His mother didn't pick up the phone. Of course she wouldn't. She probably threw it in a lake somewhere. She was either on the run or already dead. Izuku prayed it was the former. He couldn't afford to lose her.

But even if he found her, then what?

He was a hero and she was… she was a murderer. Or at the very least an accomplice to the whole mess. Even if she had been forced into it, to participate in something like that for so long, it was ridiculous.

He dug into the news, of course. Opening article after article, and some imageboard websites which had leaked the entire collection of files that the parliament was trying to hide. With them came a video file. A woman confidently stating she would die and the number of people she had injected.

So he sat alone at home in the dark living room. The blinds were down, as usual, never touched after his mother once upon a time came home to sleep on the couch and asked him to darken the room.

He didn't feel like talking it out with Nezuko until he was ready to forgive her. Not this time.

He wasn't ready to talk to Momo about this. He just couldn't trust himself with it. While he knew that she wasn't the kind of person who would judge him for his parents' deeds, it was not a burden he wanted to put on her.

Nezuko would argue that this wasn't his choice, and that she should be able to choose what burdens to bear.

Today, Izuku would say Nezuko was full of-

He shook his head. The headache grew. His eyes were unfocused. He had too much energy left. He grabbed his swords, then ran.

He ran until he couldn't run anymore.

A small old man sat in front of him. Today they sat surrounded by wisteria trees in a flat field of grass.

Izuku felt it hard to be angry in these dreams. He found himself almost at peace, as if he was at the end of a long road that had taken him years to reach.

The man's eyes were sharp, his pupils small. His eyebrows and mustache looked practically the same, just horizontally mirrored.

"You're filled with shame, but it has washed away all the humility you have left."

Izuku nodded. It was hard not to feel shame.

"I've once raised a student who had gone to become a demon," the man said. "In shame, to atone for his crimes, I have slit open my belly."

"You shouldn't have had to," Izuku said, frowning. He couldn't imagine doing the same because of his parents. It was so… barbaric. There were other solutions. To seek death as the means to an end felt wrong.

"These were different times, and different values. Though if it wasn't for this," he slapped his leg, and the thumping noise of hollow wood rang out, "I imagine I would have brought him to justice before killing myself in shame."

"We make our own decisions." Izuku crossed his arms. He wasn't sure just why he felt so invested. Perhaps it was the imagery. The strange way of how these dreams grabbed him at times where his thoughts were running rampant.

"Students are not responsible for the actions of their teachers, it is always the other way around, for it is our failure to bring you to the righteous path. In the same vein, your parents are not reflective of who you are as a person, but society oftentimes thinks otherwise."

The man stood up, hobbling slightly as he grabbed his staff.

He then lowered his stance into one Izuku was familiar enough with.

Izuku grabbed his sword before the Breath of Lightning empowered strike decapitated him.

Yoroi Musha had no sidekicks.

It was a strange thing to see from someone of his status. The agency itself boiled down to a single office floor in central Tokyo, near Shibuya, which would make it incredibly expensive. But nothing about the office really shouted 'expensive' in the slightest. The secretary, an older woman with a grandmotherly smile, sat on a simple desk.

"Good morning," Izuku said. Six AM, sharp. The woman, who shook slightly as she looked up from the desk, smiled at him and nodded. "I'm… errr, Kagura. I'm here to see Yoroi Musha for my internship."

"Of course," she said, raising a hand towards one of the two hallways to her left. "His office is that way."

She grabbed a bowl from the table and held it out to him. Candies of some sort. Izuku returned her smile and took one, to which she nodded again and went back to whatever files she was sorting through.

He wondered if he could help her later. It looked like a lot of work for an elderly woman.

Pocketing the candy and walking down the hallway, he noted the lack of decorations outside of a few flowers near the desk of the receptionist. He knocked on the door that said 'YOROI MUSHA' and waited for an answer.

A gruff 'enter' later he opened the door and stepped in.

'Spartan'. Even more so than the reception, the actual office of Yoroi Musha looked absolutely devoid of any personality. The walls were white and nondescript. A single mannequin sat in the corner, large enough for Izuku to wonder whether it was for the man's armor.

The man himself, even older in real life than he looked on TV and pictures, sat at a simple wooden desk, as if to say to the world that it was unnecessary for a hero to have anything else. Izuku knew that Yoroi Musha had a special approach to heroics.

He once had an interview in which he complained about fancy agency buildings.

'A true hero,' he said. 'Makes a symbol of themselves in the streets, not behind a stuffy office.'

Izuku walked up to the desk and bowed. "Thank you for accepting my application, sir."

Yoroi Musha looked at him with beady eyes. The old Japanese armor made his already bulky appearance bulkier. A black mask was over his eyes, revealing nothing more than the yellow beads that stared at him unflinching.

"Would it not be more appropriate to say that you've accepted my invitation?" Yoroi Musha asked. Izuku blinked, nodding slowly. The man's face split into a toothsome grin. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you pick me?"

