile—an armful of ripe lemons—tumbling onto the floor, where they rolled until coming to a stop just beneath a businessman’s shoes.

Atsushi winced at the inevitable. There was a crash, followed by a colourful curse, as the businessman slipped on the lemon and landed onto his bottom. Both Yosano and Kaminari had turned around at this point, attracted by the commotion. Kaminari let out an, “Eh? Isn’t that what we bought for exfoliation-”

“You!” As Atsushi approached the businessman, intending to ask if he was alright, the man growled at him, “Was this your doing? Look at my suit! How are you going to compensate for the damage you’ve done? This was tailored-made by a European designer-”

“Please excuse us.” Atsushi was trembling at this point, which was why it took him a moment to realize that Kaminari was beside him. Yosano, meanwhile, was kneeling in front of the man and brushing the dust off his knees. It was her who asked, “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Get the hell off me!” As the businessman kicked her away, Atsushi gasped. “Who do you think you are, bitch?”

“Hey, there’s no need for that!” Kaminari chimed in. Seemingly having been sidelined, Atsushi mentally sent him some encouragement. This was what he meant by there needing to be some levelled-headedness between the two of them. It was clearly not going to be Atsushi who fixed this situation. “If it is compensation you want, we’ll take care of it. We don’t want any trouble, sir, so just send us the bill-”

“Hah! You think you can afford it? You?” The man was clearly looking at Atsushi when he said this, but when his eyes spun back to Kaminari, they widened. “Although, on second thought. That uniform…Young man, you must be a Hero-in-training! Oh, today must be my lucky day!” The change of demeanour elicited such a whiplash that Atsushi nearly missed Kaminari’s lips tightening when the man reached out and grabbed his hand. “A U.A. student, here in Yokohama! Say, how much would you be interested in a brand sponsorship. It’s not much, we just need you to promote our product to the wider market—you wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to expand outside of this city. Let’s see, why don’t you come to our studio when you’re available for a body shoot-”

Kaminari wrenched his hand away. For a moment, there was a pause between the four of them, before the other boy smiled. “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I am not in need of a sponsor at the moment. If you have a business card, however, I’ll gladly take it.”

The eagerness at which the man pulled a card from his inner suit jacket made Atsushi jump. Handing it over to Kaminari, the man continued to grin as he examined it, like this was the best possible way his day could have gone.

Kaminari hummed, “A fast fashion company? I haven’t seen any of your products in the Musutafu shopping centre, so what you said must be true. Although…” He glanced down at his side, where Atsushi noticed Yosano was standing up. Kaminari didn’t offer her a hand, but judging by the look plastered on her face, Atsushi could understand why. Unhinge wouldn’t even begin to cut it. “The type of company’s values that you define as kicking an innocent lady to the ground is not one I feel comfortable endorsing. Instead, I think I’ll be telling my friends about our experience here today.” He smiled, except this time, Atsushi thought the expression was a bit more fitting on his face. Perhaps that was a bad thing, as the brightness that usually adorned Kaminari’s grin was nowhere to be seen, “They’re also Heroes-in-training, of course. Maybe they’ll find inspiration to ah…promote your product themselves.”

He put the card into his pants pocket and stepped aside. At the same time, Yosano got to her feet. As the man lunged for them, having realized the implication behind Kaminari’s words, Atsushi jumped in to try and stop them, but he had reacted too late.

“Bitch?” Tutted Yosano, her face frozen in a wide grin, all teeth. The businessman’s hand was crushed in her own. “And to have the nerve to jump onto our new intern after that. Now you’ve really done it.”

“Y-You! I can make you all lose your jobs with a single phone call! Let go of me!”

The man’s knuckles went white under the force of Yosano’s hold. There was a crack. “Another word, and I’ll-” Atsushi could feel tears welling up in his eyes at the subsequent words that poured out of her mouth. He had little sympathy for the man, but the violence that laced her every action was enough to elicit his fight-or-flight instinct. In the back of his head, the tiger let out a pitiful whine.

The man trembled. A moment later, he was gone, not a single more sentence exchanged between them. Dusting off her long skirt, Yosano turned back to them, her eyes glazing over Atsushi’s flinch.

“Let’s go,” She huffed, as if this was all just a slight inconvenience in her daily routine. “It’s getting late. We should head back to the office before Kunikida declares us missing as well.

.

Denki thumbed the corner of the business card.

Despite its professional layout, the paper was already wrinkling in his hand. He supposed what the man said was right—it was indeed difficult for Yokohama businesses to expand outside the city border. Stereotypes and biases would prevent any but the most profitable companies from succeeding in the current market. Thus, local brands could only flourish within the harbour itself. Walking around the mall, Denki remembered spotting several products that he had never seen on sale before, mostly displayed in the windows of commercial boutiques that Yosano confidently navigated through. If not for his feelings toward the doctor, Denki would have gladly asked her for more information regarding the economic status of a city like Yokohama. As things stood, he sat beside Atsushi on the seat of a speeding train, keeping Yosano in the corner of his vision.

The pit in his stomach had worsened after the incident with the businessman. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Denki knew that the things he was sensing had nothing to do with Yosano. After all, when the businessman had grabbed his hand and began pitching the idea of promotion and marketing and, heaven forbid, taking photoshoots, the buzzing underneath Denki’s skin had gotten so loud that it became almost deafening. Such reactions, of course, made absolutely no sense given his chosen career path. Denki would have to market in the future, he would have to take sponsorship and dress up in clothes other people may like to buy and pose for photos if he wanted to be successful in his Hero work. It felt dirty, but it was a necessary step in having the resources to uphold justice. Even underground Heroes like Eraserhead needed side jobs. Simply fighting crimes alone wasn’t enough to keep the lights on, they were taught as much in class.

Denki liked being looked at—was the thing. He had never minded being intimate with his classmates or unleashing his flashy Quirk for an audience to see. But something about this involuntary contact made him feel smaller than he already was. Denki wasn’t the tallest in his class, but standing before a person like—like Yosano, made him feel a strange new sense of powerlessness.

Maybe it was as Dazai implied, and he was afraid of needles. Denki would have to check with his grandfather to be sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a shot.

Beside him, Atsushi squawked as Yosano poked his leg. Denki hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation, which was why his eyes widened when Yosano said, “-It’s a pity I couldn’t treat you. That Ability of yours is really quite impressive. No scar.”

“Huh?” Denki piped up. “Atsushi-kun, you were hurt during the fight with Akugatawa too, weren’t you? Were you not treated by Yosano-sensei?”

Atsushi shrugged helplessly. He was trembling, and Denki quickly backed off with a murmured apology.

“I had to treat the Tanizakis’ and you first, since it was an emergency. By the time I got to Atsushi…” Yosano heaved a sigh. “He had only minor scarring, and even those disappeared within a couple of minutes. It really was quite disappointing. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. You might not be so lucky next time.”

This time, it was Atsushi who spluttered, “Eh? W-What do you mean?”

Yosano tilted her head. “Last time, they were only defeated because they confronted the Armed Detective Agency head-on.” Denki’s eyes shot toward Atsushi, who jolted, before looking down guiltily. “The Port Mafia’s usual method of attack is to launch an ambush in the middle of the night, so be careful when you’re out late. You never know when or where they’ll strike.”

“I will.” Murmured Atsushi. Denki furrowed his brows, scrutinizing the somber tone. After a second, he nudged Atsushi in the leg.

The other boy turned toward him, and Denki shove aside his annoyance about having been kept out of the loop for the moment, saying, “I’m not sure what happened yesterday, but you better not be doing that ‘woe is me, this is all my fault’ routine again. I already told you not to listen to whatever that Akutagawa guy spouted.”

“Kaminari-kun…” Atsushi slumped. “You weren’t there. You didn’t know what happened. They came into the Agency with guns and-”

“Hello everybody!” Atsushi jumped at the sudden announcement, which effectively cut short his lamentation. Denki’s electricity sparked. Glancing up at the ceiling, his eyes easily locked onto the radio in the corner of the train car, his own Quirk responding to the current that was coursing through it. “An announcement from the driver’s cabin. I apologize for the intrusion, but right now, we are about to conduct a little…physical experiment! The aim is to evaluate people’s reaction and sensory input toward explosions under unusual circumstances, and the test subject today will be you, dear passengers! Kindly remain seated, and thank you for your cooperation!”

“Seriously?” Denki yelled as all three of them jumped to their feet. However, before they could do anything, an earthquake rumbled through the train car, causing them to flail for an anchor. Grasping tightly to a support bar, Denki casted a glance at Yosano.

Her face was blank. The announcement then beeped once more. “Oh? Did two–no, three people just die? The next blast will perform even better than that! I have installed bombs on the first and last carriages of this train, enough to blow everyone to the moon!” There was a cackle. “Well then, calling for the representative of our test subjects—Atsushi-kun! If you don’t hand over your head, all the passengers will be going on a one-way trip to heaven! Choose carefully now!”

There was a click, and then beside Denki, there was a whimper. “Not again…” He casted a glance sideways to see Atsushi with a hand covering his mouth, his face sickly pale. “W-What are we supposed to do?”

“Speak of the devil,” Grumbled Yosano, “Well, we have three options. One, allow ourselves to be captured. Two, jump off this train moving at high-speed with dozens of passengers, or three…” She smirked.

Denki groaned, “No way, I thought we’re supposed to be on a shopping trip.”

“We’re beating them up?” Finished Atsushi.

Yosano whipped her head away. Facing the door to the other train carriages, she let out a wild laugh. “We’re the agents of the Armed Detective Agency, after all. What other options are there?”

With that, she made to leave, but before she could take a single step, another familiar voice piped up, “H-Hey, you’re from the Armed Detective Agency?”

A chill ran down Denki’s spine. He scowled, and crossed his arms, avoiding the eyes of the businessman who had accosted them earlier. The man, oblivious to his reaction, continued. “Then you must know what to do, right? Get me out of here!”

“Oho,” Yosano grinned. “Is that a client request? The Agency doesn’t work for free, you know?”

Insteading of cowering like Denki thought he would, the man simply nodded. “If it’s money you want, I have more than enough! Just stop the explosions and help me get out!”

“Is this a request?” Yosano hummed.

“Yes!”

“If that’s the case, well then, boys.” Turning back toward them, Yosano indicated with her fingers for them to step forward. Denki huffed, feeling like a collared dog as he obeyed her. “Looks like we have no other choice but to stop this mess. Don’t worry, I’ll tell Kunikida to treat you to a meal after.”

Once more, as if he hadn’t learned his lesson already, the businessman cut in. Denki was throwing that business card in the trash the first chance he got, “O-One more thing, please! Erm…” To Denki’s disgust, there seemed to be a blush creeping up the older man’s face. “Did you mean it when you said that you would-”

And because he was a Hero student, Denki made sure to cover Atsushi’s ears before his own. Nevertheless, he was relieved when Yosano eventually came over and knocked the offensive man unconscious.

.

Another explosion rocked the train as Denki and Atsushi herded the civilians to an empty carriage in the middle of the train. While it didn’t result in any casualties within their immediate vicinity, it was still enough to rile people up once more. With a sigh, Denki deposited the businessman Yosano had knocked out onto an empty bench and made to guide the remaining few bystanders into the car, citing his status as a U.A. students in whichever direction protests were sounded. Finally, the most stubborn souls shuffled their way inside. A single nod to Atsushi signalled the other boy to slam the train door shut, separating the two of them from the civilians.

Thus far, things were going as they had planned. After Yosano suggested they splitted up, Denki had decided they would prioritize civilian rescue. Yosano could go on her own to investigate the front, Denki wasn’t certain how capable she was, but he didn’t feel like arguing when she had waltzed off on her own. Meanwhile, Atsushi and Denki would examine the back of the train. After a few trips back-and-forth from the middle to the end carriage, they had determined that the bomber wasn’t hiding anywhere nearby. As such, the most viable solution was simply to get everyone as far from the bombs as possible.

From the explosion, Denki assumed Yosano had come across the Port Mafia bomber. In an ideal world, they could evacuate the passengers from the train, but for whatever reason, the vehicle was still travelling across the rails at breakneck speed. As such, there was little they could do beside trying to cure the problem at its root.

Denki hoped Yosano was as competent a fighter as she was a healer. He wanted nothing more than to go seek her out, if only to have some sort of adult guidance. However, there were still allegedly two bombs on the train. They couldn’t afford to split their resources even further.

“What kind of resources do we even have…” Murmuring under his breath, Denki detached himself from the car door. Pacing around the now empty carriage, he pinched the bridge of his nose before sighing, “Atsushi-kun, we’ll need to investigate the back of the train again. Maybe without so many people around, we’ll find where the bomb is located. And then…” He frowned. This was the tricky part. Neither of them were trained in deactivating a bomb. Denki was quite certain they hadn’t gone over that part of the Hero course yet at U.A. “I’ll shock it with my electricity. If there's any activation switch, that ought to fry it dead.”

“Are you sure it won’t just blow up?” Atsushi slumped. He had long collapsed onto the seat, out of breath from having to herd so many people into a single, confined space. Denki would feel bad, he had left the majority of the dirty work to Atsushi after all, except he was also the one who expedited the process by managing to calm everyone down in the first place. If they survive this, he was totally nagging Aizawa-sensei into letting him pass the upcoming civilian rescue exam.

