Friday night, hours before midnight.

Mineta walked silently through the streets like an aimless ghost. Do not turn back!

His hollow heart was damaged beyond repair. The boy had the certitude he was leaving the only true family he could have ever had. It certainly was an imperfect, preliminary draft, but it could have been real. Yet another waste. "So close!" Midoriya would say…

He was now sinking into darkness, so thick not even an angelic soul could pull away.

Night had long fallen. His lowered, hooded head searched the ground for holes to avoid twisting his ankles in. His hands slept peacefully in his pockets, safe from the fresh late evening temperature. In the backpack he carried on his back, a bottle of water, cereal bars, a permanently turned-off phone and identification documents were all he had left worth carrying.

He was dressed in full civilian clothes, anonymity guaranteed.

A white, azure-striped tee shirt, covered by a buckskin jacket and its off-white inner coat. The evocative "deep purple" dye of the jacket, he had hoped, would bring a rock n' roll rebel touch and not just fit with his hair. Good luck with that. Below the black belt, thin indigo-blue pants wrapped his tiny legs. Leather-made booties of similar deep purple with a wooly, cloud-like fluffy lining protected his feet. A pinkish set of headphones with darker dots lazily hang on his neck, supported by a pillow of weaving dual-colored scarf – two variant shades of the same clear purple. It would ostensibly warn bystanders of what his favorite color was without a doubt.

Favorite by default.

"I never asked to be born. Maybe I should be proud to live; it'd make me more likely to die."

His original, highly dysfunctional family had always worked that way. Either life or death asked for permission.

First, a father passing away from the moment his life had turned meaningful again. Recently released from jail, after serving a two-year sentence for drug trafficking, he had been that close to rebuilding everything by the flesh of his flesh's side. Unfortunately not with his estranged ex-wife, but a bundle of joy born from their union with four balls protecting his skull. Mineta being safe – and preserved from his father's escapades – was all that mattered for him to be happy again.

But on a fateful night, while bringing back his younger son from detention in middle school, he had been heinously murdered. All this innocent blood shed for an empty wallet bought in a 100-yen shop. Police searches had been interrupted barely forty-eight hours later. A free criminal was living his life without a worry forever since. Mineta's custody at school – for a petty act of mischief he was not even the true culprit behind - had been the cause why the father and son duo had been returning home so dangerously late.

His widowed mother had never forgiven him.

The unfortunate father, craving for redemption, had lost his life by the hand of a villain whom heroes could – and should have arrested in less than it took to draw a knife. Many of them had been patrolling in a nearby district that night. None had come to their rescue. Not "on time". Late, again. Ironically, young Mineta decided he was going to become one anyway. When this amazing news had reached his mother's ears, she had called him a traitor to his father's legacy and never had supported him. The only reason why the door was still open – when Mineta came back from school – were the welfare payments he brought with him. Sponging off society was more acceptable through candid hands.

Otherwise, he served a single purpose. Being a blameless punching-ball.

When she drank, his mother insulted him. When she didn't drink, she'd insult him. When he wasn't here, she'd insult him. When he cried, she'd refuse to see it as a reflection of her own misery. She alone held this right. Mineta was to be ashamed of himself for the rest of his life, nothing else. And when he didn't return at the end of the day, she'd be happy and celebrate.

By drinking. And insulting him.

The boy's situation would only get worse over the years. Culminating in yet another night of sorrow.

Once almost feeling at home at U.A., Mineta was now homeless. Out in this maze of inhabited concrete, city lights and pollution hid the stars from his wishes. All he would ever be allowed to do with wishing stars was sleeping under them. Returning to the dorms was out of the question. Returning home to his mother was a big no. It was no longer home and she was no longer his mother. She'd either knock him unconscious, or throw him out…right after knocking him.

Or kill him, perhaps. The lesser of three evils.

Mineta roamed for an extra hour before he actually got tired. With his strengths diminishing and a pair of half-closed eyes, he could walk in a straight line no more. As he staggered in cold, narrow alleys, the boy took a tumble. Damn legs, don't give up already!

He got up, wiping the dirt off his pants. A feral cat scurried away from inside a fallen trash can, when the heavy vibrations from the boy's clumsy footsteps reached him. Hearing the stray animal running for his life in the dark almost blasted Mineta's heart out of his chest. Even cats try to kill me!

He ended up walking into a dead end. The tiny square was encircled by tasteless buildings – not enough roofless space for starlight to sneak in – and inhabited by down-and-out, homeless beggars. Under the influence of fatigue and subjected to harrowing stress, the boy took to his heels without asking questions. Whoever lived there didn't have the time to realize they had been visited by someone.

While burning out his last strengths running away, Mineta turned his head over. Darkness had misled him one more time. These poor, idle people were not the ruthless gang of thieves he feared would have slashed his throat, had he tried to have a quick chat with them. They lived off charity, not murder.

