He felt numb. Or rather, he still felt numb. Just as he had for the past several days. It was like he had been floating, existing, but not really registering where he was or what he'd been doing. He'd been paraded from police investigator, to funeral home, to insurance agent, to lawyer, and all manner of other people thrusting more information than his numb mind could even begin to process. It had all culminated in that morning, when they'd buried her beside his father. He vaguely remembered speaking for a few minutes at the wake, the casket having been obviously closed as his mother's body had been far too brutalized to display properly. He remembered watching her casket disappear into the ground, and he remembered feeling a vague sense of detachment.
Perhaps that was the better description for how he'd felt all week.
Detached.
As though he were living in a constant nightmare, unable to awaken no matter how desperate his desire. Even seeing her casket sink beneath the earth had felt illusory. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend as though it weren't his mother in that dark case, wasn't her mangled corpse, too distorted to even be recognizable, disappearing beneath the sodden earth.
Thank the gods for his the Bakugo's, Masaru and Mitsuki had been a pillar of strength and support for him through the hell that had been the last several days. Mitsuki, the force of nature that she was, had brow-beaten the lawyers and the morticians into allowing Izuku to bury his mother promptly, and without exceeding costs. Even Bakugo had been unnaturally subdued, offering his own support in a way that was…unique to him. In spite of their hostile relationship, Izuku's once best friend had always held a soft spot for Izuku's mother, she'd always had a bad habit of making everyone she met like her.
In spite of his protests, the family had shoved their way into Izuku's life. They'd driven him to and from the wake, and had insisted that they keep Izuku company, not that he was complaining. He'd take any excuse not to spend prolonged time in his all too empty home. Mistuki and Masaru were bustling around the kitchen, preparing dinner, while Bakugo and Izuku lounged in the living room. Or rather, Bakugo was lounging around and flipping through channels, as Izuku stared blankly at the rapidly changing channels.
"Hey, stop it here," Izuku said suddenly, speaking for the first time in hours. Bakugo shot him a glare, but abided, and raised the volume on the television. It was a press conference of some kind, and Kamui Woods was standing beside a podium in front of his agency headquarters. A woman was speaking into a microphone, and a man that Izuku recognized as the head of the Hero Commission was standing somberly at Kamui Woods' side.
"Kamui Woods is deeply regretful of what happened," The woman was saying, "And he would like to say a few words to the victim's family." The woman stepped back, and Kamui Woods approached the mic.
"I would like to offer my deepest apologies to what happened." Kamui Woods began, and Izuku felt himself leaning a little forward in his seat, his fists unconsciously tightening.
"I had been investigating a group of villains when the fighting spilled out into the streets. I tried to get the woman out of the way but she just wouldn't listen, and I was I launching an attack in an attempt to subdue the villains she ran directly in the way of the attack. There was nothing I could do."
Izuku blinked, then shut his eyes and opened them again, certain that he had misheard the hero. That…that hadn't been what happened at all. There had been no battle in the streets, and his mother had not refused to run away or listen…she'd been murdered…murdered for the crime of simply standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Kamui Woods was lying…he was covering his own ass and throwing Izuku's mother out to dry! He…he couldn't believe it. Why-why would Kamui Woods lie about what happened? He was a pro hero…he was supposed to be above the sins of the rest of them. He was supposed to be honest…supposed to be truthful…that was what All Might had been….that was what heroes were supposed to be. They weren't supposed to lie, they weren't supposed to make excuses and blame the victim for their own mistakes.
"My deepest sympathies go out to the family of the deceased, I am so sorry for what happened, and I promise, that the one's responsible will be brought to justice." Kamui Woods said passionately.
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he looked and saw Masaru staring at him in concern,
"You all right son?" He asked gently, his eyes flicking back over to the television, where Kamui Woods was fielding questions from the collection of reporters.
"He lied," Izuku said, his voice was weak, disbelieving, "Why did he lie?"
At his side, Bakugo snorted, "He's not lying loser," He said snidely, "He's a pro,"
"He is though!" Izuku insisted, rounding on his former friend, "T-t-that wasn't what h-happened!" Damn, of course his stutter would choose that moment to make itself known. It always seemed to resurface when he was feeling especially irritated or anxious.
Bakugo sneered at him, "You're imagining shit again Deku."
"You weren't there!" Izuku insisted, "That-that i-it didn't happen like t-that!" He'd already gotten this kind of attitude from the cops that had interviewed him, had been hearing for a week how he hadn't been remembering what happened properly, and it was becoming too much for him to hear it from Bakugo as well.
