Izuku banged on the metal back alley door with manic desperation. "Shiro, Shiro, open up, please! Shir-"
The viewport slid open, revealing a furious set of chocolate eyes. "Shut the hell up! Wha- kid? What're you doing here?"
He hissed in pain, collapsing against the door but holding up a barely conscious Himiko with all his remaining strength. A bolt of lightning shot up his leg and into his chest, but he grit his teeth and held up the girl on his shoulder.
He felt dizzy… Why was he here? What was- right, right, oh god!
"I attacked a hero and now my girlfriend is a murderer and I just stabbed a federal investigator and-" Panic ripped though his tired mind, clouded by adrenaline and exhaustion, but the words just kept pouring out.
"Kid, kid, shut up." Shiro cut him off, pulling the door open with a screech, but a moment before Izuku hit the ground, Shiro's rough hand grabbed his collar and dragged the pair into the shop. "Now get in here. Which of ya is more hurt?"
Izuku staggered to his feet, and Himiko groaned at the sudden movement, barely able to lift her head. Lifting her up by her back, he held her, and-
His hand came back wet and sticky.
His eyes shot down, and saw the red stain on his hand. And her clothes. And dripping onto the floor.
It was only then, after nearly twenty minutes of running and stumbling, that he managed to get a good look at her wound.
His stomach dropped. Every muscle in his body seized up, and his emerald eyes went wide.
The bullet had gone straight through her chest, entering her right below her breast and tearing a second hole as it burst through her back. Blood dribbled from the wound, and her ragged gasping suddenly didn't seem to come from her running.
No, no they couldn't have. He had never seen her get tired, not even when she trained just as long and hard as him. A run from the apartment to here wouldn't have done this. If she was gasping like this-
Her lungs. Oh no nonononono-
"Her lungs! Shiro, the bullet punctured her lung!" His eyes burnt, but he had no idea if he was crying, his pounding chest and spinning head destroying any self awareness he had. He couldn't even feel the bullet he consciously knew was in his leg. All he could see was Himiko, with foggy, unfocused eyes and a face as pale as a ghost, gasping bloody gargles and draped in a bloodstained cardigan. The same tan cardigan she wore to school every day, the same cardigan she wore when they met, the thing that she always seemed to hav-
"Snap out of ya fucking muttering! She has a seal-sucking wound!" A slap slammed into Izuku's face, and Shiro screamed at him. "God damn, how the hell did the pair of ya even get here!? Put 'er on the table! Now! And make sure her feet hang off the edge!" His calloused finger jabbed at an empty metal table in the middle of the room, and his steel toed boots rang against the linoleum as he ran towards the back of the shop.
Right! Table! Get her to the table!
Growling through the pain, he slung her over his shoulder and lurched towards the table, his steps weak but hurried. With all his strength, he lifted her up and dropped her on the cold metal table, putting her legs in position and scouring her body. Legs, arms, chest… there were no more wounds, none that he could see at least.
Thank god, or All Might, or whoever ruled from above.
"Himiko!" Izuku grabbed her face, and looked deep into her eyes, watching the sparkle in them slowly disappear. Now he could feel the tears, rolling down his face and burning his cheeks. "Himiko, can you hear me!? Look, you're gonna be okay! I promise! I promise you'll be okay! Just hang in there!"
Himiko's eyes, dark and faded, only moved slightly, but he could see the faintest shimmer of recognition as she weakly smiled. "M-my… wolf…"
"Y-yes, yes, I'm your wolf! Now and forever!" A sharp sob racked his body, and he bit his lip, watching her eyes slowly lose focus. "Just- Just hang in there Himiko!"
"Stop ya whimpering and get that shirt off her!" Shiro rushed back in, carrying a box of medicine under one arm and a case of tools under the other.
"B-but-"
"No buts!" Slamming the box down, the terrorist quickly went about organizing and prepping his tools, cold and methodical and efficient. He tossed Izuku a pair of safety shears. "We ain't slappin' a bandaid on her! This is a fuckin' emergency surgery, and you're the nurse!"
"Y-yes sir!" Stammering, Izuku spun and sliced open the cardigan and shirt, revealing her very bloody chest. The hole in her was a dark maw, surrounded by plum-colored bruises and faded knife scars.
"Now I need ya to hold 'er down." Shiro stepped forward, shoving Izuku out of the way and pointing to the girl's wrists as he did a quick look over of her. The man put two fingers on Himiko's wrists, then swore loudly, quickly moving to select tools.
"What!?" Izuku screamed at the man, looking at her chest. What did he not see!? "Is she gonna make it?!"
"She won't if you keep yappin'!" Shiro glared at him, bearing his teeth and shoving a damp cloth in his hands. "I said hold 'er down, and unless you intend to stick your hand in that mouth I advise you put this in it instead."
"Y-yes sir!" Izuku pressed the cloth between her teeth and clamped down on her wrists, watching with horror as the terrorist began to operate.
Izuku would never forget the screams he heard that day. Not screams of pleasure or rage, but of unending, incomprehensible pain. But even then he didn't falter.
He would not lose her.
)ooOoo(
Here?
No.
Maybe the next aisle?
Ochako ran her fingers along the spines of books as she walked passed, reading every other title to get a sense of where she was.
