Disclaimer: The intellectual property rights to Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3 belong to Atlus and its respective creative directors, as does the My Hero Academia series, with Kohei Horikoshi.

Author's Notes: NIL.

0.0

"Boss," Kamiji pleaded, pulling him back by the arm. "Don't… Not now."

Todoroki Enji brushed her aside.

He stared, his vision tunnelling, as his feet closed the distance on his target. His nostrils flared in anger, and almost on instinct, his hellfire responded in kind. It could have been exhaustion, his tired mind deceiving him, or maybe a trick of the light, given how sparse the lighting was in the street they were on, but he couldn't shake it off. That broad back of his, the one Enji had been chasing throughout his career, seemed smaller in his eyes. And that insurmountable gap, the one he had painstakingly slaved to bridge… It was like he could reach out a hand and—

Enji grabbed a fistful of his costume, gripping it tight.

All Might turned, stunned. The emergency responder he had been talking to had all but scurried away with a hasty note of thanks when she noticed Enji.

"Endeavor?" All Might asked. "Are you alright?"

Enji refused to let go—of his anger, of his hand. His breathing laboured, to the point that he would have swayed on his feet had it not been for his iron-fisted grip on All Might; his hand was trembling under the weight of his anger.

"You were late," he gnashed out.

All Might's shadowed features twisted in anguish and regret. It was only then, when Enji struck the man speechless, did his aimless anger abate—but he was too far gone to stop. The embers of his anger smouldered.

"You. Were. Late." He twisted the knife he had plunged into the man's heart. "Where were you, All Might? So many have died tonight—Pro Heroes and civilians. People who have entrusted their lives to us. I wasn't strong enough to save them, but you…" He finally let go, shoving All Might back. "What's your excuse, 'Symbol of Peace'?"

All Might was quiet, but shame burned behind his gaze. "I have none," he said. "Truly."

"That's all you have to say?" Enji whispered harshly, leaning in. He sneered. "Would you dare say the same to the families of the two sidekicks who died under my charge? I'm sure they would rest easy knowing that All Might truly had no reason—"

All Might coughed. And it threw Enji for a loop.

It was the kind that built up from the lungs; one that sent debilitating shivers throughout the body. It was surreal—to witness the man many thought invulnerable brought down low by something so utterly human.

It was like someone had poured ice directly in his veins, his anger evaporating along with it, and what remained was a chilling sense of dread.

Enji dared a look at his surroundings. They had been given a wide berth. No one would have been able to eavesdrop on their conversation, but all eyes were on them, even if they tried to hide their lurid gazes. To everyone else, it was a spectacle unlike any other—to see the two strongest Pro Heroes exchanging words so harshly. He was sure that their altercation would make the rounds in the media.

What he didn't want was for anyone else to see this…

"What is this?" he asked quietly.

"I am truly sorry," All Might said, breathless. "For everything." When he pulled his hand away, Enji saw a speckle of blood dot the inside of his palm. His smile was forced, strained; it went against everything Enji knew. "I'm afraid I can't tarry any longer. I must go. You have the reins now."

It felt like there had been a deeper meaning behind those words, but Enji continued to stare at the man he had built up as his rival; one that had shaped and dictated the path he found himself on. Everything he had worked towards in his life had been centred around a single-minded purpose—to be better than All Might. In that never-ending pursuit, Enji had laid siege on his body, his mind, even the relationships in his life—familial and otherwise.

And to hear the man utter those words just as he took to the air tore at Enji's heart, at his spirit, right down to his core:

"They will look to you, Enji."

Enji stared after the man until his form became nothing more than a blot of yellow in a sea of black. In that moment, he realised then just how vast the night sky actually was—without All Might in his sights…

0.0

Takeyama Yu checked her blind spot as she poked her head out the door.

To be honest, there wasn't a need to. Even in the early hours of the morning, the corridors of Hosu General were a hive of activity; the staff would have been too busy to notice their presence, or lack thereof.

In the aftermath of what was now dubbed 'The Battle of Hosu' by the media, the local hospital had been overwhelmed—more so than it did during the Mass Trigger Incident at Odaiba. It was bad timing; having two separate incidents overlap. It meant that their already limited resources were stretched even thinner with the second wave of casualties. The hospital administrators had, at one point, broached the topic of Minato coming in as a relief.

And Minato really wasn't someone who could say no to others in need…

Thankfully, she was there to do it on his behalf. He didn't seem to understand just how serious severe Quirk exhaustion was—even if severe was already part of the descriptor.

"Do we have to do this now?" Minato asked.

Yu turned back to the room. He had been moved into a waiting room that had been repurposed for non-emergency cases. The facilities were bare, with only the chairs grouped together to double up as a makeshift cot. There were a few familiar faces, Pro Heroes she recognised—even Endeavor's kid was there, struggling to sleep under his blanket. It sucked that his dad wasn't there for him, but Endeavor was still out there in the field, organising the S&R efforts in the city. The man was a goddamn machine.

"Thought you said you couldn't sleep?" Yu whispered, pulling the wheelie-thing that housed his IV drip alongside her. "I remember a certain someone saying that we should sneak up to the rooftop before all this started." She gestured to the bundle of snacks and sweets she had pilfered from his 'Get Well Now Now Now!' gift basket. "Maybe some food might help you sleep; could help with your migraine too…"

Minato shrugged his shoulders. "Lead the way."

Through some unnecessary sneaking, they arrived at the rooftop virtually unaccosted. It was fortunate that the area itself was empty, so she dragged him along and sat right near the edge, where they could lean against the closed-in fence that ringed the outline of the rooftop—with their backs to the city.

There was a reason why she did that.

The view from the top of Hosu General wasn't the best. From where she sat, she could hardly tell that the city had been under attack just hours ago. It was only when she looked down did the picture start to take shape—at the bustling triage centre temporarily housing the casualties. She had been there, in the thick of things, assisting with S&R in the aftermath. However, by the end, that awful part of her brain had been so mollified at being relieved of her duty. Even if they had all done their best in fighting off the Nomus during the disaster, to actually witness what little that meant was… disheartening.

Was this truly the measure of their worth as Pro Heroes?

"There's still people being carried in," Minato said.

"Stop it, Minato. You've done enough." Yu sighed, shaking her head. She forced a smile on her lips. "In fact, you did really well out there tonight. If you keep this up, I might just have to change the name of the agency." She waved a hand in front of her. "The Hero Agency of Mount Lady and—"

She sneezed.

"Sorry, allergies…"

It was rare to hear Minato laugh, even as quiet and drained as it was. She found herself smiling just a little easier now.

"I appreciate the thought, but that sounds premature. I was there mainly as a support."

Yu sat up, saying, "Minato, you're too humble for your own good. It's actually annoying. You proved yourself back at Odaiba, and you proved yourself here tonight. You teamed up with Endeavor—Endeavor, for God's sake. That's big! That's huge!" She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "I am legitly starting to worry about other agencies trying to poach you from under me."

He appeared pensive.

"Minato, this is the part where you whisper sweet nothings in my ear and tell me how you're never gonna leave our agency."

"We should renegotiate certain terms."

Yu made a show of mulling it over. "I could start buying you extra-large portions for your dinners," she said, pursing her lips. "Might even consider bringing you out to eat like maybe… three times a week?"

"Thank you," he said, deadpan. "I feel really valued here."

She snorted, but left it at that. For a while, they sat in a comfortable silence, systematically dismantling the mountain of goodies that was his classmates' gift basket. Yu kept an eye on him surreptitiously, looking for any outward signs of distress; there were none that she could see. She bit into a malted chocolate milk ball and chewed slowly through half-lidded eyes.