"Katsuki!" Masaru hissed, and Bakugo rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the television, but was silent nevertheless. Masaru turned his attention back to Izuku, frowning slightly,
"Your grieving Izuku," He said gently, patting Izuku consolingly on the arm, "The mind plays tricks on us when we're in grief, we remember things differently."
Izuku could hardly believe what he was hearing. It hurt, but wasn't necessarily surprising for Bakugo to be so dismissive of him, but for Bakugo's parents to feel the same. To disregard what Izuku knew he'd seen, to tell him that his mind was playing tricks on him and that he wasn't remembering things right.
That hurt so much worse.
It was so much worse because it wasn't coming from a place of scorn like with Bakugo. It was genuine, they genuinely believed that Izuku was misremembering things. It was the dismissiveness of it all. It had happened all his life, whether it were parents, teachers, guidance counselors, it didn't matter. Whatever Izuku said was almost always dismissed out of hand for one reason or another, and up until this point, Izuku could handle it. It hurt, but it was never so much that he couldn't deal with it. But here? When he was being told that he was wrong about watching his mother get murdered in front of him? That he wasn't remembering staring at her broken and mangled body trapped underneath the other poor soul Kamui Woods had killed, but was instead conjuring some fantastical story to help himself with the grief? It was too much.
But he didn't say anything.
He never did.
Izuku hated confrontation, and he was far too much of a coward to contradict someone, even when they were outright wrong. Most likely because it never worked, and whatever he said was always dismissed anyways.
As much as he wished he could say something, do something to convince the others that he was right, he knew that it wasn't worth it. Wasn't worth the fight, the familiar sting as he got talked down to again.
So he didn't say anything, he took it, and was relatively silent for the rest of the evening. In spite of the protests of Masaru and Mitsuki, Izuku insisted that he should head back to the apartment. Even though he really didn't want to spend another night in the empty home, it was a far better alternative than spending the evening in the home of the Bakugo's, constantly being reminded that he had was not remembering what had happened.
Though the minute he stepped into the home, he immediately regretted it. He hadn't bothered to begin packing things away, in spite of the fact that he'd been forced to sell the house, and everything in the home looked the same as it had a week ago. It was almost like stepping into a time capsule, and if he tried hard enough, he could almost pretend as though everything was still normal. That his mother was simply at work, rather than rotting in the ground beside his father. He could still see her bustling around the kitchen, her apron stained and her green hair frazzled as she fretted over dinner. Could still hear her chastise him for working too hard, for not taking the time to meet anybody. Could still feel himself blush around the ears as she asked him about the girl she'd seen him talking to.
Tears welled up in the corner of his eyes, and he didn't fight them. Collapsing agains the door, his entire body shook as sobs wracked his body. He didn't know how long he sat there, how long he sobbed silently in the dark, but he was abruptly shaken out of his stupor by a knock on the door. Jumping slightly ay the sudden sound, he get shakily to his feet and hastily swiped at his eye in a vain attempt to retain some shred of his dignity. Looking through the peephole, he saw that there was a man waiting patiently on the other side of the door, Izuku didn't recognize him but he was dressed immaculately, in a finely tailored suit, and a dark black briefcase was clutched tightly in his well-manicured hands.
Confused, Izuku opened the door,
"H-hello?" He asked, flinching at the slight quaver that refused to leave his voice.
"Mr. Midoriya?" The man asked, bowing slightly, "I am Yamamoto Benjiro, and I represent the Hero Commission, might I come in? I have a lot to discuss with you." Izuku was torn, on the one hand he absolutely did not want to deal with whatever this man wanted of him, but on the other, the Hero Commission was not someone he wanted to spurn.
Sighing in defeat, he nodded and stepped aside to let the man into the hall. Yamamoto looked around the home, a small sneer crossed his expression for a moment before he carefully masked his expression. Realizing with a start that the lights were still off, Izuku scrambled over to the light switch, after a few moments of fumbling with the switch the lights came on, and the disarrayed chaos of the small home was bathed in light.
"Have a seat I suppose," Izuku said uncomfortably, gesturing to the slightly cluttered dining room table. Yamamoto looked a little uncomfortable at the suggestion but nevertheless complied, and sat at one end of the table, placing the briefcase on the table. Izuku cautiously took the seat across from the man, and fumbled with his hands in his lap before deciding it looked better for him to place them on the table. But that felt uncomfortable too, so he decided to set them at his side and just hope for the best.
