Same old stuff, always different tomorrow.

Between the sound of crisp graphite scribbles and dull chalking tapping, Midoriya had his eyes focused ahead. The equations and formulas - specifically square and cube roots - was a breeze, at least for Midoriya. No, his eyes were lazily fixated on his teacher.

The shaggy raven-haired middle-aged gentleman wore a blue tie and grey vest, almost scholastic, if not for his light beard-moustache. Despite facing the chalkboard, there was no escaping the sound of his slightly low-pitched voice. Other than his 185cm height, his shoulders sagged with a partial inward round slump.

But it was only 9:30am.

Hence, it pained Midoriya for the entire week that he had to wait six hours until he could freely move around.

Even by 3:30pm, he still couldn't do anything yet. Given the intriguing nature of his assignment, he was quick to pack his things and blend with the crowd. But he dared to look over his shoulders, making sure that Bakugo and his friends wouldn't follow him. At the east wing staircase, he made his way to the rooftop, where he took a seat on a bench. From his position, he could view the right front area of Aldera, including part of the main gate as well. He dared not to straighten his posture, simmering in the afternoon spring heat in the meantime. For a time, he saw nothing but handfuls of students filing out, leaving only half of the student population mingling in clubs downstairs.

"Nothing on the western front..." He wrote in his notebook, in English, "Now, on the eastern front?"

He dared standing up, walked and looked around on the rooftop, finding no one else atop, save for a few romantic couples in the faraway distances.

"How cliche..." The greenhead murmured magnanimously.

He finally sat down, crossing his arms, the notebook clutched sleepily in his right hand. It wasn't until five o'clock that he checked his phone again, but nature called moments later, prompting him to the bathroom downstairs. Even when he reemerged, only the minutely dimming sun changed overall. But he kept sitting there, marvelling at the urban landscape below and beyond the school walls. Even as dusk approached, he still didn't move.

It was seven o'clock when he checked his phone again; however, he took a few minutes to text his mum, announcing his return home by nightfall. Though he immediately received a reply, he didn't text back, as he cautiously peered around, wondering if anyone continued to loiter as him. In fact, he shakily snatched his phone and silenced it, albeit somewhat sombrely. By eight o'clock, he tiresomely stood up, almost deadlifting his randoseru as he dragged himself off the rooftop ... or at least, he thought.

"Locked." He exclaimed heavily and fatigued.

He turned and scoped his surroundings. There was no way he could scale the chainlink fences lining the rooftops, not when he was five stories off the ground. But then, below...

"There he is!" He exclaimed internally, briskly reaching and jotting in his notebook. Noting the time on his phone, he watched Roido stroll rightward, disappearing around a corner upon crossing the street. He stood for a moment in the partially pitch black moonless night, not seeing any automobile or any further activity thereafter.

A moment later, a long airy sigh left his throat.

It wasn't until the next morning, after sleeping on the bench with his randoseru, that he could get off the rooftop. But instead of going home, he sluggishly trudged into class; however, nobody was around. Bakugo was nowhere to be seen either. Nevertheless, he sat down, his head languishing into his arms. It wasn't until the bell rang that he was awoken.

Same old stuff, always different tomorrow.

But come 3:30pm, he was on his way out the gate, straight on the train, and strolling in his neighbourhood ... or so he thought ...

"Midoriya?" A unfamiliar Japanese voice called him.

Freezing in place, the teenager turned and saw an approaching policeman.

"Midoriya Izuku?"

"Yes, th-that's me." He nodded shyly.

"Where are your parents?"

"Oh ... uh ... it's just a couple blocks from here." He lowly gestured his right thumb down the street.

"Your mother had filed a missing persons report not long ago." The policeman explained as he stood a meter away from the teenager. "We have been tasked with finding and returning you home."

But once the policeman got closer, Midoriya couldn't help but stare at him. He had a white medical face mask and rectangular reading glasses on his face, with white gloves covering his hands, and the standard issue blue police uniform/hat and stab vest. But what was most unusual for Midoriya was his physique.

He was an 183cm tall lanky man.

"H-Holmes...!?"

He never got to shout when the Holmes quietly rose and shushed with his right finger.

"Come on," Holmes commanded in Japanese, his British drawl completely absent amid his deliberately higher pitched voice. "Let's get you home."

Once they started walking for a dozen steps, Midoriya couldn't help but whisper, "Holmes, what in the world are you doing?"

Holmes whispered back in his original British voice, "You shouldn't have stayed the night at your school. Your mum had a filed a missing persons report five after ten. You were lucky I was at the station when she was there."

"Does it have to do with Roido?"

"Shh, not until this Saturday. I told my colleagues I would take up your case and report as soon as possible."

"I thought private detectives don't consult with the police."

"On the contrary, that depends on the circumstances. They thus work with me or against me. Now, if you would please..." Holmes countered before pausing, where he reverted to his Japanese voice, "Is this your home?"

Turning left, Midoriya found himself, escorted by Holmes, standing in front of the apartment complex.

"Y-Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

A few flights of stairs later, with a few knocks on the door by the disguised Englishman, Inku immediately answered...

...and hugged her son.

"Oh my baby, there you are!" She gleamed-cried. "Webeenlookingeverywhereforyou!"

"Mum..." Midoriya cringed-smiled, in English.

"Thank you, officer." She thanked him, completely oblivious of his actual identity. "W-Wheredidyoufindhim?"