Stiffly navigating the rows upon rows of bookshelves, Ochako realized that she had never really spent much time in the library. It wasn't that she disliked the library, or even just disliked reading; she had spent plenty of time reading in middle school, especially on rainy days when she couldn't go outside. But really, if she got to choose between reading or playing on the basketball court, she'd go for the basketball. She enjoyed the adrenaline and competitive edge, the fire in her veins and the ambitious grin on her face.
And winning. She liked winning.
But now, chewing on her lip and wandering lost but not aimless through the library, she wished she had taken some time to get used to libraries. While she knew the three-digit numbers marking each aisle had some meaning, she didn't have the slightest clue what they might've meant. She had even looked up the topic on the library catalog, but the database was so janky and confusing that she just ended up more lost than before.
She looked down at the neatly folded piece of paper she had jotted down a couple of book codes onto, then looked around the aisle again.
… Wait, when did she get to the 300's? She was supposed to be in the 500's.
The simple answer would be to go to the librarian and ask. The young man was quite literally just a few paces away, standing behind a desk and sorting books. He would surely know. But…
Ochako pressed her lips into a thin line, and continued to look on her own. She'd find it. On some level she knew it was silly, but Ochako would rather take an hour to find something on her own than find it in five minutes with the librarian's help. Call it pride, but she had simply come to accept that she was who she was.
And so, for another hour, she searched fruitlessly. Somehow, the books she was looking for eluded her endlessly. She had even found the section they were supposed to be in! With a low groan, she made her way to the librarian's desk.
"Excuse me, sir?" Smiling softly, Ochako approached the librarian and gave a small wave to get his attention. Holding out the slip she wrote the book codes on, she scratched the back of her head. "Do you know where I could find these books?"
"Of course! Just one moment please!" Taking the slip, the man gave a polite smile and tapped a few things into the heavy desktop computer in front of him. He navigated the mouse, and clicked a few boxes. Then typed in something more. Moved the mouse again.
Ochako twitched slightly, lightly tapping her foot to release the nervous energy. Did looking up a book really take this long? No, no, she was just being impatient. It was all in her head. Her smile didn't waver one bit.
Finally, the man nodded, seemingly satisfied at something Ochako couldn't see, before turning back to her. He pointed to one of the book codes on the sheet. "So, this one here is actually checked out at the moment. What were you looking for? Maybe I could help you find something similar?"
Uh oh.
"Uh, yeah." Ochako laughed, a small, nervous sound, and itched at the back of her head again. "Do you have anything on transferable quirks? I, uh… need it for a project."
The man furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "Transferable quirks?"
This was why she hadn't wanted to ask for help! This man was looking at her like she had just asked if there were any books on how to grow corn from her ears, and she couldn't blame him! Transferable quirks? It was silly!
But… She knew she hadn't misheard that man through the door.
No, no, not 'that man.'
All Might.
Internally, she steeled herself, but her nervous grin didn't change. "Yeah, like, quirks that can actively be exchanged between people?"
"Um…" The man turned to type something into the computer, but coming up empty for even something to search for, he paused before turning back to her. "If we, uh, if we do have anything on that, it would probably be under quirk theory and biology. 574."
Ochako bowed slightly, taking the slip back and dedicating the number to memory. 574. 574. Got it.
She began to turn to leave, before suddenly stopping, and turning back. "... W-where is that?"
"Oh, that aisle right over there, middle of the right shelf." The man pointed over towards an aisle towards the back of the library.
Bowing slightly again, before turning and finally leaving. "Thank you so much!"
"Of course, have a good day!"
She quickly reached the section the librarian pointed out, but even as she sifted through the rows and rows of books, her mind wandered.
All Might.
The All Might. Just… At U.A.. In the nurse's office with her and Midoriya. A few weeks had passed, and honestly, it felt unreal. Like a fake memory, the sort that came from a dream she half-remembered. But it wasn't. It had happened.
Ochako wasn't a fangirl. She had known the types, even one or two in her class in middle school; they had a hero they absolutely adored, buying posters and merch and t-shirts. They scanned for news about them constantly, watched all their interviews, one girl Ochako knew even wrote fanfiction about Takami Keigo. She had offered to help read and edit the girl's writing once, just to help her out.
Ochako shuddered.
Never again.
Ochako was certainly not a fangirl. Of course she had heroes she admired, like Thirteen, but she never had the time, or money, or, uh… passion that certain people had. But when you met the most powerful hero in all of Japan, someone who literally defined heroism for a generation? Anyone's head would spin. And what was he there for?
To choose a successor.
Ochako plucked one book off the shelf, flipping through the index. Nothing. She scowled and closed the book, carefully placing it back on the shelf.
He had told Midoriya that he could give him his own quirk and make him a hero. That he needed someone to carry on his legacy. And that was… Well, simply put, that was insane! Quirks didn't transfer. That's not how it worked. But then again, no one really knew what All Might's quirk was, so… It was possible?
She picked up another book, and flipped through it. No, not this one either. She returned it to the shelf.
But let's say it was possible. She had listened in on the conversation, and it didn't sound like he was lying. Maybe he actually could transfer his quirk, his immense power, and wanted to train a successor in order to take over for him when he retired. She didn't know how long he'd been a hero, but considering how he'd been the number one hero literally her whole life, it added up.
She chewed on her lip, staring at the page in front of her but seeing none of it.
That sort of power, that responsibility, it really could change society. It could make things better. For anyone making a practical decision, that wasn't something to pass up. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, the chance to quite literally change the world.
