00: prologue
The night was dark. It was a certain kind of darkness that lingered, turning open streets into shady alleys, friendly plazas into desolate fields deprived of any sign of life. New moon robbed the night sky of its usual glow, as if honouring the loss of society's light that had occurred exactly two years ago.
Had it truly been two years since the death of their symbol?
The underground hero buried his chin deeper in the capture weapon wrapped around his neck. Icing winds pricked at the bits of exposed skin around his wrists. His healthy eye clung to the few flickering lights at the foot of the memorial, and each time he blinked, another candle seemed to have gone out. With midnight approaching, the day of mourning was almost over, and most visitors had returned home.
He had only seen it up close once in all those months. The stone feet of the statue had already been flattened out by then, having been touched by too many mourning hands.
Eraserhead took a deep breath. He turned to his left. An otherwise unmoving figure had their feet dangling over the edge, not the slighted bit afraid of the building's height. He could see a few strands of messy white hair peek from underneath their hood. Seems the kid wasn't wearing his usual full-face mask tonight.
"Did you have a personal connection to him?" The pro asked the question that had been bugging him for a while. There was just something… He couldn't quite explain it, but there was something about the young vigilante that reminded him of the late symbol of peace.
"He was my mentor," the young man admitted, his soft voice dull behind the mouth guard covering the lower half of his face. It felt weird hearing it without the distortion of a voice changer.
Taking another deep breath, Eraserhead wished he could say he was at least the slightest bit surprised by the answer, but he wasn't.
"For what it's worth… I'm sorry."
"Your condolences are appreciated." Spoken with bitterness, Eraserhead knew that the young man meant every word, despite their unusual choice. Gone was the cheeky attitude, the playfulness usually used to cover up insecurities. It made the frown on the underground hero's face grow deeper as he clenched his fists inside his pockets. He mulled over the choice of his next words, trying to pick them as carefully as possible.
"My offer still stands. Our society is in shambles, and we need strong, capable people, we need figures the public trusts, people… People like you. If you turn yourself in, negotiations would be held in your favour. You know the principal of U.A. has shown interest in you and your partner, and the commission will the least listen to his arguments. While I cannot guarantee anything, I swear I will do everything in my power to make things work out. To the public, you are already a hero. Don't you think it's time to earn that title officially?"
A dry, empty laugh. Eraserhead had screwed up. Again.
"Thank you for your endeavours, but you already know my - our answer. We won't let ourselves be shackled by the commission for an empty title and a tiny plastic card. Your black and white system is outdated, and we won't be used as figureheads of an already doomed ship."
It was always the same. Eraserhead's hair would turn as white as the vigilante's before they would change their minds. But the pro wouldn't let that stop him from trying over and over again, until he himself, either of them or all of Japan bit the dust. Which sounded a lot more plausible than the scruffy man was comfortable with.
Silence engulfed the two figures on the rooftop. Eraserhead knew better than to try again right away. He would wait for another opportunity. Until then, he simply had to continue building up the two young vigilantes' trust in their society and make sure the damn kids stayed alive.
As if being summoned by the pro's thoughts, a few light taps could be heard behind the two. A figure dressed in an all-black getup similar to the one of the sitting vigilante appeared, a bouquet of white flowers, chrysanthemums, in their hands.
The young man by the edge of the building finally came to his feet. The freshly cut flowers were handed to him. He picked a seemingly random one up, revealing it was not like the others: A bright yellow lily.
"I know the associations with this one aren't the best, but somehow, they remind me of him. I can't help it. Maybe because they're like his hair," the vigilante joked, once again unable to conceal the bitterness in his dull voice. Eraserhead hadn't taken him for one who knew about flowers. Then again, whenever he wasn't setting things ablaze or making the heroes look like fools by escaping the most well thought through traps, the young outlaw spoke softly and with compassion to the civilians, reassuring them that everything was going to be alright before jumping straight back into battle.
He would make an amazing hero, and Eraserhead wouldn't stop letting him know that. Not until the vigilante found it in himself to accept the truth.
"Thanks for the company, Eraser. See you around." The bouquet safely clutched to his chest, the vigilante stepped off the building, his partner following suit after offering the pro hero a casual, two fingered salute. The first few times it had happened, Eraserhead almost died of a heart attack, but he was used to it by now. Always so dramatic yet sneaky. It drew another sigh out of the man, and he didn't know better than to turn up and stare at the black, starless void above.
Two years ago, All Might had died, and with him, the light that had kept their world in a state of peace and prosperity.