"Calm yourself, madam." Holmes assured, in Japanese, of course. "Calm yourself. He hoped aboard the wrong train home and spent the night at an inn. Don't worry, he made it to school in time. You may wish to call my superiors if you want confirmation."

"Oh I was on the phone with them just now."

"Sugureta. Then, you may tell them you have found him. I will report back to my superiors and tell them the case is closed." With a curt, albeit modest bow, and a tip of his hat, the officer bid farewell. "Shitsurei shimasu."

"Kyoushuku desu~" Inku gratefully waved him off.

Moments later, when mother and son were inside, however...

"You jumped on the wrong train?! How did you forget?!"

"Mom ... you know how school is so stressful..." He sighed broadly.

"You been riding the same train since last year. And you even stayed at an inn?!"

"W-W-Well..." Midoriya stuttered, "I-It was the cheapest I could find."

"How much?"

"¥2000."

"How much?" She parroted and leaned slightly forward.

"¥2000 ... it was one of those capsule hotels." He tapped his two fingers together. "I didn't want to tell this ... but I lied about the stress."

She was about to open her mouth, but Midoriya blurted first, "Someone had been following me."

...

...

...

"Why didn't you tell the police?"

"I did tell him."

"No, I mean at the time!"

"Mom..." He sighed, reaching into his pocket, "My phone was dead."

"You could have asked for a telephone." She shook her head, "Come on ... help me make dinner."

With a curt nod, he dropped his randoseru near the front door, took his shoes off, and followed his mom.

It wasn't until a few hours later, when the sun was halfway down the horizon, he was finally in his bedroom.

Upon closing the door, a heavy and relieved sigh escaped his lips. Flicking on the lights, he flipped and dumped his randoseru's contents on the bed. But among them, an unfamiliar envelope slid onto his foot. Blinking puzzlingly, he reached and opened it, where a cursive letter read:

"My dear boy, that was too close for comfort. I have seen too many grave crimes befall a child, especially between 11pm to 2am. When I overheard your mother, I initially thought your friend had no doubtingly snuffed you. But when I observed your school, your appearance confirmed otherwise. Please do not break from your routines, that is the easiest and fastest warrant of suspicion. You will continue as you were before, but if I catch you in trouble again, I'm afraid I will need to explore some considerations for future cases. I will see you on Saturday before 4pm. Yours sincerely, Sherlock Holmes."

Partially folding it, he cringed modestly...

He tramped towards his desk, tossing the English message, and slumping in his chair. He glanced at the pile of homework on his bed, but his eyes rolled to the ceiling. When he looked back down, the sun had completely set, his computer staring at him blankly.

Clearing his throat, however, he switched it on...

But while he waited, he reached under his bed, retrieving a ziplock bag, where the semi-bent tomato-like pot pipe resided. His nose and eyes revolted when he sniffed the tobacco inside. He dared try not to look at its contents, even as he returned it under the bed.

Thereafter, he got to work...


Two days later

Midoriya was sitting on a bench.

But this time, he was at Tatooin station. Between the clanking train cars and overhead announcer, he had the staircases in his peripherals. In his hands was the afternoon paper. Granted, he had a sour pucker on his face, but he dared not to lower the paper. Even as he stared at another day's work of a pro-hero, he kept himself his eyes on the headlines, not wishing to attract attention, both onto or towards himself.

It wasn't until the clock turned to 4pm that he stood up and boarded the next train. He got off at another station, where he boarded one more train. But when he reemerged from the subsequent station, he was in a suit and tie, his hair gelled back, totally not mimicking Holmes' own. As for his empty randoseru, he stashed it into an adjacent public rubbish bin, completely freeing his hands.

By 4:45pm, he walked into the city courthouse, a squat grey building of only four stories. Aside from the security guards, he slipped his phone, wallet, and keys onto the conveyor belt, where he was promptly scanned by a metal detector, and patted down by a guard. Besides a couple nods and cold glances, Midoriya was on his way.

Moments later, he approached the receptionist desk...

"Good afternoon, madam." He spoke in his best, albeit partial deepen, American English possible.

The black-haired woman in her late-30s looked up, unsurprisingly confused.

Clearing his throat, he rambled, "Pardon myself, I'm afraid I-"

"Can I herupu you?" She replied in her best, albeit heavily accented, English.

"I'm an attorney speaking on the behalf of families affected by one Katsuki Bakugo. I need to obtain a hard copy of his juvenile files."

"Mmm, one secondu, preasu." She nodded before obtaining and dial on the phone; however, Midoriya was not entirely worried. "Tenya-sama, there's an attorney in the lobby requesting the Bakugo case files."

"..."

"Juvenile files."

"..."

"No, he's an American."

"..."

"Oh ... okay, I'll send him on his way. Arigatou gozaimasu." She hung the phone, where she looked up and relayed. "Mr, uh..."

"Mikaela West."

"Wesutu-sama, you see disu stairusu?" She swivelled left and right at each adjacent grand marble staircases.

"Mhm."

"Head up andu waitu nearu rifutu. Somebody wiru meetu you shoruture."

"Thank you." He nodded and walked away, where he sat a cushioned bench near the elevators.

But when he began looking around, one of the elevators dinged, and an elderly gentleman in a suit and tie walked out.

But...

"Um ... Mr Tenya?" Midoriya blurted...

...and the man stopped.

"Oh, woeru aru my mannasu?" Tenya turned and muttered in his best English. "You musutu be de American."