Why was it so easy yet difficult with him?

Minato sighed and turned to her. "You're staring," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Why are we here, Yu?"

"Ughhhh~~" She leaned forward, pulling her knees to her chest. "I really don't know what to say to you, Minato. I know we do this a lot, but it doesn't get any easier. We get caught up in so much weird stuff, and every time there's always something, you know?"

"I understand," Minato said. "It may sound disingenuous, but I am fine, Yu. I'm exhausted, I can't sleep, and the migraine," he shook his head, clenching his eyes shut, "is still there… But I'm fine."

Yu stared at him, askance. "That's the thing! How in the hell can you be fine? You're only eighteen, but you act like none of this fazes you! That's not normal! Lash out! Be angry! Be… depressed! Just give me a sign that you're trying to cope with all of this!" She threw her hands up, exasperated. "Yo—We took a life during that battle tonight, Minato, even if it was some kind of freaky reanimated monster. That shit is heavy. I just wish that there was something I could say or do that could help you try to process all that. Just saying that you're fine over and over again isn't actually going to make it come true."

He thinned his lips into a line. "You do it too," he said quietly.

Yu visibly deflated, murmuring, "Then, I guess we really are meant for each other, huh?" She stared listlessly up at the night sky. "Look, I know it's not fair to you—me being a hypocrite and saying all that. I'm not doing it on purpose. When I fought Kugutsu, I—"

An invisible presence seized her chest and Yu clutched a hand over her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut and took several deep breaths to appease that insidious monster building up inside her. The words were hard to come by; it felt like she was trying to force it out through a pinhole.

She hated just how small her voice was.

"I… I'm not okay, Minato. I'm trying to deal with it, but it's hard. It's hard because if I let it affect me, people die. It's easier for me to ignore it so it doesn't screw up my head. I know… I know it's a slippery slope, but that's what a Pro Hero has to do. When you start doubting yourself, it shows. And if the public catches you, they're not going to be patient enough to let you learn from your mistakes while the city burns around them. Once you lose that trust, you're pretty much gone forever.

"Remember when I told you that it's important to separate yourself from your Pro Hero identity? This is why I can't afford to let that mask slip for Mount Lady. I get that my way of dealing with it isn't the healthiest; I guess that's why I pulled you aside tonight. I think I convinced myself that maybe if I could help you work out your issues, I'll be able to find the resolve to work on mine."

She scoffed. "See, all you're doing is sitting there and listening, and I've been able to poke some major holes in my own logic. It's frankly impressive."

"I guess you just needed someone to listen," he said.

"It shouldn't be that simple."

Minato shrugged. "Sometimes, it is."

As a stiff breeze blew in, Yu shivered and pulled herself closer, sniffing. "Being a Pro Hero sucks, Minato. Just look at what's down there." She motioned with her head at the triage centre. "No matter how hard you try, people are still going to suffer." She ducked her head into the crook of her arms, whispering, "And I'm just so sick of this shit…"

Yu could feel Minato inching closer until his body pressed lightly against hers.

"You're burned out," he said softly. "You've been working yourself to death for the past week, and all of this… It certainly doesn't help."

Her frustration spilled over. "You think?"

The moment she uttered those words, shame burned in her gut. She groaned audibly and cupped her hands over her eyes. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have tried to force the issue now—of all times." She faked a small smile. "Let's go back. I think I had enough chocolates for one night."

When she tried to stand, Minato held her back.

"Just give me a minute," he told her, "to gather my thoughts."

Dumbfounded, Yu sat back down and waited as Minato grappled with himself, visibly struggling to find the words.

"I tend to… internalise a lot of my emotions. I've always been like this, ever since I could remember. It's just easier this way. It's easier to listen to someone else than it is for me to talk about myself." He shook his head. "I know that makes you worry—me not talking about my emotions. But I don't think that makes me repressed. I get angry; I lash out. I went… a little overboard using my powers when I fought Kugutsu. But what I remembered most back then was being afraid—afraid that I would lose someone important to me."

"What was that?" she asked softly.

Her heart sang—out of joy, out of relief. It was hard to describe; it was a weird euphoria. Yu couldn't help the genuine smile that came across her lips.

Oh God, her allergies were acting up again…

To his credit, Minato was nonplussed. "That you're important to me?" he repeated.

"Just… Just one more time?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "I didn't realise that it mattered so much to you—for me to say it out loud. I thought it would have been obvious regardless."

"That was before you taught me that robots had feelings, Minato. Trying to get you to talk about your emotions is like squeezing water out of a stone." She nudged him with her shoulder and leaned into him. "Stop holding out on me. Come on, I swear it will make me feel better."

"Now, you're just trying to take advantage…"

"Please don't make me beg."

Minato sighed, turning to her. He held her gaze. "You're important to me, Yu. Truly. Don't ever doubt that."

Yu realised then just how close they actually were; close enough that she could count the pores on his cheeks. She pushed him back lightly on his forehead and kept her finger there. "Were you trying to be sweet on me? Who taught you all this? High-schoolers aren't supposed to be this suave."

It didn't get the response she was looking for. Minato pushed her finger away and grabbed ahold of her hand. His demeanour changed; his usual aloofness replaced with something else entirely—something she had never seen.

Fear and resignation.

And it showed in his eyes…

"You said before that you were willing to wait—for me to open up about my past. Could I ask you for something else instead?"

Yu couldn't tear her eyes away from his.

"Anything," she breathed.

"Don't treat me any differently."

0.0

Shigaraki Tomura leaned in close and rapped his knuckle against the thick glass partition that housed one of Daruma's experiments. It was like being in an aquarium, except the dark and dingy underground laboratory he was holed up in was anything but one.

This one was more human than Nomu. The man, looking no older than he was, was suspended in a vat of clear-blue liquid and attached to a complicated-looking breathing apparatus that also bound his arms and legs. His brain was exposed—well, only partly. His head looked like those anatomy models that had half of its flesh surgically removed. Hope and desperation kindled in the man's eyes when he blearily caught sight of Tomura. He struggled forcefully against his restraints, bubbles rising from the opening of his mouth.

Tomura didn't need to hear the man to understand him; it was written all over the left-half of his face.

'Kill me…'

He smiled, showing his teeth. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Stop that!" Daruma shouted. "Let my children rest!"

The doctor was further down along the aisle, where rows upon rows of similarly-looking vats were stationed. It led to an open-air surgical theatre of sorts, with Daruma's tiny form hovering over an autopsy table. Laid across it were several black plastic bags—the very same ones that Tomura had the Pro Heroes fetch for him.

"They tied a dead knot! Bah!"

Kurogiri stood behind the man, like an able attendant. "Your scissors, doctor."

Tomura barely paid them any attention, humouring himself by moving on to the next vat and repeating the process.

The next vat held a woman, muscular but not overtly so, with skin as dark as tar. Her features were avian, with a wide elongated beak that resembled a toucan. This one was dead to the world, oblivious to its surroundings.

How boring…

"Oh, Bortles… Look what they've done to you," he heard the doctor whimper. Because of how enclosed the area was, their voices naturally carried down to him. "They've cut you up like a piece of meat." Daruma sniffed loudly. "And the smell… I assume Endeavor was to blame for this one?"

"For most of them, in fact," Kurogiri said. "Shall I warp the rest of the specimens that we've recovered here?"

"No, no… Just keep them there for now."

"Oi," Tomura called out lazily. "When can we have the next batch of Nomus? We need more of 'em next time; maybe ten or more."