"Aizawa-sensei suggested you," Izuku said, scratching his cheek. "My master told me that calling it chance is selling it too short, but fate would be too mystical. I was curious and I think that in terms of… aesthetic, if the word is appropriate, you are the most appropriate choice, sir."

"I see," the man said, his grin lowering slightly. "Though I suppose our eras are a bit different. Tradition is important, boy. You understand, right?"

Izuku nodded.

"But not just for us to remember the past," the man continued, as if he hadn't expected an answer at all. "Traditions are meant to be broken when they cannot stand the test of time. To kill those who are born with specific traits used to be tradition. Dressing frail boys up as girls so that they may grow up strong used to be tradition. But one thing stands the test of time."

"Which is?" Izuku asked. His fingers twitched. He was tired, but as with many old people in his neighborhood, he knew how to treat older people who wished to chat a lot.

"You look to the world like a man on a mission." Yoroi Musha stood up. "What mission could that be, young hero Kagura?"

"I-I don't know what you mean," Izuku said.

"Then why does your sword hum with the song of war?"

Izuku's ears twitched. He couldn't hear anything.

"I am the Equipped Hero, though back before these epitaphs were handed out, they used 'equipment hero' as a title," Yoroi Musha stepped around his desk. He was tall and wide. The armor rattled with every step he took. "My quirk increases my power the better equipped I am. It is a good quirk to fight with."

Izuku's hand moved towards the hilt of his blunt sword when Yoroi Musha's voice shifted from casual explanation to hostile intent.

That's right.

This place didn't look like an office at all.

It looked more like a dojo.

"I have seen a few people with clouded eyes over the years," Yoroi Musha said. "All of them were unkind and inauspicious. This is the first time I've seen someone who doesn't seem to be either. Say, young Demon Slayer, whose blood does your blade call for?"

Izuku drew the sword as if expecting an attack. It was only seconds later that he realized his mistake. Yoroi Musha's presence alone caused every fight or flight response in his body to go off. Unfortunately, Nezuko-sensei had all but beaten the 'flight' out of him by now. One only fled in the defense of another.

But now he could see it.

The blade was shaking. And following it with his eyes showed where it began. His own hand was clenched around the hilt with an intensity that turned his knuckles white. It shook harshly, the usual graceful grip forgotten as his body shuddered with a sigh.

"You know," Izuku said. He imagined many top heroes did. Endeavor of all people called him by that title. It seemed that his deal surrounding the government license hadn't been kept as quiet as he wished it had.

"Of course I know, tradition is important," Yoroi Musha said, stressing the words. "I was briefed when the confirmation of your application came. You're their lapdog."

The circumstances of the Serpent Demon presumably hadn't reached All MIght, only Aizawa and Nezu were truly aware of what had happened that night, and people like Endeavor and Yoroi Musha only received partial information.

"Not by choice," Izuku said, his voice tense. "My master told me they would have their way and I should take them for all they have."

Yoroi Musha laughed. Izuku didn't find the situation nearly as funny. But the man's shoulders shook, the armor clinked and bashed piece against piece with each exaggerated motion he made.

"If you met him, the man responsible for releasing demons," the old man began. "Would you kill him?"

Izuku's hand twitched. The sword shook as he put it back into the sheath. He couldn't answer. Neither 'yes' or 'no' sounded right. HIs father had to answer for his crimes one way or another, but death wasn't the solution for that.

"You wouldn't," Yoroi Musha answered his own question. "And yet you hesitate to answer because you sit on a line between light and dark. It is very thin, trust me, I have been there."

"If you're telling me not to look for Hisashi Ubuyashiki, I won't," Izuku said. He technically didn't need his permission. But it wasn't like he would be the only hero chasing after the man. "I'm just here to finish my internship and learn from one of the best."

Yoroi Musha stared at him. His beady eyes made Izuku feel like shrinking into himself. "Very well, then let us have our first lesson."

Yoroi Musha swung his fist. It came with no stance or weight behind it, a sucker punch if he had ever seen one. Izuku had the sword drawn again quickly. Armored fist clashed against Nichirin steel, sparks flew.

"Even when you are faced with your greatest enemy," Yoroi Musha said, his rough voice bolstered by the echo of his spartan office walls. Izuku held his palm against the back of his sword's blade, trying to push the man back. Yoroi Musha's other fist came down. "You must strike with kindness!"

Kindness hit him with the force of a truck moving at fifty miles an hour. The armored gauntlet smashed into his side, sending him into the wall. The difference in strength between them was obvious.

"Someone whose eyes are clouded by such hatred has no place in being a hero," Yoroi Musha announced. He cracked his knuckles as Izuku fell from the wall onto the ground, wheezing. "So strike at me. I will accept your hatred and fury. I shall meet your frustration and sadness blow by blow. Cut me, Kagura, until nothing but kindness is left in your blade."

Izuku stood up with a shuddering breath. The sword from the ground was picked up swiftly, the hit was hard but by far not the hardest he had ever eaten. If anything, it made it clear that the old man was holding back significantly. It was at best surface damage, but with the wind knocked out of him he couldn't quite stand still anymore. Sheathing the sword-

Izuku breathed.