And yet… Midoriya had turned it down. She hadn't heard everything perfectly, especially not after that teacher with the raggedy hair and the grey scarf caught her listening in and shooed her off, but she'd heard enough. Midoriya listened to All Might, but when asked to make a choice, he didn't make the practical one.
He made the right one.
Ochako's heart fluttered slightly, and her cheeks burnt cherry pink.
Grabbing a small stack of books that at least mentioned rare and theorized quirks, she found a small table at the back of the library and began flipping through them, her thoughts still mostly on Midoriya.
Ochako had always been practical, first and foremost. She prided herself on it, in fact. Financially frugal, studious to the utmost, always filling her free hours with activities like clubs and volunteering and networking, she was always laying the groundwork for a prosperous future. Hard work opened doors, her mom always said. Even her reasoning to become a hero was practical; heroism was an industry that paid well, and she had a natural talent that would help her specialize. It wasn't that she didn't care about helping people, but if it was more practical for her to help people by becoming a lawyer or a doctor than a hero, that's what she would've done.
And really, when she thought about it, Ochako knew her upbringing had to do with it. Her parents owned a small construction firm in Ise, never quite smooth sailing but always working hard and moving forward. Finances were slim enough that hard choices had to be made. The recession a few years back had almost put them under, even. But they had made it.
Ochako closed one book, moving it to the side and starting on the next. Nothing in that one, just a brief couple of paragraphs on how many rare and harmful quirks had actually died out in the past few decades. Natural selection, per se.
She hadn't ever really liked the sorts of people that idolized material wealth or fame, or the people that gave in to nihilism, or even the people that simply coasted along in life, satisfied with the status quo. All three of them were ignorant of reality, if only in different ways. Idols were hollow. Giving up just made things worse. And stagnation was only a step above giving up.
But then there was Midoriya. Nervous, quiet, brave, heartfelt Midoriya.
Burying her face in the book, Ochako tried very hard to ignore how her heart sped up thinking about his daring and foolhardy attempt to rescue her, or his firm and idealistic words in the nurse's office.
In many ways, he was the exact opposite of everything she'd come to understand. He was passionate, but not blind. He'd obviously suffered, but he hadn't given up. He had every reason to find a little niche where he could hide away and melt into society, but he refused. But at the same time, he wasn't the least bit practical; he threw himself on death's door to help her in an entrance exam, he spoke openly and plainly about his ideals, he even turned down the very power he could've used for reasons Ochako could only describe as emotional.
And for some reason, it made her feel…
Ochako slapped her cheeks twice, scowling, and refocused on the book. She was Ochako! Uravity! She had just been accepted into U.A. and was going to become a skillful and effective rescue hero!
Her scowl softened, and her chestnut eyes drifted towards the window, watching people pass stories below.
… It was his genuineness, that was it. He was willing to make sacrifices to do what was right, no matter how unintuitive, how silly, how impractical it was. He really believed in everything he said, and thinking about him…
… Well, she kinda believed in it too.
God she felt like an idiot.
She hadn't even asked for his phone number! He wasn't going to her school, he likely wouldn't even be in the same prefecture as her! They'd likely never meet again!
It was stupid getting this worked up over someone she had only, and likely would only ever, meet once. That thought stung a little. She had worked hard, but that door had closed. The opportunity was gone.
Closing the next book, she scooted it to the side, looking at the three others stacked up, and the sun setting in the window. She needed to head home soon. Sighing, Ochako stood up, placing the books she had read in the return cart and holding onto the final three. With a quick visit to one of the shelves, she snagged a final book and headed to check out.
She might never meet him again. But Ochako couldn't shake the feeling that meeting him had fundamentally changed something about her. Her 'practical' reasoning to become a hero just seemed so hollow and superficial compared to the raw inferno of passion she had seen in his eyes. He would never achieve his dream of being a hero, of changing the system from within. Having turned down All Might, that was impossible, really. But she had opportunities he didn't. She would do what he couldn't, or would at least try.
"Oh, I've heard this is a good one!" The librarian smiled at her final book, scanning it and handing it back to her. "Really controversial, but a good read in my opinion."
She reread the title, before putting it in her bag.
Icon: Power, Fame, Quirkism, and the Failure of Heroism in the Era of All Might
)ooOoo(
Four hours.
That's how long the pair had stood over Himiko, poking and prodding and sewing. One hole into the lung, and another one out, both of which had needed to be sealed and glued, since stitches would've been too dangerous. One rib needed to be realigned and set, having been cracked by the bullet. It wasn't really possible to stitch up the entrance and exit wounds, so after disinfecting them, the pair had to cauterize them. Izuku was glad that Himiko had passed out from the pain at that point.
… Or, at least, he hoped it was from the pain.
He collapsed onto the metal seat Shiro had given him, resting his head next to the cash register, and sighed. He felt his weary back muscles loosen, releasing all the tension from the past several hours into his slow breathing.
"First time's always the hardest." There was a thump as the man plopped down in the seat next to Izuku, ruffling his hair. "Ya actually did good, ya know. 'Specially since this was, well… not a simple surgery."
Izuku lifted his head, looking at the man with heavy eyes. He wasn't sure if the surgery had exhausted him more physically or emotionally, but about a half hour in he had finally started to really feel the bullet in his thigh in full, making the next three and a half indescribably painful. But somehow, after all of that, Shiro had managed to pull the bullet out of him and bandage him up, as though almost an afterthought. He reached down, gingerly massaging the dull, thrumming pain that filled his left leg.
