Two hundred chapters, and I'm still not done. To those of you who have read this story this far, my salutations to you.
Most days after class, Bakugou, Midoriya, and I have our work-studies.
Being Endeavor's son, Dad calls me the most often to come.
Sometimes the three of us cannot train at the same, so he invites as many as can come.
Today is not one of those days, though.
By chance, our schedules are free for the afternoon. So here we are, gaining some on-site experience on what it is to be a Pro-Hero. Today's villain in question is a gang of robbers fleeing after looting a jewelry store. Maybe calling them villains is an overstatement; they are hardly that threatening. So "useless pieces of society garbage" is perhaps a better description.
These worthless dipshits think they are oh so clever to whip out their guns after Bakugou, Midoriya, and I back them into a corner. Probably stole the weapons from somewhere, too, since only the police and military are allowed to carry guns in Japan.
"Stay back, or we'll shoot!" one of them hollers. I cannot recognize who. They are all wearing bandit masks. Doesn't matter.
Bakugou scoffs audibly at the threat. "Damn, I thought we were gonna get some action today. BUT THIS IS HELLA BORING!" He turns around to stare at me. I can feel the menace radiate in waves despite his mask. "Your dad sent us here to deal with this! These bastards who call themselves men!"
I roll my eyes. "Look, I'm just as pissed as you. This wasn't my idea of work-study, either. But Endeavor is making us do this because he was called by the Hero Commission Board to discuss something important. And the rest of the team are overworking their butts already. I'm trying to console myself by repeating mentally that at least it's not the League of Villains we're confronting. So let's just suck this up and get it over with." I extend a hand of truce to emphasize my point.
Apparently, Midoriya is the one who takes it. He is more cheerful than both of us combined. "Just because this mission did not meet our expectations doesn't mean we should take it lightly, guys." He reaches for Bakugou's hand, who hisses and tries to pull away. It is a half-hearted attempt. If anything, he is more irritated at the goons who shout out more inane warnings than Midoriya. "We are future heroes," Midoriya reminds us. "Preventing any threat to the public – big or small – is our responsibility."
Bakugou sneers and snatches his hand back. "Yeah, yeah. Protecting people who cannot protect themselves and that old spiel. Let's just toss their asses into jail and go back. I heard from Burnin' that the agency has mapo tofu on the cafeteria menu. I've been craving something spicy since yesterday."
I pull back, too. Looking away from Midoriya, I mutter, "Our duty. That's right. I've also got somewhere I need to go."
Both of them look at me, silently demanding an explanation. I do not give one. My focus is on the robbers. Half of me expected that they were simply bluffing with the gun display, but when I hear the sounds of bullets being loaded and the gun being cocked, my laxness drops.
My friends hear it, too.
It's almost like second nature at this point: our coordination.
In a matter of seconds, I unleash a barrage of ice at the thieves' feet; Midoriya uses his black whiplike tendrils to snatch the guns from midair; Bakugou also propels himself midair to blast explosions into the criminals' faces and their escape vehicle.
One minute later, the battle is over.
Five bandits gape with wide mouths at their hands and feet. Bakugou manages to retrieve the bag of jewelry and returns to our side.
One of them pulls out a small ice pick from somewhere and hacks at the ice. Another throws a knife at us. The blade hits a wall of ice a meter from my face, and the ice trapping five pairs of feet climbs higher until it reaches their necks.
By the time the police arrive, the robbers and Bakugou have entered a swearing contest. Who can out-swear the other? If one crying expression, one silent in fear expression, and three enraged expressions are anything to go by, then Bakugou is winning the competition. I am glad I am not on the receiving end of his insults. The ones he shouts at class and toward Midoriya and me are like compliments in comparison to this.
I have to physically rotate Bakugou in the direction of the road when the criminals are seated inside the police cars and taken away. He growls and shakes my arm off. But at least he is quiet. One of the officers stays behind and offers to drop us to the agency. Midoriya and Bakugou deny his offer, but I have other plans.
"Excuse me, Officer! Could you take me to this address, instead?" I hold my phone to the officer's eye level, showing him an address on the Maps app. "I have plans of meeting someone there, and I'm in a bit of a hurry."