"More? More?" Daruma hissed, indignant. "Look around you! Do you think my children grow on trees, you simpleton? The six that I've so generously loaned you for your little stunt tonight took almost half a year's worth of development each—each!" His bushy moustache bristled, grumbling, "I'm glad you had half-a-mind to bring back little Quentin alive."

"Well, it's your job, isn't it?" Tomura asked. "You spend all damn day in this pissant laboratory, but this is all you have to show for it?" He tapped a finger against his temple. "Work smart, doctor—not hard."

"Now, now, Tomura…" The disembodied voice of his sensei rang out from… somewhere. There wasn't a monitor anywhere in sight; it seemed that the laboratory had a pretty decent sound system. "Perhaps a little show of gratitude is in order. Daruma-sensei has been ever so gracious in helping you realise your plans."

The tiny bastard harrumphed and folded his arms across his chest. Tomura sneered at him.

"Tonight has been a costly endeavour, but a necessary one," All For One said. "I must commend you on your showing tonight. A little theatrical for my taste, but I can't argue the results. It will serve us well in the coming months."

If he were a lesser man, Tomura would have preened under the praise. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling—at nothing in particular. It felt like he was trying to talk to a higher power. "Didn't you tell me we had to remain relevant? How are we supposed to do that if the super-genius-hackerman doesn't do his job?"

"I've already told you this, Tomura. You need allies. We cannot continue to rely solely on the creations of Daruma-sensei."

"Stain?" Tomura snorted. "Some fucking ally he was. Useless fuck got done in by All Might and some two-bit Pro Hero." He paused, turning to Kurogiri. "Oi, what was his name again?"

"I believe his name was Native," Kurogiri answered. "An astonishingly unremarkable Pro Hero based in Hosu. It is suspect that someone of his ilk was able to fend off Stain until All Might arrived. Perhaps there was more to the story than meets the eye."

"Perhaps, but it matters naught," All For One said. "However, I will admit some fault, Tomura. It was foolhardy of me to think that you could win him over as an ally, given your personalities; it was like running two bulls together. No, you need more amenable allies; ones more easily persuaded, unlike Stain. I've already taken steps to see to this."

"Tsk… Why do you care so much about me having allies?"

"You need to be stronger, Tomura. You've rung the passing bell for All Might's 'Era of Peace', but this is only the start of what's to come."

Tomura glared up at the ceiling. "My Quirk is plenty strong as it is."

"Strength is more than just having the most powerful and destructive Quirk; that is merely a facet of it. Look at All Might—look at his ability to inspire hope in the masses. That is the greatest strength he wields. You need to emulate him. Just like All Might inspires hope, you must inspire fear. That is how you spur the winds of change."

"You want me to take crib notes from All Might?"

"There is no shame in learning from your betters," All For One said, his tone dismissive. "The only shame here is if you allow your pride to limit you from becoming stronger. As you are now, you can never hope to beat him."

"I know that!" he gnashed out, breathing deeply through his nostrils. "I know that! That's why I need more Nomus! That's why he—" Tomura pointed at the doctor angrily, "—needs to do his fucking job! I don't need to beat All Might right away! I just need to chip away at him! Keep on hitting him where it hurts! It would all work out if you all just do what I say!"

"Hold your tongue," Daruma seethed. "You forget yourself, boy."

Languidly, Tomura lolled his head to one side, staring at the doctor through half-lidded eyes. "You're so fucking annoying." He walked towards Daruma. "What's the point of keeping you alive if you can't even—"

"Tomura," All For One's voice, steely and hard-edged, stopped him in his tracks, "Don't lose yourself in your anger until you can no longer see reason. Were it not for the good doctor there, my body would have expired long ago."

"You can't die," Tomura said. "You're the strongest person alive. You won't die."

His sensei laughed. "You're of age this year, Tomura. You're far too old to still hold onto such childish notions. No matter how long I've eluded death, I can never escape its grasp. One day I will die, perhaps sooner than later, and I have to wonder—what will happen to you then?"

Tomura kept quiet and scratched his neck roughly. "Doesn't matter… Everyone just has to keep doing their jobs. As long as the Nomus—"

"Ujiko is loyal only to me. He assists you at my behest," All For One said, his tone growing curt. "He doesn't respect you. He doesn't fear you. Why would he do anything for you?" Tomura heard the muffled crunch of metal beyond the other line. "This is why I need you to grow stronger. You must be the symbol for this new age, but you cannot do so alone. You must learn, Tomura—learn to inspire loyalty, even if it's through fear. Only then can you truly rule."

With little fanfare, the audio link was shut down with a muted 'click'.

Tomura frowned. When he looked down on his hand, he realised that he had scratched his neck hard enough to draw blood under his fingernails. It stung—but not as much as his sensei's parting words.

"Do not count tonight's victory as your own," Daruma said, breaking the lingering silence. "It is very much his, boy. You'd do well to listen to Shigaraki-sensei. He's placed all his hopes on you. Do not disappoint him."

Tomura ignored him.

"Oi, Kurogiri," he called out. "Get me out of here…"

0.0

"Working hard or hardly working?" the rodent, dressed in a ridiculously cute yet formal two-piece pyjamas, asked.

Kayama Nemuri stared at Nezu through half-lidded eyes. As she sat down on the plush seat opposite him, still in her modest nightwear, she dumped the stack of official documents from the PSC onto his desk. It slid messily across the surface, the documents cascading until it reached Nezu's clasped hands.

It was a Sunday…

Granted, it was just after midnight and the day had barely started, but it was a Sunday regardless. It had been a stressful week. Prepping for and supervising a school full of hormonal teenagers now living under a single roof was something she wouldn't wish on her worst enemies. Tonight had been her one night to indulge a little adult revelry with the rest of the faculty members. It had started out so well too:

Yamada was always a fun drunk. Ishiyama proved that cement wasn't the only thing he could toss back. Ectoplasm was smiling way, way too much. Hell, they even got Aizawa to take a sip of alcohol and the man was about as anal as a teetotaler.

Instead the night, and their plans, had been flipped on its head barely an hour in.

And what a hot mess it turned out to be…

"I hate you." She lowered her spectacles and massaged the bridge of her nose.

Nezu poured over the documents. "Forgive me for not meeting you sooner. I know this is long overdue. There was another incident that arose involving some of our younger students," he said plainly. "May I ask what our friends from the PSC said about your newest charge? I heard he performed admirably with the likes of Endeavor and Mirko. That's an impressive feat."

"All without a provisional hero license," Nemuri added. "Back-to-back incidences of unsanctioned Quirk usage. First in Odaiba and now in Hosu—all under the supervision of UA. I've been trying to hold them off ever since Odaiba, but I've been fielding calls non-stop asking me to explain how a General Education student who barely transferred a few weeks ago, whose Quirk was undetermined all this while, is able to do all this. How am I supposed to answer them?"

"We take pride in providing the best education for our—"

"If they were remotely curious then, now they're practically obsessed with him. I'm running out of excuses, Nezu. The NPA wants his Quirk. They know the practical applications of it will do wonders for their Trigger investigation."

Nezu held up a form to her, sighing. "And they've piled pressure on the PSC, so much so that they would be willing to approve an immediate provisional hero license for Arisato-san. A backdated one, even—prior to the events in Odaiba. I'm grateful, in a way. Here I thought I had to jump through hoops all over again to get them to consider a private examination for him." He chuckled suddenly. "Oh my…"

"Something you're not telling me?"