Yamamoto seemed to be suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at Izuku, and opened the briefcase,
"As I said," He began, "I am here on behalf of the Hero Commission with respect to what occurred last week."
Izuku's stomach clenched painfully, and he gulped.
"We at the Commission wish to express our condolences for your loss, and with the cooperation of Pro Hero Kamui Woods," Yamamoto reached into the briefcase and withdrew a stack of papers,
"We wish to help with the grieving process. The Commission is offering you six million yen in restitution for the loss of Inko Midoriya, and in exchange," He slid one of the sheets of paper across the table. "You just need to sign this, it's your standard boiler-plate nondisclosure agreement not to speak publicly about what occurred last week."
"Are you…is this…are you bribing me?" Izuku asked, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.
"Merely an agreement to ensure that all parties come away from this tragedy as best as possible." Yamamoto countered smoothly, and white-hot indignation rose up inside him.
They were bribing him, they were trying to keep him from talking about what really happened. And six million yen? That was what the life of his mother was worth? She was a person, she didn't have a dollar value attached to her, and no amount of money on the planet would bring her back. Izuku wanted to reach across the table, grab the smug looking bastard around the lapels and toss him out of his home as violently as possible.
But that wasn't who he was.
He wasn't built like that. He didn't have it in him to be so overtly violent, even if in that moment he desperately wished that he was.
Instead, he simply averted his eyes and mumbled out his reply,
"Can…can I have some time to think about it?"
Annoyance briefly flashed across Yamamoto's expression, but it was quickly masked and he adopted a faux look of understanding.
"Of course," He said, "It's a lot to process I understand." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card and slid it across the table, but Izuku didn't pick it up.
"No need to get up, I can see myself out." Without another glance at Izuku, Yamamoto gathered up his belongings and rushed from the home. Izuku didn't bother watching him leave, hearing the door slam behind the lawyer. Izuku glanced down at the business card on the table, his face contorted in disgust. Growling in anger he reached out and snatched the card from the table. Growling as another wave of fury washed over him he ripped the card in half, before ripping those pieces into smaller pieces and dumping them into the garbage.
He couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing was making any sense, Kamui Woods had-had killed his mother and then ran away? The Commission was bribing him not to talk about what happened? What was going on?
He just couldn't understand it. He'd been spending the last week going over what happened in his mind, remembering every excoriating detail and trying to find something he'd missed that would explain Kamui Woods' strange behavior, but nothing was adding up. What was worse, the more he thought about it, the more confusing everything was becoming.
There was another knock on the door, startling Izuku, and he accidentally kicked the trash can, spilling its contents all over the floor. Grumbling under his breath, he debated for a moment about simply ignoring the knock, it might have been Yamamoto again, and Izuku wanted nothing to do with him. But to his mounting annoyance, the knocking continued, growing more insistent with each smack against the wood.
Stomping over to the door, Izuku yanked it open,
"Yes?" He asked, forcing himself to still be polite in spite of his agitation.
The man standing on the doormat was tall, nearly as tall as Izuku himself, and cloaked in a tan trench coat and matching hat, under which Izuku could make out a shabby and slightly ill-fitting suit, and what looked like the holster of a gun of some sort. The man had a kind, if somewhat forgettable face, and dark black eyes. He smiled gently at Izuku and removed his hat from his head, revealing short and unkempt black hair, which was sticking to his forehead with sweat, not surprising given the fact that the man was wearing a heavy trench coat in the middle of the summer. Izuku's eyes were subconsciously drawn to a strange, harsh looking scar on the back of the man's right hand, but he tore his gaze away before the stranger could feel uncomfortable about the staring.
"Midoriya Izuku?" The man asked,
"Yes," Izuku said warily, "Who are you?"
"Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa," He replied with a slight bow, and Izuku resisted the urge to groan,
"Do we really need to go over this again?" Izuku asked, "I'm not particularly in the mood to be laughed at again." He'd talked with nearly a dozen members of the police force, and nearly every single one of them had told him the same thing, that he had been mistaken about what he saw, that Kamui Woods had been fighting a group of villains and his mother had gotten in the way of the fight. He was no willing to go through that again,
"I'm aware of the treatment you've gotten on behalf of my colleagues," Tsukauchi said, an undertone of bitterness creeping into his voice, "And for that you have my apologies, but I can assure Mr. Midoriya, that I am do not share their skepticism about what truly happened last week."
Izuku eyed the man warily, before sighing and stepping aside, giving room for the second intruder of the night into his home.