But that was probably nothing compared to what Himiko was feeling. His heart sank, and he looked across the room to the thin girl's frame on the large metal table. She looked so… small. So fragile. But if he focused, he could see the gently rising and falling of her chest, and… For now, at least, that was enough. Frowning softly, he looked back up at Shiro. "Will she be okay?"
Despite the heavy grimace that fit his face with natural ease and the thin slash of a scar across his dark eyes, his expression seemed kind and gentle, a quiet and compassionate worry leaking through his strong gaze. He gave Izuku two light squeezes on his shoulder, and then sat back in his seat, crossing his arms and putting his feet up on the table. "... Just focus on relaxing right now, kid. Worrying ain't gonna make 'er recover faster."
He looked back towards Himiko, and set his chin down on the table, staring numbly at the table. "... Okay."
The man sighed, a tired and sympathetic sound, but he didn't say a word. Instead, he slipped a cigarette from the carton, and placing the roll between his lips, lit it. Taking a long, slow drag, he closed his eyes, and then puffed out a thick plume of smoke.
The silence lingered, the only disturbance being the wobbly creak of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of cars, muffled by layers of concrete wall.
This all seemed like a dream. Or fake. Or something. Whatever it was, it couldn't be real. He had stabbed an investigator, gotten shot, ran to a black market that he had only been to once, and then helped do an emergency surgery on the girl he loved.
A girl that had murdered nineteen people.
None of it made sense, not just the way he acted, but the whole situation. He couldn't believe it. But… It didn't matter if he believed it. It was real. It was what happened. He clenched his teeth, and internally slapped himself.
Stupid! He prided himself on his planning, his ability to think ahead and make strategic choices, but when he needed it most, he was impulsive and irresponsible! He had made everything worse!
He knew that Himiko would hate a mental institute. Of course. They're awful, but that investigator, Augur, at least he was acting like he was trying to help! He could've been an ally when Izuku went to court! But instead, Izuku stabbed him. Idiot!
There was a tap on his shoulder, and Izuku looked up to see Shiro holding out a cigarette. Was he… was he offering it? Shaking his head, he mustered up as much of a smile as he could to decline, but it was weak and tired. It wasn't even strong enough to be called 'nervous.' The man shrugged, and put the cigarette back in the carton.
Izuku looked back at the unconscious girl, the action becoming a nervous tic more than an intentional choice, before bowing slightly to Shiro. "Th-thank you."
"Hm? 'Course." He nodded casually in response, tapping the cigarette and cleaning its tip in the ashtray. "They always help me relax."
"Huh? N-no, not the cigarette, I mean-" Izuku lifted his head from the table, scrunching up his eyebrows. But he took a deep breath, and bowed as deeply as he could in the fold out chair. "The surgery. If you hadn't helped, she'd be dead. We're practically strangers. When we showed up at your door, you could've turned us away. But you didn't. So… Thank you. So much."
There was a small glimmer of… something in Shiro's eyes, something Izuku couldn't properly identify, warm and authentic. But as soon as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a flat stare and a shrug. "I promised ya, if ya need help, come to me. Ya came to me, I helped. Now stop bowing."
Izuku groaned, his back muscles complaining as he straightened himself out from the bow. The uncomfortable metal seat wasn't helping, but honestly, he was just glad to have a chair at all. It was weird. Hearing him talk like that… Izuku nearly felt a sense of understanding. He looked over to Himiko.
A promise was a promise.
Sitting back in the chair, he tried to ignore the similarity he had with the terrorist beside him.
Balancing the cigarette between his lips, Shiro pulled out a smooth stone from under a table, sprinkling it with some type of oil, and slid his combat knife from his boot. With slow, methodical movements, he began to run his blade against the stone at an angle, filling the room with a narrow scraping sound, almost like a tuning fork ringing.
Izuku watched the blade go back and forth, his eyes not bothering to focus on the details. He had seen knife sharpening a thousand times. He had done it a thousand more with his own. Instead of the blade, he focused on the man's arms and fingers. Shiro's white, sleeveless undershirt, now stained with speckles of red, didn't bother hiding the lean chords of muscles that stretched up and down his arms, and his hands, meaty bundles of calloused palms and thick fingers, were covered in dozens of thin, pale scars, as though he had punched through a few windows. Despite that, his arms moved with a smooth, careful strength, shifting with his body as he ran the blade up and down the stone, and his fingers held the angle with perfect precision.
Watching the man's steady, repetitive motions, Izuku could only marvel at the fact that this man had quite literally sealed Himiko's lungs not even a few hours ago. Izuku knew that surgery wasn't simple. Not just anyone could do that, even if that person had experience with basic first aid or even as an EMT. And he had done it with such cold, practiced focus.
"Where did you learn how to do this?" Izuku's mouth moved before his filter could realize he was initiating a conversation with potentially the most dangerous person he had ever met.
It was only when the man paused from his sharpening and looked up, an eyebrow raised, that Izuku realized that he spoke. Maybe he should scoot back, give the man some spac-
"I was a medical student."
The words were quiet, spoken plainly and without emphasis as Shiro turned back to sharpening.
