"Thank you, Tsukauchi."

The Police Force had digitized their records as a failsafe. As a certified Pro-Hero, Shouta was entitled for a fair share of them though not before going through a series of forms and approval. Thankfully, with Tsukauchi, things managed to go quicker.

Quieter.

Of course, the file in question being a cold case helped smooth things out.

Shouta inspected the piece of flash-drive Tsuakuchi handed over. Inside would be the records of all the disappearances ten years ago. The children, the parents. All the heroes and officers involved in the case.

The case had never really have much at all. It did not garner media attention, therefore: budgeting cuts. There had only been two Hero agencies working on the case—one of them Shouta's.

His agency had been a small one, parallel to Shouta's prospect as a Hero back then: little to none. A decade ago, underground heroes had not been as respected as they were now. Hell, even now, they weren't held in that much regard at all.

Funding, for Hero agencies, were received from the government and other miscellaneous sources: benefactors, medias, merch and supports corporations among other things. These arrangements had to go through the HPSC—Hero Public Safety Commission. They guaranteed transparency, fairness, and efficiency.

Which meant the Hero Commission didn't invest in some agencies as much as they did in other agencies, and Shouta had especially awful luck with life.

That's what he used to think, anyway. Now, Shouta hardly wanted anything to do with the Hero Commission.

Hence.

"No problem," the detective flashed a well-forged smile. "Isn't this just a coffee with an old friend?"

"Yes," Shouta sipped his. "It is. How's everything? Heard you had a fire the other day." Anything new?

"Oh, it was a quick one," Tsukauchi said. "The paperwork's insane, though, but the higher-ups wanted to get it over quickly." They shut the case down.

"I see."

"Well, let's stop the work talk. We're on break, after all," Tsukauchi hummed. "I see that you've been reminiscing about things, lately." Why are you looking into this?

Tsukauchi Naomasa had not been a detective back then as much as a standard officer. Shouta did not remember much about him at the time—they hadn't known each other until Tsukauchi had been promoted, and Shouta himself had become a more competent Hero.

"Less reminiscing," Shouta said. "And more reminded." I believe they're connected.

"Oh?"

"Did you watch the game last night?" Shouta said. "The new team sucked." There is a new force at play.

"I didn't," Tsukauchi replied. "How are we looking?" How bad?

Shouta wondered how it would feel, participating in a conversation and knowing that the entirety of it was a lie. Half-truths and white lies. He said, "Terrible. Looks like Japan's in hot water this year." Fucking awful.

"When is it ever not?" Tsukauchi laughed falsely. "Hi, yes—could I get one of the manjus, please? And one more for my friend here. Thank you."

The cafe they were in was tucked in the corner of one of the main streets near UA. Tsukauchi had been passing by and decided to say hi. Though no doubt the system had pinged that a Pro-Hero was having an impromptu, unsanctioned meeting with a law enforcer.

Shouta had his benefits, being an underground. But in this broad daylight, even he had his limits. Shouta took another sip of his black. "A lot of new competitions, this year," he said. "A lot of new players too."

Both of them knew what he meant. The Vigilante of Musutafu.

The manjus were served on a pretty china. Tsukauchi pushed Shouta his plate, and Shouta thanked him. "Ah," Tsukauchi said mildly, "I've heard the rumors. I thought they sounded too far-fetched. Are they really that good?" Are they real?

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Shouta said. "And which game they are trying to score. Both of them." We don't know what their goals are. Any of them.

Tsukauchi sighed. "Looks like I need to catch up with the game." I'll look into it.

Shouta glanced at a bunch of high school teenagers taking pictures of their parfaits just the booth after. "And I need to replay older games."

"Maybe you should consult with old teammates," Tsukauchi advised kindly.

Shouta knew what—who—he meant immediately. He sighed, rubbing his eyes, before flagging a nearby waiter. "I'll take another coffee," he said. "The strongest one you have."

When she arrived at their meeting point, her hair was a short cut in a low-key, auburn color. A wig—or perhaps the usual long green locks she sported was the wig; he never met her off-duty before. The bright eyes and blinding smile were unmistakable, though.

Shouta glanced at her long skirt—to cover up bruises, Shouta was sure. Ms Joke was involved in an attack just a week ago, and her legs had the worst of it. When her eyes caught his, she trotted over—see, a slight limp—enthusiastically.

Heroes weren't supposed to meet up with other heroes without proper administration via the Commission. This was to prevent abuse of power and vigilantism. Again, Shouta hardly wanted anything to do with the Hero Commission.

And on vigilantism? Well.