Tsukauchi walked across the threshold, his eyes scanning the room. Though unlike Yamamoto, there was no undercurrent of disgust lacing his expression. His eyes darted to the overturned trash can, and he cocked his head to the side, an interested expression on his face.
"I see you've had a visit from the Commission," He observed idly, and Izuku followed the man's gaze and felt himself color slightly at seeing the name that was still visible on the torn card.
"Yeah…" Izuku said uncomfortably, and blessedly Tsukauchi didn't ask any more of the subject. He gestured to the seat that Yamamoto had vacated, a silent question to sit, and Izuku nodded. Taking the seat opposite the detective, Izuku felt himself unconsciously slouch in the chair. His mother would have bee upset about his lack of decorum but he was too tired and too aggravated to mind social manners at the moment though. Tsukauchi reached into his pocket and withdrew a tape recorder and placed it on the table in front of him,
"Do you mind if I record this conversation?" He asked, and Izuku just shrugged, he couldn't care less,
"Excellent," He said as he pressed the play button.
"Now, just to be transparent," He said, folding his arms on the table in front of him, "I do have a quirk that allows me to tell when someone is or is not lying, is that a problem for you?"
Izuku shook his head, smothering the feeling of hope that threatened to blossom in his chest that someone might actually believe him.
"Wonderful," Tsukauchi smiled, "Now, why don't we start small, why don't you just walk me through what happened. Broad strokes first."
Izuku nodded, and walked Tsukauchi through what happened that night. He'd done it so often by that point that he it no longer hurt so badly to talk about it. As he talked, Tsukauchi listened attentively, unlike the other detectives and officers he'd spoken with, he never interrupted or tried to contradict him. He simply listened carefully, nodding and writing down the occasional note on a notepad he'd withdrawn from his coat. He finished writing a couple of notes when Izuku had reached the end of the story, and looked up.
"You mentioned that Kamui Woods seemed…different, can you explain that?" He asked, and Izuku nodded,
"He was sweating…which was weird because I've never seen him sweat before, even when he was helping with that fire evacuation a month ago, and-and then there were his eyes." Izuku shut his own eyes, as he remembered those terrified, red-tinged orbs staring at him.
"He-he looked possessed." Izuku stammered out, his foot bouncing up and down in an anxious rhythm, "Like…it was almost like he was high or something."
Tsukauchi nodded and wrote something down on the pad, "Was there anything else unusual about him that you noticed?"
Izuku thought for a moment, before remembering something else that had seemed strange to him,
"Yeah…" He said slowly, "The roots, the one's he makes with his quirk? They had this strange…red glow to them. Kind of…kind of like there were these red veins running across them, and his quirk seemed far more powerful than anything I've seen out of him before."
Again, Tsukauchi nodded and wrote a note.
"Now you mentioned a bag," He said looking over his notes, "Kamui Woods was carrying a bag?"
"Yeah." Izuku nodded, "He had this bright red bag slung over his shoulder, like a gym bag or something."
"Did you happen to get a look at what was inside?" Tsukauchi asked, and Izuku shook his head,
"No, sorry," He apologized, and Tsukauchi smiled gently at him,
"Nothing to be sorry about son," He assured Izuku, as he looked around his notes before nodding to himself, "I believe that I have everything I need here Mr. Midoriya,"
"You do?" Izuku asked, confused,
"I do," Tsukauchi nodded, "And contrary to what all my fellow officers believe, I know that you've been telling the truth."
Izuku could only stare in astonishment at Tsukauchi, "Y-you…you do?" He asked hesitantly. He barely dared to hope that the detective was telling the truth. After a week of everyone telling him that he was mistaken about what he'd seen, he had begun to believe that maybe he really had been mistaken about what had happened.
"I do," Tsukauchi said again seriously, leaning forward on the table, his eyes darting over to the overturned trash can. He appeared to Izuku as though he were contemplating something, before ultimately coming to a decision.
"May I ask you a question Mr. Midoriya?" Tsukauchi asked and Izuku nodded,
"The meeting the representative from the Commission, did they offer a monetary incentive in exchange for signing a non-disclosure agreement that you wouldn't talk about what happened?"
Izuku stared at the detective, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He wasn't sure why he was feeling so anxious all of a sudden, but something about the way the detective seemed to know the answer to his question already, and how he was staring at him was leaving Izuku feeling incredibly apprehensive.