"I do apologize for appearing unannounced." Midoriya continued acting American after bowing lightly, "The families, at least my American clients, had been evermore demanding recently."

"Ofu courusu. You aru widuoutu a doubutu bere unforutunatu youserufu."

"Oh?"

"Disu Americansu beriefu dei can getu aneidein dei wantu. Dei mae habu deiru shipusu in Yokosuka, butu datu isu aboutu itu."

"I have tried to assure my clients the exact same thing, even the proceedings here as well. Beyond that, it's just a lost cause."

"Mmm." The clerical elder nodded, "You uh supeeku Japaneesu youruserufu?"

"Oh I'm afraid not. My translator was suppose to be here, but as you can see ... welp."

"Fearu notu, Mister...?"

"Mikaela West."

"Mmm. I wiru waruku you doun to de arukaibesu. Dei wiru herupu getu wautu you needu foru de Bakugou kasu."

"Oh why thank you, Mr Tenya." The duo began to walk and enter an elevator. "I don't mean to be intrusive, but do you have any clients yourself?"

"Ah Wesutu-kun, habu you notu lookudu atu me? I am atu de endu ofu de lainu; I am butu 82."

Midoriya withheld every urge not to exclaim or contort his stoic face, all the while ignoring the shame of asking an elderly Japanese man his age.

"You aru beure yungu youruserufu, Wesutu-kun. Ifu I wasu nunu de waisa, I wourudu habu dinku you wuru a chairudu."

"My parents are Japanese themselves, albeit Americanised." Midoriya shrugged, slipping on of his words, "I do have my dad's face, even though I am 32."

"Ah, you habe wunu ofu de mosutu imuporutantu gifutusu in raifu, Wesutu-kun."

...

...

...

"Youth." The elderly statesman said in his best pronunciation possible. "Youru familie musutu be beure puroudu ofu disu."

"Actually, they don't even make a single remark about it. You're perhaps one of the only few people I know that noticed, besides my associates. I guess that's probably why they look at me so funny sometimes."

"Do notu waesutu youru youth, Wesutu-kun. It isu bodu a gifutu andu a puribirechiu. Eberei puribirechiu comusu bidu resuponsibiritie. Dautu andu freedomu aru neberu free."

"I wish I can tell you that about America. I am ... well, I am ashamed to say it. I like to make America great again, someday."

"Do notu haatu youru country andu de foundashiunsu it besutowed upon you. Haatu de people datu hadu chanchiedu oru dunu nudein."

"I assure you, I love to get these ships out of your harbor. Call me ambitious, if you may. I do anything to right any wrong my country has done."

"Indeedu, you aru ambishiusu." Tenya nodded just when the elevator doors opened, "I amu afuraidu I habe buisinusu ofu my oun, Wesutu-kun."

"It's been a pleasure, however." Midoriya bid farewell.

"Gokurousama desu." The statesman bowed.

The disguised teenager almost bowed back, but he caught and morphed his momentum into a head nod.

Afterwards, the elevator closed, allowing Midoriya to turn away and walk down the long uninterrupted hall, alone. Moments later, he peered into the reinforced window of a metal door, seeing the vast shelves of documents on the other side. Unfortunately, a retinal scanner, a fingerprint scanner, and a keycard scanner stood between him and the archives.

"Not cleared for entry." A flat robotic voice alerted, a deep blip chirping after instantly scanning his face.

Turning away, he looked around and shrugged discontentedly. But around a corner, behind the door, a raven haired man with a slightly build and mild stature approached.

"Hold on a minute." The young adult employee greeted nonchalantly, in English, from the other side, "You American?"

"Yes."

"Then I know who you are."

Promptly, he placed his left hand on the fingerprint scanner, where he swiped his keycard with his right hand. All the while, a brief high tone bleep chirped overhead, and a click...

"Ident: Itou Makoto." The same flat robotic voice identified.

"You must be one of their attorneys, huh." Makoto remarked neutrally as he held the door.

"Yes." Midoriya replied as he walked inside.

"Well, I suppose you came to the right place."

"I do apologize for appearing unannounced, my clients have been incredibly impatient lately."

"So I've heard. You came all the way from Yokosuka for Bakugo's files?"

"Of course. It wasn't exactly easy to locate until I realized they kept them here. Nobody told me that everything is being recorded on punch cards and books."

"We do everything manual here." Makoto explained as the duo walked between long shelves of catalogue drawers. "Ever since the beginning of quirks, most government departments in this country haven't changed their storage mediums. As you can see, we're still doing everything on paper."

"No computers?"

"Nope. It's much safer and untraceable than a digital storage. You're lucky to be here in time, because some of the files are going to be shipped out this evening."

"To other clients or offices?"

"I can't say for sure. But rest assured, the Bakugo files are not going anywhere."

"Oh well, thank goodness." Midoriya sighed in relief, all the while continuing to follow Makoto until they reached a certain drawer on the right.

"You bear some resemblance to one of Bakugo's victims." Makoto chirped as he opened the drawer and looked.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he had green hair just like yours, except it was brighter. You don't happen to be him, are you?"

"Oh ho ho," Midoriya turned and chuckled deeply, "I was born and raised in America for most of my life."

"Yeah, I didn't think so. That poor boy had freckles are all over his face. I think he even had green eyes; yours are brown."

"My parents are Japanese, but they miscegenated since the past century. Why his family is not seeking justice is beyond me. My colleagues have only been focused on the Americans and their closest friends, so to speak."

"Do tell. I hate to say this, but your clients are endlessly annoying."

