A lot of being an underground Pro was grunt work. So was being a teacher. Shouta's days just consisted of grunt work, really. It was tragic, and such was his life.

The application for UA had opened back in February and had been sorted out by the committee since. The entrance exam will be conducted in a few days: thousands and thousands of kids aiming for the stars, waiting to be picked apart and sifted through.

A mug of steaming coffee was placed in front of him, and Shouta took it with the ease of a well-practiced habit. Hizashi had been making his coffee since they were schoolboys, and the routine didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. "Thanks," Shouta looked up. "Why are you still here?"

It'd be a coarse question if Shouta wasn't Shouta and Hizashi wasn't Hizashi. As it was, the both of them had been friends for far too long—another routine that didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon—and had well gone past Shouta's unfortunate bitchiness.

Vacation had technically ended for a portion of UA staff—them included. The prep for the Entrance Exam was done, and Shouta was not affiliated with any of it—not included in his paycheck, that—for better or worse. "The meeting was over half an hour ago," Shouta pointed out. "Thought you went home already."

They had held a meeting for the Entrance Exam, an annual thing. This year would be robots, apparently, and each cost more than Shouta's paycheck in a year. It was a disgrace. Shouta had said nothing the whole time.

Hizashi shrugged. "Figured you'd stay. I brought donuts," Hizashi duly rose up to present him said donuts, a stack of pon-de-rings, as if they were an offering.

Shouta made sure he looked unimpressed. He accepted the offering anyway.

"Been busy, have ya?" Hizashi said. "Heard the date went well."

And there it was.

Fukukado. Of course. She and Hizashi, against Shouta's best wishes, had always gotten along. It seemed like anyone Shouta considered friends always plotted to get together and get all into Shouta's business.

Shouta was pretty damn sure there was a groupchat.

"Can't believe you didn't tell me," Hizashi picked a matcha flavor. His tone was easy, as it was always. "After all we've been through, Shouta? Really?"

Shouta thanked the universe for preventing Present Mic and Ms Joke from becoming a duo. Many wouldn't survive. Shouta knows he wouldn't.

"It was nothing serious," Shouta said.

"Aizawa Shouta, casual dater? Blare the trumpets. The end is nigh."

Shouta sipped his coffee. "Shut the hell up."

This did not deter Hizashi at all. Shouta didn't think it would. "Heard you two got a little side project going on."

Shouta glanced at him at that. Indeed. A little side fucking project. What a way to put it.

"That's cute, Shouta," Hizashi continued on, per usual, when Shouta didn't answer. "I'm jealous. You think you guys accept an application for a ménage à trois? I promise I can contribute in all sorts of ways."

Despite everything, Shouta's mouth twisted itself nearly into a smile. He tried his best to hide it. "No."

Hizashi looked disproportionately scandalized. "Am I not good enough for you?" he demanded. "I thought I was your type."

"You are everyone's type," Shouta replied dryly, which managed to silent Hizashi for approximately five blissful seconds, which was Shouta's goal.

"Smooth," Hizashi said afterwards, grudgingly taking a bite of his pon-de-ring.

Shouta took a sip of his coffee. "That was a one time thing," he said after a moment. "I'm better off solo."

"As always," Hizashi said, abruptly stern, "I disagree."

"And when have I ever listened to you."

He stayed quiet. Long enough that Shouta was compelled to say, a dutiful promise, "I'll tell you all about it."

"You better," Hizashi said finally, and the tension uncoiled in the air. He pushed the box of donuts to Shouta's face. "Try the glazed ones. They're fucking fantastic."

Bakugou Mitsuki was a tall, youthful woman. She was not as tall as Shouta was, and Shouta knew that she had a good seven years over him, but the point still stood. She opened the door, took one imperious look over him, and said, "Two things."

Shouta waited. He was, after all, imposing on her porch and on her time and all. It was only polite to listen to what she had to say.

"One, I hate Heroes," she said. "Two, how dare you?"

Shouta was a quiet man, but rarely had he ever been made speechless.