How could they blame him though? Mineta had lost his father that way. Street people were not to be trusted. At least not by a standard human being, according to Mineta. But what about a standard human being wearing a cape? A hero – what the fleeing grape was to become. A true hero would never cave in and run away in the face of the unknown.

How unheroic had he become.

Extracts from Mineta's letter to Ashido:

…I actually think you SHOULD have reacted with a more appropriate level of violence, every single time I misbehaved. I'd have earned it, really. I won't go so far as to blame you for not protesting more vehemently, not opposing me more openly or not punishing me more harshly, but you really could have sent me to that hospital where you pretended I should already be. Just sayin'. Now it's too late; I'm seeing myself out, and probably will get the shit beaten outta me by some people out there with much less patience that you ever found to tolerate my antics. At least, you won't get see how deep is the pit I'm falling into…

…Both you and Hagakure deserve congratulations for finding out Hitoshi and anyone in Class 1-A would make worthier heroes than me, but let me tell you this: anyone in U.A. would. Easier to remember that way…

…I can no longer stand all these things I did to you guys. It eats away at the few bits of conscience left I haven't yet thrown away. Now that I've realized how seriously I hurt you, the word "harem" makes me want to vomit from the memories of these moments you…well, you remember, right?…

Let's try that way. There's so much light ahead, Aoyama-kun could be living here.

He walked through a tunnel under a worn-out building. Right behind it was a cozy square popular with tourists in this part of town. At night however, most pedestrians had cleared out. When darkness settled down there, so did those who belonged in it. Petty criminals were renowned for being very active from sunset to sunrise, turning the picture-postcard city into a no-go area.

Unfortunate were those who ignored these rules. Especially if they belonged to the wrong sex.

"Leave me alone!" screamed a young girl, cornered against a wall.

"C'mon cutie pie, we just wanna play a game. You won't feel anything."

Except, maybe, when there was someone out for them.

"Are you guys deaf? She asked you to leave her alone."

Mineta came face to face with the two thugs, soon-to-become-rapists. Twice as small as them – and about four times weaker in terms of physical fitness – the boy didn't have the upper hand. His frail outline and unsteady stance were laughable. It was still enough to distract them.

"Who the hell are you, purple shrimp?" one said.

"Beat the fuck outta him!" ordered the other.

"But what about her?"

"I found her first, I go first. Once you've dealt with that loser, she'll be yours."

Going only second looked acceptable on paper, not so much when caught in the act. Still, he decided Mineta was a worthier target for kick-bossing practice as a starter.

"Fine.", the assaulter conceded, fists slammed against one another as he walked threateningly to Mineta. "But don't break her too much. I want her fresh and ready when my turn comes."

"Shouldn't be a problem. You have my word." his partner-in-crime promised, licking his lips.

The muscular criminal, heavily-loaded in brute force, had no time to lose.

He loaded his fists with all the energy he could store up – enough to crush Mineta to a carpet of wine and send his remains to burn to the center of the Earth. Thanks to his Quirk, his spring-shaped legs allowed him to jump high distances, and pounce upon an enemy to a distance of up to twenty meters.

Nevertheless, it didn't come with grey matter included, which wasn't his opponent's case.

Once the brawny man had jumped in Mineta's direction, he could no longer correct his thrust trajectory, and the boy had speculated on it. He took a step aside, on his left, disclosing a previously-hidden heap of sticky balls piled up on the pavement behind him. When the careless, overconfident assaulter became aware of this trap, he was already falling into it. He bumped into the adhesive decoy head-on, with full force. Although he was not instantly knocked off, the gluey trap was enough of a restraining device to immobilize the still-awestruck assailant and render him harmless.

The man helplessly struggled to set himself free, gasping for air as his nose and parts of his mouth were obstructed by the sphere stuck to his face. For lack of sufficient oxygen flow in his airways, his lungs went on strike and he passed out. One out of two, and it wasn't me. Next.

There still was a damsel in distress to save. Too busy removing his belt to put his pants down, the second man did not see the mysterious purple dwarf coming right at him. When he finally did, struck dumb for a better effect, his acolyte was down on the floor.

"You again?! What did you do to…oh fuck!"

Mineta was not a common intruder with too much alcohol in his blood to mind his own business. His partner being out of action meant appearances could mislead, providing an accurate inkling of what the boy could do and how creatively dangerous he was. In that case, big guns were to be brought out. He got him bad; must be a lone vigilante or something…time to fire up!

The man's veins burned with fire and his Quirk activated, sending waves of ardent magma stretching along his arms and instantly melting his sleeves. His right hand, the one strangling his prey under the chin, had no choice but to abort mission and let go of her before she was set ablaze as well. Rape would be for another day.