Nezu covered his mouth with a paw. "An inside joke. Please ignore me," he said. "How is Arisato-san?"

"Back in Hosu General with severe Quirk exhaustion. Couldn't visit him if I wanted to; the entirety of Hosu ward is on lockdown tonight. But I did check in with him and Takeyama-san directly. He's fine, all things considered. At least, he's in one piece this time."

"That is excellent news." Nezu smiled. "I know I've asked a lot of you by taking him on so suddenly. And he has proven to be an… interesting challenge."

"You don't say," she drawled.

He continued on, unmindful of her words, "May I ask what you think of Arisato-san, Kayama?"

"I've barely had him in my homeroom for two weeks—less than that even." Warily, she leaned back into her seat. "What exactly are you playing at?"

"Humour me."

Nezu was always a hard one to read. As he sat there with an easy smile, his tiny paws interlocked daintily, Nemuri felt like she was being forced into a den of lions.

She had heard rumours about his troubled past, even more on his meteoric rise to hold a position of office within UA. The rodent had connections that ran as high as the upper echelons of the government. Even then, he could count upon an entire body of former students who had passed through these very walls—most going on to hold a significant public presence within the country.

Nezu was powerful, not in the way many expected. He was also wearing a very cute two-piece pyjamas.

Which was very confusing…

Nemuri blinked.

"I can say that Arisato-kun is starting to get along well with his classmates; the kids are trying their best to make him feel welcomed," she said finally. "He's quiet too—very quiet. He doesn't make a peep during class unless you call on him. Even then, his answers are curt, measured. He gets stuck in his head a lot. I can only assume it's because of his upbringing."

"Yes, it's hard not to sympathise with his situation. I understand that he was shuttled from one institution to another as he grew up." Nezu shook his head. "To go through all that at such a young age, it's no wonder that he grew up to be so guarded around others."

Nemuri raised a delicate eyebrow. "And you're thinking all of this is the reason why he was trying to hide his Quirk from us?"

"The level of proficiency that he's shown with his Quirk isn't just innate talent. It speaks of experience. Don't you think so, Kayama?"

"Well, one of the aides from Endeavor's agency called asking after Arisato-kun. I can count the number of times that's happened with one hand. It seems he made enough of an impression on Endeavor." She shrugged. "So yeah, I'd say he's obviously seen his fair share of combat."

Nezu hopped off his chair and began pacing around the room. Nemuri spied a pair of floofy bedroom slippers on his feet. "Peculiar… Very peculiar indeed."

She found herself echoing Nezu, not taking her eyes off his slippers. "You don't say…"

Nezu paused in his steps. He stared out the window overlooking Heights Alliance; she could see his reflection in the window, looking pensive. "You scheduled a physical for Arisato-san, did you not? To get his Quirk documented?"

"Yeah," she said. "He'll have a full plate of tests and interviews once he's discharged. So maybe in a week or two. You planning to sit in?"

"I'd like to. Could you please keep me updated?" He waved a hand at the documents on his desk glibly. "And don't worry about all that. I'll handle it from here. You deserve your rest. Thank you for your time and attention on the matter."

"Comes with the job." Nemuri stood up. As she made to exit the office, she hesitated by the door. "Snipe's right, you know. About Arisato-kun… From what little I've seen, he's a good kid. I think his heart's in the right place, even if everything else about his past is sketchy. But we all knew that going in, didn't we?"

"Of course," Nezu said, smiling. "You've become a fine educator, Kayama. I always knew you had it in you. I feel reassured knowing that the next generation of Pro Heroes are in safe hands—with you guiding them."

She slapped a hand against her cheek playfully. "Stop it! You're making me blush like a schoolgirl, Prinny!"

He chuckled. "Enjoy the rest of your night. Give the others my best."

"You could always come along. The mood's soured, but we still got lots of food and booze left."

"Another time perhaps," Nezu said. He raised his arms well above his head and stretched in place. "A principal's work is never done; still lots to do."

Nemuri nodded. "Well, don't be a stranger."

She left Nezu to his work.

The walk back to the faculty compound was a quiet one. The air was calm, the mood refreshing. As she made her way out of the main building, toeing the outskirts of Heights Alliance, she noticed lights streaming out of the floor-to-ceiling windows from one of the first-year dorms. The path before her branched out; to the left, the dormitories on Heights Alliance, and to the right, the creature comforts of their faculty compound.

She stared down at her feet and made her choice.

Nemuri sighed. "We should really be allowed to spank these kids…"

0.0

"You know," Yu said. "I don't think I've ever waited up to watch the sunrise like this."

Arisato Minato stared over the horizon, just as the morning sun peaked beyond the commercial buildings that surrounded the hospital. It wasn't exactly an awe-inspiring sight, but awash in its soft glow, a mixture of restlessness and melancholy nestled in his being.

He found himself fidgeting where he sat.

An awkward tension remained between the two of them, long after he had recounted his story. He loathed to point out the obvious, even forcing the issue, but her silence was telling—as was the physical distance between them; it had gradually grown as the night bled into morning.

Yu had been the main constant in his life ever since he first arrived in this world all those months ago.

And to lose that… To lose her…

It terrified him.

"Well?" he asked simply.

"I don't know what to say to you, Minato." Yu sighed and raked her hands over her face. "How am I supposed to react to all that? Like honestly, you need to tell me. I'm totally drawing a blank."

"Just… Just say whatever that's on your mind. I need to hear it."

She left a hand over her mouth and looked away, mumbling, "A big part of me thinks that you're crazy." She quickly held up her hand. "But the thing about crazy people is that they look crazy. You don't look crazy, Minato."

He tilted his head. "So I just sound crazy?"

"You don't understand. The way you talked about your friends—I've never seen you be so expressive before. Your eyes practically lit up. You were smiling and laughing; you couldn't stop. Even a blind person could tell how much you cherished them." Yu paused, grimacing. "But then every single time, right at the end, you get that faraway, longing look in your eyes—like you don't want to leave that memory behind. I know that look, Minato. I've seen it so many times before, even when you think you're hiding it."

He tempered that small spark of hope that kindled in his chest. "So… you believe me?"

Yu squeezed her eyes shut, her features pained. "Minato, I could see how hard it was for you to tell me about your past, but I can't say that—not fully. Do I believe that a group of teenagers spent their school nights fighting monsters in some twisted castlevania? You guys even went up against an actual honest-to-God 'God'?" She shook her head. "I don't even know what to make of the rest—the fact that you're some cross-dimensional alien, or… or that you sacrificed your life to become this 'Great Seal'? That's heavy beyond heavy, Minato," she whispered. "That's fucked up."

He let out an uneasy breath.

The scepticism stung, but he shook it off. It was better than outright denial. In truth, he couldn't blame her. Being asked to believe a story as outlandish as his, at face value and without proof…

It was a genuine leap of faith.

It would have been crazy for anyone to even consider it. For Yu, it was more like she was haphazardly perched on the edge and trying to gauge just how deep that abyss was with her foot. Yu had been willing to wait, to be patient with him. He could have held his tongue and stayed quiet. After all, his past didn't invalidate the time nor the experiences they had shared together. But he knew it would have loomed over their relationship like the lingering spectre of Death.

She didn't deserve to have that kindness be thrown back in her face.

The fact that she was willing to give him the benefit of doubt heartened him immensely. It proved that it was a step in the right direction—for both of them.

And so, he would do the same for her.

"I'm getting better," he admitted. "For a while, when I first arrived, I was in a bad place—mentally. It was… easier drifting from one day to the next when I could lose myself in the life that I once had. I still miss them—every single day. That hasn't changed. But everything else in my life now has, so… I'm happier for it."