He was a-
"What?" Izuku looked the man up and down, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice. For some reason, the thing he stared at most were the scuffed up steel-toed boots, the leather having long since started flaking away to reveal the silver underneath. Izuku would swear there were reddish-brown stains on them, but it might've been his mind playing tricks on him.
"Surprised? Most are." Shiro snorted, shaking his head and taking a puff of his cigarette before continuing. "Everyone knows the medical school type. Serious, studious, driven. Nose to the grindstone, lookin' for a well payin' job."
"Yeah…" Izuku nodded, watching the dull orange tip of the man's cigarette, much like the coals of a dying fire. Dying, but not dead yet. "What happened?"
"Ha! Ya say that like a tragedy struck!" He let out a boisterous laugh, but it quickly mellowed, and a sad tint entered his eyes. "... Though, I suppose it did."
Izuku pressed his lips into a thin, questioning line, but the man didn't answer. The ringing of steel against stone filled the room.
"What do ya know about the Vanguard?" Shiro finally spoke up, his tone far too neutral to not be intentional.
"Um…" The knife scraped, cold and repetitive, and Izuku bit his lip. If he was honest, it wasn't much, but… Well, everyone knew about the Fukuoka Metro Gas Attack. A quirkless cell claiming to be part of the Vanguard released nerve agents all over the Fukuoka subway line simultaneously during rush hour. Izuku didn't know how many thousands were injured, but everyone remembered the number twenty-one. The number of people that died. It was a few decades ago, but even in such a chaotic time as the Equalist Movement, a terrorist attack like that wasn't simply forgotten. But Izuku had a feeling that wasn't the answer Shiro wanted to hear. Wringing his hands, he avoided the man's gaze while speaking. "It's a quirkless terrorist group that was started in Kyushu?"
Shiro grunted. "Better than nothin', I suppose, but I prefer the term 'revolutionary' to 'terrorist.'"
"O-oh, sorry." Izuku ducked his head. It wouldn't do anything, not really, but his stomach tying itself in knots at the thought of raising this man's ire…
Izuku swallowed.
"I went to medical school down in Kitakyushu, mostly because it's one of the few cities with a decently sized quirkless population. It's still a minority, but hey, way better than a place like Musutafu." Placing the knife down on the table, the man leaned back in his seat, staring up at the stained cement ceiling. He dragged on his cigarette, filling his chest and closing his eyes before letting it out slowly. His gaze fell to Izuku, and for a moment, he simply let his warm eyes linger. Izuku twitched, but the man didn't look away. There was something very sad in his eyes, so lonely, so regretful, so vulnerable, watching the boy, but he took another drag, puffing out a stack of smoke, and it was gone. "When I was a student, the Equality Movement was still in full swing. The Vanguard had just appeared, and had exploded into the national consciousness. This was before we started throwing bombs, but everyone in Japan had an opinion on us, good, bad, or otherwise. I decided to join."
"Why?" Izuku still couldn't understand. He had gone through so much, but to join a group like the Vanguard? He guessed at that point it hadn't done any of the things it was infamous for yet, but still…
Shiro shook his head, staring into nothingness with a tired intensity. But while his dark tone didn't waver, a thread of anger was woven into it, thin and alone but starkly defined. "Kid, ya know the shit we go through. And I know that All Might and his obsession with strong man culture has made it worse recently. But when I was a kid, it was worse. Way worse. My university classes were segregated, I couldn't take public transit, hell, thanks to the old constitution, not a single quirkless person could even vote, not me, not my friends, not my parents or professors. We were foreigners in our own god damn country."
That didn't excuse what the Vanguard did. Of course it didn't. And of course Izuku had read about these things in history class, and even on his own, but they were glossed over, underplayed to the point that they were merely a footnote. But Shiro spoke with such an intensity, such a fury, so strong that Izuku could see the scars on the man's soul even through the layers of quiet cynicism. He scowled, but leaned forward in the seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "So… what did you do?"
"Well I didn't start with the police shootouts, if that's what you're askin'." Shiro snorted, running a hand through his ashy grey hair and wiping away the sweat on his forehead. "The Vanguard set up a community clinic in Wakamatsu, the old industrial district. Even though the ward was majority quirkless, the hospitals there tended to reject our people out of hand, and even some of our mutation-quirked brothers and sisters. They needed a doctor, someone who could stitch up cuts and set bones and give vaccines. I heard my callin', and I answered."
He…
This man, this terrorist, was a volunteer doctor?
Izuku nearly didn't believe it. From what he was saying so far, he hadn't done a single thing that Izuku could really say was wrong. But now…
Izuku took a look around the room, seeing the stacks of guns and bombs. This wasn't a clinic. No, this was an armoury. Guns don't heal.
He couldn't quite put a finger on why, but something deep in Izuku's soul felt a loss at that. This man had talent, he had knowledge and ability, but all of that was wasted, instead being spent on violence. He had been eaten by the Vanguard.
No, no, that wasn't right.
He had been eaten by desperation.
He looked back at Shiro, seeing a deep but empty sadness in his eyes, as though whatever had made him who he was had been hollowed out and filled with hate and loss. This man had lost so much. He didn't know what, or who, or how, but this man had lost all that which he loved. Izuku could see it in his eyes.
Despite everything, Izuku couldn't help but feel sympathy for the man. Maybe he shouldn't. But he did.