Bakugou stares at me with silent scorn, while Midoriya inquires as to who this person is.
"It's for my Dad," I lie. "There is this thing he wants me to work on independently, and this meeting is regarding that." He seems like he wants to ask more, but I have no more lies. When the officer agrees to drop me off, I immediately get into the backseat of the vehicle. "See you guys tonight!"
It is about a half hour ride to my destination. The officer makes small talk with me, to which I respond likewise. But my mind is elsewhere. I don't like lying to my friends, but the matter is regarding Selene and Hanada-shi's financial crimes. It is not my place to divulge that information to anyone other than the four of us involved in bringing him down.
In fact, the person I am meeting today is a victim of Hanada-shi's money frauds. A potential witness for our case.
The officer drops me off in front of an art gallery. After he drives off do I properly observe the place. The place is closing. Movers carry large rectangles wrapped in brown paper and duct tape to a truck parked nearby. Past the glass doors is a hustle-bustle of activity. Workers inside remove paintings from their places on the wall and wrap them up. I push the doors and enter the building.
Inside, I can see the borders imprinted on the walls by the paintings. There is a difference in paint color that would go unnoticed unless the pictures were taken off. Some workers are standing on ladders, removing the light bulb fixtures; others lift and transport sitting benches to the entrance.
I look for the man who stands out from the rest of them. The man whose name I noticed in one of the files of evidence and contacted to arrange an appointment.
There. By the painting of the sunrise.
I saunder toward him. He stares avidly at the masterpiece. The sun peeks out from a valley of wildflowers. Vivid with reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks, it is surreal. Almost like the real thing.
"Good afternoon, Fujiwara-san," I greet as I bow.
He turns around to gaze at the speaker. Fujiwara-san scans me up and down. My hero costume must be making quite the impression. Then again, it was intentional. Before coming here, I had done my homework on this man. Famous artist; winner of numerous accolades; owner of a large gallery in an expensive district. He also lived near my old primary school, meaning he was a well-to-do man. That was, until Hanada-shi, deceived him. I figured that a man deserving of so much respect would not take an adolescent seriously unless I compelled him to. Hence, the costume.
He rests a finger across his chin as he tries to place who I am. "You must be … Todoroki Shouto. We spoke over the phone, right?"
I straighten. "Yes, Sir. I am here to discuss with you the cheating Hanada Asahi did with you."
The name sullies Fujiwara-san's curious mood. He waves his arm in a semicircle, making an obvious gesture to look around. "You can see the consequences of that. I have to close my gallery of thirteen years." Fujiwara-san appears to be in his mid-thirties, so he must have opened his gallery early in his twenties. A prodigal man, then.
"And I want to give you a chance to win it back," I say. His interest is piqued now, even if it comes with a dose of mockery.
He laughs sadly, "I appreciate the effort, young man, but that man came at me with an army of lawyers to shut my art down. I fought for myself, too, but the judge passed in his favor. Corrupt, all of them."
"I'm sorry that happened to you, but you have a chance now. I have done research on you. That trial occurred last summer. It should have made national headlines, but it only did for one day. The matter was quickly suppressed by the media while the case carried on quietly. Actually, while it was dragged on quietly. Hanada-shi manipulated the court dates to have such wide gaps between each hearing so that you would tire, and he could force you to give up your gallery. And now, you have to sell it."
The man's eyes narrow. Good. That should have enabled you to drop the veil of elder-younger and treat me as an equal. "How do you intend to retrieve what was snatched from me?"
Finally, a good question. "Simple. Testify as a witness. As we speak, three other people with valuable connections are gathering evidence on the financial crimes committed by Hanada Asahi for months. We have a very strong file to bring forth to the justice system. For privacy reasons, I will not disclose their names or positions. But I can tell you that my responsibility is to arrange witnesses. You, Sir, are a valuable one."
The cynicism does not fade from the man's posture. Instead, he shifts away to gaze at the sunrise painting.
