Over the next week, Ejiro and Izuku devoted as much time as they could possibly get away with to the search. Day after day, they tracked their mysterious target through winding tunnels, dark galleries, and packed, chaotic streets. Each time, they got within striking distance, led right to their quarry by Bloodhound's quirk…and each time, the cloaked figure slipped away, somehow. They didn't even know how it kept happening; the figure moved like nothing they'd ever seen. Walls were springboards, pillars footholds, sheer cliffs no obstacle at all. Their quarry flowed over obstacles Ejiro had no hope of surmounting-and that Izuku could barely surmount-with the kind of practiced ease that spoke of a lifetime to master their quirk.
Speaking of that quirk, not even Izuku's legendary analysis capabilities knew what to make of it. He'd seen it in action up close… very close, in fact. But all that had told him was that it was somehow acid-based. To be able to use that acid in such a potency and at such a speed as to be able to literally melt handholds into surfaces upon touching them…it was a level of mastery that two of the greatest heroes in Japan could only shake their heads in awe at.
Ejiro and Izuku knew damn well that they were lucky their target appeared to be utterly nonviolent. Even when cornered, they never attacked directly, though neither Izuku nor Ejiro could be sure why. Hell, even Ejiro had, upon inspecting handholds the fugitive had melted into the wall of a building, admitted that Unbreakable might not hold up under acid that potent forever. And yet, even though the fugitive could use it offensively, they never seemed to. Was it a drawback of their quirk? Did they want to avoid the dangers of a straight-up fight with a hero? Was it possible that they were still trying to keep Izuku unharmed for some reason?
Whatever the answer was, Izuku doubted that he would get it. After a week of constant daily chasing through every level of the Underground, the identity of his savior seemed further away than ever. The dark cloak they wore seemed to taunt him with it, teasing the truth and never letting him know it.
The next morning, Izuku and Ejiro were in low spirits. As they prepared for their eighth straight day of tracking, Izuku sat slumped over in the break room, staring at a mug of coffee as if it had personally offended him.
"What's wrong?" Ejiro asked him, slipping into his own seat across from his best friend.
It took surprisingly long for Izuku to rouse himself enough to respond, "I…I don't know."
Ejiro raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?" he repeated. "Okay, then. If this is about the fact that your savior is apparently a criminal-"
"I don't care about that," Izuku interrupted. "Half the people down here are breaking some law or another. You and I both know that you have to have a little more nuance than that."
Ejiro nodded, conceding the point. Neither of them were naive, not after years in the murky world of the Underground, where morality and legality were often far from identical. They couldn't just arrest people willy-nilly, and prioritization was a survival skill down here. Besides, both of them knew, on some level, that arresting people who were just trying to survive wasn't what they had become heroes to do. Sometimes they had no choice, but still, they tried to focus on the actual villains who posed a threat to innocent people.
Izuku rolled his head back, staring at the featureless ceiling. Ejiro sat there, arms folded as he waited for his friend to speak again.
When Izuku finally did, his voice was bitter and deep as he muttered, "I just don't get it. I don't get why they keep running away from us. All I want to do is thank them, and learn who they are."
Ejiro shrugged. "Maybe they just don't want to be found," he suggested. "We know they're a thief of some kind, I doubt they want to sit down for a nice chat with the Number One Hero."
Izuku frowned. "Then why did they save my life?" he asked pointedly. "All they had to do was just walk away, and I'd be dead."
Looking troubled, Ejiro didn't reply; he didn't like to admit to himself just how close Izuku had come to death. It was proof of the fact that bad luck and just one or two mistakes could take down even the greatest hero in Japan. Confronting mortality was always unnerving, no matter how well Izuku seemed to be handling it.
In the silence, Izuku picked up the scrap of cloth they'd been using to track his savior from where it had been lying on the table. Instantly, he felt the now-familiar tug in his gut; it pulled him downwards, spoke to him somewhere deep in his head where he couldn't answer, telling him that he was far, far away from where he needed to be. His thumb rubbed over the rough fabric plaintively, his expression lost in thought. A pair of eyes shone in his mind's eye; soft yellow, maybe gold, wide and shocked and afraid behind a black mask. Izuku found himself wondering what those eyes would look like when their owner smiled, when they laughed. It must be breathtaking.
