vi. useless

Satoshi knew that he had violated something important by asking Dabi the question about Bakugo Katsuki. He shouldn't have done it – he knew that. It's just that he'd needed to ask somebody, and Dabi had seemed like exactly the person for it.

In the darkness of his apartment, computer screens aglow with the live image of a forest canopy undisturbed, Satoshi prepared for the invasion. It would all begin in a matter of minutes. Absently, he scrolled the screens that were being fed to him from the drone above UA's training camp – everybody in position, Twice's clones ready for dispatch, the Nomu inert and waiting amongst the thickets. As quickly as it would have begun, it would be over. Hero society wouldn't know what had hit it. Blah blah.

Admittedly, Satoshi admired the drive that had brought Dabi and Shigaraki and all the others to this point. And in a way, yes, he understood the need to involve children. The shock value of it was a necessary evil. True transformation, as Dabi had called it, required extreme measures that only a select few were willing to go to. Satoshi knew that. And in a way, he craved that sort of dedication to a cause – he really did. To die for something like this seemed a very noble and Romantic thing. But he couldn't bring himself to actually believe like they did – especially not enough to justify kidnapping. Stir doubt in the pillars of hero society? Absolutely, if that's what got you off. Attack UA to do so? Release Nomus? By all means, if that's what you were into. But hurting children, who had yet to play any real part in anything... They were only idealists, dreamers, hopefuls. And what did hope amount to? What harm did children deserve for hoping? Even if Shigaraki's intentions in all of this were... ultimately good?... and even if Bakugo Katsuki was a feral goblin... something inside of Satoshi squirmed at the thought of what was to come.

But this was his job. If he couldn't handle it, he shouldn't have gotten involved. So he swallowed down on the stone cold lump in his throat and watched with a certain resignation as the forest on his screen began to burn blue.

He sat on the windowsill, overlooking the empty streets below. All was quiet this evening, calm and unsuspecting, the sky outside a suffocated lavender over the cityscape. He sighed, sipped from the cheap wine at his side (indeed, he'd bought a bottle for the occasion – he could do this sort of work a little drunk) and began to jot down the invasion's proceedings in an encrypted document for Shigaraki. 20:03:42 – CREM (w) & GAS (nw) signal commencement; 20:05:06 – initial contact (SPIN + MAGN... altercation with hero party, no injuries to VG sustained); 20:05:37 – hero signal broadcast to UA students/teachers; 20:06:54 – DABI CLONE contact with UA teacher (Eraser- at base camp, no injuries to VG sustained)...

Sparks of action flared one after the other. Students were passed out in the forest after the initial proceedings, save for a few that had managed to produce gas masks (student quirk – creation? Satoshi noted). Blows continued to be traded between Spinner and Magne and – what was their name again? The Pussycat Gang? The remains of them, at least – while students began to flee towards the base camp.

20:08:17 – NOMU released, no cause apparent...

Satoshi briefly considered the image of Dabi and Twice.

if you don't like it, you shouldn't have gotten involved. Easy for Dabi to say when all he had to do was sit pretty on the sidelines. He meandered through the trees, casual and cool. Twice had just sent another clone on to the base camp for second contact with the UA teachers. Dabi said something inane. Dabi smiled.

weak-minded... What Satoshi was sure of was this: he, Satoshi, was small for his age, and he bruised as easily as an overripe plum, and he was a fuck up as far as quirks went. But weak-minded? The fuck did Dabi know? What the fuck did someone like Dabi care to know? Satoshi didn't want to admit how it had hurt him, the disdain in those blue eyes, the way it had sent a sick thrill and sicker terror down his spine – like he was going to snap in two under that bitter gaze; why, he couldn't say... Dabi didn't scare him; it shouldn't have mattered to him what Dabi thought – but god oh god, how the after-burn of those blue, blue eyes continued to linger in his memory. Weak-minded. Purposeless. Useless. shouldn't have gotten involved. Maybe he shouldn't have. But had he really had any choice? Even if taking minutes like this was of little value (20:07:02 – second DABI clone released; 20:08:33 – DABI CLONE contact with UA teacher at base camp), even if that was all Satoshi was really good for, he hadn't chosen to end up here. Right? He did what he was told. He did it well. Even if Dabi didn't think it meant much. Even if Satoshi himself didn't think it meant much.