“If your Ability also comes pre-installed with a bomb defusal manual, do tell.” Denki nudged Atsushi with his foot. Unfortunately, that only served to make the boy more dejected, “Come on, Atsushi-kun. I’ll treat you to chazuke after this. Besides, the Port Mafia is only putting up this charade to get their hands on you.”

That did it. Atsushi jumped to his feet, eyes wild. Denki thought he could almost see the tiger behind those gold and purple hues, except Atsushi whipped his head away too fast for a second look. Stepping forward, he readjusted the belt around his shoulders before letting out a sharp, determined breath. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way!” Denki laughed. He wasn’t exactly sure he was so calm about all of this. By all accounts, he ought to be freaking out right now. Perhaps his Quirk had finally got rid of his last brain cells, leaving Denki with nothing but sunshine and rainbows in his skull, as his classmates had always said it would. “By the way, if there’s a fight, I would warn against- Eh?”

He lifted himself onto his tip-toe to look over Atsushi’s shoulders, and once more, Denki’s eyes confirmed for him. There was indeed a little girl standing in front of them.

“Did we…forget to bring you along with the others?”

She was clothed in a red kimono with yellow obi, and looked wholly out of place in the modern interior of the train. Denki’s second thought was that she seemed very cute, in an “adorable kitty cat who wouldn’t spare you a single glance” kind of way, but he quickly shook that thought aside to focus on the more urgent matter at hand. Reaching out, he attempted to grab her hand so that she could be guided to the civilian carriage.

But before he could make contact, Denki heard from his side a, “Wait, watch out!” before he was unceremoniously shoved backward. Tripping over himself, he finally regained his footing, only to look up and see that Atsushi was vomiting up crimson red blood. The other boy tried to cover the mess with his hand, to no avail. It spilled onto the floor, dyeing the ground the same colour as the girl’s kimono.

Atsushi faltered, swaying on his feet. Meanwhile, the girl who stood before them was blanketed in a cloudy mist. She was holding a phone in her hands, her face emptied of expression. Denki could hear the tell-tale buzz of electricity that was emitting from the device. Garbled, the voice on the other side said, “Protect…the bomb…your life…”

“Yes,” The girl replied, her voice softer than Denki would have imagined, given the monstrosity that was her Ability, “I understand. I shall eliminate all who stand in my way. Demon Snow.”

That was all the warning Denki got before the fog swaying above the girl’s head suddenly coagulated into a figure of a woman. Draped in a long kimono, it unsheathed the blade that materialized in its arms. A flash of steel came faster than Denki could blink, and the only reason he wasn’t decapitated was because he had already hurled himself backward before then. Unfortunately, Atsushi wasn’t so lucky.

“Atsushi-kun!” Yelled Denki, not quite believing his eyes. Instead of trying to escape, Atsushi had chosen to run directly at the girl. The attack came as one slash of Demon Snow’s sword, but as Atsushi reached out for her, dozens of wounds abruptly appeared on his body. Blood sprayed, smearing on the interior wall and dripping down from the glass windows in a macabre scene. “Idiot! What are you doing?”

“I-It’s okay,” And Atsushi—the fool—had the audacity to whimper, “I can…regenerate.” Gritting his teeth, he spat out the blood in his mouth, before training his gaze onto the girl, “But y-you…Why is a girl like you…”

There was a pause in the attack. The girl’s face was hidden beneath her long, shaggy bangs, making it hard for Denki to figure out what her expression was. Nevertheless, with how much she reminded him of one of the villains at home, he didn’t expect it to be anything less than bloodthirsty. Toga Himiko had certainly never held back, despite her age. “Get away from her, Atsushi-kun,” He told the other boy, still kneeling on the ground and clutching a wound at his side. “Someone like that-”

“My name is Kyouka,” A hollow voice resounded in the carriage, causing Denki to freeze, “Like you, I am an orphan. My likes,” She stepped forward, and despite the fact that his sharpshooting gear was still out of commission, Denki pointed his index finger at her, “Include rabbits and tofu. I detest dogs and thunder.”

“-can only bring trouble. Look, I don’t really care what your tragic backstory is. You just hurt my friend,” Denki told her plainly, “And thunder, you said? I have bad news for you about what comes after, then.”

“-After the Port Mafia picked me up.” She came to a stop just in front of Atsushi. “I have killed thirty-five people in six months.”

Denki gulped, then flinched when the garbled noise returned on the cellphone tied to her obi. It was easier to make out what was on the other side now that Kyouka was closer to them. “Guard the bomb. Kill the meddlers,” It said.

Atsushi stumbled to his feet. “You’ve killed…thirty-five people?”

To Denki’s surprise, he made no move to retreat even after hearing that. Denki resisted the urge to hiss, “What did I just say?” to instead focus on the more immediate problem of keeping them alive. Just then, a third explosion erupted from somewhere in the distance. The sound of civilian screaming was muted behind the glass door separating the compartments, and Denki was immensely glad now that he had the forethought to tell Atsushi to lock it. They didn’t need any more panic added to the equation.

Brushing off the debris on his dress pants, he made to stand. The slide of steel against scabbard was enough to signal to Denki that another attack was coming.

“Get out of the way!” It wasn’t a sufficient warning. Atsushi had no time to stand, much less run from the Denki’s Quirk. Still, he would rather Atsushi be fried than chopped to pieces. Denki silently apologized to the other boy in his head before unleashing a wave of electricity toward Kyouka.

For a second, the scene took him right back to his first night in Yokohama. Demon Snow stood where the tiger once was, stalking ever closer to him, biding its time. Denki’s Quirk, uncoordinated due to his lack of gear, lashed out indiscriminately. He had to remind himself that Kyouka was not like Atsushi. She wasn’t unaware of the threat her Ability posed. Kyouka was like the villains Denki faced at home, who needed no excuse to inflict pain, who were hurt and so hurt in turn. As a Hero, Denki’s duty was to take down people like that.

It didn’t make hearing the girl’s cry any less heartbreaking. Kyouka did not scream so much as she whined. Like a wounded prey animal, she hugged her head to her chest as the electricity coursed through her. Denki, of all people, knew how painful his electricity could be.

He gritted his teeth, and stopped, telling himself that he couldn’t risk hurting Atsushi as well. The boy had been caught in the radius of the attack, of course. He looked worse-for-wear, but more importantly to Denki, he was intact. Examining him, Denki barked, “Atsushi-kun, come here!”

“K-Kaminari-” Atsushi hissed through his teeth, his chest heaving, “I n-need…to transform. The tiger- Help me-”

“Hah?” Perhaps Denki’s brain was already fried. He seemed to have misheard Atsushi, “Hey, hey, hey, don’t do anything. We don’t need a rampaging tiger on our hand as well. Uh…” He glanced around the train interior, but other than some very nice leather seats, there wasn’t much around to help him come to a sound solution. Meanwhile, Kyouka was already recovering quicker than any person reasonably should, “Dude, can you really not control your transformation? L-Like, can’t you just turn at the areas your wounds are located?”

“C-Can’t…” Came Atsushi’s breathy answer. Was it just Denki’s imagination, or was his voice getting fainter, “Need it…Like…Like last time.”

“That doesn’t make sense! That Akutagawa guy can control his Ability just fine. Is that not how they differ from Quirk?” Running to Atsushi’s side, Denki attempted to support the other boy by getting to his feet. Atsushi’s body was a dead weight against his own, “Come on, Atsushi-kun, just try for me. Just try, okay?”

“Denki…” Atsushi’s voice was definitely getting quieter now. Denki’s head whirled toward Kyouka, but she was just standing there, watching them intently, “Denki…please…”

“Absolutely not!”

He was no jury, he was no judge. Just because he had subdued the tiger on his first night in this hellhole of a city did not mean Denki held any responsibility over it today. It wasn’t fair that Atsushi put this on him, it wasn’t fair that Dazai put it on him. The universe’s worst idea of a cosmic joke was to give a boy who could barely control his own powers the metaphorical leash to someone else’s. Given the choice, Denki would rather be mauled by an actual tiger.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” And Atsushi was still babbling. Denki wished he could just shut up already, “I know this is my fault…Please, I h-have to fix this. It’s all my fault. Those people…only boarded the same train as me…I need to fix this-”

Denki understood Atsushi’s desperation, he really did. Despite his best effort to comfort him, it must be a trial to hear constantly, day-in and day-out, that everything happening all led back to you. This wasn’t a fair situation for Atsushi either. He didn’t have a choice as to his Ability. In fact, between the two of them, he was the only one who explicitly did not ask for this.

Kyouka was walking closer now, her kimono trailing red on the floor. Looking at her eyes, no longer hidden behind her hair, Denki knew she would kill them.

“Atsushi-kun,” He murmured, “Even if you manage to stop this, you won’t be absolved of blame.”

Below him, Atsushi flinched.

“The blame cannot be absolved if it does not exist,” Here, Denki smiled. Smoothing a hand over Atsushi’s sweat-ridden forehead, he closed his eyes, “And that, I sincerely believe. I hope you’ll see it one day as well. There is nothing to feel guilty for, and so, ” Denki stood up, meeting Kyouka’s eyes, “Since I’m doing this, do not feel bad, Atsushi-kun…”

Demon Snow unsheathed its blade. A hoarse scream emitted from Atsushi’s bleeding form, but Denki could not hear it over the roar of his own blood rushing to his head.

A slash.

“-get her!” Denki, choking back a sob, collapsed to his feet. His images double and triple, Atsushi’s bodies on the ground overlapping that of other corpses, each more malformed than the last—except Atsushi was no longer on the ground. Atsushi was holding back Kyouka’s Ability, stopping it from chopping Denki’s head right off. What was he seeing?

It didn’t matter. There was a gash on his side. Denki supposed he should be glad it wasn’t another stab wound. Before him, Atsushi was gaining control over Kyouka’s blade. Having transformed one of his arms into that of the tiger, his claws grinded against the steel, releasing friction sparks into the air. Dozens of blades slashed out, a flurry of movement that caused Denki to squeeze his eyes shut and his heart to skip a beat, but when he opened them again, Atsushi had batted them all away. The other boy’s face was steely, expressionless except for the light of determination that shone behind his yellow pupils.

He dashed, ducking underneath Demon Snow’s blade just to wrench it out of the Ability’s hand. Kyouka stumbled as if the motion physically affected her. Denki watched with bated breath as Atsushi hurled the sword aside, and swiped his claws at Kyouka’s neck.

“Yes!” He couldn’t help but scream. Denki knew just how sharp those claws were, had nearly fallen prey to them several times on his first night. If Atsushi could stop the girl, they stood a fair chance at surviving to find the bomb. Denki wouldn’t have been slashed for nothing. “Atsushi-”

He cut off. Atsushi wasn’t moving. He just crouched there, his claws placed against Kyouka’s neck. Both of them were still, looking as though they weren’t even breathing.

“It’s over.” Atsushi breathed out. “Kyouka, stop this. Tell me where the bomb is.”

Kyouka inhaled sharply. Meanwhile, Denki was squinting. “Atsushi-kun, that…” He coughed into his elbow, and found red upon glancing up. Nevertheless, he continued, clutching the throbbing wound at his side. “Atsushi-kun, she’s dangerous. You need to stop her. Just kill her already, Atsushi- Remember Akutagawa-”

“My name is Kyouka,” The girl’s voice cracked, “I have killed thirty-five people. The last was a family of three—a father, a mother, and their son. The demon cut their heads off.”

“Yes.” Was it an unreasonable request? Denki didn’t understand why Atsushi could be hesitating. This girl was clearly a threat to the public. It would be justice to put a stop to her massacre. “Listen to her, Atsushi-kun-”

He devolved into another coughing fit. In the middle of it, Denki’s ears perked up to hear the sound of fabric shuffling, followed by a gasp from Atsushi.

“Who are you?” said the boy, “Your words, your appearance, you look to be about Kaminari-kun’s age, but I sense no emotion from you. It’s as if you are a killing machine.”

Looking up, Denki widened his eyes when he saw what Kyouka had strapped to her chest. Hidden beneath the luxurious fabric of her kimono, it was the bomb, with a small light blinking on its electrical panel.

“I saw you before, at the mall,” Continued Atsushi, “I-If there’s something you want, you have to put it into words. Express yourself—is this truly what you want to be doing?”

“To be frank, Atsushi-kun…” Denki grumbled, “She’s responsible for enough deaths already, even if she doesn’t want…want this.” He sighed. Atsushi wasn't listening to him. Stupid boy. The gash on his side throbbed, blood leaking from the injury to pool underneath him. He dearly hoped Yosano was having better luck than they were.

“Kaminari-kun-” A shuttle from the radio speaker made Atsushi clamped his mouth shut. A moment later, a feminine voice called out their names, and Denki’s tense shoulder went lax.

“This is Yosano speaking from the conductor’s room. Atsushi-kun, Kaminari-kun, are you still alive?” Atsushi spluttered, before realizing that Yosano probably couldn’t hear them back through the radio. “According to our crazy bomber, the bomb on your end is remotely activated. It’ll likely detonate within seconds, isn’t that right?”

Faintly, Denki could pick out the sound of someone groaning in the background.

“Suffice to say, only an emergency switch can defuse it. The mafioso should have it on her.”

There was no world where Kyouka would just hand it over to them—which was what Denki thought until Atsushi extended a hand out and told her to give him the emergency switch. She placed a small square pad with a button into his palm. Atsushi seemed almost as stunned as he was.

Without a word, Atsushi pressed down on the button.