"Hi, babe!" her smile was a million watt. "Did you wait long? So sorry, it was just so hard picking the perfect outfit. I wasn't sure if you'd rather have me in the maid costume or the cat ears."

"I would rather die," Shouta linked his arm around hers.

"Haha! You're so funny, babe," Fukukado Emi leaned her head onto his shoulder. "I love it when you treat me rough. Kinda sexy."

Shouta prayed for patience. "Over my dead body."

She somehow managed to apologetically wink at him. "I'd have to refuse. That's way too kinky for me, dude, sorry."

Shouta wanted to die. He handed cash to the cashier. "Two tickets please."

The disinterested cashier popped their gum. "Which movie?"

Shouta scanned the choices for the least romantic title possible. He pointed at the one with the cheesiest, shittiest, goriest cover. "This one."

"Ooh, horror comedy," Fukukado said. "A man after my own heart."

Shouta could feel an oncoming headache.

"Kay," the cashier punched it in. "Seats?"

Fukukado insisted on caramel popcorn and two sodas with an unholy amount of sugar. The cinema was still empty—the movie was starting in fifteen minutes, and Shouta really doubted anyone with a standard would watch Jack the Ripper VS Godzilla.

Though, here they were.

The air conditioning was barely there, and the seats creaked sadly when they sat on it. They'd picked a far corner, with Fukukado next to the wall. Just below the screen, a cleaner was half-heartedly sweeping the floor.

"Fukukado—"

"Call me Emi."

God. "No."

She mock-pouted. "After all we've been through? Have you still not forgiven me for my infidelity? Can't we possiblysalvage our relationship?" non-existent. She sniffed. "It was a moment of weakness. At least do it for the baby."

Again, non-existent. "No."

"Haha! Honey, then."

Shouta shot a look at her.

She was, of course, undeterred. "Kitten?" she suggested.

"Fukukado."

She laughed. Her laugh hadn't changed, after ten years—boisterous and shamelessly sparkling. Shouta would know; it was at his expense often back then. "It's good to see you again, Aizawa," she said, taking a file from under her jacket.

The file was analogue, paper and all. Digital left traces; these did not. Unlike Tsukauchi who had free rein on whom he shared information, Heroes had no such luxury. The police had their own autonomy—they were their own head of authority.

The Heroes, on the other hand, bent to the Commission's beck and call.

He took the file. There were no working CCTVs in the cinema—it was the shittiest cinema at the edge of the city that streamed porno and B-rated movies. Shouta was pretty sure he saw rats scuttling over at one corner. "Thank you for this, Fukukado."

She could get in trouble for this. They both could.

"Had to rummage around for that one, but," she grinned, easy. "Anything for the love of my life."

Two Hero agencies had been assigned for the case. One of them Shouta's, and the other had been the nearest agency adjacent, which had been Fukukado's. Shouta's agency had been a small one—resulting in having a trivial role in the case—but Fukukado's had been on its way to being renowned.

Ten years ago. Fukukado graduated two years after Shouta—she had still been a sidekick then. Unlike Shouta who moved on to be an independent Hero, Fukukado had now been promoted into a high-ranking, fully fledged Hero at the very same agency.

Therefore, she had the authority to access certain files.

"I appreciate it," Shouta said. "I owe you one."

She took a popcorn and popped it in her mouth. "I wouldn't say no to a kiss."

"I would."

"Hey, the date isn't my idea. Surprisingly. Though this isn't nearly on the list of like, the weirdest thing I got to do in this occupation. Did you know, one time, I had to sneak into a Hero themed strip club and I met my aunt there—"

Someone entered the cinema. Fukukado snuggled into Shouta's shoulder and whispered, "..my aunt! I had to convince her that it wasn't a kink thing, but she wasn't convinced, so then I asked her 'why are you here, then?' and most importantly, why the hell was she wearing a slutty version of All Might's—"

Shouta thanked the universe when the ads started playing.

As expected, there were not many audiences in the cinema. Aside from the both of them, there was one other couple who Shouta was one hundred per-cent sure were not there to watch the movie.

"This insurance ad is terrible," she said. She turned to look at him. "What happened?"

Shouta glanced at her and said nothing.

She rolled her eyes. There wasn't any smile on her face, for a moment, and it made her look different—it always did. A father in the insurance ad started crying from joy as he was saved from having to pay for damages of a villain attack. "Come on, Aizawa. You contacted me out of the blue for a ten year old cold case that was overruled as insignificant. Something must've happened."

"No," Shouta said. "Not yet."

"Well, isn't that ominous," she said.