Infuriated at this loss, the rapist focused all attention on his other hand – he was a leftist. Out of frustration, and desire to make an example, he used his mind's resourceful imagination to create a giant flame rising up from his palm. Once this super-attack fully loaded, he'd have the power to burn the entire street down to ashes in a single move. His impulsive, temperamental behavior resembled Bakugo's - save that the Grenade Boy was able to blast through any obstacle in a matter of seconds, regardless of the type of attack his unpredictable hot-head had in mind when losing patience.

Once again though, fate and time themselves rebelled in favor of the grape boy.

As the attacker turned his furious eyes to him, all he could make out were two purple, circle-shaped patterns swooping on him. The balls banged right on target, blinding his eyes and effectively stopping the overheating super-move from occurring. My aim has greatly improved. Thank you, Shinso.

Tables were turning at a fast pace. While the dim-witted man took an anguished breath of air, Mineta was already propelling himself at full speed for his next move. He forcefully head-crashed in the hollow of his stomach. The man yelled painfully, while his quick-witted opponent pushed and pounced backward to unloosen himself – landing at a safe distance, back on his feet. The four balls on this scalp came off altogether, remaining stuck on the sore point of impact. Still unable to see, the rapist's cooling hands rushed to the rescue, looking to rub and warm his belly up with his heating palms to ease the crushing pain.

And they got stuck in turn, definitely crippling his Quirk.

The man bent over in agony. Before he fell down on his knees, his groin suffered a traitorous attack – a certain angry female's feet finishing him off with a strike right where every man's weakness lay. The extra pain – and the hole in his pride – were too much to handle, and he dropped unconscious. Mineta had won.

"Thank you so much!" the lady gratefully lauded him. "I wouldn't have made it without you."

The victorious boy couldn't find words to reply. For a moment, he had expected the two assailants to take flight without a fight – either disgusted by this scary monster with balls as hair, or because it was not morally acceptable to lay into a poor-looking, disabled kid with growing issues. Never had he wished to engage in true improvised combat, and win for that matter.

"I…well, you're welcome…" he blushed, a hand rubbing his regrowing balls.

The lady was oddly indifferent to Mineta's piteous, repulsive appearance. His unattractive physical features were of no interest. Only actions mattered.

"Are you a hero, young man? Or a vigilante?" she asked.

Could he be? If not a registered and licensed hero with proper recognition, at least a solitary wolf doing some dirty work as the Vigilante his city deserved but did not need?

"No. I'm not tailored for either job."

She gave him a tender, delightfully sweet look not even the coldest souls could reject. It warmed Mineta's spirits as he looked back at her sparkling eyes, smiling briefly.

"You should believe in yourself!" she confidently encouraged him, patting his shoulders. "With enough work and willpower, anyone can become a hero. You're already very heroic in the way you behave. You just saved me! You should be proud."

But before a reddened Mineta could return the compliment – as he liked to with ladies, on the rare occasions when they spoke positively of him – she winked in an ambiguous, almost seducing manner that would leave any pervert on the planet drooling to dehydration.

"Who knows, with a bit of patience, you'll become very strong if you train hard…and I already can't wait to see how you look in ten years!" she laid it on thick.

This disconcerting remark – yet aimed at being supportive – had Mineta jolt in discomfort.

As he recalled himself making the same comment to Eri - a hell-surviving girl many years younger than he was - the boy's imagination stepped into the breach into his regretful heart. He pictured himself under the skin of one of the rapists he had just knocked to the ground, with Eri being his target in a future distant from him by a decade-long margin or so. Even though making such a weird comment wasn't a crime in itself – or a confession to potential sexual mistreatment – the mere thought of it spread a bitter disgust in Mineta's mouth.

He couldn't stand it. The boy ran away without further ado, as he knew getting teary-eyed in front of an innocent girl would have earned him more unwanted attention than reasonably acceptable – quite an ironic twist of fate, with regards to his past. Here I go crying like a coward again. Just thinking about it's making me hate myself!

And he was gone, never to meet again with the first lady to show him kindness in ages.

Extracts from Mineta's letter to Uraraka:

…I found it quite funny that you threatened to send me flying over the moon, if I tried to peek on you girls ever again. Because, you know, this is probably where people like me belong. In a desert, withdrawn from any civilization, in a place so remote I can't even use a telescope to check out a pair of boobs. And it is true that I'm very, very small – only 1m08 high. I must have something to compensate for, such as my lack of manners. Too bad I don't have no saving grace…

…you said it was your right not to believe me, and…well, you were right. Yes, you were. I was wrong to rush things through and I paid the highest price for it: throwing whatever little bit of trust or respect you had for me out the window…

…I'm no longer waiting for you to accept my apologies. Excuses won't work to redeem myself, like you said. What I did was unforgivable. Period…

…If there is any harm I did to U.A.'s image, I'm taking it away with me. It is my responsibility and you did well pointing it out to me…

Take care of yourself, Uraraka. Good luck with Midoriya, by the way, and…farewell.