He stared after her, but she merely waved her hand impatiently as if she had not just reprimanded him as a welcome. "You gonna stand there all day?" she said.

The Bakugou household was spacious and well-furnished. There were shelves filled with books, a variety of fashionable decor, and modern countertops. It was a house of an upper-middle class family.

"Coffee or tea?"

"Water is fine, thank you."

Shouta seated himself on the sofa. There were pictures on the coffee table—the Bakugou had a single son.

She came back from the kitchen and slid a glass of water to him. "Thank you."

She looked at him from where she was seated, across from him. Her face was stern. "Who are you, again?" she leaned back, cold. "Something-something-Eraser."

Her discourtesy was not out of crassness—it was out of anger.

And it was well deserved.

"Just Aizawa would be fine," he replied. "I came here as a civilian, not as a Pro-Hero."

She waved that dismissive hand once more. "You mentioned. So you came here out of what, curiosity?"

From her tone, it was apparent that Shouta's next answer would decide whether or not he would get kicked out of her house. "I came here because I believe that—" a pause "—that we missed something important. And it will come with consequences."

She was quiet for a moment, her mouth set in a grim line.

"There already were consequences," she said.

Midoriya Inko, dead at thirty-one, with a missing son and a negligent system. Shouta fought the urge to massage his eyes in pain. "Yes," he said, "and we—"

"Don't you dare apologize."

Her eyes burnt, for a moment, and then she looked away. "You said you came here as a civilian—then act like it. None of that stage conference apology bullshit," she nearly spat. "Just tell me what you want."

Shouta was a professional, if anything.

"Midoriya-san," Shouta said, and he didn't miss the way she looked heartbroken at the sound of that name, "had made several accounts regarding her missing son. She made allegations towards a hypothetical Villain—"

"Hypothetical?"

Shouta stopped short. Her gaze on him was cold as flint. "If you came here just to imply that she was a fucking cuckoo like what you lot did to her ten years ago—you may leave."

Shouta considered apologizing, and decided against it. He rectified, "Midoriya-san reported that a Villain, or a group of them, were kidnapping children to turn them into monsters. Monsters powerful enough to kill All Might."

And then they branded her insane.

Driven insane by the loss of her son, the authorities concluded. The poor, mad, delusional mother.

Bakugou breathed, as if relieved that someone finally said it. "That's right," she said. "And no one believed her. Not even me."

Shouta had never been one to comfort, but she didn't seem inclined to receive any. She sat up straighter, and looked back at him. "And I suppose you want my account, on the—on the whole thing. On her."

They had dismissed Midoriya Inko. There was a glaring lack of data—and lack of context, but this was the only tangible lead in the whole case. And if Bakugou could provide that context, then maybe..

"I believe it would help," Shouta said.

"Help with what?"

I hate heroes, she had said. Her eyes were sober as she looked at him. They were intelligent. "Why now, after all this time?"

"It's a classified—"

"You came here as a civilian," she reminded him. "You want this to be discreet. I get it. I kicked my husband and my son to go fishing—or whatever it is men do—for this. I'm giving you my time. It's only fair, from one civilian to another, that you give me something in return."

When Shouta didn't answer, she sighed, irritated. "Look. Despite my best attempts, my stupid son wants to be a Hero. He's going to UA this upcoming month. I would appreciate it if you could tell me if there is some deranged Villain out there kidnapping children."

"I believe that there are people out there that means harm of the same fashion," he said, not quite an answer, but nevertheless a confirmation.

She considered it. Her face broke into a rueful smile. "Then I suppose I should do my part as a civilian and help out a law enforcer in need," she said. And then she added, "Inko was like an older sister to me."

After that sentence, Bakugou sipped her own mug—tea, from the scent of it—and held it in her hands. She stared at it for a second, as if readying herself, before continuing.

"She was my senpai in middle school, then high school. And then we went to the same university," she said. "She was in engineering, I was in design. We were always close, lived in the same neighborhood our whole lives, you see. Katsuki—my son—would've been the same way with her son too, if things had.."