The three of them held their breath. Eyes fixed on the bomb, Denki watched as the light on its electrical panel kept on blinking. Even seconds after Atsushi had pressed the button, nothing happened. It neither detonated or turned off.

Then, the voice from Kyouka’s phone once again spoke up, clearer than it had been until now. “Did you press that, Kyouka?”

Denki’s heart skipped, having not forgotten that voice. Before them, Kyouka jolted.

“We are defusing nothing. Take the passengers with you and show the world the terror of the Port Mafia.” There was a click as the phone shut off. Then, the light on the bomb disappeared. A moment later, a countdown blinked into existence on the electrical panel—fifteen seconds.

“Atsushi-kun, get back!” Even though he knew it would be to no avail, Denki screamed. If the bomb blew up—nevermind Denki’s injury—they would all die. Nevertheless, he forced himself to his feet and began to shuffle toward the other two. “We need to get as many people out before it goes off. There’s-” His head whipped toward the window, where a few seagulls had gathered amidst the smoke, squawking at the sight of the damaged train. “-There’s water below us. Atsushi, come here!”

He choked on a mouthful of blood. Atsushi wasn’t listening to him. Why wasn’t he listening to him? Denki would feel like he was corralling little children, except even the stupidest kid could be taught not to go near criminals. He cursed Atsushi’s useless orphanage.

“Kyouka, lose the bomb!” Atsushi was yelling. Denki gritted his teeth. They were losing the precious seconds they had left. Even Kyouka knew that, judging by her pale face.

“Whatever you have planned, there won’t be enough time,” She said, hand falling from the still-beeping bomb to rest on Atsushi’s temple. Taking a deep breath, she glanced behind him, her eyes locking onto Denki. “It won’t be in time.”

“N-No,” Denki heaved himself up. Leaning against the bloodied leather seats, he pushed himself forward. “Even so, we have…to try…”

“Mm,” she acquiesced. “We have to try.”

With a sigh, she pushed against Atsushi’s temple, causing him to fall back. Then, she was standing by her lonesome in front of a wrecked opening, her red kimono sleeves fluttering in the sea breeze. Backlit against the sunlight, her form enveloped in its warm glow, Denki thought she almost seemed to be ablaze. Or perhaps that was his blood loss speaking.

“My name is Kyouka,” She whispered softly, almost inaudible beneath the whipping of the wind, “I have killed thirty-five people, and I…”

A step backward. Somewhere behind Denki, someone was yelling for her to stop. Or maybe it was his voice. It was hard to tell.

“I do not want to kill anyone ever again.”

She jumped, and Denki reached out almost instinctively. It was a foolish reaction—Kyouka was strapped to a bomb that was about to blow up the entire train. A proper Hero would let her fall, even if it might damage his reputation, to save the remaining lives of the passengers. To hell with the consequence of killing a villain, she was a murderer, and a murderer deserved the same ending they impose upon their victims.

However, as Denki was gradually finding out over the past few days, he wasn't the model Hero he strived to be. Atsushi wanted her to live, and Atsushi was his friend. Denki couldn't bear to see a friend upset. He dived for the edge of the train, wound straining at the egregious motion.

There was a blur of silver in the corner of his eyes. Then, Denki’s hand came in contact with a sweat-ridden palm. He grunted

“Atsushi-kun!” He wasn’t holding onto Kyouka. Instead, his hand was grasping Atsushi’s own. Atsushi, in turn, was holding onto the long sleeve of Kyouka’s kimono in a messed-up, vertical edition of a conga line. There was neither cheery music or alcohol, and their bloody garments were a poor replacement for party clothes. That was when Denki knew they were indeed on the punchline of a giant cosmic joke, “Hold on! Damn it, why are you so heavy? What is the Agency feeding you?”

Atsushi’s head whipped up at him, “Kaminari-kun, the bomb!”

Right,, the bomb. The damn bomb. Really, it was as if everything just had to boil down to Denki. His decision, his fault—that was how life worked, he supposed. He really should have just tossed that offer out when he had the chance, as in physically printing the letter out and throwing it into recycling. Better, he could throw it at Dazai’s dumb, missing face.

“If you had just listened to me…and killed her…” He hissed out, both hands extending to try and grasp onto Kyouka. The plan to electrocute the bomb could still work out. The problem was Atsushi. If Denki released his Quirk, he would fry them both again. Denki didn’t know how much electricity was needed to stop a bomb, but spontaneously testing it on two living humans wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. What was more—if Atsushi ever flinched and let go, Denki’s Quirk wouldn’t even be able to reach the bomb in the first place. Nevertheless, he couldn’t think of a better solution at the moment. His hold on Atsushi’s hand was already slipping. There were only a few more seconds before they all blew up.

Exhaling slowly, he locked eyes with Atsushi. “Atsushi-kun, this might end badly, and it will actually be your fault this time for real.”

“My bad.” Atsushi’s grin was almost annoying enough for Denki to justify frying him to death.

“Alright.” Denki squinted. He could spot Kyouka hanging underneath Atsushi, her small frame swinging in the ocean breeze. The bomb strapped to her chest was still beeping, and Denki tried to concentrate on it. Closing his eyes, he imagined there was nothing between him and the bomb. There was nothing. It was just him, and the target. Just him and-

Electricity bursted from his hands. Trailing down Atsushi’s body—the boy gritting his teeth, then blinking when it passed through without as much as a static and shot directly at Kyouka. For the second time that day, Denki heard the sound of her cries as she spasmed and shook from the force of the current.

Atsushi’s hold on her remained steadfast. Meanwhile, Denki felt like screaming himself. In trying to direct the current flow, he had inadvertently created a short circuit loop between his body and the bomb. To hold on was to let the pain continue. To break concentration was amount to a death wish. In moments like this, Denki dearly wished he was an easier cryer. It might make the weight easier to bear. He kept directing more and more electricity toward Kyouka, until the sobs turned into hoarse screams. Even then, Denki carried on for a few more seconds.

Only when the well of electricity in his body had subsided to almost nothing, and Denki could feel his own brain melting in his skull, did he put a stop to his Quirk. In many ways, it was harder to pause once he had started. Electricity had a volatile way of existing. Sometimes, Denki wished he could put a stopper on himself, like a wine bottle cork.

The blood flowing out of his nose signalled to Denki that he was finished for the day. Remarkably, he hadn’t totally dumbed out. Denki felt his body slumping onto the floor of the train, hand still hanging down from the ledge to grasp Atsushi’s palm.

“Atsushi-kun…” His whole frame trembled. Denki suspected he was holding onto Atsushi more from sheer force of will than any strength left in his body. “The bomb…”

“It’s dead, Kaminari-kun!” Atsushi’s voice came as an echo banging against Denki’s own brain, “You did it!”

“Stupid.” And what a novelty it was to have that word directed at someone else, for once. Between the two of them, Denki concluded that Atsushi deserved it more. Even at his dumbest, he would never race toward death as brazenly as the other boy did. “…’M tired. My brain hurts…Bye bye.”

His brain and his side and his heart were all beating as one, which, as Denki garnered, was not a sign of good health. In the cool ocean wind, he felt as though the lightest breeze could knock him over, especially if he was also holding onto two other deadweights that were whining at him to “Hang on, Kaminari-kun! Don’t pass out yet!” Denki was pretty sure Atsushi could handle it, and plainly, he didn’t really care what happened to Kyouka.

So, with a stutter in his heartbeat, he released his hold on Atsushi’s palm, and the two dropped into the water below with a resounding splash.

.

“Ah-ah-ah, Akutagawa-kun, you don’t seem very pleased.” The man locked in chains chuckled, his hand jingling the metal that held him. “Hm, let me guess. Something went awry with your plan, didn’t it?”

For the insolence, he earned a slap across the cheek, the force of which whipped his head to the side. Nonetheless, the man continued to grin. Dark, provoking eyes met empty ones. The chain jingled merrily against the wall of the musty cell.

Akutagawa backed away, flicking the hand he had used to attack, as though getting rid of nonexistent blood. “Of all people, you should know the fate of those incarcerated here.” He shoved his hands into his pocket, and began to pace. “You committed a serious crime, aborting the mission and disappearing into thin air all of the sudden. Now, you emerged from whatever pit you were hiding in as an enemy of the Port Mafia. Prancing around as a puny detective, how utterly unbecoming of an executive.”

“Then, pray tell, how should this former boss of yours behave?” The man hummed. “You know, Akutagawa-kun, this room awakens so many nostalgic memories. I am suddenly reminded of when you were still a rookie. Training you was such a chore back then—as dumb as a brick, and as headstrong as one as well. Hm…” He regarded Akutagawa. Any warmth in his eyes were long gone, “Not to mention that useless Ability of yours. Talk about a downgrade.”

Another slap came just as abruptly as the last, though this time, the man held still against the attack. He smirked, and continued to do so even as Akutagawa’s hand whipped around to wrap around his neck.

“Without your Ability, you may still get hurt,” Hissed Akutagawa, “You are not impervious. I can kill you whenever I want.”

“How dreadful,” Tutted the man, “Your Boss couldn’t have sent a beautiful woman as an executioner instead? I’m disappointed…”

“You won’t be cocky for long. We’ll soon annihilate the Armed Detective Agency and seize the weretiger for ourselves. We will execute you after letting you witness the destruction of your organization and subordinates. Not even your little intern will be able to stand in our way. ” Akutagawa glowered, “The brat is finished. Isn’t it about time you accept it?”

“My subordinate has never failed to make me proud.” By the indication in the man’s tone, the “unlike you” did not need to be sounded aloud. “After all, hasn't he thwarted one of your plans already?”

“So he fried the chip inside Kyouka in a mad gambit to stop the bomb. It was hardly a genius calculation.”

“Oho? How exciting. I assure you, Akutagawa-kun, whatever you have lined up in the future, he’ll put a stop to that as well.” The man winked, “And one day, even Atsushi-kun will be able to defeat you. How does it feel to be so…” He trailed off, letting the words hang in the air between them like an iron brand. “Hah, I won’t say it. Never call this ex-superior of yours anything but benevolent, you hear?”

“The chip may be dead, but we’ll come up with an alternative!” Akutagawa’s yell was interrupted by a cough that racked through his body. “Just you wait, Dazai-san. The Port Mafia triumphs over all. Losing one useless pawn or two will not deter us. The Armed Detective Agency will fall!”

But the man only laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and the sound of his laughter echoed through the room, lingering along the bloodstained walls and squalid grounds. There, they remained like ghosts even after Akutagawa had long stomped off.

Chapter Text

Not that it was necessary to begin with, but Kunikida once again proved himself to be Denki’s only reliable senior when he served Atsushi reality upon a silver platter. There was no mincing his words—Kyouka was a murderer who needed to be turned over to the police. Unlike Atsushi, she did not lack the knowledge of her Ability, and even more dire, Kyouka was associated with the Port Mafia, a dangerous villain organization associated with high-profile crimes. With how principled he was of the whole thing, Denki had to wonder again why Kunikida himself was so averse to Heroism. His ideals seemed like they would be the perfect fit.

Of course, no matter how rational or sound the arguments were, nothing would budge Atsushi. The boy was vehement in insisting that, “No, Kyouka-chan was just trying to survive! You can’t put this on her! The Port Mafia forced her to do it!”—which, yes, that was correct. Denki wasn’t about to deny that, but the protest didn’t change the fact that Kyouka was a very present threat.

“-I would say even more so if her Ability could only be controlled by whoever is on the other side of that phone,” Kunikida said as he settled the device on the table between them. The battery had been removed, but Denki was hesitant to declare that they were safe. The Port Mafia had found many ways to surprise them so far. “If they willed it, Demon Snow would attack even without her permission.”

“I know that…” On the other side of the table, Atsushi answered with a dejected note in his voice. Perhaps he was finally coming around. More likely, it had to do with the spread of steaming tofu before them, which Kyouka was devouring at a rate that would make competitive eaters envious. “But didn’t you hear what she said? She’s just a young girl. Her parents-”

“-Died, and the Port Mafia picked her up and fashioned her into an assassin, yes.” Denki sighed. This was going nowhere. “Look, Atsushi-kun, you think there aren’t others like her in the world? Sometimes, criminals just need to be stopped in order to prevent them from hurting others. A few months ago, one of my classmates was kidnapped by a gang of villains. Amongst their rank was a girl about high-school age. Young, cute, very clearly needed help mentally. You think she has my sympathy? Even if she did, it hardly matters, since the end result is still a string of dead bodies.” He ended the monologue with a frustrated huff.

“You talk big about morality for someone so intent on having me dead before.”

Silence enveloped the room. Slowly, Denki’s head spun to meet Kyouka, who continued to eat her tofu as if she hadn’t said anything.

“Care to repeat that?”

“Nothing.” Her voice sounded honest-to-god like she was bored. “Just that you have a big mouth,” she gulped down a spoonful of tofu without chewing, “For someone who clearly doesn’t care about those sorts of things either way. You were so gungho about killing me before, but now, murder is bad? I don’t get it.”

Denki spluttered, “That was under exceptional circumstances. Plus, you already killed thirty-five people. Even if you are apprehended by the police, the sentence…” He glanced at Kunikida.

“Death penalty, no doubt about it.” To Atsushi’s squawk of protest, the man adjusted his glasses, “But if she returns to the Port Mafia, she’ll also be branded as a traitor and killed. Can you save her then?”