Gently, as if to himself, Izuku muttered, "I just want to know why a petty thief decided to save my life."
Ejiro snorted softly. "And I want to know how the hell that petty thief is able to run on fucking walls better than any pro I've ever seen," he added. "Just imagine what they could be capable of, if they had proper training."
Izuku raised an eyebrow as he met his friend's gaze. "You mean as a hero?" he asked.
Ejiro shrugged yet again, leaning back in his chair as he replied, "Maybe. They could be a way higher-profile villain with skills like that, though. With a quirk that strong, they could break into any building, steal any treasure, escape any trap. And yet, here they are, stealing food from street vendors. I gotta admit, I don't get it."
Izuku shook his head helplessly. "I don't either," he admitted. "But there's a lot about this situation I don't get."
Pushing aside his still-full coffee cup, Izuku rose from his chair, starting to pace back and forth in the tiny room. "Isn't it funny?" he snorted, his tone suggesting that he didn't find it very funny. "I'm the youngest Number One ever, the greatest hero in Japan…and one little mistake has me feeling like that useless little boy all over again."
"That wasn't a "little mistake." You almost died," Ejiro interrupted, his voice strong and steady. "I feel like being a little shaken is understandable after that. And you aren't useless. You never were."
Izuku let out a heavy sigh, raising his head and giving his childhood friend a grateful look. "You really do like pulling me out of my funks, don't you?" he said fondly.
Ejiro grinned. "Somebody has to," he replied casually, draining the remainder of his coffee in a single gulp.
Rising to his feet, Ejiro bared his sharp, jagged teeth eagerly. "Now then, what's the plan this time?" he asked.
Izuku sighed, his eyes downcast. "I don't know," he admitted softly. "We can't just keep banging our head against this wall while expecting different results. This person is faster than us, and more familiar with the Underground. They'll outrun us every time."
Ejiro frowned. "Well, don't ask me for advice," he replied. "I'm an expert at banging my head against walls. They usually break sooner or later."
Despite everything, Izuku found himself grinning. "Before or after your head does?" he asked teasingly, a chuckle escaping his lips at the affronted glare Ejiro shot him.
"After, of course," Ejiro replied indignantly. "Why do you think my skull's so thick?"
Izuku shook his head, groaning good-naturedly. "My guess is still your natural stubbornness," he replied. Ejiro answered with a grin of his own.
Walking back over to the table, Izuku picked up his own cup of coffee, which was only a few degrees above room temperature by now. He drank it anyway. Setting the empty mug down, he admitted, "I really have no idea what to do, though."
Ejiro shrugged. "Maybe you should ask the old man for advice," he suggested.
Izuku thought of Toshinori, somewhere many miles away on the surface. He weighed the idea for a while, but eventually decided against it. "Nah," he decided. "There's no point bothering him with this."
"Then what do you think?" Ejiro asked.
Izuku stared down at the cloth in his hand again. His savior always turned and fled at the sight of them. He didn't know why, but he had his suspicions. Heroes may have been loved by many, but he know perfectly well that in the Underground, there were those that considered him a tool of powerful surface-dwellers, a force that served more to control the Underground than to protect civilians. Some might even call him a fake; Hero Killer Stain's ideas had found fertile soil down here, among the downtrodden, even though the man himself had been little more than a serial killer with delusions of grandeur.
Suddenly, Izuku had an idea. The green and red costume he wore was instantly recognizable by nearly every citizen of Japan, the way All Might's iconic red, blue, and yellow had been to Izuku's generation. That costume was loved…but it was feared, too, by the kind of people his savior seemed to belong to. If he wanted answers, he had to be willing to throw away judgment, to forget his usual view that if someone feared him, they were usually right to.
He knew what he had to do.
Clenching the cloth in one fist, Izuku declared, "I'm going after them."
Ejiro grinned, skin turning to jagged rock along his forearms in anticipation. "You got it, buddy. I'll be right behind you, as soon as we get suited up," he agreed.
Izuku held up a hand, turning to face Ejiro. "No," he interrupted, "I'm doing it alone. And I'm not wearing my costume to do it."
"You want to do plainclothes work?" Ejiro asked, clearly confused. "I don't see how that'll help you catch them."