The movie started with the most horrible title card Shouta had ever seen. "That's the most horrible title card I've ever seen," Fukukado said. And then, another non-sequitur, "what you asked was very specific, y'know."

The movie began with Jack the Ripper butchering a lady gruesomely in 1880s Japan. The blood spray was offensively inaccurate.

"It wasn't your fault, y'know."

Shouta looked at her. Her eyes stayed on the screen. She continued, "hell, it wasn't any of ours. They decided to close the case," she said, and the way she said it—the harsh undertone of her words. The Commission decided it wasn't worth the time. "We were young. We had no say."

"I know," Shouta said.

And wasn't that just the thing?

There was a reason why Shouta decided to go solo, to pick the independent path. Agencies were assigned tasks from the Commission, and the Commission decided which case was worth taking and which was not. Which lives were worth saving and which were not.

Agencies gave you steady and higher income, soared your name and fame better—but at a cost. A cost that Shouta had paid, once.

(Seven missing Quirkless kids and counting.)

"We talked to her," Fukukado said. Her voice was low underneath the screams of the poor, unassuming lady in 1800s Japan. "The mother."

Presumed suicides. Delusional mothers.

"Well, I didn't," she corrected herself, after a moment of thought. "My senpai did. But I was there. She came to us, after the police dismissed her."

She had come to Shouta's agency back then, too. Shouta hadn't been there. She had been begging, they told him, she had insisted, begging for them to listen. Crying, like a mad woman. Delusional.

"I don't think she was crazy," she said. "I don't know if she was telling the truth. But I don't think she was lying."

They separated at the train station.

"Just don't die, alright?" Fukukado grinned. "I want a second date, y'know."

Be careful, she meant.

She leaned to hug him. Shouta put his hands around her shoulders carefully. Fukukado whispered, to his ear, "y'know you're being followed, right?"

Shouta said nothing. She pulled back, and flashed him another blinding smile. "We gotta watch Jack the Ripper VS Godzilla 2, after all. We need to know if Godzilla is really dead."

Shouta tried to not make a face. "Text me when you get home," he said.

She winked and sent him a flying kiss. "See you, babe."

He watched until she went into her train before turning to the direction of his own line. Y'know you're being followed, right?

Of course he knew.

Shouta stepped inside his train, the file a steady weight underneath his coat. His stalker—160 cm, stocky build, middle-aged—got off three stops before Shouta's. He was not the same one who followed him yesterday. Shouta had been followed by six different people since he met Yanli a week ago.

They never followed him until his apartment, which meant one thing: whoever had marked him already knew where he lived.

Shouta entered his apartment and was immediately attacked by three little fuckers.

"All right," he said. "Don't lie. I know you aren't that hungry, you filthy liars."

Fucker #1 meows angrily. Shouta ignored her. Fucker #2 attempted to win Shouta over by pawing at his legs with a pitiful mewl. It won't work.

Fucker #3 had climbed over Shouta's shoulders as he rummaged for the dry food. Though Fucker #1 had established that she would accept nothing less than fresh wet food.

"There you go. Assholes."

Not even a thank you. Ungrateful little fuckers.

Shouta fell down on his couch, massaging his eyes momentarily. Fucker #3, the clingiest, had ignored his feed and sprawled himself over Shouta's lap. Shouta puts a hand to scratch his cheeks. His other hand went inside his coat to pull out the file.

Even before opening it, Shouta already knew what's inside it. Delusional mothers. What you asked was very specific. One mother who had stood out from a slew of desperate parents.

The name on the very first paper read: Midoriya Inko.

Midoriya Inko had been a single mother of one.

She had worked a respectable job as a researcher in a construction company after graduating from a respectable university. She worked there for four years, then resigned after she became pregnant. The father had never been in the picture.

She worked in sales while taking care of her child on her own. Her income had been barely minimum wage.

A picture of a petite woman looked back at him. It was a standard ID picture—her eyes were doe, almost too big on her face. They made her look nervous, young.

She had been young. She'd died at thirty-one—Shouta's current age.

Shouta closed his eyes temporarily, massaging them. The details of the case were coming slowly to him, like an old story from years ago. Shouta never met her—Shouta had heard about her, but he hadn't met her. He hadn't had the chance to.

Shouta scanned over the document. He'd read the interview details five times over. His fingers ran over the pages, to her contact details. She had been estranged from her family after her unwed pregnancy. There was only one name provided in the contact section, with a number.

It had been ten years. What were the chances of the number still being active?

The call connected.

"Hello," Shouta said to the phone. "Am I speaking with Bakugou Mitsuki?"