Despite the mood, Yu couldn't help herself. "Because of me?"

"Among other things, yes," he said dryly.

Yu sat back, deflated. "That's good. That's great." He could sense the relief in her voice. "I know you told me it's easier to internalise your emotions, but you need to let some of that stuff out—especially for important things like this. Not just for yourself, but for me too."

"It was hard to," he gestured at nothing in particular, "given all of this."

She nodded. "Well, it does explain a few things about you—like those weirdly specific existential questions you've asked me. Not gonna lie, I thought you were going through a weird 'edgy' phase. I was gonna make fun of you when you eventually grew out of it."

"Thanks…"

"Says the boy who shares a body with the 'personification of Death'."

"It's a lot more complicated than that. And even harder to explain," Minato said, massaging his temples. He looked at her, lips thinning into a line. "So what happens now?"

Yu laughed ruefully. "I don't know. You pulled a fast one on me by making me promise not to treat you any differently. It's impossible not to; I can't look at you now and not see all of… that floating around you." She inched closer, their arms touching. "But it doesn't mean that I stopped caring about you. I still do—a lot more now. I'm guessing I'm still important to you?"

"Of course."

"Then, we've settled the important bits." Yu smiled, even if it was slightly uneasy. "I'm not trying to ignore everything else, but it will come as it comes, I guess?" She was blinking—a lot. "Does that make sense in some roundabout way?"

"In a roundabout way," Minato confirmed glibly. He sighed. "Yu, thank you for listening. I understand it was a lot to sit through for one night, but it helped—to talk about all this."

Yu reached over and pulled him into an awkward hug; awkward only because of how they sat—shoulder-to-shoulder. He returned it tentatively.

"I'm still freaking out on the inside," she said into the crook of his neck. "But don't shut me out again. I don't think you're lying, Minato. I want to believe you. I really, really do. It's just a lot to take in, you know? Just… Just give me some time to process everything."

"Thank you," he whispered.

And he meant it.

When they pulled apart, they shared a brief smile and settled back into their familiar mould, resting their backs against the closed-in fence as they leaned into each other. The sun had long since peaked, but they stayed there, appreciating the presence of each other's company.

He smiled.

For the first time in a long while, he felt content.

"But you know what I found really hard to believe?" Yu piped up, nudging his shoulder with her head. "Like really, really hard to believe?"

That smile died on his lips.

"What?" he asked warily.

"Did you really end up in a relationship with someone that came from your, uh… imagination? I know you called it something else, but that's what it is, right? This hot, older foreign lady that you were so chummy with came from your imagination?"

"I know how it sounds," he said, clipped, "but she's real."

Yu fluttered her long lashes at him. "Oh, no… I never said I didn't believe you. After all, even I can't resist that boyish, roguish charm of yours, Wild Card." As his Pro Hero name rolled off her tongue, she tilted her head and blinked slowly.

"Yu?"

She snorted to herself. "Huh, guess that stupid name kinda makes sense now… You're not very creative, are you?"

Minor Arcana: Cups (VI)…

Side Note(s): I'm really happy that we managed to finish this arc. I'm happy I managed to find the time to write at all, to be honest.

XII Extra (A): And so, Hachisuka Kuin returns home…

Every villain deserved their comeuppance.

For Hachisuka Kuin, she was a villain through and through—part-time or not. She had toyed with people's lives on a whim. She didn't believe in a higher calling. She didn't abide by a creed. She just hated being ordinary; she hated the invisible man-made shackles imposed upon her from her birth.

Why were people so willing to abide by a social construct that invalidated the very essence of their being?

Society had eroded free will, doing away with one's individualism. In its place, it had established artificial sleeves for its masses—a pre-set routine of behaviour and conventions drilled into impressionable minds at a very early age.

Like a bird in a cage, it was easy to live life within its relative comforts; to find joy in the simpler things. In a way, to be truly innocent in this world was to remain ignorant of what laid beyond those bars. Her mother had been content in her ignorance. The one time she had been able to wander out of that self-imposed cage, she had been burned so badly by the sun that she withdrew into herself, withering in the darkness that shadowed above her.

Her mother didn't deserve to die, much less killed in cold blood, but maybe it was a far kinder fate than the one she would have gotten—to know that her daughter really was no better than her husband.

In fact, she was worse…

Hidden in an alcove just off the side of the street, Kuin stared up at the two-storey household before her—one that held good memories and bad. The door to her home was ajar, only slightly. For anyone else, they would have seen Hachisuka Kuin returning home in the wee hours of the morning.

Of course, that wasn't her. Toga had seen fit to scout ahead, wearing Kuin's face as her own. It was eerie to see how naturally Toga slipped into her façade, copying her mannerisms and quirks down to a tee.

Kuin watched as the girl entered her home, almost without a care in the world. She had already directed a portion of her swarm to stick to Toga surreptitiously and even more around the area, breaching through any opening she could find around the house. Through her link with her hive, she could glean a limited awareness from every single drone. It wasn't quite echolocation, but due to the bees' sharp sense of smell and the sheer numbers at her disposal, she was able to form a mental map subconsciously.

Her hands shook, her nerves getting the better of her, as that piecemeal image of her home came together. She could sense two people inside; neither of whom was her mother.

Her heart sank.

Kuin heard the incessant buzz of her drones as her hive reacted to her distress. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to control her breathing.

Her mother was dead.

She knew this for a fact. Wallowing in it wouldn't accomplish anything.

Kuin ground her teeth together and focused.

Toga was in the hallway, standing still, her scent giving off a faint metallic tang. The other was in the living room. This one smelled of bile—vile and putrid to her senses.

There was some kind of standoff. Through her drones, she could sense the tiny vibrations in the air, as if the two were conversing. It didn't last very long. In one moment, they were talking, and the next, both of them exploded into action. She couldn't keep up with what was happening, even with the awareness of her drones, but the sounds of battle reached her ears despite the distance. She did her best to assist Toga, sending her bees to swarm and target the sensitive areas on his person.

She couldn't afford to stay out of the fight. All that commotion would draw unwanted attention, and the last thing they needed was to be surrounded by the police when it all ended.

Kuin moved, her steps hurried, as she crossed the street leading to her home. She jumped the modest fence and squeezed through the narrow opening that led to their backyard. It was a route she used often; one which she could have done blindfolded. When she emerged through the other end, in her small backyard, she could peer into the living room through the unlatched glass doors—and what she saw made her knees buckle.

Her breath hitched in her throat. "Mom?" she called out quietly.

Her mother's body wasn't there, but there were traces of her mother everywhere she looked—on the floor, the walls, staining the furniture red. Her last meal had been a simple dinner of rice with grilled mackerel. Kuin didn't know why that stuck with her, and she found herself staring at the half-eaten meal. Maybe it was because she was seeing it with her own eye, but the reality of it finally sinking in and her paranoid mind overtly filling in the blanks…

Everything about it was worse than the video.

And it hurt so much…

Her stomach lurched and bile rose up in the back of her throat. She let it out, dry-heaving so much that she had to lean against a wall for support. The rest of her swarm begged to be freed, scritching incessantly at the inside of her left eye, and she allowed it. Blearily, her vision clouded with unshed tears, she stared at the duo fighting it out in her living room, at the hooded man drenched in her mother's blood, and howled her anger:

"What the fuck did you do to her?!"

And releasing that dam of pent-up fury and aggression triggered something inside her.