Regards,

Pervineta.

The dense night was now the uncontested queen of the sky. Midnight was close – not the hero, but the time. Mineta found himself in a garbage dump. Still friendlier than at my mom's.

Since a so-called good Samaritan – namely Izuku Midoriya – had taken on the tough task of cleaning a portion of public beach free of rubbishes, things had never been the same. Ecstatic and thrilled to finally enjoy a sun bath in clean waters again, locals had done anything in their power to ensure litterers would never return. After they took to the streets, the government had passed strict laws forcing the most polluting corporations to dispose of their industrial trash in a designated area. That very place where a purple imp paced up and down like he was home ground.

Mineta had nowhere to go. He couldn't see a girl anymore, out of shame. He was afraid of men, as he thought his behavior had dishonored them. He was alone with his thoughts. Talking of which, Mineta's latest mind broadcast was dedicated to a well-known birdy hero as main subject.

Why couldn't my Quirk be like Dark Shadow?

After winning a real-time fight against street foes, Mineta couldn't help dwelling on the loser part of himself. And a character like Fumikage Tokoyami seemed appropriate to use as an example to illustrate the boy's weakness.

The red-eyed bird hero was a Darkness Ace. Anything closely or loosely related to obscure matters made him a fanatical enthusiast. Fumikage was a "creature of shadow", fearless of what lay in it. Night was his cradle, his home, his passion, his reason to be, and true love.

But to the best of Mineta's knowledge, an equally true purity emanated from this dark soul.

Fumikage had nothing to do with villainy. No shadow of a flaw could bring him any closer to Humanity's actual dark side. It was quite the reverse. The feathery student had more than often proved a humble, balanced and watchful person who craved to be a hero. With most of his comrades, he'd share the typical traits and distinguishing features that made men good ones. Team spirit, constant care for teammates, receptive mind, awareness of his own limits and the will to overcome them.

Learning how to control the shadow inside – his own – had made him a hero. Never would shadow subdue him, never would his demons defeat him. If only he and Mineta became friends, he could have learned from him like a spiritual mentor.

Mineta was his antithesis, the two sharing nothing in common. The former smallest Class 1-A attendant saw himself as a vicious being, lying to himself, hiding his game, wallowing in his feelings of defeat. A broken, heavy-hearted teenager filled with darkness. Surrounded as he was by friendly heroes, classmates and teachers, even they couldn't help him fight his dark side. The furthest he got from them, the deeper he fell.

Darkness consumed him. Talking of the devil…

"Eeeeeexit light, eeeeenter night!" played a lonely radio.

Pieces of equipment left for broken were supposed to be out of use. Not this rusty but well-tried, old-fashioned retro-styled radio that a lazy consumer had expeditiously discarded without taking the option of repairs into consideration. It still worked, playing on a loop for the stars and clouds while slowly crumbling back to its original state. A metaphor of life and death for whoever had businesses to attend to in rubbish land. Mineta listened to its entertaining playlist, as it made the air roar in fury with the fast-paced, aggressive sound of Metallica. An all-time favorite American band among Mineta's music tastes.

The boy had always loved heavy metal songs, spread the word. "He's just yelling", they said. "You're singing is awful!" they said, Mineta recalled his unsuccessful audition as Class 1-A's frontman. I know Jiro's voice was…well fabulous, even the best I admit. But still…I could have enjoyed great success as a metal singer! Sure thing! Oh my…who am I kidding again?

It was doomed to fail anyway. And hearing a famous band singing about sleeping with one eye open, beasts under the bed, and gripping a pillow tight felt like he had become the butt of a famous band's joke. He skipped to another station.

"I'm into having sex, I ain't into making love. So come give me a hug if you into getting rubbed."

Not cool, radio. Dirty rapping for dirty dudes. Fuck me!

He skipped again.

"Kiss me baby one more time!"

Is that pile of rusted wires pulling my leg? I used to dance to this tune, when I still believed what that chick talked about would happen to me one day. It never will and listening to that is bad for my heart. Sorry, Britney…

And he skipped. Again.

"Those of us with ravaged faces, lacking in the social graces, desperately remained at home, inventing lovers on the phone…"

Now his physical flaws were straightly pointed out. And boy, were they numerous.

I won't have to wait until I'm seventeen to learn the truth about what an ugly duckling boy I am. I swear, radio…you gonna drive me mad!

Yet another channel.

"But I'm aaaa creep. I'm a weeeeirdo. What the hell am I doing heeere? I don't belong h–"

"United States of Shut-ups!"

Temper was lost and Mineta smashed it for good. Farewell, radio.

It was malfunctioning anyway. I just put an end to its suffering, right? R-right?