The look on Atsushi’s face almost made Denki feel bad. His mouth was hanging open, but no sound emitted from them. There was a defeated light behind his eyes. The shadow casted on his face made it seem even thinner than usual.

“A death row inmate or a mafia traitor. Either way, she’s surely a goner.” Kunikida scowled. “How much of others’ misfortune are you willing to shoulder, Atsushi? I’m not telling you to ignore the plights of those who are less fortunate, but Kaminari is right. The world in which we live is riddled with misfortune. In this, consider yourself a one-man boat. If you try to save someone you otherwise cannot, both of you will sink. That’s the one lesson to keep in mind during your time at the Agency.” With that, the man stood up. “And just so you know, I’m not paying for the bill. One bandaged leech on my wallet is enough.”

“Harsh,” mumbled Denki. Now that he thought about it, he had heard this type of advice before. Perhaps Kunikida and his grandfather might get along. Denki could introduce them.

Kunikida left with a last warning for them to bring Kyouka to the police station, but by the way Atsushi slumped on the table, Denki had to wonder if the boy even heard him. Atsushi’s wallet was abandoned by the corner, the few coins that remained in it spilling out of the faux leather opening. Kyouka, meanwhile, showed no sign of slowing down, devouring one bowl of steamed tofu after the next. Looking at her, Denki felt a stab of pity.

“Dude, I’m not even getting paid for this internship.” Nonetheless, he informed Atsushi when the boy turned a pleading eye to him. By all technicality, Denki’s grandfather did send him a weekly allowance to cover the cost of his food and utilities. He also has some funds saved up in case of an emergency, or if a video game he really wanted released out of nowhere. Neither of those were things Denki felt inclined to share, especially not to someone like Kyouka. “When she decides to kill, she decides she’s ready to face the consequences. Sorry, but even if you let her go, I would be obligated to stop her as a Hero-in-training. It’s part of my responsibility.”

Denki may be failing most of his classes, but he still had some pride as a student of U.A. None of his classmates would simply let an assassin with a proven kill count slip by them. Perhaps that was unfair, since for all intent and purposes, Kyouka did seem like she had been forced to commit those crimes, but then again, she could always have refused. Bakugou did, when he was kidnapped and threatened by all those villains. Denki wanted to say he would as well.

That was why he told Atsushi, “It’s best to do as Kunikida-san said. Who knows, the law might be more lenient on her.” He glanced over at Kyouka. “Since she’s a minor and all.”

Kyouka stayed silent, appearing as though everything she had just heard was nothing but the passing wind. She slurped down the last of the tofu in her bowl, patted her stomach, and released a loud, satisfied sigh.

“Atsushi-kun can’t pay for the bill,” She said, her voice still monotone, “You, cruel boy, do it.”

Denki furrowed his eyebrows, but did not protest the name. Instead, he leaned back, his chin held up high. “And why would I do that?”

“As repayment for him saving you, of course. Or did you forget about the fight?” Kyouka made a chopping motion with her hands. “If Atsushi-kun hadn’t been there to save you, none of your limbs would be attached. You are so weak you have to rely on him, and then to be so bossy afterward.” she raised her half-lidded eyes and a mischievous spark lit up behind her bored gaze. “What a demanding Ojou-sama.”

Denki stilled.

“Maybe I misheard you? What did you just say?”

“Atsushi-kun, I’m so full and hearing Ojou-sama complain makes my stomach hurt.”

“Hey, don’t keep repeating it!” A stifled laugh came from Atsushi’s direction, and Denki instantly whirled his head around toward the boy. “Atsushi-kun, make her stop–Why are you laughing? I’m not even a girl!”

Despite his protests, Atsushi continued to laugh for another good minute or two, fully cementing himself as Denki’s worst friend on his lists of average-ranging-from-fine-to-bad friends, with Kirishima at the top because they usually laugh with each other rather than at each other. Kyouka only had a few more moments of freedom before they inevitably threw her in jail, and Denki was practically salivating at the thought. This girl was a menace. She needed to be locked up before she caused any further damage to Denki’s masculine ego.

Then, as if to spite him, Atsushi pumped his fist. “I’ve got it!” He glanced at Kyouka, and his grin resembled more that of a puppy dog than a tiger. Denki was so disappointed in him. “Kyouka-chan, I’ve decided. Come with me?”

“To where?” Kyouka’ toneless voice gained a bit of skepticism.

“W-Well, wherever you want! Do you have a place you want to visit? Like, like a dating spot or something? I mean, I've already asked for a vacation today, so it feels like a waste to spend it at home. Plus, you must have a lot of places you want to visit, right? Surely you haven’t had a lot of time to look around town, what’s with your occupation and all...” Atsushi gave a nervous chuckle.

Denki made an offended noise, “Atsushi-kun, you can’t be serious!”

“Uh oh, I don’t think Ojou-sama is very pleased with that.”

“Yeah, that’s because we should be-” At the look on Atsushi’s face, now directed purely at him, Denki cut off.

“Kaminari-kun,” Atsushi’s eyes seemed to legitimately sparkle. Beside him, Kyoula looked over and jumped from the sheer brightness of it, a disturbed expression on her face. Denki could share the sentiment, “Please?”

Denki would electrocute anybody who dared to call him a bad friend. He was an A-class friend, the bestest friend anyone can find around. People should have to line up to befriend him—bring offerings of video games and burgers. They should shed tears of joy when he graced them with his presence. Denki was the bestest best friend this incomprehensible universe had to offer.

“Fine,” He gritted out, all the while hoping none of this would ever get back to U.A. Aizawa-sensei was definitely going to have him expelled if he ever found out. “But only if you buy me some food as well. Tofu tastes like if a pudding forgets it needs to have flavour.”

.

“That crêpe store looks good. Come on, Atsushi-kun. I have two stomachs.”

“Atsushi-kun, buy me one too! I need to post it on social media. Oh, my classmates are going to be so jealous.”

As Atsushi handed him the crêpe—cottage cheese and smoked salmon drenched in an ungodly amount of herb oil—Denki smirked and took out his new phone. He snapped a photo, pointedly ignoring the tears of despair that were welling up in the corners of the other boy’s eyes, and sent it to his class’ group chat. Immediately, the phone blew up with notifications, most asking who the girl in the background was.

“They don’t seem very surprised about your choice of fillings.” A voice piped up over his shoulders, and Denki froze. Wasn’t she just in front of him?

As if sensing the tension, not that it had ever dissipated in the first place, Atsushi stepped forward. “K-Kyouka-chan-”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to peek at people’s phones without permission?” Denki yanked his screen away from her views. Unperturbed, Kyouka’s gaze followed the device until he eventually caved and shut it off. Denki shoved it into his pocket and spun around. “Also, what’s wrong with cheese and salmon? It’s certainly a better choice than-” He glanced down at the crêpe in Kyouka’s hands, “-Fruits and whipped cream. Ugh, boring.”

“Apologies, I forgot that Ojou-sama only appreciates fine dining. The taste of lowly peasants surely can’t compare.”

“Stop it with that ‘Ojou-sama’ bullcrap! I’m not even rich! And sorry that I can’t digest sugar at the same rate as a chipmunk like you. Maybe if you would consume anything other than tofu and desserts, you would grow taller.”

“If I grow too tall, how would I bow to Ojou-sama’s numerous demands?” Kyouka averted her eyes, and gave an innocent hum, “Oh, right, he only made those to Atsushi-kun. I feel bad for you, Atsushi-kun. Even Demon Snow can rest when the phone turns off.”

As Atsushi shuffled back-and-forth from the comment, Denki narrowed his gaze at the girl. “Hey…” He paused, unsure whether he wanted to voice this. “The person controlling Demon Snow, his name wouldn’t happen to be Akutagawa, would it?”

Of course, Denki already knew the answer, and Kyouka must have known this fact too, because she ignored him. Jogging ahead, she pointed at another store. “Look, Atsushi-kun, those machines have toys in them. I want the rabbit one.”

“Kyouka-chan, are you sure? D-Do you not want another crêpe instead?”

Denki let her brush past him without another word. Together, the three of them made their way to the quaint little toy shop Kyouka had been pointing at, which was advertising their opening sales on the sign outside their doors. The glass windows out front allowed Denki to peek inside and see the rows of claw machines lined up against the corner, each themed after a different set of cute animals. Atsushi’s reaction suddenly made more sense.

Kyouka’s steps were determined and her face was grim as she walked into the store. Getting that rabbit toy was seemingly the greatest mission she had ever embarked upon, and to achieve it, she was willing to sacrifice a poor orphan’s dwindling savings. Grasping Atsushi’s hand tightly so as to ensure he didn’t run away, she dragged him to the front counter, where an attendant greeted them with a typical customer-service smile.

“How many coins do you want to purchase?”

In the end, it took a total of five games for them to win. Atsushi’s wallet was crying by the end of the third round, and so out of the kindness of his heart, Denki chipped in with his own meager savings in order to finally bring them the prize. It was a saddening farewell to the new fighting game he had been waiting to get, but after finding out that Kyouka’s superior was Akutagawa—as in the guy who was slapping his subordinate around like a human piñata the last time Denki saw him—he suddenly felt a lot less bitter about the loss. Kyouka did look quite cute with the rabbit plushie in her hands.

“Those machines are a scam, you know?” He nonetheless informed her, “That thing probably costs less if you just buy it upfront. You better be grateful.”

Kyouka made a show of backing away slowly, coming to a slight crouch behind Atsushi’s back. “Killjoy. Ojou-sama is such a killjoy. Atsushi-kun, tell him.”

“Atsushi-kun,” Denki drawled, “Should remember that he doesn’t have all the money in the world to water and feed annoying pipsqueak murderers.”

Still caught up in the waterwork caused by the death of his budget plans, Atsushi could only whimper in response. The two of them ended up dragging him to the next stall that caught Kyouka’s attention—a bagel shop, except none of the bagels were ones they could afford. Eventually, they were handed a bag of burnt seeds by the seller and told to get lost, likely due to the fact that Atsushi’s crying was driving away all of the customers. Seeds in hand, Kyouka led them to a nearby park, where she stood guard as Denki and Atsushi took a seat on a bench and Denki began to rub soothing circles on the small of the other boy’s back. With his other hand, he threw seeds out for the passing birds to feed on. The pigeons that stopped by pecked at the over-toasted seeds, tilted their heads, and squawked as if to say, “What in the world is this garbage?” Ungrateful little birds. Denki shared a commiserating look with Kyouka.

They went sightseeing at a few more locations after that. Denki was surprised to see that Yokohama’s Chinatown was as bustling as any other shopping centers he had visited, but after giving it some thought, he concluded that it made sense. It wasn’t like Quirkless people have a different sense of taste, or eat another type of food separate from normal people. However, if the reality was that Yokohama’s sceneries, food and even entertainment were all similar to that of the outside world, then Denki had to wonder why people seemed so averse to visiting it. Perhaps it was because of the presence of the Port Mafia?

Whatever the case may be, Denki thoroughly enjoyed his walk around Yokohama. There was a sense of peaceful solitude even as he trailed after Atsushi’s slumped form, bickering with Kyouka and finishing his savoury crêpe. The weather was more than pleasant—not a single cloud to be seen in the sky. Denki remembered reading somewhere that this was characteristic of a day after a big snowstorm. The blues stretched all the way to the distant horizon, where it melded with the ocean water as they strolled along the edge of the dock. With no villain attacks or advertisement for the latest Hero merch, the rumbles of the waves crashing against the shore became the loudest sound around.

They eventually arrived at a lonely street in some forgotten corner of the city. Denki’s shoes skidded against the pavement as he walked, unsure of what direction they were even heading in at this point. The afternoon light was fading, the sky deepening every further into the warm hues of sunset. Breathing out, he felt the chill of the evening air cooling on his skin.

“There’s another place I want to go.” Clutching the rabbit plushie close to her chest, Kyouka said as she had so many times before this. Denki resisted the urge to point out that wherever she wanted to be, her final destination would always be behind bars at the police station. He was tired of arguing the point himself. Everyone already knew it was inevitable.

For a moment, there was silence as the three of them contemplated reality. Denki imagined waking up tomorrow and finding out that Kyouka had been executed for her crimes. Of course, it wouldn’t be tomorrow—the legal system wished it could be so hasty—but it could be the day after, or a week, or a month. One day, he would wake up with the knowledge that someone he had interacted with was gone—not due to an accident or a villain attack, but through something he had a direct hand in causing. It was Denki who would hand her over to the authorities, just as it was him who won her the rabbit plushie and walked beside her today, quarreling over flavours of crêpe and stupid nicknames. Would they make him testify at the trial? Call for him to recount their walk by the dock? Would she be looking toward him then, as he did so?

Denki wasn’t about to cry, not because he couldn’t, but because at the end of the day, Kyouka was still an assassin who had murdered thirty-five people. He would have to ask Kirishima if it was manly to falter at the thought of facing a criminal in court though. Perhaps he could just give a written testimony? Glancing over at Atsushi, he noticed the boy’s lips pursed in a thin line.

“Where to, Kyouka-chan?” Asked Atsushi, and Denki was prepared to hear the name of another dessert stall, or a sweet shop.

“Over there.” Kyouka suddenly turned and pointed toward the other side of the street. Following her gaze, Denki froze.

“But that’s…” Atsushi trailed off.

“I know.” As the three of them faced down the cold, nondescript exterior of the police building, Denki let out a shuddering breath. Kyouka continued like she hadn’t heard. “Today, I had…a lot of fun.”