"Do you recognize this piece?" A sudden change in topic. Nonetheless, I nod my head. It is his most praised art piece. "At first glance, the valley of flowers appears like mountains. But look again. What do you see?"
Not sure where he is going with this, I obey. Scrutinizing the masterpiece with a painter's eye, I search for what an amateur would not notice. It takes a while because I'm not sure what to look for. A part of me wonders if Fujiwara-san is referring to a particular signature. Some artists include an element that is ubiquitous throughout each of their paintings. A theme of sorts. Something that becomes synonymous with the painter. Such as the melting clocks with Salvador Dalí; modern art style with Pablo Picasso; endless dots with Kusama Yayoi.
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that is what Fujiwara-san wishes for me to find. My research led to some art critic reviews who pointed out the recurring theme of wisterias in Fujiwara-san's paintings. Perhaps an ode to his surname, which means a field of wisteria.
As soon as the connection hits me, I spot it. The illusion he wants me to see. The arrangement of the warm colors … they are in the shape of wisteria petals. Upside down hearts with an extension from the concave point. There is not much gap between one petal and the next, as is characteristic of wisteria vines, and perhaps that is what makes it so hard to notice the broad floral element.
When I point it out to Fujiwara-san, he smiles. Just as sorrowful as his laugh. He says, "I made this in honor of the birth of my son. It was a beautiful dawn that day. Almost as if the universe was delighted to bring him into this world. My wife decided to name our baby boy a title fitting for a beautiful sunrise, but I wanted to do more. I wanted to capture the moment my little sunlight was born.
"These days my sunlight is unhappy. He is young; only in primary school. But he realizes that things are not well off. For my sake and my wife's, he puts on a smile. Brave boy. But I wish he would not have to do that. No child should have to pretend to be happy."
His expression shifts. From morose to serious. Determined.
"The court took away my child's happiness," he declares. "I never want to step foot into a courtroom again."
This is a problem. Since the day this undercover investigation has begun, I have reached out to so many victims of Hanada-shi's schemes. Most of them have refused, afraid of his influence. I need at least four or five to generate a solid argument in front of the court. Fujiwara-san could be a useful witness. I don't want to lose his support.
Choosing my words with care, I counter, "It was not the court; it was Hanada Asahi. The judge handling your case was bought by him. My allies and I assure you that the new judge will not be corrupt." Meeting his eyes head-on, I give the most impactful line in my arsenal. "Your son is unhappy now because of the abuse of money and power, but I can promise you that if you do not take this risk to fight for what is rightfully yours, you will never see your son smile again."
A dramatic statement, I know. But my objective is to convince Fujiwara-san. Logos, ethos, pathos. I've implemented the first two; they have failed. All I can do now is appeal to emotion.
My words prick him. He flinches visibly and frowns. He opens his mouth to retort. Just then, a boy comes running out of a corridor and stops in front of us.
"Papa!" the boy exclaims. "I packed all the paintbrushes, threw away the dead markers, and sorted your sketchbooks. Is there anything else I can do to help?"
I stare at the boy. No more than ten, with chestnut brown hair and eyes. I have seen this boy before. More than a year ago. During a school project with Selene where our grade depended on the reviews given by grade school children. Where I helped him get revenge on a cruel art teacher.
"Hey, Akira," I whisper. "Long time, no see."
The boy's eyes widen as he registers my presence. His mouth drops as far as it can. "Shouto-san!" he shouts. Not a moment later, Akira charges forward. His hug catches me off guard, and I stumble backward on my feet. His head comes no higher than my waist.
I ruffle Akira's hair. "It's good to see you! How's school going? How's your art progressing?"
Fujiwara-san glances rapidly between the two of us, as though he is unable to decide on whom to focus on. "Have you two met before?"
Akira lets go to answer his father's question. A bright gleam enters his eyes as he narrates how Selene and I came to his school for our math playground project. How I helped him get Yasuda-sensei fired from her job. How I inspired him to pursue his dream in artistry after that event. "Remember that morning glory I brought home that day?" he squeals, excitedly. "They gave it to me."
Akira's joy is no facade. It is genuine. I hope that Fujiwara-san sees it, too, and realizes that he has a chance of keeping Akira happy if he joins us. To my surprise, he stares at me, accusingly.