"When did you...?" He looked at the knife, and then the man. Izuku started speaking, but he couldn't find the right words.
"Stop being a respectable medical student? Become a terrorist? Sacrifice myself for a revolution that never had a chance?" Shiro finished Izuku's thoughts in all their worst interpretations, the sadness in his eyes retreating to be cloaked in harsh cynicism. But that shield the man had on before, it didn't return completely. There were still chinks in his emotional armor, and the sadness in his voice revealed them. "Maybe I'll tell you, someday. Maybe it doesn't matter. All I can say is, I did what I had to to protect those I loved."
The man checked his phone, glancing at the time, but made no movement to get up, instead dropping his finished cigarette in the ashtray on the table and lighting another.
To protect those he loved.
Those words resonated in him on some level, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it. His eyes flicked to the other side of the room. Himiko's shallow breaths had gotten deeper, more relaxed, and Izuku let out some of the tension in his chest with a sigh. How far was he really willing to go to protect Himiko? How far was he willing to go to protect a murderer?
… He really didn't know, and that thought disturbed him.
"... I was the one that attacked Warp." He spoke up, quietly. "I thought you should know."
Shiro had helped them without asking questions. The least Izuku owed him was an answer, though considering all that the man had done, he owed Shiro a lot more than that.
"Wait, that was you?" Shiro's eyebrows perked up, and he gave a grunt of what sounded to Izuku like approval. "Pffft, shit kid. From what I heard, ya did a real number on her. Good material, right there."
'Good material?' For some reason, the praise of a terrorist didn't instill confidence in him. He scowled weakly, watching his toes just in case they decided to… run off, or something, he guessed. "I just wanted to protect the guy she was attacking."
"Hm?" Shiro made a questioning sound as he sucked in another lungful of smoke.
"That guy, he was this big elephant-like guy, so Warp went all out on him." He couldn't forget the cries of anguish Zou had made as Warp's batons slammed down on him, scorching his skin. And just as much, He couldn't forget the cheers of the crowd. They haunted him some nights. "But he was just stealing food. And I know stealing food is wrong, but-"
"Is it?" Shiro cut him off, not bothering to look at Izuku.
"What?"
Glancing towards the boy, he hissed out the words. "Is it really wrong to steal food?"
"Well, I can't say we should just go around stealing things!" Izuku shook his head. Theft was wrong! If people started ignoring the rules of society for this reason or that, society wouldn't function. That applied to theft just as much as it applied to murder and speed limits, and everything in between!
… Though those thoughts rang slightly hollow, even to Izuku, considering the events of today.
Shiro clicked his tongue, giving Izuku the exasperated look of someone who had had this argument with themselves too many times already. "Kid, think of it this way. There are nine billion people on this planet, and we produce enough food to feed eleven billion. But somehow, food rots on the shelf and gets thrown out, and children go home hungry everyday. I don't give two rats' asses about the business owners. If the food gets stolen, they lose profits. If it doesn't, someone starves. My conscious is sated."
"... I guess." Izuku scowled, but didn't bother arguing. He wasn't going to change Shiro's mind, that was obvious. Considering the man sold illegal weapons for a living, petty theft probably didn't seem like a legitimate concern for him.
But once again, that double standard reared its head. Izuku might be arguing the importance of law, but he was the one who nearly tore a hero's liver out for trying to enforce it. He shuddered at the memory. Not at how it unnerved him, but at how he enjoyed it.
He still remembered the metallic taste of the woman's blood. Sweet and hot.
It still lingered on his tongue, somehow.
If only he could get another taste...
"But, this guy, he was gettin' trashed by that hero for stealing food." Shiro waved away the argument, redirecting the conversation. "Ya stepped in to protect him."
"Y-yeah!" Izuku popped his head up. Forget that! Forget he even thought that! That was wrong, and he had to remember that! Focus on the conversation!
The man raised his cigarette slightly, mimicking a toast with a glass. "Good on ya. Bet the hero wasn't too happy, though. So, then the police tracked ya down?"
"... Y-yeah." Izuku sputtered out the answer, not quite able to look at the man. That wasn't the whole story, but Izuku wasn't quite able to force out the words 'and my girlfriend is a serial killer.' It wasn't that he didn't believe it, her lack of an answer…
Well, her lack of an answer left no doubts in his mind. She had killed nineteen people. She had lied to him. And when she woke up, they were going to have a talk. Talk about what, he didn't quite know, but… He couldn't just pretend this didn't happen. All of his thoughts on it were still jumbled, and while he knew he loved her, that just wasn't enough to excuse and ignore literal murder. But at the same time, he couldn't just walk away from her. She was injured, and he needed to take care of her at least until she recovered. And even if she wasn't, he couldn't imagine leaving her.
He couldn't imagine being alone again.
"Makes sense. So, what're ya gonna do now?"
"Huh?" Izuku glanced up at the man, but he wasn't even looking, instead checking his knife over for imperfections.
"Ya can't go back home. So now what?" Shiro spoke plainly and scowled at the blade, extracting a leather strop from under the table and running the blade across it.
That… was a good question.
The blood drained from Izuku's face.
The whole day, Izuku had been thinking of the immediate; Fleeing arrest, the surgery, even sitting here with Shiro, he hadn't really been thinking about the long term repercussions of hanging out with a terrorist and arms dealer. It had all just been such a panicked rush. But there was still tomorrow. Even when he went to sleep tonight, if he could get any at all, he'd still have to wake up tomorrow and figure out what to do.
