'My Hero Academia' is the property of Kouhei Horikoshi and Shonen Jump. I do not own it or its characters. All I own is this story and my original characters.

A/N: [[]] denotes that characters are contextually speaking in Russian.

I would also like to put it out there for anyone reading that my plan is to upload a chapter each Saturday, so you can expect Chapter 2 this coming Saturday, and so on and so on.

Be sure to read and review. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 1

Another Perfect Day

(Еще Один Прекрасный День)

Molten steel, oil, coal and raw fish; if one ever had to describe what the natural smell of Vladivostok was to an outsider, it would be those four things in any order. To anyone who hadn't been born in this city, or who hadn't already spent their entire lives in it, the thought would've turned any prospective movers right on their heels and sent them packing all the way back to Moscow. Only those with the backbone for hard labor, and the irreplaceable sense of camaraderie that came with it, could appreciate life in a city like Vladivostok; and men like Oleg Borisovich Bezpalov fit that description to the letter.

Noticeably tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular even among his countrymen, Oleg would have been described as a human ox by those laying their eyes on him for the very first time. With his clothes showing years of wear and tear beneath the thick leather he wore for protection, accompanied by his long light-brown, now-graying hair, and unkempt beard, one could have easily pictured him originally living as a wild man on the Siberian plains, hunting and wrestling tigers and bears with his own two hands.

His imposing appearance notwithstanding, Oleg Bezpalov was a notably sociable man among those that bothered to get to know him. He was generous with the rounds he would buy, he could make even the most stone-faced men laugh themselves to tears if he had enough drinks in his system, and he could use his physique and initial demeanor to discourage any potential drunks looking to stir up trouble. For all intents and purposes, he was the perfect picture of the common working-class Russian citizen, whatever that title was supposed to mean these days.

Ten years wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but it was more than enough time for an entire people to watch the way of life they and their previous nine or ten generations knew, fall apart and crumble like dust against the winds of time. The second life of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was no more than a bittersweet memory now, and the people were still left struggling to pick the pieces back up, as their government tried to restructure itself and re-embrace the once foreign economic system of capitalism in an attempt to rebuild its economy and raise itself from the abyss of financial ruin. After over two hundred years of previously unheard of economic prosperity and international unity between the members of the Soviet Bloc, to see their entire system make a complete 180-degree turn in the wake of an already unprecedented disaster, left the people across all the land reeling.

However, these days, none of that mattered to the likes of Oleg and his fellow shipbuilders. In these parts of Russia, far removed from the political serpent's nest of Moscow and The Kremlin, all one could realistically afford to do was live one day at a time, and take the next day's challenges as they came. When one even bothered to try and plan ahead for the future, reality had a way of slapping one in the face and making them reevaluate their priorities. And for Oleg, his only priority was providing for his family the best he possibly could, in a way that didn't include him getting involved with the likes of the Bratva. Yes, these days, honest working men didn't get fancy mansions, fast cars and beautiful supermodel wives, but Oleg was the kind of man who would have rather died than compromised on the ideals of an honest working man.

The ideal of an honest day's work for an honest day's pay had driven him for pretty much his entire life, and even if his motherland had forsaken its ideals to survive, he would find another way. That was the oath he continuously swore to himself through each and every day he would spend, dismantling and repairing old fishing boats and shipping barges for their next voyages out the Golden Horn Bay. Without an ideal, a man was nothing, and the ideal of honest work, if nothing else, was the one thing he continuously hoped to instill in his family.

[[Hey, Oleg Borisovich! Wake up!]] The sudden intrusion of the shift leaders' voice stirred Oleg from his unintended daze. Normally he could get through his work with complete efficiency, even when his mind was elsewhere, but it tended to make things awkward on the rare occasions anyone actually needed a word in the middle of the day. [[I have something important to discuss with you. Walk with me somewhere I can actually hear myself think.]]

Despite the clear size difference between them, Oleg was not one to ignore the needs of his superiors. This was one of, if not the only job he could get, that wouldn't eventually drive him mad from the tedium, so he couldn't afford to lose it. He'd always preferred simple physical work that allowed him to keep himself in shape. There was an indescribable kind of honesty in real physical labor; it was the one kind of work where one could not dispute the results it brought about.

However, nostalgia aside, Oleg knew his shift leader well enough to know that if he wanted Oleg alone, it was for something he didn't want anyone else overhearing.

Once they were on the outskirts of the harbor, away from any of the roads, the shift leader straightened himself out, having to strain himself to look up and meet Oleg's gaze. [[So, I think we've gone through this routine enough for you to know why I called you out here.]] Figures, Oleg had been dreading this subject would come up again. You would think after the first five or six times, the little man would get the point. [[Yes, my productivity quota. Are we really going through this again, boss? How many times do I have to say I'm not interested before you finally give it up?]]