"Selene?" he hisses. "Hanada Selene? The daughter of Hanada Asahi?"
Of course that's what he noticed. While persuading the victims, I did not reveal her name because I was worried that it might scare them further, or they might exact vengeance on Hanada-shi through her. It was not my intention to reveal it to Fujiwara-san yet, either. Akira spoke her name, unaware, but his carelessness has just cost me a witness.
I raise my hands to placate him. "Sir," I try to console. "It's not what you think. Selene is a trustworthy friend, and she is helping in the incarceration of her father. She had no part in what happened to you. In fact, she wants justice for all of you. She is the one who is going to bring this matter to the court of law."
Akira stares at us, confused. I can only imagine what he sees. His father: rage brimming in his eyes, blood pulsating through a vein, fists clenched by his side. Todoroki Shouto: assuming a defensive stance, speaking as calmly as possible, trying everything to defuse the situation. "What's going on?" he asks. "Why is Selene-san making you angry, Papa?"
"Because …" Perhaps not to terrify his son, he speaks low. However, that tone sends chills down my spine. "That girl is the daughter of the man who closed down our gallery."
Akira turns to me, silently begging for confirmation. What do I say? It is true. I can only try to prove that she is not against them but with them. Convincing Akira is my best chance now. "Remember the morning glory she gave you?" He nods, still puzzled. "Did you think she was a bad person?"
"No …" he replies. "She was really kind."
"That's right! She told you that you were full of life. That you should never let someone else determine your talent."
Akira slowly affirms my statements. His father, on the other hand, warns me. Pulling his son to his side, he shields him and growls, "Stop misleading my son. Please leave."
Though it is rude, I ignore Fujiwara-san's warning. I continue, "Guess what? She wants to help you get your art gallery back. The bad guy who did this to your family is her father, but that's not her fault. Children cannot decide who their parents are, right? Instead, she wants to distance herself from him. Selene and I are going to send him to jail, and we would like your father to help us."
I pray again and again that my words reach him.
"That will never happen," the man vows just as Akira inquires, "If Papa helps you, then our gallery won't have to be sold?"
"Yeah," I answer enthusiastically. My hands are still in the air, but I get down on my knees to reach Akira's level. To let Fujiwara-san know that I mean no harm. "You can put the paintings back up. Create new art here. Resume life the way it was before." To my relief, Akira is persuaded. He tugs at his father's shirt and pleads with him to accept. Fujiwara-san and I stare at each other. "Selene and I are U.A. students, Sir. We are students in the Hero Department. And heroes save everyone by any means possible."
Fujiwara-san is understandably reluctant. "The wisteria our family name is symbolic for represents love and longevity. For generations, my ancestors practiced the arts. We loved our craft. And I hoped for my sunlight to develop the same love. This gallery is my dream that I wanted to pass onto Akira."
Sitting so my legs are tucked beneath me, I bend forward until my face is just above the floor. My hands come forth as well, forming a point on the ground just below my head. It is a deep bow. An apology. A request. A final desperate plea. A tear slips from the corner of my eye.
"I'm sorry for everything that happened to you, Fujiwara-san. Akira. Please let Selene and I atone for Hanada-shi's mistakes."
Fujiwara-san murmurs for me to get up. Slowly, deliberately, I do. Akira stands before me, tissue in hand. He appears concerned at my state. Gratefully, I accept it.
He says, "It has been a long time since I have last seen Akira light up like that. But do not think that is enough to sway me. I will accept to enter the courtroom and testify against Hanada Asahi under one condition."
"What condition, Sir?"
"Hanada Selene must personally arrive and apologize to me."
Tense silence permeates the room.
My whole argument was that Selene was not responsible for Hanada-shi's wrongdoings, still she is trying to make up for them.
This stubborn man …
Calm down.
This is the furthest I have gotten with any potential witness.
I would be a fool to let him down.
Swallowing my pride, I promise him that I will escort Selene myself.
It's not my place to make pledges on her behalf.
Please forgive me, Selene.