Like flipping on a switch, a strange calm descended over her, as the frenzied buzz of her swarm grew in intensity. It was like tipping over the contents of a pair of evenly-weighted scales onto the other—one full and the other empty.

Kuin felt dead to the world…

The man finally noticed her; it would have been comical because he did such an exaggerated double-take, his mouth agape. That small opening was all Toga needed. She pushed a chair out from under her, aimed at his legs, and it caught him flat-footed. He slipped, the wooden flooring slick with blood, and pitched forward heavily, arms akimbo.

Toga moved with the unnatural grace of a feline. Armed with her knives, she dived forward, using the chair as a pivot to somersault over his fallen form, and slashed deeply at the hooded man's face, blinding him across his eyes. She stuck her landing too—nimbly on her knees just beyond him.

The man screamed bloody murder, hoarse, as he groped blindly on his knees, one hand clutching at his ruined eyes. His body left a macabre impression of a snow angel in her mother's blood.

The fight barely lasted a minute or two, but the damage was done.

Kuin took her first steps into her home, escorted by the terrifying swarm of her bees as they clung onto her form like a second skin. They were feeding off her emotions. She could feel herself being drained of it in its entirety, and all that was left was that calm, lucid haze. It felt like her body wasn't her own; the duality of her being having been overridden by the drones living inside her.

"What did you do to my mom?" she asked tonelessly.

The hooded man writhed, but she could make out his mumbling, "Di-Didn't suffer. S-She didn't suffer. I ma-made sure. I-I didn't want to… Not my fault," he whined. "N-Not my fault that I'm like this…"

"He ate her." A sneer of disgust crossed Toga's face. "He told me he ate her; kept tryna to apologise for it too. He's got some strange eating Quirk that lets him eat anything." She motioned around the living room—at the visible bite marks torn out of the walls and miscellaneous furniture. "Anything."

Kuin blinked.

Her body reacted physically, her stomach churning in revulsion, but she was able to force it down. She had expected rage, anguish, shock—a melding of complicated emotions—to consume her. Yet, it didn't.

"I see…"

It must have been strange for Toga to witness because the girl called her out on it. "Uhm, are you okay, Kuin?" She rubbed her arm, obviously worried. "You're acting like a broken robot. Plus, your bees are kinda freaking me out."

Kuin stared down at her shaking hands, the bees parting around them on instinct; she didn't realise that they were doing that. She clenched it into a fist and it stopped.

"I don't know," she answered. "I think it has something to do with my Quirk."

"For real?" Toga asked excitedly. "That's super freaky! In a good way, I guess? For a sec, I thought you were gonna chicken out on killing him." She shrugged. "I almost couldn't stop myself, but I figured you'd be mad at me for stealing your kill."

Kuin regarded the girl with a brief nod. "Thanks…"

"Uh, are you—Whoa! Whoa!" Toga yelped, backpedalling.

Kuin didn't need to think of a command; her drones detached themselves from her and converged upon the hooded man without her say-so. Her hive numbered in the thousands, every single one wanting their pound of flesh as the man was consumed by a living mass of black and yellow, thrashing wildly. They were relentless, flitting in between his clothes, inside his mask, to get at him.

She watched it all in silence.

An agonising scream ripped out from his throat—distressed, desperate, delirious. They crawled into his mouth, stinging the soft tissue inside, but it was short-lived. Dozens died in one fell swoop when the man swallowed her bees whole.

Kuin flinched as they did. The pain was muted but a dull throb lingered in her temples. Consciously, she reached a finger up to her nose and wiped away the small trickle of blood that trailed down her nostrils.

"Huh…" she murmured.

It was the man's final act of defiance. His screams petered out into unintelligible moans, and even that was muddled by the vociferous buzz of her drones. The frenzied assault continued long after his body stopped moving.

In the middle of it all, Toga had whipped out her phone and started recording. There was an easy smile on her lips, and every time she gasped, it was one of delight.

"This shit could get sooo many views," Toga gushed happily.

Kuin tilted her head to one side, not taking her eye off Toga's phone. "I have a better idea. Don't stop recording."

Her drones were one step ahead of her as they pulled away from the hooded man's unmoving form, returning to her. What remained was a disfigured corpse. Every inch of visible skin was covered in bruising welts, and even through his clothes and mask, those innumerable wounds swelled, forming an unending ridge of bulbous flesh. Kuin moved towards him, but her attention was drawn to the ornamental wooden statue that sat on the dresser of her living room. It was an abstract piece; one that resembled a geisha mid-pose. Her mother claimed that it had been a long and cherished heirloom from her side of the family, passed down from mother-to-daughter.

To her, it had always been nothing more than an eyesore.

Kuin grabbed it and stood over the man. It wasn't particularly large, but it was heavy—having been carved out of a single piece of oak. Her arms strained to raise it over her head, even in a double-handed grip.

Mechanically, she brought it down low upon the man's head.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Somewhere along the line, that feeling of detachment wavered, and that kaleidoscope of emotions came rushing back—all at once. Her lungs burned. Her chest ached. And she cried and cried and cried as blood splattered across her features. Kuin caught herself as she fell atop the man, straddling his chest. Her shaking hands gripped the shaft of the statue and pounded it weakly, jerkily, into what little remained. She didn't stop until she lost all the strength in her body.

The mangled geisha statue clattered audibly on the floor.

In that disorienting haze, she bent low and screamed all her rage into the pink mush of flesh and brain matter. She didn't know how long she remained in that state. It was only when she felt a pair of hands cup her cheeks did she finally look up—into a pair of bright yellow irises seemingly lost in bliss.

Kuin felt the girl's fingers lovingly caress her cheeks, smearing them further in blood.

"You've never looked more beautiful," Toga whispered each word with a tenderness Kuin had never heard before. Her fanged smile was soft when she pulled Kuin forward into her chest. "You'll always be my friend. Always." Toga gently stroked her hair as the girl shushed her. "I love you times infinity, my Killer Queen~~"

Weakly, Kuin wrapped her arms around Toga and grieved—for everything she had lost tonight.

XII Extra (B): And so, Sasaki Mirai starts piecing it all together…

A small beep pulled his attention away from the computer screen. Sasaki Mirai glanced down at his watch and noted the time.

It was four in the morning.

With a weary sigh, he pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging it slowly. He leaned back into his seat and trained his eyes at the ceiling, allowing his already poor vision to readjust without the glaring brightness of the screen. He couldn't fight the growing lethargy as a yawn escaped his lips. Even alone in his office, he covered it politely.

That once fabled stamina of his… Where had it all gone?

Pulling an all-nighter used to be a norm in his younger years, working under All Might. Now, repeating the feat, he was feeling every bit his age—all thirty-eight years of it.

But it was the price he had to pay.

Striking out on his own, away from the shadow of All Might, had not been a decision he had taken lightly; it had been his lifelong dream to work under the Symbol of Peace. But ultimately, his hand had been forced. Time and time again, Mirai had taken a back seat and witnessed the man he regarded as his idol and close friend run himself aground under the weight of his own principles. While there was no denying the immense resolve of Toshinori Yagi, he could not, in good conscience, continue to act as a willing party—especially when the man was jumping headfirst to his death.

Still…

Mirai stared at the innumerable number of All Might memorabilia that lined the shelves and walls of his office and heaved a quiet sigh. Was this truly the height of his resolve? Going without sleep for one night after pouring over the backlog of police missives?

How pitiful…

Mirai straightened himself and pulled his seat closer towards the desk. With practised ease, he flicked his glasses back over his ears and—

"Sir Nighteye!" one of his sidekicks shouted, her voice carrying through the door. Muffled knocks, rushed but deliberate, followed suit. "Sir Nighteye!"