“But,” Atsushi inhaled sharply, "But once you’re arrested…you’ll be executed.”

“I’ll be executed anyways if I return to the Port Mafia.” She looked at Denki then, and the blankness in her eyes forced him to take a step back. “After all, I killed thirty-five people. My very existence is a crime.”

Denki’s lips trembled. Between the two of them, he glanced away first.

Atsushi still wasn’t satisfied. Reaching out, he grasped onto Kyouka’s shoulders and spun her around to face him, “I asked you a question before,” He said, even as Denki let out a squawk of protest at his action. “Is this really what you want?”

“Atsushi-kun, be reasonable. She already said this is what she wanted,” Denki moved beside Kyouka and attempted to get Atsushi to back away, “Even if you don’t like it, there’s no other course of action.”

“I know that!” Atsushi gritted his teeth. “I know that, but what about-” His breath hitched. “What about me? Why did Dazai-san save me then? Why did-”

“Who knows.”

A cold shiver ran down Denki’s spine. Beside him, he felt Kyouka stilling. Both of them stopped struggling against Atsushi to open their mouths, but before a warning could escape from either of their throats, Atsushi choked.

Blood pooled in the corner of the boy’s mouth, deep red, dripping onto the concrete road.

A cough.

The monster himself emerged, accompanied by a chaotic orchestra of skidded tires and police sirens. In a split second decision, Denki stepped in front of Kyouka, intent on hiding her from view. At the same time, Rashomon’s blade retracted from Atsushi’s temple, leaving a gaping hole where it once pierced him. Atsushi let out another stifled scream at the motion.

“How disappointing, Kyouka, if only you had accomplished your mission.” Denki’s eyes momentarily darted behind him, but he quickly glanced back at Akutagawa before he could let himself be distracted. Before them, Atsushi was whimpering, hands patting at the spot where he had been stabbed, “But do not despair. You won’t be executed, if only because we still have other uses for you.”

“Hey, what are you doing?” To Denki’s horror, a couple of civilian cops sprung from the direction of the police station. They had their guns trained on all of them, but with a few quick swipes from Rashomon, even the bullets they were prepared to fire were rendered useless. Their bodies dropped onto the ground, spasming for a few moments before ultimately stopping. More blood seeped onto the pavement, its colour matching the hues of the sky.

The sound of car doors opening resounded through the street. Denki’s eyes darted to the side, and he froze upon seeing more mafioso, cladded in black, emerging from their old-fashioned cars. Assault rifles and pistols, alongside an assortment of other gruesome weapons, all came to point in their direction. In the distance, three trucks slowly rolled to a stop just outside of their immediate proximity.

Akutagawa’s gaze was still fixed on Kyouka. “Your real mission was to be bait. In a way, I suppose I should commend you.” His mouth spreaded into a humourless smile. “Did you realize we had a tracker on you all along?”

“What?” As Kyouka gasped, Denki couldn’t help but hissed out. He looked around, and once more cursed the fact that Akutagawa had destroyed his sharpshooting gear. How was he supposed to use his Quirk with the other two so close by?

His teeth grinded against one another. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

Rashomon wrapped itself around Atsushi’s injured body, completely ignoring the boy’s feeble protest. The door of one of the trucks slid open, and with a scream from Denki, Atsushi’s body was unceremoniously dumped inside.

“No, give him back!” There was no more time to think. Denki unleashed his electricity, uncaring of Kyouka’s presence beside him. Unfortunately, this time, Akutagawa seemed to have expected it. The mafioso shielded himself behind Rashomon’s cloak, letting the Ability absorb the brunt of the Quirk. Denki thought he could spot some lightning spark made its way through the barrier and set off static shock along Akutagawa’s arms, but mere sparks were useless in this situation. Thankfully, the electricity did a decent job of stunning all of the other mafia lackeys nearby.

Denki turned toward Kyouka, intent on telling her to take care of the lackeys. Just then, he remembered the problem. Demon Snow couldn’t be set off without the phone.

Akutagawa had the phone. Even if Kyouka wanted to, setting off Demon Snow would only lead to further problems. Meanwhile, the truck containing Atsushi was already rolling away. Denki turned back to face Akutagawa once again.

“Ojou-sama,” He heard a weak whine behind him, but couldn’t bring himself to look back at Kyouka at the moment. Akutagawa had his chin held high. From his perspective, he must be looking down at the two of them. Denki sneered.

“I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” grunted Denki. He didn’t know why he was still standing in front of Kyouka. Surely it was better to hand her and that damn tracker over for Akutagawa to do whatever he wanted with it, but he couldn’t bring himself to step away. It was stupid. He was so, so stupid. “Why you feel the need to terrorize a bunch of children? Dude, go find a better hobby! Something that doesn’t make you seem like a total loser!”

“Empty, meaningless words. I wonder what he would think, seeing you like this.” Akutagawa let out a hollow chuckle. “It doesn’t matter. In the end, the Port Mafia stands triumphant, as it always does.”

With that, Rashomon whipped out to effortlessly encircled Denki’s body. Wrapping tightly around him, the Ability, uncaring of the waves upon waves of electricity Denki was emitting, picked him up as if he weighed nothing and threw him into one of the remaining trucks nearby. The impact upon hitting the floor nearly knocked Denki out, and his vision went white for a few seconds. When he came to be, the door was already starting to slide shut.

In one last ditch effort, Denki grappled for the handle of the door, keeping it from sliding completely close even as he struggled against Rashomon’s restraint. Electricity coursed along the length of his body, ensuring that any soul who came remotely close by would receive a nasty shock to their system. However, even as he grunted and writhed against the doorway and Rashomon, Denki knew his time was running out. Already, his mouth was beginning to taste like metal, and liquid seeped from his nose. He screamed, and let go of the truck door to wrench Rashomon toward him. The edge of the blade cut a gash into his palm, but Denki held on, intent on getting Akutagawa stuck as the door of the truck slowly resumed its slide downward.

He heard Akutagawa growled, “Insolent brat. Don’t say I didn’t try to be merciful.” before Rashomon abruptly sharpened and cleaved Denki’s left hand clean off. Denki screamed, then screamed some more when Rashomon yanked itself away from the wound and returned to Akutagawa’s side. He screamed until his throat was hoarse, until the blood flowing from his hand and nose intermixed with snot and the drool trailing from his lips, making him moan and gag from the pain. His vision blurred, splitting into two, overlapping. He could hear laughter. He could hear weeping. To his addled mind, they might as well be one and the same.

At last, the door of the truck finally slammed shut, plunging the world into darkness. Then, there was nothing else outside the sound of Denki’s own cries and the quiet rumble of an engine starting.

.

The tired drone of a waiting call occupied the background of the busy room. Looking down at his phone, Kunikida waited another second, then two.

Someone bumped past his shoulders in their hurry to print out documents for the latest client request.

He sighed. In a manner frustratingly reminiscent of Dazai, who was still missing, it was becoming increasingly clear that whoever was on the other side of the phone wasn’t about to pick up. Kunikida resisted the urge to curse purely for professionalism’s sake. Instead, he quietly settled the still-open phone on the table and allowed it to drone on as he booted up his computer. In the case of an emergency, they would have to fill out the appropriate forms to U.A. Failure to comply would only make the Agency look worse in court.

Usually, the task of reporting Kaminari’s internship would be left to Dazai, except Kunikida reckoned that the man had also been lying in all of their communication with the school. He couldn’t access the past files—they were saved on the bastard’s computer—but there had been a suspicious lack of complaints from U.A. despite the many threatening circumstances that their student found himself in. Though Kunikida’s opinion of the Hero system was abysmal as a whole, even he could admit that leaving one of their underage students to the mercy of organized crime was a step too far. It was too unreasonable, too irrational.

Irrationality was the realm of Ability-users, not those blessed with a Quirk. Unwittingly, a bitter smirk spreaded on Kunikida’s face. No, if they were to navigate this situation, they would have to do so with care. Adjusting the ribbon tie around his neck, he took a deep breath, and began to type.

In the back of the room, he heard Ranpo murmur, “If they were dumb enough to follow the whims of a child assassin, they really got what they deserve. Really, Kunikida, you even told them to take her to the police station. Let this be a lesson in idiocy.”

Kunikida hummed. He didn’t question how Ranpo knew all this—Kunikida never told him. Nonetheless, even if Ranpo was objectively correct, the Agency agreed to take on the internship of a U.A. student. They couldn’t afford to land themselves into a lawsuit with the foremost institute responsible for Hero-rearing across Japan.

Sometimes, Kaminari was more trouble than he was worth. Kunikida’s brow furrowed at the section detailing the contacts of the boy’s parents. He couldn’t remember Kaminari ever mentioning his parents, only a grandfather that he saw once in a blue moon. He skipped over the section and made a mental note to ask Dazai whenever he returned. Next was details of the boy’s Quirk.

By the time Kunikida finished, night had nearly fallen. The window outside was dark, yet due to the request from their high-profile client, the office was as crowded as ever. Amidst the chaos, the door clicked open, and Tanizaki slipped in, his jacket’s hood drawn over his head.

“Tell me it’s good news,” Kunikida said without turning away from the computer, relying on his hearing to pick out Tanizaki’s footsteps. “Do you know where they are?”

“Sorry, Kunikida-san,” Tanizaki’s hood slipped off, revealing a weary expression. “We don’t have a lot of witnesses. Some people at the police station reported that three people were ambushed and stuffed into trucks outside of their building, but they don’t know their current whereabouts. This also happened an hour ago. It’s a mess at the scene.”

Kunikida rubbed his forehead. “That doesn’t bode well. There’s numerous trafficking routes around Yokohama. If they were splitted up, transporting any one of them unnoticed would be a piece of cake.”

“Then how can we…”

“Why not just focus on one problem and leave the other to the police?” Once more, Ranpo’s voice piped up. The man sat on his desk at the back of the office, his legs on the table. He licked the ice cream cone in his hand. “They got kidnapped because of the weretiger business, right? In other words, it’s Atsushi-kun’s problem to handle. We’re not his personal bodyguards, nor did he join us for protection. That means we just need to focus our attention on getting Dazai’s intern back.” Ranpo’s smile widened. “Maybe not even that! U.A’s recently weathered harsh criticism for letting one of their students get taken right under their nose. They would want to handle this as quietly as possible, as to not draw in further negative attention from the public. If we play this right, we might even get off scot-free.”

“But Atsushi-kun is part of the Agency!” protested Tanizaki, “Surely-”

“Ranpo-san has some good points.” Kunikida cut in. “We have no reason to do anything for Atsushi. The most we have to pay attention to is getting Kaminari back.”

“I still say we call the police.” Ranpo reiterated.

“No, involving the police would put unwanted scrutiny on the Agency. We might be implicated for having hidden the man-eating tiger from the authorities.” At Tanizaki’s disapproving yelp. Kunikida adjusted his glasses. He typed a few more things on the form in front of him. “As long as we can come up with a reasonable explanation-”

“Listen.”

Kunikida’s fingers froze on the keyboard. Next to him, he heard Tanizaki call out his younger sister’s name. Apparently, in his haste to find an efficient solution, he had forgotten that Naomi would never let her precious “Nii-sama” be ignored. The door of the office slammed open.

“You’re all so fixated on ‘should’ and ‘should not,’ but how about we leave that discussion for later, and hear what your superior has to say.” Naomi’s grin was devious. Immediately, Kunikida jumped from his chair. He heard a shuffle of fabric as Ranpo straightened his back behind him.

“President!” Kunikdia greeted with a bow, “My sincerest apologies, I will begin the preparation with Tanizaki after my work is completed-”

“No need.” Their President stepped into the room, his mere presence commanding silence from every occupant of the space. Clerks to accountants, advisors to supervisors, all ceased their motions in the face of his appearance, in the solemnness they could spot in the thin set of his mouth. The wrinkles on his forehead seemed to deepen under the fluorescent office light. “Attention, everyone!” He called, not that it was needed in the first place. There was not a single soul in the room that hadn’t turned their gaze in his direction. “Our newest recruits have been abducted. All of you, until they are safely returned, drop every single one of your operations!”

“Drop?” Multiple voices piped up at once, chiefly amongst them being Kunikida’s, “But the request from the ministry-”

“Leave the explanation to me. Our Agency won’t suffer from making some petty official wait a few hours.” Their President turned away, but before he could leave, Ranpo cut in.

“President, is that really okay?”

“What is it you have to say, Ranpo?”

“Well, if we look at this reasonably…”

The President’s eyes focused on Ranpo, and the intensity of his glare heightened. Ranpo jolted. “Two of our members are in danger, and we must save them. Is there any reason more important?”

Ranpo’s mouth clamped shut, and he whipped his head away. The President let him be, turning his attention back to Kunikida.

“Kunikida.”

“Yes, sir.” It wasn’t everyday that the President was willing to be firm with Ranpo. Kunikida fixed his posture and adjusted his tie. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he started, “I will get to it-”

“Three hours.” The President stated. It wasn’t a question. “Bring them back within three hours.”

“Roger that!” Three hours—Kunikida wished he could glance at a clock at the moment, but even that would be wasted time. Bowing to the President, he whirled around and immediately began to direct their resources. “Tanizaki, bring me the map of the port from the storeroom. Naomi, the current known trafficking routes. Someone go to the clinic and inform Yosano-sensei. We’ll need all hands on deck for the next few hours.”