Nobody would answer him. Not ever after he burst into tears and fell to the ground, in the middle of nowhere, with only silence to take an interest in him and dirt to soil his face.

"You're the biggest coward on this planet, Crybabineta!"

He stopped crying all of a sudden, realizing something funny. Of all seven billion inhabitants of the Earth, Mineta had been the only one yet to call himself a crybaby. It was now a done deal. His sadness faded away, replaced by raging anger. He ripped balls off his head till it bled, throwing and tossing them all over the place. In a garbage dump, they would just like at home.

One of them – the last he could tear off before pain turned unbearable – suffered a fate worse than her luckier siblings scattered around the rubbish. The boy pressed it between his two hands, looking to squeeze it until it broke open and liquefied into a chemical soup of purple glue.

"Let's see what kind of loser's DNA you're made of, sticky bitch!"

He pressed as hard he could, bulldozing it with ten crushing fingers and squashing it to a crepe, to dust, to non-existence. At one point though, before the accumulation of stress in his wrists could crack them in half, an insignificant bolt of electricity streaked through the surface of the agonizing sphere. It was a tiny one, but the shock it generated was real; about 80-100 volts in current intensity.

Still mad at himself, the grape boy further flattened it to return the favor.

A second, then a third shock ensued. As seconds passed, the ball's constitution became unstable. Its core was losing hardness, softening in parallel to its surface growing more aggressively sensitive to contact with skin. Accumulation of static electricity sent creepy-crawly tingling sensations below his epidermis, like Mineta had just invented the first prototype of vein-traveling needle devise. The positive charge reached such a high level of voltage that the boy couldn't feel his own hand, thus removing nervous control over his fingers that kept pressurizing the overloaded ball beyond reason.

This exponential chain reaction would fatally lead to something big and nasty. Come on, ball. Finish what Denki couldn't do. I know you can–"

All of a sudden, the psychical integrity became so badly compromised that it triggered a last, unique and powerful reaction. The amassed tension collapsed onto itself like a junior supernova.

And it exploded, throwing Mineta's entire body more than three meters away. He was vigorously knocked against the white, smooth surface of a trashed refrigerator. Barely conscient, he almost fainted twice. When his dizziness and the initial pain from the collision finally dissipated, he was made frighteningly aware of how lucky he had been while getting up. Had his body-turned-rocket's angle of projection been oriented slightly on his right, a rusted metal girder protruding from a heap of scrap metal would have impaled him.

"Death doesn't want me around. Fine, I'll make other friends."

Similarly to the adhesive properties of his balls, their newly-discovered explosive features had little to no effect on the purple-grenade boy. A thin layer of soot blackened his face, like a chimney sweep returning from work. He was unharmed. So now I can blow myself up, huh? Interesting…

The stunned boy left the garbage dump, forked left and right in a tiny field of bushes and eventually reached the beach. He took his clothes off, ran naked toward the foaming waves and enjoyed a midnight swim to wash himself. Autumn was not the best season for a dip into the ocean; nobody was there to watch his trembling body exiting the salty water in the icy cold wind.

Fuck, I don't have a towel!

He used his own unchanged clothes to dry himself before he turned into a fleshy ice cube. Hard time of solitude.

However, a sensation of excitement brought back a budding interest in living a little longer. Not only had he just found out two new amazing uses for his Quirk – generating stunning electric waves and causing blasts on command - but he was now no longer allowed to display it, as being a hero with special rights belonged in the past.

What an irony. I should join the police. They could use a garden gnome with portative tasers…

He sat down in the black sand. As he let his tired gaze drift away to the horizon, he felt thankful to Midoriya.

The perspective of enjoying such a great view – a clean nature space bordering a big, modern city - was all to the green-haired boy's credit. This achievement, among other things, like saving a bully while Midoriya still was Quirkless – made up the list of future All Might's fruitful efforts to earn a chance at entering U.A. What a model of inspiration he was! At this rate, it'd take no time at all before former All Might would be replaced by the next promising heir. A hero Mineta thought "might" have been his secret apprentice from the beginning.

All Might's "You're Next." - on that momentous night had he defeated All for One and enacted his dream of being the Symbol of Peace for the last time – was obviously aimed at someone. Was it Midoriya? Could have. At the same moment, Mineta had been watching the soon-to-make-history scene from home, literally drooling grape juice all over his keyboard and not looking worth behind fondly remembered at all.

That's not the same definition of heroicness... he thought. I really have a problem with wetting myself!

He got up painfully, pushing the limits of what fatigue allowed him to do. The longer he walked, the more tired he grew. His eyes closed themselves. Then came darkness again.

"Fumikage-kun, how the hell can you handle this shit? It's way too dark out there!"