[[Hey, I got the message a long time ago, but I still have to answer to my higher-ups, and they're the ones that keep bringing it up. It's been six years since you started here, Oleg, and you're still working the same measly entry-level position. Your quota doesn't lie; you manage to haul more steel refuse and weld together more ships on a monthly basis than the rest of the men combined, regularly. Surely you must realize that's going to get management's attention. They don't even question how you manage to do it so often, they just care that you make the business thrive. The fact that you refuse the chance for a higher pay grade to keep working with the rest of us dock rats every single time, however, especially in a recession where everybody without a Quirk is practically clawing away at each other in order to get more money? You have to admit, it just goes against common human nature to not want to attain something better for yourself; especially when you have a family to provide for.]]

Oleg could feel his muscles involuntarily twitch, the way they always did when his family was mentioned. As much as he hated to admit it, the shift leader did have a legitimate point. It was in humanity's nature to always strive for better things, and his adamant refusal of it would raise more than a few eyebrows; not something you wanted when you made an active choice to live a simple life.

[[Look, Oleg, I don't want to be difficult, but you deserve to know what's going on. I don't understand why you don't just take the promotions and just do what you know is best for Nikolay. If that's really so terrible, why not just take him and find someplace else in the world to hang your boots? The border restriction isn't up anymore; you wouldn't be at risk of being labeled a defector. Nobody would blame you for leaving. There are plenty of other places that would gladly accept a man like you and a boy like yours. You've done so much for all of us these past five years already, you don't owe us anything more by insisting on staying.]]

Despite the surprising sincerity in the little man's tone, Oleg stubbornly shook his head to keep the temptation from taking root. [[I appreciate you saying so, comrade, but leaving my motherland behind is not that easy for me. Loyalty to one's home has always been paramount to my family and me. No matter how things may be in our world right now, I can't help but feel I would be stabbing you all in the back if I left.]]

The air between them was as silent as could be, with the distant whirring sounds of steel cutting steel and heavy vehicles moving this way and that echoing. Eventually, the shift leader let out a defeated sigh as he knew there would be no convincing the giant of a man before him. [[I won't pretend that I understand your thinking entirely, Oleg Borisovich, but I can at least respect what you're trying to say. But if nothing else I say will get through that thick skull of yours, then at least consider this: if, heavens forbid, you're forced to choose between loyalty to a dead country and its dead ideals, and loyalty to your family, which do you truly believe you will choose?]]

With that, the little man left Oleg to ponder his parting words. Any other time, if someone had suggested that question, he would have felt resolute in either answer, or perhaps even both at once, as ridiculous as that sounded in his head. But now, Oleg Sergeevich Bezpalov felt the foundations of his commitment and resolve only slightly shake.

Later that evening…

There were certain highs and lows to building a man's home on the outskirts of the city. On the bright side, you didn't have to deal with the noise, and the air was at least relatively cleaner. On the downside, when one didn't have the money for their own vehicle, the walks to and from home were long and frustrating, and the already ancient cable cars didn't travel nearly this far out of town. It was all so especially frustrating. These winter evenings certainly didn't help either. The sooner Spring would come, the better.

Seated atop a small hill in a small clearing in the woods was a quaint wooden cabin, with a fair number of holes from uprooted stumps surrounding it. It was nothing to brag about, but Oleg always felt the faintest stirring of pride when he looked upon the home he had built with his own hands.

The kitchen light was shining through the window, the telltale sign that his son had once again gotten home before him. That was certainly no surprise; the boy was hardly the outgoing type at all with his peers, and hardly more so with Oleg himself.

Stepping inside, Oleg's nostrils were filled with a pleasantly nostalgic aroma, one he always welcomed, especially during the winter months: solyanka, the cornerstone of any self-respecting Russian's winter diet. Peering through the doorway to the kitchen and dining room, he was met with the all-too familiar sight of his son standing attentively at the stovetop, barely turning his head to acknowledge his father's return while stirring and managing the fire with hands adorned in thick black gloves.

[[Welcome home, Dad. You're just in time, I think I've finally gotten the balance of the ingredients right.]] Oleg couldn't help but smile to see his son so engaged in something. Other fathers would have no doubt mocked the boy for showing enthusiasm for what was supposed to be the wife's work, but anything was preferable to having him cooped up in his room all hours of the day, or spending his time with gopniks and other hooligans on the streets like so many other boys his age. [[As long as it's able to warm our bones from this awful chill and sate our hunger, that's all that matters, Kolya.]]

Nikolay 'Kolya' Olegovich Bezpalov was practically a beanpole standing next to his father's wide muscular frame. His limbs were rather long and skinny, and his face lacked any of the clear color that time in the sun would give. The sight of such a frail-looking skinny boy would have been enough to break any babushka's heart, but he and Oleg both knew he was anything but frail.

His somewhat trimmed yet curly-looking hair was a vibrant dark brown, as opposed to the light maple brown with ever increasing streaks of gray that Oleg's head was now adorned with. Unlike his father's piercing blue eyes, Nikolay's eyes were a pleasant light green, not unlike the forest they lived in during the all-too brief summer season.

[[So, how was school today, Kolya?]] Oleg asked in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence as his son set the steaming bowls of soup at the table, keeping his head bowed down to avoid his father's attentive eye. [[It was okay. They talked about the dismantling of the old Hero academies in history class today.]]