Chapter Text

For a long time, Denki simply laid there, clutching his wrist to his chest. His dress shirt had long since soaked through, and he could begin to feel its stiffness as the blood dried. He was certain this was his last clean pair of uniforms. By the smell alone, he already knew that bleach wasn’t going to salvage this disaster. Metal attacked his nostril, interlaced with the scent of drool and sweat, making him lightheaded. Or maybe that was the blood loss. Denki could almost laugh, if he wasn’t missing a whole hand.

Each bump of the vehicle shot piercing pain along his body. It was the shittiest chauffeured drive Denki had ever been on, and this was his first chauffeured drive. He was tempted to holler at Akutagawa’s lackey just to get the frustration out of his system. Perhaps the pain would go away too if he yelled loud enough—and that was definitely the blood lost talking now. Denki cursed. He couldn’t afford to bleed out. After everything, it would be the stupidest way to die.

Some of the blood had coagulated, but not nearly fast enough. It was too dark for Denki to see. He could only feel around his wound as the liquid continued to trail down his arm, pooling at the elbow and leaking onto the ground. The smell, when he brought it up for closer inspection, was suffocating. Denki gagged, saliva wetting his lips. His entire body trembled even though there was no draft in the trunk.

He forced himself to rise, using his elbow as a prop in place of his hand. Leaning against the side of the truck, Denki inhaled deeply, then coughed. His breath shuddered.

There didn’t seem to be any medical supplies nearby, and even if there was, Denki’s memory of the first-aid lessons Recovery Girl gave them was way too spotty to be of any help. He supposed some bandages would be nice, though his first priority remained to close the…the wound. If push came to shove, he could use his ruined shirt as dressings. Denki’s injury definitely needed more than mere stitches. He looked around again, even though he already knew that there was nothing to find. The only thing he had was the phone in his pocket—probably fried now—and the uniform on his back.

At the thought of the uniform, Denki’s mind abruptly drifted to Todoroki. The scars on his face—they were burns, that much was an open secret amongst their grades. But to burn a wound…

His breath came out feverishly hot. His thoughts were a hazy blur. Cauterization, that was the word, right? Could Denki do the same to his injury?

It was theoretically possible. Denki was certain he could release a powerful enough stream of electricity to mimic a burn. Glancing down at the wound, he imagined himself sending a wave of electricity through himself, searing and scarring his own skin. The thought was almost enough to make him gag again. Was he seriously about to consider this? Todoroki’s face was all manners of messed up and that was not to mention his obvious mental issues. Denki didn’t have enough handsomeness in his bones to offset the scars that might result from this impromptu surgery. Nobody would want to market that.

He couldn’t think of another choice.

Atsushi got his leg lobbed off the first time, he tried to tell himself, slowly raising the stump up to level with his face, I was stabbed through the stomach. At least it wasn’t the face.

The hands were the second most useful part of the body. After the burns, Denki didn’t think he would be moving it for a while. He needed a plan of action before fully committing to the treatment.

After a moment of contemplation, he banged his head against the side of the truck. Metal. Ouch.

The sound caused the mafia lackey’s conversation to cease. Muffled, he heard them say through the wall, “What is the kid up to?”

An impulsive idea began to form in Denki’s mind, the shade of a coherent plan. He didn’t know whether this would work out perfectly, but there was no time for contemplation. He opened his mouth and screamed, “Help! Please, help! I can’t- It hurts!”

“Hah!” He heard one of the lackeys huff, “Kid’s trying to trick us.”

“You sure? Akutagawa lost his temper at the end there. He might actually be injured.”

There was silence. Denki waited a beat, then two. Finally, when nothing else came from the two at the front, he raised his arms above his head.

His right hand was wrapped so tightly around his amputated wrist that it was painful. Denki took a deep breath, and then blocked any further thoughts in that direction. There was no such thing as “hurt” or “burns” in his dictionary. This would be no different from the small shock he gave himself to stay focused. Denki had always been good at not listening to his brain. Even when all concepts of common sensibilities were hollering at him to stop, there was only one thing to do.

He needed to focus and observe his electrical outflow. There was no telling where they would go once he fully released his Quirk, which was why Denki was holding his arms as high above his chest as possible. He should have enough power left in him for the second part of his half-plan after. He wanted to cauterize the wound quickly so he could worry about more important things—like where Atsushi was and how Denki was going to get to him. There was no more time for procrastination. Why was he still wasting time thinking?

A layer of fog blanketed Denki’s mind, draping over his hesitation. It smoothed over his doubts, and covered up the fear, until the space that existed only in his head resembled more of a morgue than room. He couldn't see the faces on the bodies, only the vague outline of their form underneath the white. They writhed. Then, everything went blank, and Denki released the handle he had on his Quirk with a cry.

Electricity travelled down from his wrist, enveloping the room in a sickly golden glow. Denki didn’t bother to gulp down his screams. He shrieked, wailed, recoiled against the wall, against his own unyielding grip. The nature of Denki’s Quirk may have made him less susceptible to lightning than most, but at some point, it became purely a matter of endurance. He could train his whole life to bite back the agony, but in the end, the skin and flesh around his bones burned just the same. The grip of his fingers locked around his wrist just as the smell of ozone filled the air, and Denki let his teeth grinded down against each other, certain he had bit off a chunk of his own cheek

The ordeal could have lasted for a few seconds, or it could have been whole minutes, Denki didn’t know. His mouth was watery with drool, his vision glazing in and out of focus. Long after the electricity had dissipated, he was still holding his arms up high.

The truck slowed to a crawl.

“Shit, did you smell that? I think he might be dead.”

“Didn’t the Boss say we were supposed to keep him alive? What are we supposed to do if we find his corpse?”

“I have no idea. Let’s pray that it’s just the brat making a fuss.”

Denki released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Creeping closer to the opening of the trunk, he tried to look for a gap that would let him see where they were located, but it was locked airtight. Footsteps, followed by the thump of truck doors slamming shut, alerted him to the next phase of his plan. He carefully checked over his dwindling supply of electricity.

It was enough. Ideally, he would have a few power banks to suck on, but in lieu of that, Denki would just have to hope that the mafioso came close enough to the door that he had a direct path to their body. Sucking in a breath, he waited for the footsteps to approach. It only took a few seconds before the sound of cursing was right outside the door.

Denki came to a crouch by the opening. Pressing his hand against its rigid exterior, he closed his eyes.

“-Make this quick. I want to get my paycheck for the night.” Current glowed. Beneath his palm, Denki felt heat radiating from the door. Sparks popped from where they made contact with the metal, “Hey, you in there. Don’t move, or I’ll-”

Something bearing resemblance to a knot seemingly untied in Denki’s chest. Breathing out slowly, he leaned his head against the wall and listened to the cacophony of howls and screams that rang out from the other side of the metal door. It was almost enough to make him forget the burns on his wrist—no longer bleeding, but prickling in a way that Denki didn’t even want to look down and check for. Liquid that was distinctly not blood oozed from the injury, drying in the cool air.

A moment passed. Denki ceased activation of his Quirk and waited, shoving his ears up against the wall. There was the muffled sound of a groan, but it sounded too beaten, too frazzled. Denki could relate. The door was already unlocked, courtesy of the lackeys. Nonetheless, it was a struggle for him to limp out from the trunk. Unwinding his body, Denki jerked with pain when his burns came in contact with the open air.

He gritted his teeth. “Villains.” He kicked one of the lackeys in the head just to let his anger out. Their pitiful whines were less satisfying than he thought they would be. “You better hope I never see you again. Who does this to kids? Just wait until the police get here.”

Then, as though he was holding a babe, Denki cradled his injury to his chest and turned away. The road was devoid of people and buildings, the lines of trees and their trucks, parked haphazardly on the side of the street, acted as the only significant marker around. Denki had no idea where he was, and his phone was completely dead from his reckless attacks against Akutagawa. He was, for a lack of a better word, completely fucked. But it was fine.

It was fine. He moaned as a cold breeze brushed past his body, throwing it into a violent shiver. Hurling himself against the side of the truck, he tried to huddle into himself for warmth, before deciding to bite the bullet.

Denki nudged the truck door open. Behind him, the mafia lackeys were already starting to recover. He didn’t spare time to look back at them, instead sucking in a breath and forcing himself up. He crawled more than stepped behind the wheel, still primarily using his elbows to navigate. Shutting the door with a bang, he glanced down.

Now, theoretically, Denki knew how to drive a car. He had a license. He wasn’t sure where he got it from, but it had his name and birthday on it. The expiration date may be a bit past the current year, but he almost never drove anyways, so it usually didn’t matter. Denki’s only real experience behind wheels was during a mock practice exam, and that was when he was driving Bakugou into the middle of a battlefield.

A car and a truck should operate roughly the same, shouldn’t they? Denki was sure he didn’t even need two hands to steer.

“You so deserve a real license after this, Denki,” Adjusting the seat with his right hand, the other one tucked safely away in his laps, Denki turned the keys. Outside the door, the lackeys’ muffled yelling was drowned out by the sound of the engine kicking into gear. The vehicle rumbled once, then twice, before starting to warm up. Immediately, Denki felt his body go lax. “Oh, this is nice.”

He settled his palm onto the leather wheel. There was some banging on the side of the vehicle, but Denki had locked his doors, so he didn’t really care. The guns those lackeys were definitely carrying could be a problem though. Sighing, Denki relished in the warmth of the truck for a few more seconds, before shifting his gear into drive and pressing down on the gas pedal. The truck rocked out of the curb, slower than the sports car Denki had driven during the exam, but that was all well and good for his one-arm monkey steering. He spun the wheel in the direction of the road to get out of the side curb, realized he had actually gone too far, then frantically rolled it back again. Meanwhile, just outside the vehicle, the lackeys were trying to dodge out of the way of the unstable truck. Denki winked at them, then shoved his foot against the gas.

The truck burst forward. Back pressed against the seat, Denki worked to wrangle the steering wheel into submission. His right hand trembled from the exertion, the combined effort of having electrocuted three people, then practically crawling to get around, straining him to his limit. His whole body felt clammy, cold. Sweat trailed down his neck, cooling at the dip of his collarbone.

Despite it all, Denki smiled. It quickly grew into a grin when he picked up the sound of gunshots outside the truck. They thumped the body of the vehicle, loudly ringing out in the night, yet never coming close to hitting Denki himself. Still, Denki steered to avoid them, at once glad that there was no other traffic on the road.

Just like that, he drove until the lackeys were but tiny moving dots on the side mirrors. Any communication device they had on them would have been fried due to Denki’s electricity, so he didn’t concern himself with the possibility of back-ups. Instead, he directed his attention toward more important things. Atsushi’s whereabouts was currently still unknown, and the only clue Denki had was the fact that he was thrown into a truck just like this one.

It didn’t bode well that, five minutes into the drive and still going at full speed, Denki looked around in hope of finding civilization only to see…nothing. It was an endless stream of forest and fields stretching all the way into the horizon. To make matters worse, the darkening sky warned Denki that his field of vision would only grow worse from then on. He resisted the urge to turn on the headlight. It would only make him easier to spot.

At last, ten minutes into the joyride and still throttling at a breakneck speed for a truck of this size, Denki encountered another vehicle.

It was a truck of a smaller stature, similar to the one he was riding. Denki squinted to make out the colour, nearly impossible to determine in the dying daylight. White—what were the chances. He sped up, allowing himself to drive almost parallel to the other vehicle. The engine growled violently.

It was too dark to make out who was behind the wheels, but when Denki looked, he noticed two figures occupying the front seats. Before he could doubt himself, he jerked the wheel, letting the head of his truck ram into the other vehicle. There was a deafening crash, followed by the sound of screeching tires, before the both of them derailed, flying off the road into a patch of grass that hardly cushioned their fall. Having aimed for the front of the truck, Denki noticed the windshield of the other vehicle breaking. Shrapnels of glass and debris flung into the air, raining down on the other drivers. Denki’s airbag deployed, while the other truck tumbled over to its side.

Denki heaved. The hood of his own vehicle was busted open, and his mirrors were all cracked, on the verge of collapsing. His chest was aching, like something was stuck in his lungs. Yet there was no time to think. Flinging the door of the truck open, he ran for the back of the other vehicle.

The trunk was, of course, locked, and Denki fidgeted with it for a few moments before deciding to forgo the hassle and simply banged on the door “Atsushi-kun!” If Atsushi was inside, maybe he could transform and kick the door down. Or Denki could just steal one of the lackeys’ phones to call the police. Whatever the case may be, the important thing was that they escaped. Before he could bang on it a second time, a knife impaled the metal opening of the trunk, piercing through to the other side.

A second later, it retracted. Then, another stab came, closer to the lock this time. The third and final jab hit its target, dislodging the lock and letting Denki throw the door open with his right hand, “Atsushi-kun-”

It was not Atsushi that he found inside. Instead, Denki’s eyes met the deep blue hues of Kyouka’s pupils. She was standing in front of the door, knife clutched in her hand. There was dirt in her hair, and the bunny plushie was missing. At the sight of Denki, she opened her mouth.

“You,” they both said at once.

.

“Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be with Akutagawa? Or is he picking you up later using that tracker you have on you?”