Like many other classmates, Mineta had long perceived his fellow student as a weird, intimidating person. "Birdman", as he called him, was nothing like relaxed or light-hearted. Fumikage was serious, always on the lookout for danger. Emotional ties frightened him, for he feared they might have him lose control over his Quirk whenever a dear relative got hurt. Hence his distant behavior toward the masses, although it wouldn't stop him from fitting in and being accepted.

But even he – so moderate and careful of what he said - couldn't help disapproving of Mineta's ways. When their looks clashed, Fumikage would gauge him severely. He had seen right through him, aware of how perverted Mineta's aura was. The boy with undefeated demons had failed to make a master out of him – forever unable to keep the fire of hormones from consuming him. It was not the first, nor the last of a long series. Mineta had failed to draw inspiration from Midoriya, master of kindness and dedication, to better learn respect for others. He hadn't learned anything from Iida – master of self-discipline and surpassing – and the benevolent reprimands directed at him for his own good.

Now that Mineta was headed for obscurity, he understood how clever Fumikage's decision to choose this path had been. Growing up in the dark, facing it from a young age was the best to learn how to channel it. Mineta didn't have a Dark Shadow of its own to put a face on his demons. They were inside, untamed, unsubmitted.

There was no way it'd end well.

"I can't get it anymore!" he yawned. "Let's find a place to sleep. If I wake up tomorrow, I promise to look for a new reason to live."

He wouldn't need to cross fingers in his back to know it was impossible. Probably…

Meanwhile…

Aizawa was exhausted, but not like anything he had endured before. Tonight's duty was different. A life potentially depended on it. Bloodstains on the bed, not the amount a suicidal person would leave behind, he noted. If he truly wants to hurt himself in another place, we're screwed. If it's just his Quirk somehow, we might have a chance to save him. Might.

Mineta's bedroom was not like he had expected it to be. A weird feeling a neutrality – sober furniture, understated decor, pared-down walls – radiated from it. It was nothing like the den of a pervert. Even his computer, Mineta's "Gateway to Pornland", had disappeared.

The teacher scanned it up and down, from top to bottom, scouring for clues. Mineta packed most of his belongings in a single cardboard box…and used a rope to fasten it, like he wanted to tie up a corpse! he noticed. Is he sending us a message? Or has a given up on hanging himself out of laziness or a last-minute hint of hope?

The most surprising thing was that the grape boy had left no testimony of his suffering, no farewell letter or any written information behind. At least not in his bedroom. His desk was plain. His bodily sphere having a short expiration date, Mineta had closed a second package with casual double-sided adhesive tape. His hero suit, equipment and school-issued items waited for reuse inside.

If a message there was, the carried symbol was abundantly clear: Mineta's stuff was oblivion-bound cheat junk good for trash, but U.A.'s stuff still had a future and it was not on a scaffold.

"Come over here." Aizawa asked the shadow of a boy standing by the entrance. "We need to talk."

Aizawa's words did not sound menacing or reproachful. It was just an instruction from a teacher to a student. A neutral, unmilitaristic order. And Shinso obeyed militarily, sitting on the bed with the letter still in hand while the Class 1-A Supervisor took a seat in a chair.

"Read it to me."

The chagrined boy had dreaded this moment. Browsing through this blatant display of self-hatred a first time had been one heck of a hard time. But doing it twice?

"Take your time, my boy." Aizawa reassured him. "I don't need glasses to see how painful it is for you."

Being emotionally supported by none other than the sternest of all teachers proved enough for Shinso. And he so started.

Dear Shinso Hitoshi,

You were right to come to me today. You were right to think that I didn't belong here. I'm not a hero. But you are. Therefore, I give you my seat as a Class 1-A student and humbly ask you to take it. Provided that the school accepts it, it goes without saying.

If you find this letter, it means that I'm already far away. Don't bother trying to find me. I left for a good reason and won't be back. It's better that way.

And don't worry about me. I won't die, if that's what you think. I'd have killed myself already if I truly wanted to. Right now, I just want to disappear. U.A.'s been suffering many setbacks; you guys have suffered a lot as well. No one here needs a pervy hero wannabe taking his own life. Media are too greedy and evil to ignore it, and our dear hero academia would never recover. So I won't die. Not today.

If Aizawa asks you anything – and I know he will - tell the truth. My advice to him, to you, to every single one of you, is the following: nothing happened. I never existed, period. And if you can't, just pretend that I was expelled. It will feel better.

One last thing: should anyone outside of U.A. learn of my departure, the only official information he should get is that I quit. Don't give explanations. I quit on my own because it was my decision, with whoever's approval; I don't mind. Students quit, or are expelled every year. Nothing worth raising suspicious.

It shouldn't be a problem.

PS: please find enclosed my student card with a personal note on it. And now, have fun! :)

Regards,

Minoru Mineta.

Shinso did not cry. But emotions and sorrow all answered the call in his dazzling eyes, ready to come forward whenever floodgates would be open.