"Enter!" he barked.

Awata Kaoruko burst through the door, clutching a tablet against her chest. The young woman, with dull cobalt skin, had abandoned her revealing hero costume in favour of a simple t-shirt and jeans; it was something he allowed only because of the hours they were keeping. Her short dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"I found something," Awata said breathlessly. She rushed to stand before his desk. Her eyes, though red from exhaustion, shone with excitement.

Mirai nodded curtly and held out a hand. "Show me."

Somehow, in the hand-off, Awata clumsily fumbled the tablet. She was, however, able to catch it between her knees, just briefly, before it clattered audibly on the floor. "Sorry!" When she made to reach for it, bending forward like a rocket to hide her burning cheeks, she dinged her head right on the edge of his table.

Mirai held back a snort.

Shakily, Awata got to her feet. "S-S-Sir?"

"Slapstick humour… Lowbrow yet somehow effective. I approve."

"Right, I totally meant to do that."

With a strangled laugh, Awata plopped the tablet in front of him. Unfortunately, when Mirai tapped on the screen, it showed that the device was locked. She did her best impression of a wilting flower when he steepled his fingers together.

Mirai heard a soft chuckle coming from the doorway.

"I always appreciated a good manzai." Moashi Juzo said, leaning against the doorframe. The tall, imposing man with the head of a brown centipede looked over his fellow sidekick with a small smile. He regarded Mirai with a nod. "Sir."

"Centipeder," he replied, nonchalant.

"So, uhm," Awata said, her face still flushed. She hastily unlocked her tablet. "In my spare time, I've been joining a few imageboards, ones centred around gore and morbid stuff like that, just to see if we could catch any leads." She shuddered and shook her head. "There's this one video that's been trending like mad; it was posted barely an hour ago."

On the screen was a video, paused and cued at the start. It was simply titled 'Killer Queen' followed by a string of heart emojis. When Mirai made to press 'play', Awata quickly waved him off. She winced when he quirked a long, arching eyebrow at her.

"Sir, it's just ah… The video's kinda… rough."

"Duly noted."

Awata pouted. "Well, don't say I didn't warn you."

He pressed 'play'.

The video opened up to a living room; one that had obvious signs of battle. There was a droning buzz that muffled the audio and Mirai struggled to catch the faint murmurs of conversation that the video picked up. He frowned. It was only when the shot centred on an individual did he understand why—a teenage girl, standing in the eye of what appeared to almost be a storm of bees; there were thousands upon thousands slowly encircling her.

Mirai sat up straighter in his seat and leaned in closer to the tablet. His eyes darted up to Awata.

"The girl?" he asked.

Even if her hair colour differed, Mirai knew they had her—the unknown quantity in all the recent Mass Trigger Incidents.

Female A.

The shot then panned to the floor. A costumed individual, one he recognised as an enforcer of the Shie Hassaikai, laid supine, unmoving. If not for his mask, he would have been almost unrecognisable, such was the severity of the wounds he had suffered. His body had swelled unnaturally, noticeable even beneath his baggy clothes. It was clear that the man had expired; Mirai could only imagine the horrors the yakuza had been subjected to prior to his death.

The girl was talking to the one behind the camera, her words unintelligible, but it tracked her as she picked up an ornate wooden statue nearby. The video went out of focus, shaky, as the cameraman scrambled back to get a better shot. Mutely, Mirai watched as the girl proceeded to repeatedly bludgeon his head over the delighted feminine squeals of the one behind the camera. He noted the girl's peculiarities; her stoic demeanour, her almost robotic body language. It stood in sharp contrast to the shockingly excessive violence on display.

The video ended not long after.

Mirai blew out a tired breath. Wasting no time, he swivelled in his chair and stood up. He pulled a large movable whiteboard alongside him and stationed it before his two sidekicks. For them, it was a familiar sight; it was all the information they had pieced together since the first reported Trigger incident dating back almost a year ago.

Dominating the centre was the organisational chart they had pieced together of the alleged conspirator behind the Trigger epidemic. There were pictures; men with strange, almost macabre, masks. None had names, except for the pseudonyms they had given for each member.

There was only one female suspect up on the board. Mirai reached for a whiteboard marker and his hand hovered at the space just under her picture.

Without missing a beat, Awata said, "Hachisuka Kuin, Sir." She flicked a finger at the tablet to a corresponding report. It showed a thumb-sized portrait of the girl dressed in her school uniform. "A third-year at Sobu High. The police attended to a disturbance at her family residence two hours ago. They found an unidentified male. Decapitated." She swallowed thickly. "She and her mother, Hachisuka Aki, have been reported missing."

He wrote down as much. Then, almost as an afterthought, marked an 'X' over the picture of 'Scarecrow'.

"Have they found anything about him?" Mirai asked, pointing the end of the marker at the recently deceased enforcer.

"Nothing yet," Moashi said. "I reached out to a few contacts within the NPA. The body is due for an autopsy later in the morning."

Mirai was pensive. "It is safe to assume that the Shie Hassaikai sent 'Scarecrow' to her residence to send a message for a perceived transgression," he said. "And this is her sending one back."

"A very violent resignation." Moashi took a seat by his desk, fingering his chin in thought. "What's more troubling is that Hachisuka-san was not acting alone. There was someone else there with her," he said. "She's either found a like-minded ally—another young woman by the sound of it. Or worse…"

"Hachisuka-san has aligned herself with another group," Awata concluded.

"Unfortunately, at this stage, only time will tell," Mirai said.

He then took a step back.

At the very top of the chart was an out-of-focus picture of a young man with short, almost shaggy, hair; one taken without his notice. His mask was shaped like that of a plague doctor's, covering the lower-half of his face. Below it, written in his neat, tidy penmanship was:

'Overhaul?'

XII Extra (C): And so, Todoroki Shoto is unsure what to feel…

"School's good? Everything okay since that shit went down last week?"

Todoroki Shoto nodded plainly to his escort as he walked through the familiar halls of his father's agency. He hated coming here, for as long as he could remember. Being reminded of his father just about everywhere he turned wasn't something he enjoyed. Within these walls, Endeavor was revered, and that respect was extended to Shoto; for no other reason than the fact that he was his father's son.

He hated—

Shoto almost flinched when he felt his fringe being flicked away by a finger. He stared into the scowling face of Kamiji Moe, one of his father's most trusted lieutenants—the Impassioned Hero: Burnin. The woman wore a low-key black dress; a far cry from her usual attire. Even her fiery hair, the very definition of unfettered, was muted.

To be fair, he was just as uncomfortable in his formal black suit; it was one he barely used, something saved for the rarest of occasions. Today would be the first time he would attend a wake that wasn't family-related.

"Sorry," Shoto said. "Did you say something?"

Kamiji grabbed him by the shoulders, squeezing lightly. "How are you, kiddo?" Her expression was soft, as was her voice, "I know we got swept up by everything that's happened since Hosu, but I'd be a shitty person if I didn't make time for my second-favourite Todoroki."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"I don't see you bringing me stuff to eat," she explained, grinning toothily. "Fuyumi's a pretty mean cook, you know. I doubt there's anything you could do to top that."

"Second, huh?"

Kamiji sighed. "There's absolutely no shame in being the literal fucking second-best at anything. Remember that. Although… I do love seeing the raw, unbridled passion of a man who doesn't know when to quit." She winked at him lightly. "Gonna claw your way to the 'No. 1' spot in my heart, boyo?"