"I was aware of that." Midoriya almost mimicked Holmes' syntax. "I'm not exactly proud of it either."

"That's very rich from someone like you."

"Hmm?" He hummed innocently, pretending he wasn't offended or humoured in the slightest.

"Ah, here we go." He pulled and showed a card. "Right this way."

Moments later, after walking and turning past some shelves, they rounded a corner, where Makoto briefly combed and pulled out an open wooden box on the very bottom.

"That's ... it?" Midoriya utters as he crouched beside him.

"The kid doesn't have much of a record, but his bad attitude and unsavory connections suggest otherwise."

"I mean, I take that he was some sort of rebel with that blonde hair, but this? This is surprising."

"Do tell. Want me to get you a hard copy of these?"

"Oh, yes, please."

"Which one?"

"All of them." Midoriya shook his head, "Please."

"Alright," Makoto pulled and lifted the box, "Follow me."

Once they returned to the catalogue drawers, Makoto then added, "Stay here, I'll be back in a little bit."

But once Makoto walked out of viewed, realizing that nobody was around, Midoriya slipped some plastic gloves on, scoured the catalogue drawers, and briskly located Roido's card. Once he did, he partially retraced his steps to Bakugo's file location, where instead of turning a right, he went left, where he then found himself between two large shelves.

"Holy crap..." Midoriya uttered under his breath when he located Roido's files ... or rather ten cardboard boxes of it.

Luckily, all of them were open, allowing him to comb through them unimpeded. He started with the rightmost box, where he found nothing...

"Wait..." He stopped, where he partially lifted a folder and peered in it, "Divorced?!"

He was tempted to look around or even take the file, but his coat was not big enough to store the divorce papers. So, he relinquished it and peered into the next box.

"Yadayadayada, police inquiries, court transcripts, tax payments, his W-4..." He muttered, eventually moving onto the fourth box; however, he barely looked inside it when he was stopped by a file, "Marriage pa... his wife."

...

...

...

"She's an accountant of Mitsubishi. Married for 25 years." He whistled internally, "Ugh ... something stinks..."

A few files later, he peered at another manilla folder, but the subsequent folder made him frown.

"University of Tokyo graduate. Bachelor?" He eyed deeply, "I though he would have a PhD given his skill and talent. Maybe doctorate, but that be quite a stretch."

Upon moving onto the seventh box, he whispered with awed, "My goodness, the city hall has more information on people than the entire internet, let alone reliable and accurate. I suppose our taxpayer money is going to good use after all."

After a moment, he found nothing, until he inspected the ninth box...

"Bankruptcy...?" He shrugged at first, but his eyes dilated when he saw furthermore, "Mortgage leans? These were more than a year ago ... a year and a half after their divorce. What the hell is going on here?"

He dared peaking into the last box, but he never had a chance, not when he briskly swiveled his head around. Footsteps were abound, preventing him from looking into the box much longer. Thus, he reached and grabbed the divorce papers, stuffing the folder in his coat before hastily walking away.

Luckily, nobody was around the corner when he exited the aisle. Even then, he withheld as much as he could from sweating or panting, wondering if someone had heard, seen, or sensed his presence. To his relief, however, when he returned to the catalogue drawers, nobody was around, again.

He took a moment to stop and take a few deep breaths before scanned past the drawers, eventually locating 'Ro'.

"West-kun?" A familiar voice called.

Midoriya's fingers almost trembled as he dug through the cards in the drawer, eventually sticking Roido's card in a random location before closing it. He turned and walked in the general vicinity of Makoto's voice. Just when he rounded a corner and saw him, Midoriya popped his gloves off and stuffed them in his right pocket.

"West-ku... oh there you are." Makoto chirped and walked towards him. "Sorry for the wait, our laser printer had malfunctioned."

"W-W-Wait, what?" Midoriya stuttered incidentally, mostly.

"Yeah, our printer ran out of ink, so we had to send it upstairs."

"Aw those damn things." The disguised teenager sighed and shake his head. "There wasn't much to copy, wasn't there?"

"We got through most of it, but we still got a few folders to copy. It shouldn't take too long."

"Oh, well, it's okay."

"Yeah." Makoto shrugged unenthusiastically. "Where were you?"

"I was trying to find the bathroom." Midoriya lied, briefly peering rightward. "No one was around, so I thought I could find it myself."

"Eh, you're out of luck. There's no bathroom down here."

"What?"

"Yeah, you got to head upstairs on the ground floor and up to use a bathroom. Everything here in the basement and below have no bathrooms - it's for security purposes."

"Not exactly convenient if you're working long hours down here."

"Hey, I'm not the guy who designed the place. I'm sure the government has plenty of reasons to build the archives a hundred meters below sea level."

"Hmm ... that doesn't sound exactly earthquake proof."

"Maybe. But that doesn't stop them from building panic rooms down here."

Midoriya simply shrugged his shoulders, not wishing to hear the almost equally young adult's warm reception.

...

...

...

"You know, just out of curiosity, while we're waiting for the copy," Midoriya reverted his attention, "Can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?"

"What can you tell about Mr Tenya?"

"You never heard of him?"

"Nope."

"Well, quite frankly, I don't know much about him, but his son is one of the most successful attorneys in Musutafu. In fact, if I recall furthermore, he has two grandsons, one of them is already a pro-hero himself."

"And the other one?"

"I'm not sure actually. Rumors have said that he's enrolling to the prestigious U.A. Academy."