Aizawa tenderly rubbed the upper part of his back, shoulders and top of his skull. Shinso had done well. Not because he hadn't cried and crying was bad, but he could have felt indifferent to Mineta's pain-tainted words. Shinso was a human being. Brainwashing Quirk or not, he was no villain. Aizawa was proud of the Class 1-C student's preoccupation with his own student's predicament. Just like he felt impressed, if not admiring of Mineta going as far as confessing all his flaws in half a page with an innocence equaling a child's.

I was terribly mistaken. That boy deserved more support than I could give! he sighed depressingly. Thank goodness, it seems like he won't make any attempt on his life. Not as long as he makes us believe it.

He went to the door, opening it and turning his sorry eyes to Shinso.

"You may leave now. Have some sleep, don't think too much about it. Your schoolmate's life isn't in danger for the moment. We'll do our best to get him back safe and sound."

"Yes, sir."

As the boy sadly walked out, the teacher murmured.

"We may need your help conducting researches in a very close future. Better have a good night's sleep; we'll have a lot on our plate tomorrow."

Shinso had the hardest time lifting up his head and wiping wretchedness off his face.

"Am I really the right person for that? Someone with a Quirk like mine…"

"You want to be a hero, am I right?"

"I guess."

For a brief moment, Aizawa's voice was back to normal. Strict and assertive.

"The class you're in doesn't matter, understood? What happened to Mineta is regrettable. But you can still make a difference, Shinso. What people say about your Quirk isn't to be considered. Guess it or not, I want you to be a hero and you'll act like one, at least for the time being. Somehow, you have a connection with Mineta which we could exploit in our favor. In HIS favor. Help us find him and bring him back where he belongs. Where YOU belong."

The implicit innuendo would have normally filled the boy with an overwhelming amount of hope. It barely took about ten percent of his sadness off his chest. Still better than nothing.

And that was all.

Aizawa left, his overworked mind wearing itself out solving complex equations. He had yet to inform all teachers and school staff. Not to mention Mineta's classmates, whom the worn-out teacher had restricted to their respective dorms for the night. Should they need to talk and support each other, phones and social media filled this role.

But they would not go to bed right away. Aizawa still had to pass through the dorms and pay a visit to each of them – one by one – to interrogate his students and learn about how it all started, collecting and recording testimonies of their interactions with the grape boy.

Pillows and blankets would have to wait, as anything they knew about him was of interest to the teacher-turned-investigator.

"I don't deserve to be his friend!" Kaminari cried out loud.

One hour in Jiro's arms still hadn't eased his pain, even less calmed him down. Next to them, on Kaminari's desk, another written letter slid under another door. Aizawa had already passed by both their rooms to inquiry about Mineta. Hadn't taken any weight off their minds.

"Don't feel guilty like it's your only fault. No one saw that coming." Jiro caressed his hair.

The blonde boy dried his tears, gradually regaining a normal heartbeat rate and collecting his thoughts. Regrets filled his eyes; triggering factor behind most tears that night.

"He didn't even have the right to redeem himself. While I did."

"What do you mean?"

It took Kaminari ten long minutes to reveal things Jiro already knew, more or less.

That her boyfriend once was a playful smooth talker, who would willingly accompany Mineta on his schemes. Though unlike the latter, having his approaches and flirtatious advances outright rejected had been enough of a punishment. Just like Mineta, he had played the lady-killer for a while with various, lukewarm results. In the end, it had opened Jiro's heart to him. Not so bad for a soft pervert.

The same couldn't be said about his rough-around-the-edge counter-part, a die-hard uncool teen not half as lucky as Kaminari had been, and to whom no patience had been shown.

It wasn't fair.

His heartfelt confession barely elicited a smooth frown from Jiro's eyelashes. A cute, understanding, come-hither look was all she gave Kaminari. His former seductive side really didn't matter at this point, but the blonde boy wasn't done drowning in remorse. He went straight back to blaming himself endlessly, much to Jiro's annoyance. Drastic steps had to be taken.

And she did it the hard way, giving her boyfriend a clip round the ear – a round of applause for his stupid lack of composure. Shocked beyond repair, Kaminari suffered a momentary relapse into his "dumb stunned self" – for a few seconds, the time for him to get his head together.

"Honey!" he initially expressed dissatisfaction. "I…oh crap, forget it. I really earned this o–"

He couldn't finish. Her girlfriend passionately kissed him on the lips, shushing yet another self-deprecating salvo. Kaminari emerged ever more confused from the two-way talk.

"What the heck, Kyoka-chan? Just make up your min–"

"Won't you stop blaming yourself?" she cut him off again, this time with her earphone jack against his lips. "I, for instance, will not blame you for being a pervert yourself. It's called being a teenager. Girls can be perverts too; it's perfectly normal at our age!"