He slid his arms between hers and pried her hold over his shoulders, walking ahead. "Nee-san can have it."

She chased after him. "This is what I get for knowing your butt since you were eight? I even helped you with your homework, you ungrateful brat!"

"I seem to recall you only doing that once, and you gave up halfway when you got bored."

Kamiji kept the banter light as they made their way to his father's office. Shoto knew the woman was trying her best to get him to open up; he couldn't begrudge her for that. She was one of the few subordinates in his father's agency who never put him on the same pedestal as Endeavor; she was even on friendly terms with Fuyumi-nee. Despite that, Kamiji wasn't privy to the inner-turmoil that brewed beneath the surface of the Todoroki household. Even if she was, he doubted that she would ever dare to cross that line and meddle in the familial affairs of her mentor.

When they neared his father's office, Shoto found the doors left open, and the voices of Endeavor and one of his aides carried down to him; he was hearing the the tail-end of their conversation:

"—can't be it. You're saying there's nothing on the Quirk registry at all?"

"Just says TBA. I tried calling his homeroom teacher and even some of the admin staff that I knew from back in the day—nothing. But they did let slip that they got him scheduled for a Quirk examination later today."

"At his age?" his father asked, incredulous.

"I don't know what to tell you, sir. I'll keep you up-to-date on what I find. If you need me to skip the wake, I could probably—"

"No. No. Don't. Everyone has to be there to pay their final respects to Ryo and Hide. Everyone. Shelve this for now, but remember that it's time-sensitive; I don't want any other agency to get the jump on us."

The aide sounded hesitant. "He is already attached to another agency, sir. Mount Lady's."

"Inconsequent—"

A fist rapped him on his arm. Shoto turned and frowned at Kamiji, who was just as guilty of listening in. The woman walked ahead and knocked on the door, making her presence known.

"Boss, Shoto's here."

Shoto stood in the doorway, finally catching a glimpse of his father conversing with the aide at the reception area of his large office. He had not seen the man at all in the last three days, even when he was in Hosu General; only Fuyumi-nee and Natsuo had been around to visit. Endeavor was dressed much the same, except the ever-present flames that ringed his eyes and chin were gone.

He never realised just how haggard his father looked.

"Thank you, Kamiji." Endeavor nodded to his subordinates. "Leave us."

"We leave in ten, sir," the aide said. "I've already sent someone to fetch Fuyumi and Natsuo. They'll reach there at roughly the same time."

With that done, the aide and Kamiji left, but not before the woman gave him one last encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. Shoto took a step inside the office, just enough not to be hit by the doors closing behind him. Even with the both of them left alone, Endeavor didn't immediately attend to him. Shoto had to wait silently as his father made to stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the picturesque ward of Chiyoda.

It felt like minutes before the man deigned to speak:

"What do you see out there, Shoto?"

He followed his father's gaze. "I see Chiyoda."

"Look deeper," Endeavor said, closing his eyes. "Have I been that lacking in your training?"

Shoto bristled at that. "Fuyumi-nee told me that you never returned home ever since that night. We haven't seen or heard anything from you for the last three days, and you called me out here for this? Just say whatever it is that you want to say so I can leave."

Endeavor sighed quietly. "Native will live. I heard directly from Tsuragamae—about how you took down the Hero Killer with your ragtag friends to save him, and what happened after. Your actions, while sloppy, were commendable. What isn't… is everything else that happened before that." His gaze grew sharp, critical. "What was it that went through your mind when you decided to rush off on your own, without so much as a word to me?"

Shoto was caught flat-footed, recoiling visibly. "I told you where I was—"

His father silenced him with a finger. "We operate under such fine margins. I hope you've come to realise that. I cannot wholly begrudge your actions now knowing that you've helped to save a life, but every decision you make can mean the difference between life and death," he said, in a dead-even tone that was uncharacteristic of the man. "Never in my thirty-year career as a Pro Hero, have I ever lost someone under my command. And in just one night, I lost two. That is a burden I hope you never have to suffer through."

Shoto kept quiet.

Endeavor continued on, "I moulded you to be the perfect vessel, Shoto. With your Quirk, you could stand at the very top; peerless and without equal. But this hatred that you hold for me, I've allowed it to fester for as long as it did, unchecked. It's eroding your common sense. Your reticence to use the flames in your left side, you—"

Shoto was visibly shaking when he bit out, "You can't seriously be that blind." He clenched his jaw, teeth grit in anger. His chest ached with every breath he took, and he clutched at the front of his suit. "After everything that you've done to mom, to our family, how can you stand there and think that none of this is your fault?"

"I know it is." Endeavor turned to him, his head bowed and voice low, "I'm sorry, Shoto. For everything."

And just like that, his father's words left him floored, his anger leaving him entirely. Shoto reached a hand out to his left-side, the warmth that naturally bled through his skin doing nothing for the cold that spread throughout his body.

"W-What?" he breathed.

"I know how it sounds. Believe me, I'm not trying to blame you for any of this—least of all Ryo and Hide's deaths." Endeavor stared down at his hands, and his regret burned behind his gaze. "The reason why I never went back was because I needed some time to myself to think; to reflect. And what I've come to realise is that I've been turning a blind eye to my own actions for so long.

"Everything that happened that night in Hosu has led me back here—to how I treated your mother, yourself, Fuyumi and Natsuo, and even… Touya. How I never saw it then, when Touya passed, is beyond me. It took me the deaths of Ryo and Hide for me to see that, and it shames me that I would have to stand before their families and beg for their forgiveness when I won't even do the same for mine."

When his father took a few steps forward towards him, Shoto cautiously pulled back, maintaining the physical distance between them; a part of him wanted nothing more than to leave. He could see how much it pained the man to be rebuffed.

He stared up at his father, his mismatched eyes wide and unblinking. "That's—That's not enough," he eked out. "Words won't ever be enough."

Endeavor bowed low. "Then, I will prove it with my actions, Shoto. I will do my utmost to atone for everything that I've done—to everyone whom I've wronged. But I cannot allow you to continue hampering yourself just so you could prove a point to me." He turned back to look out the windows. "The world out there is changing—and not for the better. And I see now just how little these hands of mine could do to stop that. You've grown strong, but there will come a time when even that won't be enough; to just rely on your mother's gift," he said, reaching his hand out to Shoto. "Let me help you… son."

His heart hammered in his ears. Shoto swallowed thickly but could not dislodge the Gordian knot that had settled in his throat. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his father's hand.

"I…" Shoto tried to say. "I ca—"

Sensing his rebuttal, Endeavor spoke, "I don't expect you to reciprocate immediately. If you need time, I can wait." He nodded once and allowed his hand to close into a fist. His eyes were resolute, his features firm. "And I will wait, for as long as you need it, Shoto. I will make it right by you once more. Even if you no longer see me as your father… You will always be my son, Shoto. Always."

Shoto stood there silently, not quite sure what to do in the wake of that uncomfortable declaration. As luck would have it, he was saved by a soft knock on the door. Kamiji's muffled voice carried through, saying:

"Sorry, boss. It's time. We don't want to run late."

His continued silence had a noticeable effect on his father; Endeavor tried to smother the disappointment etched across his features with a hand over his mouth.

"Give us a minute, Kamiji," Endeavor said, sighing. "I'm just about done."

Shoto saw that as a cue to take his leave and he took it gladly. As he turned his back on his father, the man called out to him in a whisper:

"I really am sorry, Shoto."

He paused in his steps and offered a curt nod before making his way out, his head and his heart jumbled in a mess of emotions.