"Oh goodness, that is an extremely tall order." Midoriya whistled ... amusingly.

"You got a thing about that?"

"No, no, of course not. Here I thought it was impossible to enroll at Harvard."

"Y-You been to Harvard yourself?"

"No. California." Midoriya concocted at the top of his head, "Butte College and then Berkeley."

"California? Hmm, I always thought about wanting to live there."

"Nah ... it sucks. Trust me, it sucks. Everything from the weather, fires, Hollywood, everything. It sucks."

"Well not bad enough to stop you from becoming an attorney."

"Hey, it's nice to visit, but don't live there. It sucks. I wish I can tell you about the people, but I don't suppose there any kind words to describe them in Japanese."

"Okay, okay, I get it." Makoto shrugged. "But I'm still going to go there, nonetheless."

"Alright ... don't think I haven't..." Midoriya shrugged back, but he saw a middle aged secretary walking into view in his left peripherals. "Oh..."

Bowing lightly to him, the disguised teenager bowed back, "Thank you."

In her hands was a thick manilla envelope, evidently filled to the brim with Bakugo's information. Kindly taking it, he placed looked at it briefly and tucked it under his left armpit.

"I don't suppose there's a fee I need to pay for all this?" Midoriya inquired innocently.

"Hai, about ¥4,000."

"Is there any chance I can pay it on the spot?"

"Of course, but don't make it official. We're usually very stringent around here."

"Oh...? I'm certainly no felon myself."

"Just pay me, please."

Reaching into his wallet, he produced ¥4,000 ... which was everything he had in his pocket.

"Here follow me, I'll see you out." Makoto guided upon taking the money.

"Don't you have to close up?"

"Oh don't be ridiculous. This is government - they run 24/7. My shift is almost over."

"Hmm ... good, then."

"Hmm?"

"It's good you start early; you get it out of the way sooner."

"Oh. Yeah, yeah." Makoto nodded as he walked towards the locked metal door.

"Ident: Makoto Itou." The scanner identified, satisfied by his fingerprints, irises, and keycard.

It wasn't until they got inside the lift that Makoto cleared his throat, "You know, the Bakugo family would care less if you had their information."

"My clients would disagree. They need to review their history."

"The police could have done the same thing."

"They've already tried, but the police have or did nothing about it.

"Uh ... that's pretty low."

"Excuse me?"

"They work themselves to the bone to protect the public amid the superpowered games of cat and mouse. They deserve more credit than you and your clients bestowed."

"Likewise." Midoriya deadpanned.

"Tsh, you know, you Americans are pretty much all the same, even if you have our likeness."

"Well at least you're being direct and honest with me, which if I recall, is pretty uncharacteristic of the typical Japanese character." Midoriya blatantly insulted.

"Huh ... I take that as a compliment." Makoto sniggered.

"Then you probably will do fantastically in America. You practically know enough English to live there."

"Oh you're too kind. In fact, you're too kind to be flogging a dead horse - these cases had been persisting for years."

"So I have seen, but at least it pays well." Midoriya shrugged, the lift stopping and opening almost immediately.

"Anyway, the Americans might as well have spared the trouble from employing you." Makoto grumbled as they exited the lift.

"Why you say that?" Midoriya frowned and turned.

"Because most of them are dropping their charges starting this Sunday."

"W-Wh-where the ... how do you know that? We never said anything about that."

"No, but the papers say otherwise."

"Ah son of a...!" The disguised teenager stormed off.

Moments later, he safely retraced his steps to the public restroom, where he retrieved his mildly stinky randoseru. There, he had changed into his gakuran and a matching baseball cap. His freckles were no longer camouflaged by makeup, and his natural green eyes were unmasked from its brown eye lenses. Only when he got near home that he threw away the cap.

...

...

...

"Sweetie, is that you?" His mum called when he entered the apartment.

"Yeah it's me." He took his shoes off, "Hold on, I need to take a shower, I smell real bad."

"Don't take long, dinner is almost ready."

And when he did take a shower, he left his randoseru in the bathroom, where he eventually retrieved it a few hours later...


The next day

"Holmes, where's your bathroom?" Midoriya lethargically barged through the door.

"Go into my quarters and turn right." The Englishman simply said, preoccupied with his computer.

Within seconds, the teenager stumbled into the bathroom, where he knelt and puked into the toilet. When he rose his head, his eyes were slightly red, with bags beginning to form under them. But aside from a few slow and soft groans, he gagged, then puked again.

"Remember to flush, my dear boy." Holmes echoed.

Indeed, the teenager eventually flushed the toilet, but it took him a few minutes to lift himself off the floor. When he emerged, he plopped himself onto Holmes' couch, a deep exhaling leaving his throat as he leaned back.

"Mrs Hudson, you think you could bring a hot cup of tea?" Holmes called before seamlessly reverting his voice, "You are trembling and ill."

"Holmes ... you won't believe what I just done."

"No doubtingly, given the rather unpleasant odour lingering upon you." Holmes turned, where he stared at him.

Then, he smiled momentarily.

"You completely outdone yourself." The Englishman shook his head.

"Well, I mean ... how did you know I spent the night at my school?"

"Were you looking for this?" He presented a familiar ink pen in his right hand.

Midoriya paused with a nervous scowl, his eyes looking down at the floor.

Once he retrieved the pen, Holmes cleared his throat and explained, "I found it while I posed as a handyman. That's not to mention you left saliva droplets all over the bench. I suppose you had an extremely important reason to be up there instead of home."

