She didn't sleep well that night.

The clan member Goro returned them to the street where Ochaco had left her car, and the drive felt like a dream. She had sat in the middle between Ochaco and Momo in the SUV on the way back, squeezing their hands until her knuckles were white. She had been tacky with Jiro's blood — it stained her clothes and was underneath her nails. It dried in her cuticles. Goro hadn't given them a second look when he left them off; perhaps he was too ashamed of how things had unraveled to want to look at them. Momo didn't care. She was happy to be alive, relieved to be free, and too aware of how close to disaster she had come. They had nearly been trafficked. She didn't have words for the adrenaline coursing through her veins as they piled into Ochaco's car and locked the doors.

They hadn't really spoken. None of them seemed to know what to say. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell them that they needed to do the obvious — go to the police. But she just couldn't seem to bring herself to say the words. Her tongue felt too thick to talk around, and the task seemed too momentous. So she said nothing instead. Ochaco had driven Mina straight to her home first, and then taken Momo to hers. A servant came to open the car door for her, and stepped back in shock as Momo emerged, covered in blood.

"Miss Yaoyorozu! Have you been hurt?!"

Momo shook off their concerned hands, holding her breath as she tried to think of what to say. Her mind was beginning to work again as the shock wore off.

"No, I'm not sure. Get one of the others and have them follow Ochaco home, make sure she gets there safely, okay?"

"Yes, of course. Are you sure you're alright? Should we call the police?"

The police. There it was again, the question of the police. She knew the answer should be yes. She knew the answer should be Yes. She just still couldn't bring herself to say the word. Momo met Ochaco's gaze, and she saw it on her friend's face that she wasn't ready to confront the police either. So instead Momo said, "I'm fine. I'll handle it, there's no reason to worry." She bent to look at Ochaco directly. "We will talk tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Ochaco agreed with timidity. "Tomorrow is soon enough."

The servant went to the gatehouse and returned with someone else, letting them know about their task of escorting Ochaco home. Momo gave a small wave before retreating up the steps to her home. The lights were off inside except for the occasional dim lamp. None of the servants were anywhere to be seen and, as she crept toward the stairs, she saw the light from the television in the family room where her parents must be. She wasn't ready for the police, and she certainly wasn't ready to tell them how close she had come to the wrong side of Yakuza.

She knew better than to destroy the evidence, though. She undressed and folded her bloodstained clothes carefully; they smelled strongly of cigarette smoke, and she wrinkled her nose. There was no reason to scrape any of the blood from around her nails, though — she scrubbed it out from under her nails with a bristled brush, and it swirled down the drain. Some had soaked through her clothes and stained her skin. Momo washed it all off in the shower, then dressed in her pajamas and climbed into bed. She had a text message waiting for her from Ochaco letting her know that she'd gotten home safely, and thanking her for having someone escort her home.

She stopped at the door to her balcony to check the lock and draw the curtains before she climbed in bed with her phone. She still felt numb with shock, but her mind was catching up. Tomorrow they would have to go to the police and make a report, there was no question about that. She would tell her parents tomorrow, too, but she would need more nerves for that than for the trip to the police station. They'd need to go early — they would have to ask Mr. Aizawa in homeroom before the rest of their classes. Momo texted Mina and Ochaco as much, then laid her phone aside — then laid there, staring at her ceiling. She dozed in and out, but deep sleep was fleeting and she startled awake quickly. In the minutes where she did doze off, her mind was filled with smoke rings and the sounds of grown men screaming as they were lightened a finger.

First light came through the balcony doors, and she rolled over to greet it — then bolted out of bed, putting as much distance between herself and the doors as she could. A line of shopping bags — her shopping bags from the previous night, that had long been forgotten in the street during the chaos — sat in front of the balcony doors. They looked worse for the wear, but they were intact. Momo sucked in a deep breath then dashed across the room and slapped her hand down on the latch; the lock was already secured. That meant someone had gotten into her room and back out without her noticing, even though she'd barely slept. They must not have meant her harm, they'd only been returning her things to her. But then that also meant that they knew who she was and where she lived. They had gotten past the high tech security systems of her family's home. They were capable of far more than she had expected from Yakuza.

Momo was on edge as she dressed into her school uniform. She tucked her bloodstained shirt from the night before into a ziploc bag and sealed it, then put it into her bag, leaving behind the bloody cardigan she'd worn with it. She would take the shirt to the police when they went today. She declined letting her driver take her today, instead opting to take the car herself. They would need it to go to the police station. Mina and Ochaco were waiting just inside the front doors. There was a pause as they all exchanged nervous glances.

"So...let's talk to Mr. Aizawa before most of the class gets there," Ochaco said, chewing on her lower lip.

Momo gave a curt nod of agreement and steeled herself. What would they say? How much would they tell him? Would it be sufficient to say that they needed to go to the police? He was exactly where she'd expected him to be — lying on the floor behind his desk, wrapped up in the yellow sleeping bag he kept there. She'd never encountered a teacher like him before. He lazed about, sleeping through most of homeroom while Tenya took roll. He would awaken long enough to rebuke someone here and there. Then, during class with him again in the afternoon, he oversaw them with an iron fist. His rebukes were sharper then — probably because he was finally more awake, although that wasn't saying much. He slouched about in his baggy clothes, hair in his face. The fact that he was a Pro Hero was nothing short of mind-boggling. When she thought of Pro Heroes she thought of the likes of All Might, Endeavor, and Best Jeanist — clean cut, distinct, proud. Mr. Aizawa — Eraser Head — was deeply different than them.

"Mr. Aizawa?" Momo said as the girls approached the desk. The sleeping bag moved slightly. "Mr. Aizawa, we need to talk to you."

A long sigh escaped the bag, and it wriggled before he rolled over to look at them from inside it, the expression on his voice devoid of amusement or interest in what he was needed for.

"What is it, Momo?" he asked, closing his eyes after seeing the three of them lined up in front of him.

"We — me, Mina, and Ochaco — would like permission to be excused for the first part of today."

"Why?"

She hesitated. "There was an incident last night when we were shopping, we need to report it to the police."

"Why didn't you do it last night when it happened?"

"I think we were all in shock." His eyes opened a slit, staring up at them blearily, before he gave another weighty sigh. "Very well. But you should understand I'm letting you go during school hours because you all were in the top ten of the Quirk Evaluation Exam. You'll need to make up the work you miss and turn it in tomorrow. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"As future Heroes, you need to understand urgency. When things happen, it's your responsibility to handle them in a timely manner — this should have been done last night. Do you understand that, too?"

"Yes, sir," they said again, and Momo lowered her eyes, knowing he was right.

"Go."

He rolled back over in his sleeping bag, shutting them out. Momo turned to leave — the others were beginning to filter into the room. Neither she, nor Mina or Ochaco, said anything to them as they filed back out past them, exchanging glances between themselves but not saying a word until they were in Momo's car when, at last, Mina blurted out what they'd each wondered.

"Did you two have shopping bags left in your houses last night, too?"