"I'm not going to catch them," Izuku replied, taking a deep breath. "I'm not going as a hero, and I'm not treating our target as a villain to be chased down. I'm just…I'm just going to talk. That's it."
Ejiro frowned. "You sure?" he asked in a concerned voice. "They might not have attacked us directly, but that doesn't mean whoever saved you won't lash out if they don't think they have any other choice. It's a big risk, especially if you're going alone."
"I can take care of myself," Izuku promised, turning once again. "Besides, they saved my life once. I don't think they'll hurt me."
Pursing his lips, Ejiro told him, "You and your stupid ideas that make too much sense for me to disagree with. Fine, go ahead, meet a known criminal in…wherever that damn rag takes you. I'll be there as backup as soon as I can if you call me."
It almost certainly wouldn't be fast enough if things did go wrong, but Izuku didn't care. He knew that he had to do this if he wanted his answers. He had to know what was going on, who had saved his life.
Recognizing the look in Izuku's eyes, Ejiro shook his head in resignation. "I swear, you have some weird obsessions," he muttered. "This is why we need to get you a girlfriend, so you stop pulling stupid shit chasing down random criminals."
Izuku froze in his tracks, confusion making him spin back around to stare at his friend. "What the hell does me getting a girlfriend have to do with this?" he demanded.
Ejiro shrugged. "I'm just saying, the way I coped with losing our target seven days in a row was going on a hot date the other night," he replied. "Yours was getting even more obsessed with chasing someone in a cloak and mask all over the Underground. I feel like mine's slightly more healthy."
Izuku frowned at that. "I'm perfectly healthy, Ejiro," he said. "And I didn't know you had a date. How did it go?"
Ejiro shrugged again. "Weellll, it was…it was a disaster, actually." he answered sheepishly. "A complete and total flaming dumpster fire. Awful. But that's beside the point."
Izuku just stared at his first, best friend, his expression somewhere between disbelief, shock, and head-shaking resignation.
"I have no fucking clue what to make of you half the time," he told Ejiro in a voice that sounded more admiring than it really should have been.
"Thanks," Ejiro laughed, before making a shooing motion with one hand. "Now, go on and get outta here! You have a needlessly risky and stupid meeting to go to!"
Izuku rolled his eyes as he walked out of the room. He was a bundle of nerves and anticipation as he wondered what his savior would do. Before he could actually meet them, of course, he needed to find them…
Izuku glanced at a map on the wall, depicting the Underground and some of the known illegal smuggler tunnels that crisscrossed the entire city. Even if he hadn't been clutching the tracking cloth in one hand, he thought he knew where he needed to go.
Stepping out the front door of the hero agency, he put his head down, heading for the edge of the level. He had places to be, and questions to ask.
Mina slowly made her way through the dim, empty smuggler tunnels, clutching her stomach and biting back vile curses aimed at a certain green-haired hero each time hunger pangs gnawed at her.
It had been a week since she'd managed to steal anything to eat. Her stomach was so empty, it felt like it was clenched into a fist inside her, and the growls were like a wild animal loose in her ribcage. Being this hungry was the worst feeling Mina could possibly imagine, and she'd experienced it far too many times.
She'd been this hungry before, of course; bad luck and inexperience used to combine to make her life hell when it came to stealing enough to survive on. But she'd grown more successful, and she'd almost forgotten what it was like to be starving. Now, she was remembering, and hating every second of it. Breaking into her stockpile had helped, but she didn't dare rely on it for more than one small meal a day, lest she drain it entirely. Anxiety whipped through her just from the thought.
Just going without would have been bad enough, but Mina would have survived it. The real problem was that every single day, she'd gone out to steal more food, and been forced to burn ungodly amounts of energy in trying to escape Atlas and Red Riot, who had shown up, without fail, at every single location she'd visited. Between using her quirk and the exhausting maneuvers she'd been forced to pull-for exactly zero reward, mind you-Mina was starting to get really, really scared.
The last time she'd been this hungry was…years ago. She'd been weak and pathetic then, cringing from the slightest danger, too scared to steal, and totally, utterly alone. The hunger threatened to send her back to that place, when desperation had made her stupid and rage had made her wild. Mina swore that she would never be that weak, ever again.