There was a pause. Shouta waited—it was better to let her go at her own pace, as these things went. She continued eventually.

"She got pregnant after I did. It was—she loved her son. She did, despite the hard circumstances, despite the shit father. It was difficult, being a single mother—she was always tired, always working, always.." she trailed. "But she loved Izuku."

Midoriya Izuku. Presumed missing, and then dead, at five years old.

"Izuku was a wonderful kid. So cheerful, so smart. Just like his mother. He looked exactly like his mother," Bakugou took a deep breath. "He was really close with Katsuki. The both of them were basically a package, inseparable. They'd spent nights in each other's house. Hell, I think Katsuki liked Inko's cooking more than his dad's, back then," she smiled a little, reminiscing old memories. "Izuku would stay over, when Inko was too busy working. Cheerful kid. Wonderful smile. And then—and then we found out he was Quirkless."

He was never found. There was no body. Most egregious of all, Shouta supposed, was that there had been barely any data at all about Midoriya Izuku. Shouta had been a novice, and such details escaped him at the time; but looking back, it was atrocious. Even in the files Tsukauchi provided him, there was no photo of the child in their database. It only provided one thing—that he was Quirkless, just like the six other kids.

Shouta wasn't even sure if the number was accurate. Missing children went unreported more than they ought—and the statistics for Quirkless children wasn't pretty. Not then, not now.

"Katsuki—my son became rough with him, after we found out that he was Quirkless," her voice took turns to chagrined bitterness. "They were kids, you see, and they loved Heroes, they're obsessed with Quirks—as kids do.." she shook her head, shame writ on her face. "I tried my best. My husband and I—we really did, but the bullying became worse and worse … it drove everyone apart. They stopped coming over, at some point."

And then Midoriya Izuku went missing.

Shouta could imagine how it went; the spare details in the report were clear enough. Midoriya Inko was a working mother, and she had no money for daycare, no relatives to take care of her son. She had no choice but to leave her son alone in the house while she worked.

Then one day she came home and her son wasn't there.

"If only things had gone—if only I did something differently. If only—"

She didn't continue. A thousand scenarios of what could have beens.

It was a painful story. Bakugou looked in pain. Shouta ignored the guilt that sneaked to clench his chest—as he always did. He was never one to comfort.

"I went to her as soon as I heard, of course—and it was, well, it wasn't pretty. She was devastated. For days, she wouldn't eat, she wouldn't sleep—and she kept going to the station, to the Hero offices—" every day, she would come. Crying, begging for them to listen.

"This went on for weeks. And then she stopped," Bakugou said. "And then she was murdered."

Shouta stared at her. She stared back—not exactly challenging, but calm. Even.

Midoriya Inko was found dead two months after her son was proclaimed missing. They had ruled it as suicide. All evidence had pointed to suicide.

"She did not commit suicide. And I know how that sounds," she said, even though Shouta said nothing. "Oh, they would never do that, they're not that kind of person... I know how that sounds. But she didn't. She stopped going to the authorities, one day, didn't she?"

They thought she'd given up, too paralyzed with grief. Bakugou continued, unstoppable now, as if eager to let it all out after a decade of regrets.

"Inko was smart. The smartest person I know—top of her class since elementary, cum laude. People looked down on her because she was nice and because she was a single mother. But she was smart," Bakugou said, and as she continued, her voice became sure, stronger. "She had been crying everyday, she looked like she was dead—and then one day she just didn't. One day I went to her place and she looked—" she stopped for a moment. "She looked sober. Her eyes were clear. She was calmer than I'd ever seen her. And then she told me, 'Mitsuki, I know where Izuku is,'" Bakugou recited, her eyes a little hazed, lost in the memory. "'I'm going to find my son,' she said."

Shouta took a moment to digest before he asked, "was this when she quitted her job?"

Midoriya Inko stopped coming—or in their words, bothering—to the authorities after four weeks. Afterwards, she had quit her job—and that was the last time she was seen by anyone. One month later, she was found at the bottom of a skyscraper a few miles from her apartment.