And with that breath came a mourning prayer. The sword didn't even get to do the first cut. Yoroi Musha's fist bashed into the hilt before Izuku could pull it out.

Somehow it felt good being able to go all out.

Momo stood almost completely still, the grey Nichirin flail and axe sitting on her back. While using the Breath of Stone and her quirk at the same time were unreasonably taxing, the more she trained the better she got at it. She was certain she could defeat the Izuku she had fought at the Sports Festival now. A few tricks, and a lot of weapons, were up her sleeves now.

Mirko's agency was near the Kamino Ward, not too far from either Musutafu or Tokyo, which allowed her to reach it rather easily despite the insistence by her parents to be driven. In the end, she was greeted not by a sidekick of a receptionist, but by Mirko herself.

Said woman was not very tall.

In fact, it took her quirk-mutated feet to meet Momo's eyes at the same height, but when seated, she looked absolutely tiny.

"You got yourself a license," Mirko said, grinning from her chair in her office. "Not bad for a first year. Welcome to the Lucky Charm agency."

The office was decorated well, with maybe a few too many flowers and certainly too many porcelain rabbits. The thing that stood out the most was the table of pictures, among which she recognized a few heroes from U.A.'s teaching staff and a not too much younger Mirko. She even had a picture of her drinking with Hawks.

"Thank you for having me," Momo said, bowing. "It's an honor, ma'am."

"First of all, no formality here," Mirko said. "Mostly because we don't have too much time with it. You know about the Tokyo protests, right?"

Momo nodded. Mirko's grin slipped off, her muscular arms coming up and crossed under her chest.

"A few agencies nearby have been requested to start with peacekeeping around them, just to make sure nobody gets hurt. However, we've had some intel on the movement of a villain group that is looking to cause havoc."

Momo blinked. "In the middle of that many people?"

"The right quirk could cause hundreds of fatalities before the heroes could mount an offensive," Mirko explained. "We're working together with Sir Nighteye to find the perpetrators and take care of them before they're able to do anything."

Momo blinked. "That's… a lot, isn't It? For an internship?"

"Hard times require hard decisions," Mirko said, smiling. "But I'm confident someone of your caliber will appreciate the field work. Your quirk, it's Creation, according to your file."

"Yes," Momo said, still confused. Mirko's smile simply widened further.

"Excellent."

"Izuku-nii isn't home yet."

She was looking out of the window. Looking for the lights in the neighboring house. Eri had been restless since he left yesterday morning, and Nezuko could understand.

Nezuko nodded.

"Does he not like me anymore?"

The circumstances were of course suspect to a girl of Eri's age with her experiences. The words were harsh, spoken loudly, and the actions were that of leaving rather than facing the possibility of growing more angry and lashing out. While she wasn't the focus of the anger, children were always more aware of the emotions of those around them, and thought themselves the reason.

Nezuko shook her head. "No, he's troubled over something I've done."

"Did you do something bad?" Eri jumped down from the small chair near the window and walked up to her, stealing a glance at the full plate of food in the kitchen waiting for Izuku's return as she walked to Nezuko.

"I don't know," Nezuko answered honestly. She didn't know what she would do if she didn't have someone to talk to, even someone as young as Eri. "I hid things from him to protect him, and he thinks that I hid more than I knew. I can't fault him for that."

Eri raised her hands, asking for Nezuko to pick her up. She did, lifting the girl easily and up to her face. Eri's arms wrapped around Nezuko's neck.

"I want to help him," Eri whispered in her ear. Nezuko nodded. They wanted the same, of course. "Can we do something for him?"

"Not until he calms down," Nezuko said. She tried to make it sound like an inevitability, but knowing him he would run on fumes until collapsing and then reignite again if he doesn't work it out. There was no way that this would end well until his mother was safe. Unfortunately, Nezuko simply didn't know where to find her. Until the news report broke, she hadn't actually looked into the RS-9 research facility either.

In a way, it was proof of complacency. Someone as old as her should know better than to leave things alone until they fester, but the belief that she could handle whatever happened was strong as always.

It became more of an issue when she ruined her own worryless half-life by adding a student or two.

She didn't regret it. If anything, this pang of pain in her chest reminded her of what it meant to be human.

But it was not a fun feeling.

"How about we bake a cake," Nezuko suggested. Anything to distract Eri, and more so to distract herself. "We can eat it together when he comes back, alright?"

Eri nodded into her shoulder, letting herself be carried to the kitchen.

The plate of food was already cold.

Chapter 23, upcoming:

The Cremation of Izanami

"You strike a blade to remove all impurities," Izuku said. His stance was low. His arm was burned, but functional through the use of his Breath. "Again. And again. And again."

"What are you-"

Izuku breathed.

He burned hotter than the sun.

"Sixth Form…" Izuku announced, his eyes reflecting the color of his Nichirin blade. "Kagutsuchi's Burden."