"We both agree on that. " Kaminari said with tougher eyes. "It's just a shame we couldn't speak the same statement to Mineta's face."

Jiro felt her face nosedive in lucid defeat and her heart sink, crushed by the burdensome weight of guilt. Kaminari had a point, and it was overwhelmingly right. Indeed, the two of them had screwed up in their own way, but what purpose would letting their confidence plummet and giving in to resignation serve in the end? They just couldn't leave it that way. The fight wasn't over let.

"You're missing the real point here." she claimed, wrapping her tender palms against his cheeks to lift his chin up, until their repentant stares aligned. "You are not perfect darling, and neither am I. Mineta isn't, no one is. The three of us made mistakes and we all have a right to be redeemed. If you can't forgive yourself for being imperfect, how can you help Mineta forgive himself for not being perfect?"

She now had a point too. Kaminari had but vague hesitations to oppose it.

"Are you sure it is not too late?"

"I am sure it will be too late if we say it is." Jiro insisted, kissing him on the forefront. "I have things to be forgiven for, so do you. Since we're here to be heroes, let's just be heroes and work as a team, okay? We've got nothing much to lose trying, but much to win if we succeed. A classmate and his friendship; does it sound like a good reward to you?"

Kaminari's cheeks turned red, succumbing to Jiro's charmful aura.

"Inspirational speeches like that are the reason why I love you so much!"

"And your dumb existential questions about yourself and life are the reason why I love you too. You can be stupid sometimes, but it doesn't hide how kind you are, and it's funny"

The Pikachu lover sighed in relief, the back of his hand rubbing his forehead.

"Glad to hear that! At least, the flaw you like me the most for isn't perversion. Well, that's a good n–"

Jiro pinched his ears.

"Don't even think about it, little rascal. Next time you look at a girl's body, it will be mine. And if you dare just scratching the surface of someone else's skin, it better be your purple friend when you squeeze him into your arms! I can count on you for that, Lightning Boy."

The overloading amount of cuteness and love in her words caused the male teen's brain to overheat. As expected, when such an event happened, Jiro burst out laughing wholeheartedly. A short-circuited Kaminaro "approved" her display of good mood with two thumbs-up.

It was getting late. Jiro kindly helped her giggling jester of a boyfriend into bed, before softly tiptoeing to the exit and turning off the light.

"Good night, brain fryer. We've got a friend to save, so you better rest well."

She closed the door, went back to her bedroom. She had her own letter to read.

In the meantime, a similar atmosphere of stupefaction and deep blues reigned over Kaminari's classmates as an absolute monarch. Retrospective thoughts were rife.

Upon Aizawa's departure to the next room, the return to solitude. Laying inert in their beds, the students had been left overthinking things over in a loop. Too many events of dramatic proportions had occurred in too little time. They couldn't just erase it off their minds.

Tsuyu Asui lay in her bed, completely devastated. Her heart struggled to ease up on the accelerator and revert back to a normal rate, as she hardly grasped the fact Mineta hadn't actually used that cursed rope to hang himself. Way too slowly.

Like the others, she had been prevented from sleeping by Aizawa's questions. Even though she understood why informing the right person of anything worth mentioning was more important than her rest and well-being, having exhaustively described her role in Mineta's suffering now tormented her ruminative mind. The night would be short.

He escaped through the window. I was outside…and I saw nothing. Nothing!

What was the point of calling her brother, sister and parents to ask for news, whereas she couldn't even look after a classmate from a dorm floor away? All her certitudes as a future hero were now collapsing, dragging her heart down with them.

Momo Yaoyorozu couldn't get some sleep. Sitting at her desk, her thoughtful eyes kept reading and re-reading the mocking, denigrating words she had herself written on a piece of paper.

Why not play a game like finding Special Moves to protect ourselves from his pervy attacks? she obsessively played back the record of her own complicity in this questionable game.

No matter how convinced she was, throwing it away was beyond her. She couldn't, as long as the grape boy hadn't been found alive and brought before the class for her to apologize. Otherwise, his disappearance would haunt her 'till hell freezes over.

Iida simultaneously had his nose buried in paper, but he was the one writing.

"Dear Class, dear teachers" the notice started. "Here's my letter of resignation…"

Resign? From what? As a Class Rep or as a student? Maybe both. Maybe none. He couldn't tell. But it'd eventually depend on Mineta's fate and how he would succeed, or fail to save him.

On the outside, Bakugo didn't mind at all. On the inside, he was boiling. Feeling powerless, especially in Bakugo's case, was the worse stimulant. Stupid ball head! Why did it have to happen? Whatta waste of grape juice!

Now he was mumbling as awfully much as his Deku rival did, to the point his grey matter oozed out with each explosion of anger. It definitely would ruin his sleep. Die, sheep!