20:10:01...

20:12:34...

20:15:18...

Satoshi took a long sip from the wine bottle. His eyes burned; he groped about himself for his cigarettes. Toga-chan had managed to extract one vial of blood, which was not what Shigaraki wanted but was probably also more than he was expecting. Mr Compress had succeeded in snagging Bakugo Katsuki and, for good measure, a second student, Tokoyami Fumikage, whose quirk was deemed promising (but not essential – god forbid things go awry). Satoshi, cigarette between his lips and now searching for his lighter, watched with some interest as Mr Compress was pursued doggedly by Bakugo and Tokoyami's classmates, one of whom had succeeded in taking out Muscular (MUSC – OUT OF ACTION; MUSTARD – OUT OF ACTION; MOONFSH – OUT OF ACTION). Satoshi noted these things down and had to restrain himself from writing, in bold, as expected. In this vein, he wondered whether it would be necessary to take note of the students who had managed to incapacitate Shigaraki's recruits; he rifled through his files to find the class registers for 1A and 1B that he'd sourced for himself.

20:18:35 – altercation between UA students and VG... Tokoyami Fumikage retrieved by UA... Bakugo Katsuki retrieved by UA ... Bakugo Katsuki retained by VG; delivered to DABI

His notes had deteriorated progressively in terms of their presentation (he'd never been able to keep his school books neat, and Giran frequently complained about Satoshi's reports being illegible or hard to make sense of – yes, it was also partly because of the wine). But the details were all there for Satoshi to discuss with Shigaraki later. Diligently, with an exceptional eye for detail, he recorded whose quirks were released when, drew stick-men maps to illustrate positioning, noted down what conversation he could pick up in amongst all the bustle...

Satoshi paused. His cigarette continued to dangle unlit in his mouth. For a moment, he forgot it was there.

Dabi had Bakugo Katsuki by the nape – proud of himself despite having done little to nothing – and smirked at the UA student, Endeavour's son, who came tumbling towards him. 'That's sad,' Satoshi heard Dabi say, though the sound of it was faint and fragile over the microphone. 'Todoroki Shouto.'

Most people knew who Todoroki Shouto was. Even Satoshi knew without having to look at the class register, and he was the last person on earth to care about hero politics and gossip. So it shouldn't have stirred something in him, the way Dabi said the boy's name. There was nothing special about it: mocking, surly, self-righteous, as Dabi was obviously wont to be. But there was also something underneath it all – a simmering energy that could have just been static over the microphone. Satoshi, thoughtlessly, chewed the end of his cigarette. There wasn't time now to replay the recording... He must have been looking too deeply into things. He frowned, felt his brow drop heavily. That's it. He was over analysing it just because it was Dabi that had said it. Stupid. Everyone knew who Todoroki Shouto was.

Except, something inside of Satoshi shivered, and bugged him, and travelled in a delicate flurry through his spine and into his temples where the headaches always started. Something, something, something told him not to record it, this little meaningless interaction. He typed rapidly onwards, drawing the events to their close as the Vanguard began to vanish into Kurogiri's warp gates – objective completed, mission accomplished, big woohoos all round. All the while, Satoshi's mind returned to Dabi, and to Todoroki Shouto, and to the way Dabi's voice had quivered with just a little too much enthusiasm. But again – must have been the static.

At the end of it all, rain began to fall outside, heavy droplets bursting against the windowsill.

With a sigh, still aching for a smoke and feeling the effects of the wine, Satoshi turned off his computers and turned away. He rose, searched fruitlessly for his lighter for some time – for shit's sake, he was always misplacing these things – before giving up and deciding to make do with coffee instead.

He was leaned against the wall, drained as a crushed fruit and absently watching the kettle boil, when his phone began to ring. At this hour, it could only have been Giran, and so Satoshi did not check the caller ID before he answered – with pleasure, a little teasingly, as he always answered when Giran called. "Why, hello there."