Denki realized he was being unreasonable. Akutagawa didn’t seem any friendlier with Kyouka than he did with Denki and Atsushi during their last confrontation. Then again, this was the man who would slap his subordinate in the face for disobeying him, so perhaps it was just his usual behaviour. Denki didn’t know. Denki didn’t know anything. His brain pounded inside his head, and he had to keep staring ahead of the road at the risk of crashing them both into the nearest guardrails. A tempting thought, all things considered, but he still needed to find Atsushi. God knew where the Port Mafia took Atsushi.

Sitting beside him on the passenger seat, and completely nonchalant in the face of Denki’s accusation, Kyouka continued to fidget with something below her. She opened a compartment, tugged, then tugged some more until a black duffel bag emerged from under the seat. Unzipping it, she produced a box with a medical cross pasted on the front, as well as a nondescript plastic bag with something inside of it.

“What the hell is that?” Kyouka handed him some bandages and a bottle of what looked like disinfection. Denki was still keeping the headlight off, so he wasn’t exactly sure, but he reasoned that if Kyouka wanted to poison him, she would be a lot more subtle about it. As if hearing his thoughts, Kyouka blinked.

“For your hand.” Denki carefully did not look down. If he did not look down, it was almost like it was still there.

“I don’t think that’s going to help much, Kyouka.” Nevertheless, he held out his other arm and let her open the bottle. Biting his tongue, Denki kept his eyes on the road as Kyouka poured the disinfection on the wound, then began to bandage it up. He was pretty sure he was in shock, because it didn’t hurt as much as he imagined.

“You probably burned off all of your nerve ends there.”

“I didn’t ask,” As Denki approached another empty intersection, Kyouka cut in.

“Right.”

Out of a lack of options, Denki followed her instruction. Turning was a pain with only one hand. “You didn’t answer, Kyouka. What about the tracker? Should I be expecting Akutagawa to show up at any minute to finish the job he’d done on me? Or will you be the one-”

“It’s not the tracker.”

“Say what?” The truck slowed for a moment as Denki processed her words. “How did he find us then?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t the tracker. You should have fried it when you electrocuted me to deactivate the bomb. I…” Kyouka yanked tightly on the hard before tying it into a neat bow. “No, we should focus on finding Atsushi-kun.”

Denki sighed, “Alright, fine. Tell me you have an idea then.”

“The dock. The Port Mafia is chasing a bounty on Atsushi-kun. They’ll be shipping him off on a cargo ship tonight, but I think we can still make it on time before the boat departs.” Denki wasn’t certain he liked the idea of storming a ship full of mafia members alongside another teenager. He told Kyouka as much. She ignored him in favour of rifling through the contents of the plastic bag, pulling out first a pistol, then a black suit jacket identical to the ones the lackeys had worn. Checking if the pistol was loaded—something must be working right, because a satisfied expression flashed across Kyouka’s face. She turned to him with the jacket. “Put this on.”

“No—why is all of that even in there? Anyways, I’m not feeling like scraping my very injured arm all along the length of that sleeve. I’m fine in my uniform.”

“Ojou-sama should stop griping,” Uncaring of the way the truck jerked in Denki’s hold as a response to her movement, Kyouka reached for Denki’s arm and wrenched him closer. Denki was about to yell at her when he felt something heavy draped over his shoulders. A moment later, Kyouka let go of him, “It’s an emergency kit. Every vehicle owned by the Port Mafia has one. Medical supplies, weapons, clothes.”

Denki supposed that made sense. As criminals, they probably dirtied their clothes way more than the average person. He reached overhead and adjusted the back mirror until he could see his image reflected upon the surface, then quickly grew to regret it when he spotted just how terrible he looked. The suit jacket was way too big, engulfing his entire body even as it hung from his ever-so-slightly trembling shoulders. The shivering, in combination with the scratches and marks that covered every inch of his skin, made Denki look frailer than he knew he ought to be. In all, he resembled more a runaway addict than any respectable Hero-in-training.

“So much for fun adventures,” He murmured as Kyouka stuffed the duffel bag back under her seat, “By the way, do you even know why the Port Mafia is so set on abducting Atsushi-kun? Does he have something they need?”

He presumed it to be a vengeance plot—perhaps Atsushi sabotaged the Mafia somehow during his two-week rampage as the man-eating tiger—but Kyouka shook her head, “Atsushi-kun is wanted on the black market right now for seven billion yen. Someone has a bounty on his head. I’m not high enough on the hierarchy to know the specifics, but suffice to say, it would be a sum large enough for the Port Mafia to begin seizing territories outside of Yokohama’s borders.”

The truck drifted out of lane for a second as Denki sat there, stunned. He soon jerked it back under control. “Seven billion yen? What the hell? I thought Atsushi-kun was an orphan! If he’s worth so much, why was he living on the streets before?”

Kyouka shrugged.

Licking his lips, Denki tried to imagine a scenario where his classmates had to face off against someone like Akutagawa. It seemed that, just like every other business in Yokohama, the Port Mafia aimed to expand beyond the borders of the Quirkless city. The card that businessman had handed him at the mall was still sitting neatly at the bottom of the trash can in the Agency’s office. He wondered if they were going to see an uptick in villain activities soon.

“Let’s not have that happen.” Denki decided then with a nod. “Some of my classmates aren’t ready to fight against kids, even if they’re murderous, Mafia-trained child assassins.”

“And you are?”

“Yeah, well, if it’s you.” He rolled his eyes, “One look at your face, and I’m ready to drive this truck off a cliff. Now, tell me which way I should turn next, I think we’re approaching a dead-end.”

.

Kyouka finger-combed through his hair until the carefully-styled lightning bolt was but a few stray streaks of black hair littered amidst his matted blond locks. She then yanked it back into a short ponytail, tying it off with the white ribbon she produced from her own head. In the meantime, Denki was trying to hold back a sob.

“Be gentle! Do you know how many types of shampoo I have to use each time I shower? This Hero lifestyle isn’t cheap to maintain, you know- Ouch!”

“It only hurts because you’re missing a hand, not because I’m brushing your hair. Now, please hold on.” Kyouka readjusted the jacket on his shoulders until his most obvious injury was hidden beneath the cotton fabric. Gritting his teeth, Denki allowed her to strap a gun to his side. There was no holster in the emergency bag, so it hung rather precariously from Denki’s school-issued belt, but Kyouka seemed satisfied enough with its placement, “You’re a subordinate beneath me. The Port Mafia employs personnel of all ages, so Ojou-sama will fit right in if he just keeps his chin up high and follows my lead.”

Denki wasn’t even about to start on that. Glancing behind Kyouka, he looked toward the ship docked in the distance, illuminated by its own navigation lights in the pitch darkness, “Akutagawa already made it clear that you failed your mission,” He said, “Won’t they just try and execute you once they find us?”

“Akutagawa is a poor choice for a leader,” Kyouka spat with drastically more venom than Denki would have expected given her choice of words. A moment later, she continued in a quieter tone. “Which is why the Port Mafia didn’t make him one. The majority of the workers on the ship belong to a larger unit. Akutagawa wouldn’t have briefed anyone other than his direct underlings on the situation, and even then, only if necessary. He doesn’t like to interact with others, and he doesn’t like to acknowledge his own mistakes.”

“I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised he’s got that sort of character.” Denki’s entire body slumped as he sighed, “Well then, shall we go?”

For a brief second, Kyouka simply stood there, staring at him. At her gaze, Denki slowly blinked.

“What?”

“If it makes Ojou-sama feel better, he looks a lot better in this than in his dumb, red-blue kid’s uniform.”

Was this seriously about to be Denki’s new reality? Bickering with another teenager as the two of them prepared to storm a ship full of gang members with only one-and-a-half pairs of hands between them? “Hey, shut it. I had to go through one hell of an entrance exam before I got to wear this thing, okay?” He grumbled, pushing his way past Kyouka. Fortunately, the night was dark enough to hide the embarrassed flush creeping up his face. “Let’s go, they’re probably chopping up Atsushi-kun as we speak. I’m so not ready to look for his organs on the internet, god.”

“The Port Mafia’s report does list regeneration as part of his Ability.”

“What the hell? That's disgusting. Ugh, of course you would say that.”

“Ojou-sama was the one who started it.”

Denki missed Atsushi already, and he hadn’t even been gone for more than a few hours. They made their way onto the trip, Kyouka’s infiltration plan working out far better than Denki thought possible considering his usual luck. Some of the workers at the dock eyed Kyouka’s back, but most let them by without so much as a breath in their direction. Denki held his back straight, or as straight as he could given his injury, until they got onboard. Then, the moment they stepped off the dock, the ground beneath his feet swayed.

It’s the wave, Denki’s mind told him, cementing its place once more as the weakest link of the chain. He felt Kyouka’s hand on the small of his back, steadying his ever trembling body. The world blinked in and out of existence. Denki’s entire left arm throbbed, and he wanted nothing more than to chop it all off, as if that would get rid of the sensation. Who needed their left hand anyways?

“You have a fever.” Kyouka’s palm went to his forehead. Brushing back his sweat-ridden hair, she hummed, “But we don’t have time for that. Atsushi-kun is probably above deck, in one of the shipping containers. We need to head to the armoury.”

Denki batted her hand away. “Why the damn armoury? Let’s just go get him and escape.”

“If we jump in without a plan, we’ll be defeated by Akutagawa just like last time.” Denki’s shoulders were shaking. Somehow, he was simultaneously burning and freezing. Was this how Todoroki felt all the time? That would be kind of sad. Denki was sad.

He brought a hand up and slapped himself, then took a deep breath.

“Make this quick then.” Kyouka nodded without another word. There was something resembling pity in her gaze, and Denki glared at it. “Kyouka, now.”

Kyouka pursed her lips, but conceded to turn away. The two of them weaved through the maze that was the ship’s interior, stopping only when Denki felt the need to catch his faltering breath. Kyouka seemed to know the layout of the ship by heart, for which he was more than grateful. Like this, Denki didn’t have to think, just follow the sound of her footsteps thumping against the steel-plated floor. Finally, they reached an innocuous metal door at the end of the hallway, guarded by a single man in a three-piece black suit and sunglasses.

As Kyouka confidently strode up to the man, Denki attempted to straighten his back. It didn’t seem to work out as intended, because the only reaction the man gave him was a sympathetic glance over, “Tough luck with the last mission?”

Denki’s mouth refused to budge even after his prompting. He shrugged.

“Those Ability-users, I tell ya.” The man shook his head in a companionable jest, then jumped when his eyes subsequently landed on Kyouka, “Ah, I meant no offense, Kyouka-chan. Just, you know how the boss is…”

“I would watch my words.” Kyouka regarded him, “Akutagawa may call himself a dog, but he doesn’t tolerate insults from others. Can you let us through? We need some supplies from the armoury.”

“You know the drill, Kyouka-chan. No written orders, no higher-up supervision, no access to the store.” Then, abruptly, his brows furrowed, “Come to think of it, I heard from some guys at the dock that you disobeyed the boss’ order during your last mission. Is that true-”

In a flash, a knife emerged from Kyouka’s sleeves to bury itself into the man’s chest. The girl herself twisted the handle, letting more blood overflow from the wound, pouring onto the floor.

“Kyouka!” Denki hissed.

The man opened his mouth, but no other sound managed to escape his throat before he collapsed onto the ground, twitching helplessly. Behind him, the walls were smeared with fresh blood. Kyouka crouched to his level to shuffle through his pocket, producing a small copper key from the depth of his suit. She stepped over his body to unlock the door.

Speechless, Denki followed her. The moment they were inside and the door swung shut behind them, he scowled, “Why did you do that? He hadn’t even done anything! Couldn’t you have at least incapacitated him?”

“Too much time wasted. He was getting suspicious. It was easier.” Kyouka’s voice was back to monotone as she listed out.

“That doesn’t mean you could just go and murdered him!” Denki’s brain burned in his head. Reasonably, he knew that the man had been a criminal, a villain. Yet, he had seemed so…so normal. And now he was gone, “What’s wrong with you? You said it yourself that you never wanted to kill again! Is killing the only thing you know how to do?”

“‘Make this quick,’ Ojou-sama said.” Kyouka stomped to the back of the room, where a nondescript crate sat buried under a pile of ropes, “‘Now,’ he said. Ojou-sama is a lot like Akutagawa.” She pushed the ropes to the floor and opened the crate.

The edge of Denki’s vision wavered as if on the verge of melting. Even so, he squawked, “Excuse me? I’m nothing like that freak!”

“Mm, Ojou-sama is way more finicky with his demands. It’s like he doesn’t even know what he wants.”

Denki snapped his mouth shut. This wasn’t going anywhere, and Kyouka was obviously getting agitated. A second passed before he continued in a more levelled tone. “Kyouka, you may not care much about what I think, but remember that between me and Atsushi-kun, he was the one who abhorred the thought of killing you. You said it yourself that you never wanted to kill again. Perhaps that’s something to take note of next time you want to be so trigger-happy.” He ended the exchange by plopping himself onto the ground against the wall, letting the hem of the jacket pooled around him. The hull of the ship swung back and forth in a gentle motion.

When Kyouka turned back, she had a handful of knives in her hands. For a second, Denki was sure that she was about to use one of them on him, but she simply dropped them all to the ground and began the practiced process of hiding them in her kimono. The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the room.

“Third box from the right, near the corner of the room,” This comment, she directed at him, “They’re explosives small enough to hide, but powerful enough that, once detonated, they’ll damage the ship.” The armoury was dim, illuminated only by a single exposed light bulb. Under its glow, Denki could spot the box she was talking about. There was a big “Do Not Touch” label over it, coloured in blood red.