"H-how did-" Izuku started to say but Tsukauchi cut him off,
"Can I also assume that you likely won't be taking the money?" Tsukauchi asked,
"I-I" izuku stammered, he was feeling cornered, and he didn't know if this were some kind of test or not. What if Tsukauchi was actually working for the Commission? But would they do that? He wasn't certain, but there was a part of him that desperately wanted to believe that Tsukauchi was on his side. He was the only one that appeared to be on his side, and he was desperate for any kind of validation.
"No…" Izuku finally said, "I-I don't…it-it feels like blood money. And-and I just don't think you can put a monetary value on a human life. My mother is worth more to me than any amount of yen that they could offer me. it doesn't matter, it won't bring her back."
Tsukauchi watched him intently for a few moments, before he nodded, whether to himself or to Izuku, he wasn't sure.
Abruptly the detective stood up, shoving the tape recorder and notepad into his jacket.
"Would you take a walk with me, Mr. Midoirya?" He asked.
Izuku was a little startled by the sudden question. He was half-tempted to say no, in spite of being eighteen years old his mother's warnings about going off with strangers still rang clear in his thoughts, but there was something about Tsukauchi that Izuku trusted.
"I-I suppose so," He said hesitantly,
"Excellent," Tsukauchi said happily. And he strode from the room, Izuku following after. The detective waited for Izuku to lock up the house, before setting a rather brisk pace in the direction of downtown. Izuku's mother had inherited her mother's old home just a block from downtown, and in no time, they were in the middle of the bustling thoroughfares of Musustafu.
"Mr. Midoriya…do you mind if I call you Izuku?" Tsukauchi asked,
"I-I suppose so," He said,
"Izuku, what happened to your mother is a lot more common than you think."
"W-what?" Izuku stammered,
"The Hero Commission doesn't want word getting out, but every year there are over a thousand civilian deaths as a direct result of Pro Hero collateral damage. More people die because of Hero intervention and collateral damage than are actually killed by villains."
"What!?" Izuku asked, astonished, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk,
"That's-that's…there's no way that could be true!" He exclaimed, "If people were dying like that…people would know….there-there would be protests, legislation, something."
Tsukauchi snorted, "Of course there wouldn't," He said bitterly,
"But-but-" Izuku stammered,
"Look around you Izuku," Tsukauchi said, stopping and gesturing around him at the city. All around them were billboards and neon signs and large televisions screens. On every one of them were Pro-Heroes endorsing one thing or another. The video screens alternated between highlights of fights or heroics with commercials for Best Jeanist brand jeans, and Wash's laundry detergent.
"Pro Heroes are the cash crop of every country on the planet. Clothing, jewelry, household products, action figures. The economy is literally built on Pro Heroes, what do you think would happen if word got out that heroes were responsible for more deaths annually than villains?"
"But the Hero Commission," Izuku protested weakly,
Tsukauchi snorted, and he turned away from Izuku and began walking again and Izuku had to jog to catch up to him,
"The Hero Commission? They're more corrupt than the Heroes they promote. Here's a fun fact for you, with every pro license that's issued, the would-be pro has to sign a contract that signs over twenty percent of all ad and product revenue heroes make over to the Commission, which lines the pockets of the board of directors."
Izuku was at a loss for words, the idea was so ludicrous, laughable even. To even suggest that the Hero's were only in it for the money, and that the Hero Commission was profiteering off of the lives of civilians was absurd.
"Come on," Tsukauchi waved Izuku forward, "We're almost there,"
"Almost where?" Izuku demanded, "You haven't told me where we're going!"
"You don't believe me, and that's fine," Tsukauchi said evenly, "I'll give you proof that what I'm telling you is true."
He didn't say another word, and he led Izuku quickly away from the city-center and towards the pier. The pier was empty at that time of night, the dock-workers and day-laborers having long since abandoned their duties and were wasting their wages at the bar, or home with their families. The moment they arrived at the pier, Tsukauchi's demeanor changed. He became tense, his head whipping in every which way as he scanned every passing alley and darkened corner, as though he were expecting someone to leap from the shadows.
He paused briefly to the scan the perimeter one more time, before leading Izuku into a warehouse at the edge of a work-site. Izuku had been questioning his choice to follow the strange man since leaving the house, but his apprehension had quickly given way to mounting terror. He should cut and run, his mind reeling with horrific conjurations of torture, murder, any number of terrible things that were likely to happen. His eyes darted behind him, his breath hitching in his throat, if he ran now, he might be able to escape. But right as he was making his decision to try and escape, Tsukauchi opened a pair of double doors and gestured him inside.