'So,' came the voice on the other line, sour and smug. It was not Giran. 'Seems you were doubting us for nothing.'

Satoshi stayed quiet for a moment, struck in the lungs by surprise. Swiftly, his surprise became a bubbling, sweet relief. His relief became irritation. "You got me all wrong, Dabi," he said eventually, feeling himself pout and doing his best to keep it out of his voice. "I never doubted."

'Uh-ha. Whatever.'

Satoshi took the kettle off the stove. "Why are you calling me?"

'Thought I'd check in.'

"That's my job. Don't you still have yours to do?"

'Kid's been delivered to Shigaraki,' Dabi said. 'I'm allowed a five minute reprieve after the evening I've had, aren't I?'

the evening I've had – rich. Satoshi didn't care to respond. He continued to flutter anxiously between feelings – so Dabi hadn't deemed him disappointing enough to pretend he didn't exist; then again, he was probably just calling to make a point and be a jerk about it; then again, Dabi probably had dozens of other people he could be a jerk to; Satoshi didn't know why he was a little glad to have been the one that Dabi called. "How is he?" Satoshi said eventually, having nothing else of importance to say. "The kid, I mean."

He heard Dabi scoff. 'A fucking brat,' Dabi said pointedly. 'It's no wonder the heroes don't want him.'

"A little harsh, don't you think?"

'Harsh? You should have heard the things he said to Shigaraki.'

"Would have loved to have been there."

'Mmm.'

Sinking to sit on the tiles, his back against the kitchen counter and his bare feet growing cold, Satoshi held the phone a little tighter. "What's Shigaraki's plan for when the heroes come?"

'Dunno.'

"He hasn't told you?"

'Don't think he has one. We'll deal with it as it happens.'

"That's a dumb way of doing things," Satoshi said. He smiled to himself. "Maybe it would have been the smart thing for me to have doubted after all."

Again, Dabi made a noise that was almost a scoff, but not quite – Satoshi liked to think that maybe there was a little bit of a laugh in there, a little bit of reciprocal teasing when Dabi replied, "You don't strike me as being very smart."

Things went quiet then. Over the line's muted buzz, Satoshi couldn't even hear Dabi breathe. But he was there, his presence a hot, brilliant, blue weight – and as Satoshi listened, more eagerly than he should of, for any sound at all, his thoughts reared back intrusively to the way Dabi had said Todoroki Shouto's name. don't over think it. don't over think it. But beyond any reason or sense, Dabi's voice throbbed between the walls of Satoshi's skull, every intonation and every syllable being exaggerated and distorted in Satoshi's memory to bring about some horrific sense of... something. A hulking, shadowy figure in the recesses of vocabulary. Familiarity? Recognition? Satoshi couldn't put his finger on it. But he sank inwardly, felt his insides turn inexplicably in on themselves like socks. He returned to that same old question – What Was It About Dabi? Why did it fill him with thrill and, at the same time, less understandably, a creeping sense of dread to speak with him like this? To have him so close. Only a phone call away.

Giran had warned him. Masquerading it as professional concern, speaking with a profound sense of the personal, Giran had warned Satoshi off without giving him any good chance to understand why. Satoshi knew it too – a vague sense that something was very, very wrong with Dabi. What Was It About Dabi? Where there was smoke, there was fire. And Dabi – well, if he wasn't just the blackest, heaviest plume of smoke Satoshi had ever seen... More than just trouble. Satoshi's drive for self-preservation had never been all that strong though.

"Dabi," Satoshi said, weighing the name carefully upon his tongue. "Why are you calling me?"

Dabi didn't reply. After a moment, Dabi hung up.

Two days later, Satoshi was at his piano when his phone began to ring again.

"Satoshi!" It was Giran on the line, sounding sick with horror. "Turn on your TV right now. The news. Shit, kid, this is bad."