"Yes," Bakugou said. "That was the last time I met her. She was determined. Do you understand what I'm saying? She wasn't—she wasn't sad, or even hopeful. She was determined. Like she knew that her son was alive, somehow. And I know what you think," Bakugou put her mug down, and stared at Shouta in the eye. "You think that she was delusional. You think that she had created some—elaborate fantasy, some conspiracy theory to justify her son being alive."

Shouta didn't reply. Bakugou didn't look like she expected him to—or rather, Bakugou looked like no matter what Shouta said, it would not change her faith one bit.

"But you know what I think?" she said. "I think that after the authorities abandoned her—after you abandoned her—she decided to take things into her own hands. And I think she succeeded."

It was not exactly an unbelievable story.

It was, however, a lot to process. Shouta expected her to provide context, and she did. Thoroughly. Heartbreakingly.

But Shouta was a professional. And he was ten years too old to have a moral crisis.

"Did she ever mention anything?" Shouta asked. "Any of her suspicions?"

Bakugou sipped her tea. "No, not really. But she mentioned something strange. This was before Izuku … before Izuku's disappearance," she frowned. "She told me that she heard a rumor about a man who could fix Quirklessness."

Shouta's eyebrows furrow. "Fix Quirklessness?"

"She never elaborated on it. We stopped talking soon after," due to the bullying, she didn't add. "The rest were the same with what she told the authorities."

A Villain who kidnaps children to make monsters. Monsters strong enough to kill All Might. Seven missing Quirkless kids and counting. And now, a man who could fix Quirklessness.

Puzzle pieces.

"Thank you for your time, Bakugou-san. I truly appreciate it."

He really, truly did. Bakugou did not seem appeased with his gratefulness—if anything, it made her look more tired. "I do what I can," she said, with that dismissive wave of her hand. "Or what I couldn't, I suppose."

Their conversation was over. It was obvious enough, and Bakugou looked terribly worn out—Shouta couldn't blame her if he tried. Shouta himself felt like he had far outstayed his welcome. But there was one last thing.

It was odd that there was no picture of Midoriya Izuku in the database despite the other missing kids having theirs.

"Before I go," Shouta said, "could I ask if you have any picture of Midoriya Izuku?"

She did. She went upstairs and reappeared holding what seemed to be an album, colored baby blue. As she flipped through it, Shouta could see that it was mostly—if not all—filled by pictures of her only son. After a moment, she made a small sound.

"Ah, there he is," she pointed.

Shouta leaned to take a better look, and then his heart stopped.

It was unmistakable.

"Cute kid, isn't he? Just the most wonderful smile."

The new helper is very good with children.

"His hands could never stay still," she smiled to herself, her finger caressing over the picture, as if she could pinch his cheeks through it. "Ah … I remember. He liked to play tricks—bending spoons, coins. Magic tricks."

Oh, yes. With his quaint little tricks.

There were two boys in the picture. The one on the right looked just like Bakugou herself; a blond child with a magnificent scowl. There were frostings on his face, and his hands were dug deep into his own birthday cake. The signs above him read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and there was a candle marked number four placed sadly on the floor.

The one on the left was captured moving. His hands were a blur, holding god knows what. He was looking at his friend, his mouth half-opened in a bright smile, as if he was in the middle of laughing. His build was smaller than Bakugou's son. Waifish. Shouta couldn't even take a second to wonder if he was in over his head again.

It was unmistakable. The tufts of wild, green hair. The doe eyes—the freckles.

"That's him?" Shouta asked, and tried to keep his voice even.

He couldn't believe how he didn't notice, when the boy looked exactly like his mother. When he looked exactly like Midoriya Inko.

"Yes," said Bakugou. "That's Izuku."

Izuku was wearing an All Might onesie. The hoodie was up on his head, with his wild hair peeking from underneath. The hood had All Might's signature hair that pointed above like antennas, and it made him look just like—

Xiǎo Tùzǐ, she had called him.

"I see," Shouta said.

Little Bunny.