And… What could he do?
He couldn't go home. Izuku hated the thought, but he couldn't deny the very real possibility Mom would turn him in. She hadn't taken his side in his fight with Bakugou. For something like this? She'd almost certainly say something along the lines of 'it's for your own good, please trust me.' He clenched his jaw, a spark of anger and betrayal drowned by the realization that he really couldn't rely on her, and he couldn't really blame her for that. What would he do in her situation?
… Nevermind, don't go down that rabbithole. Now wasn't the time. He probably couldn't even go back to get anything from the apartment while she was away; the police would certainly keep regular tabs on the place just in case, at least for a month or two, and were certain to strip search his room for incriminating evidence. Not that there really was anything ther-
The mask! Stupid! The mask was still there, in the box under his bed! And there was no way to get it back! He internally kicked himself.
So, home was off the table. Where else?
He was too young to rent a hotel room, not that he had the money anyways. Ditto for trying to rent his own place. Even if someone allowed it, a teenager trying to rent an apartment was bound to raise questions, and if they did a background check…
Yeah, that wasn't an option.
Staying in the city was dangerous, considering that the police knew he was here, and considering he couldn't drive, let alone rent a car, that would mean he'd either have to take the train, which required him to show ID, or walk, which would have its own myriad of issues.
So he couldn't leave, but he couldn't stay, he couldn't go home, but getting a new living space was impossible. Simply put, he had nowhere.
Running his hand through his green hair, the boy leaned forwards, staring intently at the concrete floor as though it might provide an answer. Cruelly, it didn't.
He hated to consider it, but really...
"... I think I might turn myself in. I-" Izuku stammered out the words, uncertain but nevertheless a firm statement. In the long run, that was honestly the best option. He either turned himself in, or tried to run, and gambled that he wouldn't be caught. For the rest of his life. It was improbable, to put it as kindly as he could. "I wanted to protect Himiko, but really, I just did something stupid. She… She can run. That's her choice. But I can't."
Shiro's smooth movements froze. Twirling the knife in his hand, he took a drag of his cigarette and turned to face the boy. "And why's that?"
Izuku looked at him, frowning. What was wrong? It was really the most reasonable opt-
The moment he caught sight of Shiro's eyes, his thoughts skidded to a haphazard halt.
Whatever warmth had been in them before, whatever sympathy or sadness or kindness that had appeared during their conversation had gone up in a puff of smoke. No, now that gaze was filled with cold steel, sharp and focused as the blade spinning between his fingers.
"Uh-"
"Midoriya," the man cut him off, "a revolutionary has three possible relationships with any given person."
"What?" Izuku had no idea what the man was talking about, but by the way Shiro rolled his shoulders, individually popping each of his vertebrae, he knew it wasn't good. Every bone in his body told him to run, to fly away to safety, but…
There was no safety to fly to.
Every single hair on Izuku stood on end, watching the terrorist's blade with fear as he spoke.
"First, there are allies. Maybe friends, maybe not. They're trustworthy, and they help ya achieve your goals. Best to foster and support them. Second, there are enemies. They prevent ya from achieving your goals, and are to be eliminated at the earliest convenience." Shiro grinned darkly, almost absentmindedly, and his dark eyes bore into Izuku. "And finally, there are loose ends. Maybe malicious, maybe friendly. A disgruntled coworker, a friend that gets loose lips after one too many drinks, even simply someone at the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever the reason, they could reveal information that might jeopardize your position. The moment a loose end might reveal something sensitive, they must be..." Catching the spinning blade, Shiro plucked the cigarette from his lips and ground it into the table, smoothly and efficiently. The orange butt dropped into the ashtray, and all that was left was a black, grimy smear on the metal table. "... tied. May I advise ya consider our relationship when selecting your next words?"
Izuku gulped. "... I, uh, I understand."
"Good." Shiro gave a curt nod, setting the knife down and putting away the leather strop. "Now then, what're ya gonna do now?"
The room fell silent, and Izuku squirmed in his seat, wringing his hands and unable to look Shiro in the eye. He understood what the man meant. If Izuku went to the police, he carried with him the knowledge of Shiro and his location. Even if Izuku did it with no intention to tell the police, there was always the chance, and logically, it wasn't a gamble Shiro wanted to take.
But… That didn't change anything on the other end. He was still stuck. Just because Shiro threatened him, that didn't mean he or Himiko could rent an apartment now! They didn't have money, or even a proper place in society! He bit his lip and squeezed his fists. "I… I have nowhere to go."
That was fact. He hated it, and Izuku cringed waiting for the man's response, but for a moment, nothing came.
The man was quiet.
Glancing up, Izuku saw… contemplation, with a splash of empathy. Something narrow and firm in the man's brown eyes, measuring Izuku, punching numbers into an internal calculator and waiting for the result to be spat out.
Somehow, that made Izuku even more nervous. The cold Shiro from before was doing an unnerving, but fundamentally logical cold calculus, something Izuku could easily reverse engineer. He would make the choice that best reflected his own interests. But this man right here? He was making calculations on that and whatever his twisted perspective considered Izuku's best interests. That required a value judgement, and Izuku had no idea how to calculate that.
He could feel a bead of sweat on his temple, despite the cool musky air of the room.