"No, I just ... I wasn't expecting to be locked in."

"Every school locks up every night. I am rather surprised to be hearing this from you, and it's not for any good reason."

"I at least found his place."

"So it was worth it?"

"Eh?"

"It was worth the missing persons report to tail your teacher to his flat?"

"You said by all means necessary."

"I never said that. I said by whatever means possible. If you were a full grown man, I would care naught, but you are but a child. You risked your mother's wrath and heart in the name of observation and deduction - that is an impossibility. Therefore I will indirectly reiterate: You need to be realistic."

The freckle-faced teenager wanted to tear up, but he dared not to spill one tear, not in front of a white man.

"You do surprise me, otherwise."

"Wh... h-huh?"

"I was surprised you recognised me even though I had glasses, a mask and a hat. You couldn't have possibility seen my face - that is another impossibility."

"O-O-Oh, well ... it was very simple for me." Midoriya sheepishly smiled, "Your body and height were telltale giveaways. It also looked like those shoes were too small for you. But when you got close to me, I uh ... I saw your eyes."

"Hmm..." He hummed rather humbly.

"I'm very sorry, though."

"Oh?"

"You were in a hurry, I suppose."

"Oh. Oh yes, I was."

"It looked like you borrowed that uniform." The teenager further deduced, "Preferably for someone that was shorter than you. I've seen policemen, but never many tall ones before, save for America or Russia. Those cops be huge over there."

"Spare me your commentaries, it is completely irrelevant."

"S-Sorry..."

"What else have you found about Roido?"

"Y-Yeah ... about that." Midoriya shyly turned away and glanced at the floor. "You probably already figured it out..."

"On the contrary, I know nothing, save for the traces of facial powder on the edges of your collar." Holmes coyly shook his head. "It's only 76 at peak temperature, but certainly not enough to induce fatigue or profuse sweating. Last I seen you, you were full of colour despite your recent mishaps. Even your clothes are more wrinkled than before. I am surprised that your mother hasn't-"

"Holmes, I believe I committed a crime." Midoriya turned and blurted towards him.

"..."

"I taken inspiration from you to impersonate an American attorney." Midoriya shakily explained, "I-I walked in, pretending that I was years older than I am, and I managed to retrieve both Bakugo and Roido's files, o-o-or at least one of them for R-Roido's case."

"Ah ... poppycock." Holmes recoiled and uttered ... calmly.

"A-All I ask is that you don't dismiss me. I just wanted to help with the case and-"

Suddenly, Holmes lifted his right hand, remotely silencing the disheveled teenager.

"Impersonation? This is really most gratifying." Holmes muttered ... fascinatingly? "May I ask why you are confessing your sins, Midoriya?"

Before he could, Mrs Hudson arrived with a fine porcelain cup and coaster of tea.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson." The Englishman thanked, but when Mrs Hudson left, he offered the tea to Midoriya, "Here, drink."

The teenager bowed curtly as he accepted the offer, setting it on his lap before lifting and sipping it...

"Darjeeling." Midoriya deduced sheepishly.

Holmes pretended he didn't hear the boy's deduction, instead asking, "How do you feel?"

"Still a little sick..." The boy whimpered softly.

"You have completely outdone yourself, indeed. But that does nothing to justify your rather felonious stunt."

"A hero doesn't cheat and lie, Holmes. I have committed those very sins that I sworn to repulse. Perhaps, maybe I'm not destined to never become one."

"You're only saying that to yourself."

"But my friend has been saying that to me forever!"

"Never say never again."

Midoriya paused when he heard that, the edge of the cup mere centimetres from his lips. Slowly lowering the cup, a modest frown formed, "That quote was from a movie."

"I say again, never say never again. Ever." Holmes repeated more sternly. "What you have done is a crime, indeed. Fortunately, as long as you do nothing else from this point onward, it will remain a mystery."

"Wh-Wh-What do you ... mean? The government will eventually find me."

"They think they're tracking an American, not one of their own. No doubtingly, America will get involved, wondering why one of their public servants have not only vanished, but stolen the personal information of its clientele. It will be an international scandal within weeks which will work in our favour."

"But ... what I did was wrong."

"Indeed. If I was a police inspector, I would immediately arrest you on the spot. But I consult as much as I am the last line of defense of the law. Look out the window." Holmes gestured, "You see, it is one of the curses of having a mind with a term like mine that I must look at everything, with reference to my own special subject. You look at the city, let alone Little London, and you are impressed by its beauty and sophistication. I look at it and the only thought which comes to me is the chaos and the impunity with which crime may blossom and prosper."

"Yeah ... it's a battlefield ... in disguise, if you think of it. Like a deadly garden." Midoriya ponderously remarked, "They say that God made man, but you and I know that all men are not created equal. It was something I learned when I was four."

"There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion. It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. The highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. It is only goodness which gives extras."

"Don't lump me in with these extras." Midoriya sarcastically quoted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh my god..." The teenager nervously chuckled, his right hand cupping his face, "My friend said that on the first day, right when our teacher handed out our career forms. It felt so long ago ... yet ... at the same time ... we haven't seen each other for a decade, until that moment."

"Not since you were four?"

"Yes."

"Oh my dear boy, it is a wickedly colourful world, but when a clever man turns his brain to crime, it's the worst of all."

"You mean...?" Midoriya's eyes dilated, his lips hidden behind the cup after sipping.

"What have you inquired upon him?"