Gulping heavily, Izuku tremulously stepped inside. But inside was not a torture chamber, but what Izuku thought looked a lot like a scene from a stakeout in some police drama. There were a few empty chairs, and tubs of ramen scattered across the barren floor. In the corner, pressed up against the window, was what Izuku was sure was something like a telescope. Beside the telescope was an audio recorder and a large tape deck on a small table, and two pairs of headphones were laying laying across the table's surface. Beside the headphones, and poking just a little bit through the curtains covering the windows was a strange contraption that looked a lot like a miniature satellite dish. A wire connected the dish to the headphones.
"What…what is this?" Izuku stammered out, "What's going on?"
"Stakeout," Tsukauchi grunted, pushing past Izuku and marching over to the telescope. He looked through the glass for a moment before nodding to himself, and walked behind him to the table. Grabbing one set of headphones from the table, he gestured for Izuku to do the same.
Confused, but he was mollified that he was no longer likely to die a horrific death, and he would admit that his interest and curiosity were more than a little peaked. He put the headphones on his head and Tsukauchi hit a button on the tape-deck. There was a small click, followed by a brief buzz of static, before Izuku heard voices.
"She's late," A male voice grumbled,
"Relax, she'll be here." A second voice said calmly,
"How do we even know that she's gonna show up? Or that she won't show up with a whole team of cops or that doofus she's been running around with? For all we know this could be a trap!" The first voice was tense, and Izuku didn't have to see the man to know that whoever he was, he was incredibly stressed and anxious, a sentiment Izuku shared with the man.
"You gotta stop smoking that shit," The second man chastised, "Shit's messing with your head and making you paranoid."
"I think I have every right to be paranoid right now!" The first man snapped,
"Relax," The second man tried to soothe, "She knows what we got on her, she wouldn't dare jeopardize that, besides, this ain't the first job we've done with her before. It's mutually beneficial and shit."
"I know, I know," The first man let out a weary sigh, "I just-"
"Shut up," The second man said abruptly, "I see lights,"
Not a moment later, Izuku could hear the sound of an engine getting closer and closer. Tsukauchi met Izuku's eyes and gestured with his head for Izuku to look through the telescope. He hesitated for only a moment, before his curiosity overrode his judgement and he walked over to the telescope and looked through the lens. He could make out a dimly lit dockyard, two men silhouetted in the light coming from a sedan for a brief moment, before the engine shut down and lights went out. Only the light coming from a few overhead street lamps were lighting up the dockyard, but it was enough to make out the figure stepping out of the small sedan. It was a woman, one Izuku recognized well.
She was dressed in a skin-tight, pale jumpsuit with purple and orange trimmings. She wore a purple face mask that framed an angular and pretty face. Small makeshift horns were mounted at the top of her head, resting atop pale blonde hair.
This was Mt. Lady, a rookie Pro who had been making a splash in the few months since her debut, though likely not for the most heroic reasons if the woman's jumpsuit had anything to say about it.
Confusion flooded through Izuku, and he wracked his brain to see and understand what exactly it was that he was looking at.
"You're late," The second man said, not making any moves to approach the woman.
"My photo shoot ran late," Mt. Lady shrugged, unconcerned, "Blame my publicist."
She glanced around at the two men, then her brow furrowed,
"Where are the others? There were supposed to be twelve of you,"
"You really think we'd be dumb enough to bring everyone here for this?" The first man sneered,
"You don't want me to answer that," Mt. Lady said dryly, turning her attention back to the second man, "Same deal as before?"
"When and where?" He asked,
"Financial district, tomorrow at one." Mt. Lady said, "Same deal as before,"
"We want five million up front," The second man demanded, "Six on completion."
"Hell no," Mt. Lady said scornfully, "What do you think this is? You'll get the eleven transferred in total after it's all set and done."
"I think," The man stressed the word, "That you're not the one taking the risk-"
"You're taking the risk?" Mt. Lady seethed, taking a menacing step forward, "I'm putting my entire career on the line for you low lives-"
"No you're not," The second man snorted dismissively, "We go to the press about our deals and we get laughed away. Don't give me that shit, we're taking on all the risk here."
"Be that as it may," Mt/ Lady snarled through gritted teeth, "You'll get the eleven on completion,"
"Four," The second man countered,
"One and a half," Mt. Lady countered back, giving into the game.
"Let's skip the bullshit and agree on three, yeah?" The second man said as he checked his watch.