As she slipped around a corner, headed towards one of the lower levels where she might be able to avoid heroes entirely, Mina was cursing Atlas with every breath she took and every hunger pang that tore through her. How the hell were he and Red Riot finding her so easily? What did they want with her? She saved his fucking life, and he repaid her by trying to hunt her down? Typical fucking hero.
"This is what I get…for playing the good guy," Mina thought bitterly to herself. "I wish I'd never saved that bastard."
Mina turned another corner, reaching a crossroads where two tunnels intersected, forming an "X." Quickly scanning for danger, she began to continue onwards, towards the Underground. But in her desperation to keep moving, to hopefully find something to eat, she failed to notice the faintest glimmer of dim light off skin deep in one of the side tunnels.
Suddenly, a male voice, all too familiar, said, "Excuse me-"
Mina's eyes snapped wide, and she whirled, spotting a tall, muscular man step into the faint glow of a light strip on the ceiling. Acting on the instinct learned by all Depths women for when a strange man emerged from the shadows in a place where there was no help coming, she slammed an adrenaline-fueled fist directly into his solar plexus.
The man, seemingly not expecting a fight, was flung backwards into the wall of the tunnel, hitting the stone with a strangled gasp and the unmistakable whoosh of getting the breath knocked out of him. He sprawled on the ground, wheezing for air, and Mina turned to run, in full-on fight-or-flight mode.
She'd barely made it a few steps down the tunnel when the man yelled, "Wait! I'm not here to hurt you!"
Mina didn't believe that in the fucking slightest, but she did turn before she'd even made it out of the intersection, and the sight in front of her sent her screeching to a halt in shock. She couldn't fucking believe it.
It was Atlas.
The green hair and freckles. The unmistakable scars down his forearms. Sure, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of that iconic, feared costume, but even under those casual clothes his body was unmistakably herculean. It was him.
The shock sent Mina stumbling, no longer running. In the sudden lull, Atlas slowly pushed himself to his feet, still gasping for breath.
"Please," he said, his voice filled with desperation that Mina hated herself for sympathizing with. "I just want to talk, that's all. I won't chase you, I promise."
He was lying. He had to be lying. Mina had saved his life, and he'd responded by hunting her down. There was no way she could trust him. Unless…unless he hadn't been hunting her down. What if he'd actually been trying to talk to her this whole time? That was stupid-he'd been chasing her down in public, like she was just another villain to add to his tally…
The Rift came back to her. He'd had her dead to rights, and he'd never even attacked. He could have blown her away with ease, but he hadn't been ready for her to fight.
Mina didn't know why she stopped. Maybe she really believed him, though she couldn't possibly think of why. Maybe it was the hunger and the adrenaline clouding her judgment, tricking her into making stupid decisions. Maybe she was just tired of running.
Whatever the reason, she didn't run. She remained poised to burst into motion, though she knew Atlas would be able to catch up if he wanted to.
"Fine," Mina thought, one moment of clarity among a thousand different raging emotions. "If this all goes wrong…at least they'll feed me in jail."
Izuku staggered to his feet again, rising to his full height at the entrance to the tunnel intersection. It was almost entirely in shadow, with the only illumination coming from a dim light strip on the ceiling, casting the corners of the rough-hewn tunnel in shifting shades of brown and orange and black. He barely noticed it; his eyes were fixed on the figure who stood at the far end, a rough, heavy brown cloak obscuring every feature. Their back was turned; Izuku couldn't tell what they were thinking, why they hadn't run.
"What do you want?" it asked; the figure's voice was light, female, with traces of anger and irritation and fear. She didn't trust him; he couldn't blame her. Not many people down here trusted heroes, let alone ones who had chased them for days.
Izuku took deep breaths, trying to get oxygen back into his lungs. Her sudden, instinctive punch had hit hard, knocking the wind out of his unprepared body. At last, he replied softly, "I've been looking for you."
"I know that," the woman snapped as she turned partway, one gloved hand resting on the wall of the tunnel, "you've been hunting me for a goddamn week. Why the fuck can't you leave me alone?"
"You saved my life!" Izuku said heatedly, "you expect me to…to just let that go? To not wonder why you did it?"