Looking over his shoulder, Midoriya skittishly fidgeted before standing up, placing the tea cup on the adjacent table, and unslung his randoseru. Placing it on the couch, he brandished the thick manilla envelope.

"Good heavens..." Holmes recoiled and stoically shook his head. "Put it back, I don't ever want to see that again."

With a bashful gaze at the ground, Midoriya stuffed it back into his randoseru; however, he exchanged it for Roido's divorce papers. Holmes was about to protest, his lips hung open, but he looked onward. There, he instantly snatched the file.

"Keep in mind, that through your methods, this is completely inadmissible in the court of law." Holmes reminded as he combed through the folder, "But you have provided some answers."

"Y-Yeah, but it doesn't make sense."

"Oh?" The Englishman coyly crook his head.

"He makes such good money, yet he destroyed the very same company he had helped found and build since its early days. That's not to mention he had divorced more than five months after being employed to Mitsubishi. He has no children, so no child support or alimony; however, the government did place a lien on his house, which itself doesn't make sense, since he was comfortably paying the mortgage for 24 years."

"You would be correct. I inquired on his will, which told me nothing other than a measly ¥115,000,000."

"That's his life insurance policy?"

"Yes."

"That's hardly worthy of an illustrious man as himself. I suppose his bankruptcy suggested otherwise."

"Bankruptcy?"

"Y-Y-You didn't know?"

"No, I knew he was filing for bankruptcy, but it confounds me that he would use it to bar his wife from a single pence or inch of property."

"No... how could he...?"

"Insolvency first requires either filing with the court or going with out-of-court procedures. The latter would mean he would need all of his creditors' consent, but he quite frankly had no business to warrant this."

"What about Hanasōgen? Surely, a foreclosure would do just fine."

"He's not the owner or a shareholder. However, as a homeowner, he knew he would immediately lose the house if he filed for bankruptcy. In effect, he absolved every hard earned pence in exchange for a fresh start."

"B-But his ... his marriage. For some reason, something stunk about it, but yet I can't wrap my finger around as to why."

"You wouldn't be wrong. She audited Mitsubishi's books throughout most of the duration of their marriage." Holmes confirmed, "Her own family has close ties with some of the company's associates, particularly HR department. It was through them that our Roido-sensei managed to obtain his new employment."

"For a time, at least. Why he abruptly quit and divorced thereafter keeps nagging at me. He and his wife can easily make enough money to get whatever they wanted."

"Ah, here is the missing link." Holmes plopped the divorce papers on his desk and presented a flash drive, "I have completed Hanasōgen's digital autopsy this morning, and no doubtingly that this was purely revenge."

"R-Revenge? For who?" Midoriya tried mimicking the Englishman's slyly rolled R.

"Roido abhorred the fact that he was working alongside his colleagues, not directly, but through their children."

"Mitsui is one of the most powerful if not influential clans in Japan. Actually, now that I think of it, I'm not as surprised as I thought ... except for a couple things."

"Hmm~?"

"Was it really necessary to endanger the Japanese economy simply because he refused to work with children?"

"Not just any children, my dear boy. This was the Hīragike."

"The Hīragi family? The name doesn't ring a bell."

"It probably doesn't because they are a secret military society; everyone is especially coy about what exactly their supposed to know about them, even the Keiretsu. They are a close associate of Mitsui, the same former zaibatsu that, along with Yasuda, supplied weapons and equipment to the Imperial Japanese Army throughout the Empire's existence. It wasn't until the dawn of quirks that their name began to emerge. Even then, hardly anyone knows they exist, let alone His Majesty, or the world."

"Yeah ... but Hanasōgen ... of all places. That was quite a gamble to employ a Hīragi in their ranks."

"Hīragi Shinya."

"Huh?"

"Hīragi Shinya was the Hanasōgen's highest ranking official, but he hardly lifted a finger to earn that position. Needless to say, he had been mysteriously replaced two years ago."

"How old is he?"

"Unknown."

"What?"

"That is if you're reading his background, which is a closely guarded secret. He's actually 39."

"Wh... h-how do you know that if the Hīragike are so secretive?"

"Because he is my client; he introduced me to the case. Not to mention, Mrs Roido's niece-in-law, Mitsuba Sangu, knew him very closely, albeit indirectly. He was 24 when Hanasōgen was first conceived. Around that time, Roido, then 32, had other ideas."

"No doubt. Sounds to me that Roido was the genesis of Hanasōgen's computer server. Very ambitious and proud man of his position, never mind his talent and experience. I mean, 12 years is plenty of time to make a difference."

"Yes."

"Yet here he was toiling as a network administrator when he should be the company CEO. I'm no business tycoon or economist, but again, something really stinks."

"Exactly. Seeing a man ten years your junior and steps above your station is a sure way to stir the simmering pot of jealousy and contempt. Imagine 12 years yourself answering to a baby."

Midoriya was about to answer confidently, but the materialising thought suggested otherwise. Particularly, a wide-eyed stare and a mildly uncomfortable inverted smile.

"THAT is exactly what Mr Roido had been thinking." Holmes chirped, "He effectively had all the time in the world to engineer the company's demise. That is an entire decade to developed and designed a time bomb, essentially a super purge programme."

"Wasn't there a case like this before? In another country?"

"You must be referring to America's 1997 Omega Engineering crash. Indeed, that case bears many similarities, save for the narcissistic culprit, Tim Lloyd, and his aforementioned employer. The algorithm he created was a mere hand grenade by comparison."