Mt. Lady hesitated for a moment, before she nodded, though her brow was furrowed in annoyance. She waved a hand at the car behind her and a woman stepped out of the backseat, and walked to the back of the car. The woman popped the trunk and Izuku couldn't make out what she was doing, but he was pretty sure that she was grabbing several large objects and stacking them on the ground. After about a minute, the woman closed the trunk and hefted two large duffel bags into her arms. She carried them over to Mt. Lady and dropped them on the ground. She then repeated this process two more times, until there were six bags clustered on the ground.
"There," Mt. Lady said, annoyance tinging her voice, "You want to count it too? Or do you trust me to uphold my end of the deal."
"We trust you, naturally," The second man said, as he gestured to his compatriot who shot forward and began hefting bags into his arms, "Pleasure doing business with you."
Mt. Lady glared at him for a moment, before turning on her heel and storming away back to her car, her attendant hot on her heels. She opened the passenger side door, and shot one las glare at the man,
"Tomorrow at one."
"Tomorrow at one." The man said cheerfully. Mt. Lady closed the door with a slam. A moment later, the engine roared to life, and the car roared off into the night. There was a soft hiss of static, before the audio went dead. Looking away from the telescope, Izuku turned to the detective.
"What…what was that…" He asked,
Tsukauchi didn't answer immediately, instead he took his own headphones off and pulled his notepad back out of his coat. He wrote down a couple of notes, and nodded to himself, before tucking the notepad back into his coat.
"That," He sighed, "Was what amounts for being a Pro-Hero these days. It's a common scam. Some up and comer wants to make headway with the Hero Rankings, so they cut a deal with some of the local gangs and families."
"Families?" Izuku asked,
"The Yakuza," Tsukauchi said, and Izuku shuddered, his eyes going wide,
"W-what?" He stammered, and Tsukauchi nodded at him,
"The Abegawa Tenchu Kai, and the Eight Bullet families lead the pack, and lately even the Shie Hassaikai have been making moves. Something about some new family head or something." Tsukauchi shrugged and reached into a coat pocket and withdrew a cigarette, he lit a match and lit the cigarette and took a heavy drag, before releasing a large cloud of smoke.
It's kinda clever, in a twisted sort of way." He mused, "The heroes pay off the families for some of their boys to cause a ruckus, the hero swoops in, saves the day, arrests the bad guys, and then hands them over to some officers that the families have on the pay roll. The bastards never even see the inside of a precinct, much less a courthouse."
"That…no…" Izuku shook his head and waved his hands in front of him, as though he could bat away what Tsukauchi was saying. "That-that's not possible. T-the pros w-wouldn't do that!"
"One of those pros skewered your mother like a pig roast Izuku, and then lied about it." Tsukauchi said bitterly and Izuku flinched painfully, "You really think they're above something like this.
"Y-y-you're wrong…" He whispered out, unable or unwilling to believe what the detective was telling him.
Tsukauchi shrugged, "Believe me, don't believe me, it hardly matters. You'll understand soon enough."
"W-why'd you even bring me here?" Izuku asked, changing tactics, "Why-why show me any of this?"
"Because you deserved to know the truth." Tsukauchi said, dropping his spent cigarette on the ground and stamping out the last of the embers with the sole of his shoe. "But more importantly, because I want your help."
"M-me? You want my h-help? Why?" Izuku stammered out,
Tsukauchi turned away from Izuku and used one finger to push down a few of the frames of the blinds on the windows. He gazed out at the evening sky for a moment, before sighing and stepping away. He pulled his hat off and scratched tiredly at the back of his sweaty and unkempt hair.
"You know, I'm old enough that I can still remember a time where being a hero actually meant something. Where the job was about more than brand deals and social media followers. Then All Might fought that fucking freakshow." He let out a trembling breath and sat shakily down into a chair, "And everything went to hell. I'm sure I don't have to tell you of all people what All Might meant. What he represented."
He didn't. Izuku knew better than maybe anyone what All Might had meant. He'd been the Symbol of Peace. Earth's mightiest defender and the world's best hero. He'd saved millions, all with a smile on his face. Izuku grimaced, as the image of the emaciated and broken form of his idol flashed across his mind's eye.
"Yeah…that," Tsukauchi nodded in understanding. "Without All Might at the top, there was a power vacuum. Every two-bit hero worth their salt though they could be the next pro, and some started going to…diabolical lengths to reach the top. To prove they were number one and in some cases, that they were better than even All Might."
Tsukauchi's hand clenched painfully, and he gripped at the painful looking scar on the back of his hand.