“We’re blowing up the ship?” He gulped.

Kyouka folded the last knife into her yellow obi before nodding. Her face, when she looked up, was stony. “We’ll need something to distract Akutagawa. As things stands, none of us have a chance of winning against him.”

“...I guess that’s fair. Still, I can’t believe that this is the best solution we have right now.” Dusting off his pants with his right hand, Denki propped himself up and cautiously made his way to the explosives crate. “If you can show me how to set them up, I’ll do it while you go get Atsushi-kun.” This would also allow Denki to set up the explosives in places that would cause the least amount of casualties. He wasn’t so sure why he was so bothered now, when he was perfectly willing to crash a truck into the two mafia personnel that had captured Kyouka. Maybe actually talking with one made them seem more real to Denki. Maybe it was his instinct as a Hero finally catching up.

Then again, it wasn’t like he had meant to kill those two other dudes. They never checked before they drove off, so for all he knew, they were not even dead.

Denki could handle a few explosions. Being near Bakugou was basically like living next to a mini grenade every single day. Kyouka, as the faster one between them, would be able to find Atsushi more quickly. Then afterward, they could rendezvous at an emergency lifeboat and deploy it to use as an escape vehicle.

However, there was one of the problems with that plan—the inability to communicate once they splitted up. Denki didn’t know the ship as well as Kyouka, so having her guide him would make the process of installing the bomb far more efficient. There was also the lingering threat of Akutagawa’s presence.

“If you encounter Akutagawa while I’m still handling the bombs, that wouldn’t be good, would it?” At Kyouka’s firm headshake, Denki sighed. “Okay, then let’s try not to have that happen. Atsushi-kun might be able to hold him off, if he’s in his tiger form, but that isn’t going to happen unless…”

“You got grievously injured?” Kyouka looked down at his left arm. “Though that would mean you have to be with him during the escape. I’ve never heard of an Ability limitation like that. How does it work?”

Denki wasn’t surprised she noticed, not when he had quite literally positioned himself in front of her sword during their fight to facilitate Atsushi’s Ability. With a weary exhale, he smoothed a hand over his face. “As far as I’m aware, it’s more of a psychological thing. He didn’t have a problem transforming before we met, but he also didn’t know he was transforming in the first place until I had to subdue him one evening. After that…he was probably terrified of ever using his Ability again. It wasn’t until Akutagawa’s first attack that seeing me injured triggered it,” Denki coughed into his hand, averting his eyes. Dazai’s voice echoed in his head. “Since then, the Ability wouldn’t activate unless Atsushi-kun is desperate, and he’s only ever desperate when he sees me get hurt.”

“What chivalry.” Kyouka’s voice was unimpressed. “But if he could transform unprompted before, it stands to reason that he could do it again. A devolution like that would have gotten him killed if he was in the Mafia.”

“Well, we never really got the chance to test it out, what’s with you lot constantly attacking us and all.” At this, Denki’s eyes squinted. “But you’re the one to talk. You need that phone to control Demon Snow, don’t you? I’m willing to bet you’re not even the one on the other side of the line most of the time.”

“Yes, Demon Snow, indeed, does not listen to any of my commands.” As if to punctuate that fact, Kyouka pulled her phone out of the sleeve of her kimono.

Denki made a protesting noise. Leaving the crate of explosives behind, he walked up to Kyouka and wrenched the device out of her hand. “Why do you have that? Didn’t Kunikida-san leave it with Atsushi-kun? Don’t tell me he-”

“It dropped when Atsushi-kun was captured.” Kyouka had the audacity to shrug as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Shuffling through her sleeves, something resembling Denki’s severed hand peeked from below the fabric before she managed to cover it up. If Denki wasn’t so horrified, he would be tempted to check his own pockets to see if she had taken anything else from him. He had said it before, and he would say it again—this girl was a menace. “If I have control over Demon Snow, I may be able to fight off Akutagawa, but the battery is still removed-”

Denki clicked his tongue. “Can you move that crate over? The one you just got your knives from?”

With a thoughtful tilt of her head, Kyouka did as she was told. As she got to pushing the crate in the back of the room to the center where they stood, Denki began to examine the flip phone. It was a lighter model—obviously old-fashioned, although most things in Yokohama were. Without a battery, it was about as useful as a chunk of metal. A charm in the shape of a rabbit was attached to it, and its shape made Denki think of the rabbit plushie they had won earlier that day. It was probably lost now somewhere near the police station. Kyouka evidently did not have it with her after she was captured.

Once the crate was in place, Denki handed Kyouka back the phone before stepping up. The light in the room fluttered as the single exposed light bulb swayed to the beat of the ocean. Reaching out, Denki yanked the bulb off of its socket, taking the wires with it.

The armoury immediately descended into darkness. Using his teeth to detach the light bulb from the wire, he made sure the bulb was positioned correctly in his mouth before extending his hand down to the direction he remembered Kyouka last standing, “Hand me the phone.” He mumbled between his teeth. Another second passed. Then, the device landed on his palm. Electricity buzzed as Denki drew upon his reserve, thankfully having recovered a bit from when he last used it.

The light bulb in his mouth lit up.

Using the light, Denki fidgeted with the wires and the phone until they were roughly connected with each other. He began to channel electricity through his hand, and, when nothing blew up, finally shoved the remaining wires into the space where the battery used to be. Pressing down on the home button, the two of them both held his breath.

The screen gradually came alive. Smirking, Denki spat the light bulb out of his mouth. Once it landed on the floor with a tinkling smash, the only light source in the room became that which emitted from the phone.

“Tada!” Denki dropped from the crate. In front of him, Kyouka’s face was a hazy blur, the crevices of her face accentuated by the shadow that came with such dim lighting. Nevertheless, he could see her eyes widened, “Pretty impressive, right? Come on, no need to thank me. Just doing my job.” He twisted the phone from side to side in his hand, making sure that everything was properly powered. The stream of electricity running under his skin thrummed, “One problem though, it won’t be powered unless I’m holding onto it. So if you were looking to control Demon Snow-”

“I don’t want it.”

“-You’ll have to find some way to call- Eh?” Denki blinked. “Why not? You finally got the chance to command your own Ability, and you don’t want it?”

A quiet exhale came from Kyouka, “Demon Snow helped me kill thirty-five people in the last six months.” Her eyes went to the side, gazing into the bottomless depth of the darkness. Whatever she saw in it made her push his hand, still holding the phone, away, “Kaminari, turn off the phone. I won’t apologize for killing the guard outside, because that’s what’s necessary, but you were right. I told Atsushi-kun I wouldn’t kill again, and I broke those words just now.”

“I-” Denki shook his head, so bewildered he almost missed Kyouka’s use of his actual name. “I don’t want your regret now. We need to rescue Atsushi-kun. You really think we can do that without the help of any Abilities?”

Kyouka stiffened. “We’ll make do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The moment Akutagawa catches sight of us, we’re dead,” said Denki. “He chopped off my arm, Kyouka! If I hadn’t been able to cauterize it, I would have bled to death. How much better would you fare against him, do you think? Without Demon Snow, the only thing you would have are your knives.” His mind abruptly flashed back earlier that day, when they had been standing outside the police station. Back then—and it felt like an eternity ago at this point—he had been saddened by the thought of Kyouka’s execution. To lose her at the hands of Akutagawa instead, someone who seemed to gain sadistic joy out of causing pain, Denki found that to be infinitely worse. “I don’t want you to die,” He blurted out, before clamping his mouth shut.

The silence hung between them, only to be cut in half as Kyouka shook her head, “Even so, I refuse.” Then, she shrugged, like this was nothing but a game to her, “Rescuing Atsushi-kun is the priority. I’ll fight until my last breath to get him out alive. As for myself—well, it’s only fitting.”

As she lowered her head, seemingly already awaiting her own death, Denki couldn’t help but utter. “Then I’ll do it.”

“Do what?”

“Stop being obtuse.” He gritted his teeth, “Whatever. The phone will have to stay with me anyways, right? I’ll command Demon Snow, while you do whatever you have to do to get Atsushi-kun out. Ordering a killing machine around—hah, should be easy enough.” He raised a challenging brow. “Unless you have a problem with that?”

He half-expected her to refuse, maybe stabbed him with one of her knives like Denki just knew she had been wanting to do. After all, who would trust Denki with something like Demon Snow? That was like giving an exposed circuit to a toddler. Something was bound to go wrong. The only thing Denki could promise her was that he, unlike her Port Mafia superiors, would try not to use it to murder anyone, and even that vow was shaky at best. If Demon Snow’s sword somehow came in front of Akutagawa’s neck, Denki was going to take his chances whether Kyouka liked it or not.

And to her credit, Kyouka seemed incredibly displeased. She pursed her lips, stomped around a bit, pouted as if she was a just normal child instead of an actual trained, professional assassin, before finally coming back to stand in front of Denki.

“No killing,” She said, rather hypocritically.

“Except Akutagawa.” Denki wanted things to be transparent between them. Nothing said explicit like sharing one murderous Ability between two teenagers.

“Except Akutagawa.”

“Good.” Shoulders slumping, Denki brought himself along with the phone back to the box of explosives. In the span of ten minutes, they had somehow flipped their positions sideways, backward, sideway again, then back to the front, and now Denki had no idea where they stood with each other. Despite that, he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit better about having Kyouka’s presence by his side. Between the two of them, he hoped they had enough stored-up luck to rescue Atsushi and emerge unharmed.

Kyouka’s footsteps fell behind him, and Denki turned the phone over so that it shone into the crate, allowing her to see the explosives inside. To her, he raised a questioning brow.

“It’s easy to rig up these explosives. I’ll show you.” She nodded, her face set in a determined frown. Brushing a hand over the explosives, she quickly chose one to pick up. “Ojou-sama will start in here, then go to the front of the ship. There’s a place I know which not many people frequent, so he won’t run into any trouble.”

“Great.” A smirk fell across Denki’s face. The impossibility of their situation aside, the excitement he felt was positively giddy. That was when he knew delirium was finally setting in. “I'll follow your lead then.”

They started the preparation.

.

As Atsushi lay shivering in a pile of his own blood, a million thoughts burned in his head.

Most of them revolved around Kaminari and Kyouka—if they were okay, if Akutagawa had captured them as well. There was no world in which Atsushi would be able to forgive himself if they were harmed because of his mistake. Atsushi’s existence was an inherently flawed one, an error in the order of the world, a deficiency. At the cost of associating with him, both of them had been dragged down as well. He should have just listened to Kaminari. Perhaps if they had handed Kyouka over to the police, they could have argued her sentence. Kyouka’s life would have been spent in confinement, but it still could have been a life.

Instead, he was lying here, and they were nowhere to be found. For all he knew, Akutagawa might have just killed them both once he captured Atsushi. Atsushi was the one wanted by the Port Mafia. Atsushi should have been the only one who had to bear this burden. Involuntarily, Kunikida’s words returned to his mind, Do not be a burden to anybody. Do not tarnish the Agency’s good name.

Atsushi gritted his teeth. Kunikida was right. Of course, he was. Unlike Dazai, who flitted and flirted around the truth like touching it would grant him eternal life, Kunikida tell it like it was. Yet, the curse of Atsushi’s existence—he could not bear to listen to what he did not want to hear.

He wished for a life at the Agency, had cried when a glimmer of hope presented itself upon the Port Mafia’s attack on the office. He saw how capable every member was and thought they could handle it, forgetting that he himself may be the key to their downfall. What life could Kaminari have led if he hadn’t gotten tangled with a useless orphan, inadequate even for the orphanage designed to house those like him?

Atsushi wished he could apologize. Even if it was to their corpses, he wanted to apologize.

The mere thought of their bodies lying cold on the ground was too much to bear. With his arms, Atsushi began to prop himself up. The darkness made it hard to parse where exactly he was, and when Atsushi’s hand came into contact with a surface, he found it had ridges. The metal was cool to touch, and Atsushi traced the pattern for a while until his body gave out, and he collapsed back into a heap.

Atsushi gasped for breath. His mouth was filled with the taste of metal, and every inch of his clothes was damp. He wasn’t sure if he was crying. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was, because Atsushi was a pathetic creature. While others fought and died for him, he would cry. The tears solved nothing, but he did it all the same.

You don’t know if they’re dead yet, in the back of his head, some small part of Atsushi’s mind growled, but he quickly shook it away. The tiger was one more thing he didn’t want to deal with right now.

If he could not crawl on his knees, he would crawl on his stomach. Regardless of the situation, Atsushi knew there was one thing he must do. Kaminari wouldn’t forgive him if he didn’t at least try to fight back. Atsushi attempted to imagine what he would do if he came across Akutagawa. He would likely die—scratch that, he would definitely die, but before he went, Atsushi wanted to say he would take a limb along with him. Perhaps a leg. He liked the thought of taking Akutagawa’s leg.

There was another growl, though this time, gentler, as if the tiger was in agreement of this arrangement. Atsushi chuckled. Then he chuckled some more as a horrified reaction to that reaction.

He stopped.

There was a creak—faint, but growing in volume. It came from somewhere in front of him. Blindly, Atsushi reached out, hand extending in front of him just in time to shield his eyes from the glaring light that suddenly flooded the room. A shadow stood in front of the doorway, clothed in a long robe. Kyouka, was Atsushi’s first thought.

His second thought was, You’ve got to be kidding.

The tail-end of a billowing coat whipped toward him.