"A hand grenade?"

"It was a primitive purge program with only six lines of code, which he reformatted to masquerade as an innocent 'fixing' message. The bomb that destroyed Hanasōgen was more akin to a slow-burning incendiary warhead - it slowly and steadily destroyed the system without notice until it was too late."

"Oh!" Midoriya perked, "If you put it that way, it was effectively being set up for a fire sale."

"Almost." Holmes shushed. "Keep in mind, I never said he did it. That still remains to be seen until we find the workshop that manufactured the bomb."

"His own computer." The teenager pondered. "It would be the safest place to make it, so long if you have no cable or wi-fi connections."

"That is one possible theory. You are referring to his home computer?"

"Yeah."

"You would be correct, but we need to know what."

"I mean, certainly, to design and test such an electronic weapon of mass destruction, he would not only need powerful hardware, but multiple terminals."

"And complete privacy, which his house didn't have." Holmes shook his head.

"Wh-Wh- you been to his place?!"

"His current residence, certainly not. His former four bedroom, double bath, two storey Teitaku, yes, both on paper and in person. Their housekeeper was a scrupulous young woman herself, scrubbing every vestige of that house with utter impunity. No room was exempt at all times."

"That is one dedicated maid."

"Don't be so naïve; no hard work meant little to no pay."

"W-Well, what about this?" Midoriya recanted, "Let's say that if I was to design and develop an explosive, I would preferably do it somewhere isolated but open. Like, America built and tested the world's first atom bombs in the desert; the Russians did the same with Siberia and Central Asia; China had Xinjiang."

"Go on."

"But if I had neither space nor privacy, I say I would do it underground. Surely, you can never do it in a city, at least anything but fuses and shells. That would then leave me with taking it out of town, like in the mountains, hills, or some vast wilderness."

"All by yourself?"

"Yes."

"So you can design, build, and test military explosives on your own?"

"Maybe pipe bombs, firecrackers, pressure cooker bombs, and some acid bombs, but ... nothing really high tech or potent."

"No, I didn't think so."

"Lest I had plenty of time and accessible resources, oh yes! I can definitely do it. Give me thirty years with the best education, equipment, and money, I can build my own nuke from scratch. And if bombs were weaponised algorithms, then it-" Midoriya explained with increasing acceleration, but paused for a moment before he uttered, "...oh my god, Holmes."

"Hmm?"

"The company. Hanasōgen! We need to find his office computer."

"There's no way we're doing that - We need more than a search warrant to justify our presence."

"Well, what if there's the chance that he smuggled his office computer?"

"Quite frankly, none. That's not for us to ask."

"That IS for us to judge." Midoriya argued back. "If we can prove where and how he made it, this case will finally be solved. The only problem is his current residency."

"Oh? I thought you already knew."

"Wh-Wh-What you thought I...? N-No, no, no, I know his old place a la his files, but I have no idea where he lives now."

"Very good. You will do nothing else from this point."

Midoriya was about to pout and protest, but Holmes his right hand, where he sternly added, "The methods from which you observed and indulged yourself upon Roido are in grave doubt. I have told you to keep it subtle, which you have done fantastically, until you walked into the city hall. And, what have you learned? That he was a divorcee? I already knew that. That he froze and liquidated all his assets? I already knew that. Yes, he is a man of peculiar interest, but you gambled your chances far too much without any regard to your own affairs."

With a slow, heavy sigh, Midoriya said, "I'll shall go and track him down to his new place, and I'll report to you next week."

"No, no, you will not commit yourself to such wretchedness, for you are clearly a busy young man yourself." Holmes shook his head before his right hand reached and typed at his keyboard. "We can do nothing useful until this charade blows over."

"But I thought it would be in our favour!?"

"I thought so myself, but the longer I talk, the more it's becoming an impossibility. The government will no doubtingly demand for answers, which you have."

"I'm not going to run, though."

"No, of course not. You can hide, but you can't run from a government. That being said..." Holmes stood, reached, and grabbed the manilla envelope from Midoriya's randoseru, "I will be taking this."

"Y-Y-You said you can't arrest me."

"I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies!" Holmes turned and snapped.

There was a long tense moment of silence, Midoriya having already winced and blenched as far back into the couch as possible. But it was during that moment, gently slapped the manilla envelope on his desk before he sat down. There, his forehead rested in his right hand, where he stared at the smouldering fireplace.

...

...

...

"Maybe I am committing a felony myself, but I may be saving more than a soul." Holmes pondered calmly, "Send him to jail, you make him a jailbird for life."

"...you don't want to send him to jail, do you?" Midoriya mumbled ... audibly.

"Until I can prove otherwise, this case will continue to bedevil me." He sighed with a venomous undertone, "They say time fixes everything, but the fact always remains that she is a remorseless mistress, nonetheless. I came here to protect the British community, all the while escaping the banal of European intrigue. Yet, what do I find? A country still at war with itself, as it always has since day one. You have managed to keep pace in spite of the odds, however. But that pride, that fear of ridicule, that obligation to honour, has continued to persist above all else."

"I suppose some things never change..."

...

...

...

"Get out." Holmes turned to his desk and shooed with his right.

"...eh...?"

"Get out!" He repeatedly slowly, albeit more sharply.

Midoriya was about to plea, but Holmes sternly commanded, "No more words. Get out!"

With a sniffle, Midoriya picked himself off the couch, where he trudged towards and out the door, mournfully closing it behind him...