"Well that opened the flood gates. Before long, there wasn't a Pro Hero on the circuit who wasn't doing something illegal to raise their rankings."
"But-But you're a police officer!" Izuku stressed, "If-if the heroes were really doing i-illegal things, then-then surely they'd be arrested…or-or prosecuted, or something!"
Tsukauchi snorted derisively, "That's a fantasy kid. Most of my colleagues are on someone's payroll. Whether it's the families, or the pros, they're in someone's pocket. And even then, the one's that are still clean wouldn't dream of touching some of the bigger names. Not if they want their loved ones…safe. As for prosecution?" Tsukauchi snorted again, "That's a joke."
"But-but Japan has a nearly a perfect conviction rate!" Izuku insisted, "If-if the pros really were doing all of these illegal things, then someone would prosecute them! They'd be locked up!"
"You really are naive, aren't you kid?" Tsukauchi asked, giving Izuku an almost pitying expression, "The success rate is only that high because prosecutors will only bring cases they have a guarantee they'll win. They'd never bring a pro in, there's not a court in the country that would find against them. No, it's a waste of time."
"Then why are you s-showing me this!" Izuku shouted, unable to help the mounting frustration and confusion welling up inside him. He didn't understand what was happening, why he was here, and why Tsukauchi was saying all of these confusing things to him. Worse still, was he didn't understand why it was all making so much damn sense.
"Because I want to do something about it," Tsukauchi said, getting to his feet, "Because I think it's high-time we fight back. We may not be able to arrest the bastards, but we can sure as hell scare them into at least acting semi properly."
"A-and you think t-that's me?" Izuku asked, taking an anxious step backwards. "Y-you're insane," He shook his head violently, "I'm not-you're-No! I don't have a q-quirk!" He blurted it out without meaning to, and he immediately regretted it, his hand going to his mouth as though he could catch the words and shove them back inside. But Tsukauchi didn't seem to be surprised by the outburst, on the contrary, he nodded knowingly at Izuku, a strange gleam in his eye that almost looked like excitement.
"Yes…you're quirkless, which is exactly why you're perfect for this."
"I am?" Izuku asked, surprised,
"You are." Tsukauchi repeated, "Quirkless folk like you? They're practically invisible. Who would expect that some kid without a quirk was the one operating against the pros? I know what it's like for the quirkless, I've seen the discrimination first hand." He took a step forward and placed a soothing hand on Izuku's shoulder,
"All your life people have been telling you that not having a quirk is what makes you weak right? Well I'm telling you it's not, it's your biggest strength!"
"You're not making any sense!" Izuku all but shouted, taking a quick step away from the detective, "None of this is making sense! You show up at my doorstep, take me here, show me-show me whatever t-that was!" He pointed a shaking finger out to the dock,
"And now you're telling me you want me for some-some secret mission? To fight back against the pros?" He shook his head and took another step back, "You're insane."
Tsukauchi sighed, "I suppose I came on a little too strong," He reached into his pants pocket and placed a small index card on the table. "Think about what I've told you Izuku, and watch the news tomorrow, I think you'll see the truth eventually. And when you do, and if you want to do something about it." He tapped the card, "You know how to reach me."
"I w-won't" Izuku said in what he'd hoped was a defiant tone, but really just came out as an almost pitiful squeak. Tsukauchi smiled understandingly at him, and tapped the table one last time before donning his hat, and striding past Izuku and out of the building, leaving Izuku alone.
For a while, he simply stood there. Unsure of what to do, and unable to truly process what had happened over the last few hours. He closed his eyes tight in a vain hope that he was simply stuck inside some kind of strange dream, but when he opened them once more he was still staring at the inside of the warehouse.
His eyes darted over to the table where the card lay, and he almost left the card where it sat.
Almost.
But something inside him couldn't let the card sit there, didn't want to not have the option to learn more about what was really going on. To find out why his mother had been so brutally cut down and why nobody seemed to be thinking too hard about it.
He grabbed the card, and silently left the building.
AN: All right, so we get back into this! Got three more chapters after this in this little experiment. Let me know what you think! As always shoutout to Double0Sxvxn for being an awesome Beta and dealing with my bullshit and as always if you enjoyed this but haven't checked out my other work, give them a try you never know you might find something else you like. I'm also on discord now, where I and a bunch of other writers hang out, chat and brainstorm ideas, you just have to copy the link that's in my profile bio if you want to come and hang out with us. Stay safe, stay healthy and have an awesome week
All My Love,
LilDB