"Yes!" she hissed, "go, run back to your glorious heroics, go keep fighting villains and being loved. Nobody gives a shit about what happened to you in a nameless alley. You…you can leave."
"Leave what?" Izuku asked, noticing the bitterness that crept into the woman's voice. That voice was soft, pained, yet undeniably musical, as if even the darkness and dinginess of the underworld hadn't quite been able to strip the beauty from this woman's soul.
She still didn't look at him; her thick cloak hid her body language, and the hand against the tunnel wall was clenched into a tight fist.
"Me," she rasped, "what happened, this weird obsession with tracking me down. I didn't save your life for…for whatever the fuck you came here to do, okay? I didn't do it because it was the right thing to do, or because I'm heroic…or any of that shit. Just leave me alone."
"Then why did you do it?" Izuku asked, taking a cautious step forward, deeper into the tunnel.
There was a pause, and Izuku got the distinct impression of a frown when the woman finally replied, "You…you didn't deserve to die, that's all."
Izuku took another step forward. "Who are you?" he asked softly, tilting his head, keeping his voice soft and steady like he was talking to an easily-spooked wild animal.
The woman chuckled at that question; Izuku wasn't sure what was so funny.
"I'm nobody," she said quietly, "always have been. Just another face in the crowd."
"Wearing that getup?" Izuku noted, eyeing her cloak and mask.
To his surprise, the woman chuckled again. She retorted, "Trust me, I'd stand out more without it. Then again…maybe not. My kind are common down here."
Izuku frowned. "Your kind?" he repeated, "What's that supposed to mean? What are you?"
Suddenly, in a voice so venomous it seemed to scorch the very air, the woman snarled, "Stop right there."
Izuku was so stunned, he stopped advancing; he was less than ten paces away from her now. He noticed that the thick leather of her glove was starting to hiss and smoke, and he wondered just how dangerous this strange woman really was.
The woman took a deep breath-Izuku could see the fabric of her heavy cloak rise and fall sharply-and told him, "You don't want to know what I am. Go back to your nice, pretty life on the surface. Forget you were ever down here among the dregs. Forget you ever talked to me."
"I can't," Izuku whispered.
Silence followed. The woman didn't move, though she seemed to be shaking; Izuku could see the tremble in her shoulders, as if she was prepared to hunch to protect herself, or else lash out.
Izuku repeated, "I can't forget you. Ever since you saved me, I've been thinking of you. I just…I just want to see your face. I want to know who saved my life."
Once again, there was dead silence. Then, to Izuku's shock, the woman laughed. It was a sound like shattering glass, like hate and rage and cruelty mixed together into an expression of pure amusement at the unfairness of the universe; it was a broken, angry sound, and it scared Izuku to his core.
The woman clenched her fist, and Izuku saw the glove come apart, hissing and melting, dripping with…was that acid? She quickly drew her hand in, but Izuku's eyes still went wide.
Was…was her skin pink? The shadows made it hard to tell-maybe it was just a trick of the light.
The woman kept laughing, and Izuku thought he heard tears in her voice. At last, she stood tall again, like a statue ready to be toppled, and snarled in the other direction, "Oh, you wanna see my face? Fine. Maybe then you'll see why I'm not worth it."
With that, she threw back the head of her cloak, whirling to face him as she did. Izuku's eyes went wide as she pulled off a black mask, revealing…
Skin as pink as cherry blossoms. Messy, matted hair in the same shade, shaven close to the skin on the sides in an undercut. Curving, hooked yellow horns jutting from the top of her head, looking like the antennae of some otherworldly insect. A thin, angry red scar along one cheekbone, as if from the long-ago cut of a knife. And most shocking of all…those eyes.
Her sclera were pure, pitch black, like staring into the empty, hostile void of space, devoid of light and life. But set in the center of that perfect dark were shimmering circles of brilliant, beautiful gold. They reflected light like the metal, shimmering with depths and glory Izuku couldn't possibly name. They glowed, too, with anger and defiance and cringing acceptance, roaring with fury, pooling with tears. They cut through Izuku's heart, ripped his soul to shreds and stitched it back together. They were the most incredible eyes he had ever seen.
"I'm Mina Ashido," this woman, this impossible, mutant, gorgeous woman, told him, "and I'm a monster."