Finally, Shiro made a sound, an exhausted thing halfway between a relenting sigh and an annoyed grunt. Shaking his head, he leaned back and gave Izuku a measured, sympathetic look.
"Look, I can help ya disappear. I get regular shipments of guns and hero equipment from the League, and they can get ya out of the city... covertly. Ya slip out in the middle of the night, ya get yourself a discrete job and a paystub, and then quietly disappear into society's underbelly. The League's even hiring haulers, I've heard, so maybe start there. But there's a catch." He held up a finger, raising his eyebrows. "They can transport ya, but it's gonna cost me. So I got a deal for ya."
"Y-yeah?"
"Ya work for me til you cover the cost of transport. When ya pay it off, ya jump town."
That… was actually a decent deal. If he held it up. It gave him a place to stay until he managed to escape, not to mention gave him a method to escape, a potential job down the line, and might even manage to get him in Shiro's good graces. He had no idea how much that would be worth, but it was better than having no one to support him. There was only one problem.
He'd be working for an arms dealer.
Izuku swallowed, the gravity of the situation coming over him. Just as much as when he stabbed that investigator, this moment would define his life. If he said yes…
He'd be a villain.
He scowled, but pushed the thought aside. He had no choice. He just had to make the best choices he could now. "What about Himiko?"
Shiro shrugged. "I'd have to negotiate with her directly."
Izuku shook his head. Who knew what that would result in. Himiko was impulsive, and Shiro had likely only given Izuku such a good deal since he was quirkless too. Himiko negotiating on her own, especially with the life-saving surgery Shiro had done as a token on the board, would not result in an ideal situation. But another option could.
"Can I assume her debt?"
"Hm?" Shiro quirked an eyebrow, surprised.
"I'll take on the cost for both of our transport." Izuku explained quickly. It might not be a written contract, but terms needed to be drawn up. "I work her's off first, and then mine."
The man seemed to consider the offer for a moment, pressing his lips thin and staring into Izuku's green eyes.
A heartbeat passed.
Another.
The man's critical look faded, and he smiled approvingly. "Deal."
He stuck out a firm hand, and Izuku grabbed it, shaking once, twice, release.
With a groan, Shiro stood up from the chair, and began walking towards a door behind the counter. He waved at Izuku to follow, then passed through the door. "Come here."
Izuku scrunched up his eyebrows, but said nothing, standing up and following. As soon as he entered, the man flicked on the lights, revealing a very basic, but functional kitchen. Two gas burners on a stove, a dented up rice cooker, a minifridge. Nothing fancy, or even pretty, but all of it was meticulously cleaned, without a single stain or speck of dust. It even smelled clean, though Izuku could pick up small hints of curry and steamed rice lingering. Shiro entered casually, opening a cabinet and pulling down two short glasses, as well as a fat bottle of amber liquid. He moved fluidly, popping the cork off of the bottle and filling each glass halfway, before resealing the bottle and returning it to the cabinet. With a grin, he passed one glass to Izuku, and raised his own.
"To new beginnings, new comrades, and the one true revolution!"
Without a moment of hesitation, he threw his head back and downed the entire glass, before flipping it and slamming it onto the counter, his wide smile carrying both encouragement and a challenge.
Was this… a way to seal their agreement?
Throwing his head back the same way, Izuku opened his mouth wide and tossed the autumn-colored liquid down his throat. He barely had a moment to smell the spicy drink before it was searing the back of his throat, pungent and bitter and smokey. A series of hacking coughs wracked Izuku's body, and he slammed the half-drank glass down, reeling and choking. "What is this!?"
"Yamazaki, single malt, twelve year. Aged in Japanese oak, and you can taste it, with that long finish of ginger and cinnamon." Shiro grinned ear to ear, his eyes shining with amusement. "And just a word of advice…"
"Huh?"
The man snagged a pen and paper, writing a single word.
Castle.
Shi-ro.
He leaned in close, the spicy smell of alcohol blowing over Izuku as he whispered into his ear. "Shiro isn't my real name, and I suggest ya find a new one too."
That was the night Izuku became a villain.
There was no way to logic out of that, no way to ignore it, no excuses or justifications. He had his reasons, yes, but being a villain was being a villain.
His eyes stung at the thought, and something in his soul groaned and whimpered, crushed under the weight. But that didn't change reality.
When did things go so wrong? Was it when he stabbed the investigator? Was it when he turned down All Might? Or maybe when he attacked Warp? Was it something as simple as when he first fought Bakugou? Or… Was it the very basic fact that he had let Himiko into his life?
He didn't regret any of those. Looking back, each and every single one of them, he wouldn't have done it any differently. He was who he was, and he had made his choices.
But it had all led him here.
As he forced down the rest of his whiskey, those words rang through his head.
To new beginnings.
A/N
Good evening, all
This chapter is a bit of a slower one, but I was thinking after the chaos of the past few, I should give Izuku a breather! And by breather, I mean have him and Shiro do an emergency lung surgery on Himiko that will leave her permanently scarred and potentially limit her physical abilities for the rest of her life, and then get pressured into smuggling and selling arms by the very man that just saved Himiko's life.
Yay!
On a more administrative note, with my semester starting Monday, my rate of uploading will have to slow some just due to the fact that time I'd spend writing will be taken up by studying. I will attempt to maintain an every-other-Saturday update schedule, but I will be posting regular status updates on my discord.