Satoshi had not quite given up on the little, maudlin hope that Dabi would call again, and so he did as Giran demanded with all the sluggishness of disappointment. He searched for the remote, digging in his cutlery drawer (which was where he'd found his lighter two days before), eventually discovering the remote behind a row of half-empty cereal boxes. He turned on the TV, flicking through the channels without much urgency – "Yes, yes, hold on, I'm getting there" – until at last he came across the news. On the screen was a sweeping view of Kamino. Or what was left of it.

"Well," Satoshi said. "Fuck."

Symbol of Peace, All Might, confronts League of Villains mastermind, All For One.

Scattered about the chaos was a League of Villains in shambles. Kurogiri was unconscious. Magne was unconscious. Dabi, too, was unconscious. Their bodies, eerie as corpses, lay thrown like rag dolls about the rubble. Those left standing seemed to have no inkling of what to do as All Might and One For All began to exchange blows. Dust in dramatic plumes. Startling explosions of cement and gravel and metal. There was an indistinct cacophony of war zone sounds, which drowned out the news reporter's voice, consumed her desperate, frightened words. Indeed, words seemed superfluous. Satoshi stared, listening as Giran hissed and swore on the other end of the line. He had expected this. They'd all expected this, surely – that the heroes wouldn't taken Bakugo Katsuki's abduction lying down. But for the Symbol of Peace himself to come up against All For One – the myth, the monster, the man Satoshi hadn't actually realised was real and not just a scary story... Everything had just gotten way bigger than Giran or Satoshi himself had known they'd be in for.

This wasn't just about a bunch of riff-raffs with a few priors wanting to be like Stain any more.

There was a close up of the League members. Shigaraki, reaching out desperately for All For One. Somehow, Magne's quirk seemed to have been activated, and the League members were sent tumbling towards a warp gate. Just like that, they were gone, and the fight continued between All Might and All For One.

Satoshi turned off the TV, feeling numb. Feeling dizzy and a little sick, unsure of why. Conceptually, Satoshi knew this was bad news for them. But suddenly detached, unable to identify himself in space or time, Satoshi couldn't quite call to mind what it meant or what to do about it.

'Satoshi? For god's sake, answer me, Satoshi,' Giran was saying. 'Are you there?'

"Sorry. I'm here."

'You need to get over here. I've got your papers sorted – we'll need to leave town before this gets back to us.'

"What?"

'I said–'

"But what about Shigaraki and the others? They got away didn't they?"

"Ain't nothing we can do about that now, kid.'

"Maybe..." his words were coming out too slow, lacking in the urgency the situation demanded. To his own ears, he sounded shell-shocked and dreamy. "Maybe I should try call them?"

For a moment, Giran was quiet. Inexplicably, as though the line connecting them were a red thread of fate, Satoshi could feel Giran's confusion. He could feel that confusion bubble up and boil over into irritation. No – more than just that. 'Don't tell me you're fucking high right now, Satoshi!'

He was actually, but only a little bit. Just buzzing slightly. He'd taken a pill or two before sitting down to play at the piano – what time had that been? Early afternoon? He realised he hadn't eaten all day, and was swaying where he stood, and was shaking so badly he probably wouldn't be able to walk to the door, let alone drive over to Giran's place. Leaning forward onto the counter, head in his hand, he tried to draw deep breaths. But his lungs were locked up tight. His heart was going fast in his throat. "I'm not high," he lied. "This is just a lot, right? But I think... I think I'm going to get hold of Shigaraki. No, please, just hear me out here... Let's see what we can do. Maybe we can sort out some place for them to go... Couldn't you contact–?"

'This isn't about Dabi, is it?'

"Huh? No. No." Satoshi had almost completely forgotten about him. In spite of everything, he found himself smiling. "It's a business opportunity."

The mood changed. Although Giran was silent again, Satoshi could feel that he'd said something right. After a little while, Giran chuckled – albeit, resignedly, like the time Satoshi, at 17 years old, had convinced him that getting a motorbike would be a good idea. And it would have been a good idea, had Satoshi not absolutely totalled three motor bikes (two of which were stolen) in a period of eight days.