Oleg would have been lying if he said he wasn't worried. Kolya used to love Heroes like everybody else, but now he spoke of their institutions being torn down as if he were talking about the weather. Although it wasn't like he couldn't entirely understand where the boy's change in attitude came from. The disaster eleven years ago had taken just as much, if not more, from them as everybody else. However, that didn't make watching the spark of life in his son's eyes fade any less painful.

While Mother Russia had decided to throw the proverbial book at whatever of their Quirk-possessing population was left in the wake of the disaster, the rest of the world had continued to just keep moving forward, propping more and more of their own Heroes up and expanding their own institutions for the new generations that were being born. Thinking back on it, the last estimation Oleg had heard was that reportedly 80% of the world's population now possessed Quirks. With those kind of numbers, he couldn't help but wonder, just for a moment, what was being done with the children in this country that would be first displaying their own Quirks once they reached the age of four, when they typically first started manifesting? It was an unpleasant thought, but one that he knew needed to be pondered at least a little bit.

As they proceeded to eat, neither could think of another conversation to start. It was always this way. Kolya had always been more reserved and withdrawn than most boys his age, and Oleg couldn't begin to understand the interests his son had taken up: preferring to spend his time out of school either reading or watching old movies. Back when he was his age, Oleg was without doubt the most sociable among his circle of friends, and it killed him inside to see his son prefer to be alone, away from his peers.

Getting Kolya to open up even this much had been a struggle that took several years, but if he didn't somehow find a means to open up and actually make friends, the rest of his life would be even more miserable than it already had been.

Returning his thoughts to the present for a moment, Oleg suddenly caught sight of something he hadn't before: a trace of what was unmistakably a bruise adorning Kolya's left cheek. When Kolya chanced an upward glance to meet his father's gaze, he immediately realized the man had stopped eating and had gone still as stone. It didn't take him long to realize what had gotten his father's attention, acting quick to try and hide it once more behind a napkin.

[[Who was it?]] There was no discernible anger or malice in Oleg's tone as he asked. However, Kolya still refused to meet his father's gaze, easily able to detect the trace of disappointment in his voice.

[[Who do you think? It was Vanya; it's always Vanya. Can you really blame him, though? He's got bruises of his own, you know.]] As much as the man in Oleg's heart couldn't help but admire how quick Kolya was to try and veer away from resentment or anger against another person, the parent in him could not be kept silent for long. [[If that boy's father is such a drunk that he can't even hold a menial job this far out in the countryside, then his chances would be no better anywhere else in this country. If that makes the man feel that beating on his family is the only remaining way he can feel dominant, then I feel for his kin, I really do. However, that doesn't excuse his son consequentially beating on you in return!]]

[[It's not a big deal, Dad, all right? I'm used to it at this point, I can take whatever he feels he can throw at me.]] Kolya tried to argue before bowing his head, not even able to buy his own lie, let alone hope that it would be enough to satisfy Oleg. [[Just because you can take a beating, Kolya, doesn't mean you should when it's being forced on you. Our family has never just buckled down and taken the blows, we've always faced them down with our own. I know I've taught you at least that much.]]

[[It's not like it was before, Dad! I can't deal with problems like you used to; not problems like this! Remember what happened the last time I tried defending myself like you told me? We were barely able to get away then.]]

Oleg couldn't find the words to counter his son's admittedly justifiable fears. The last time had been an accident, but accidents these days had a tendency to bring dire consequences; the kind most folks didn't get a second chance from. They had made their own luck then, best not to push it now. [[Well, are you at least still making use of the training grounds? I know it isn't much, but I figure you can at least use what's there to…vent?]] To this, Kolya let out a weary sigh. [[Yes, I am. The one good thing about these gloves: I don't absorb as much, so when I can finally take them off and let it out, I don't risk…well, flattening the whole back yard.]]

Oleg gave an approving, thankful nod of acknowledgment, taking another hearty spoonful from his solyanka. [[I'm glad to hear that, Kolya. I want you to know; I do understand your concerns about your…well, your ability, in regards to defending yourself. Still, I can't just sit back and let you make a punching bag of yourself for every frustrated teenager or gopnik looking to swipe a little extra cash from an easy mark. Maybe, starting tomorrow, I could give you some lessons in traditional self-defense. You know, bare-knuckle boxing, sambo, some systema and ARB. I still remember some of the things I learned from the Army.]]

Just talking about it had gotten Oleg all excited again, and the sight couldn't help but bring out a considerably wry smile from Kolya. [[I still don't see why you would have ever needed to pick up anything from the Army in the first place, but if you really think it'll help, then okay,]] he accepted with a single nod, which only made Oleg's smile even brighter. [[I know it will, son. You won't have to let yourself get beaten so needlessly again, and you won't have to worry about another accident.]]

With their new understanding established, the two continued to eat in a considerably less awkward silence. [[Oh, Dad, do you think we could have the TV on? I almost forgot that 'The Cranes Are Flying'* is on tonight.]] Despite Kolya's visible enthusiasm, Oleg couldn't help but let out a slightly embarrassed groan. [[Fine, but I'm onto your game, Kolya. I don't care what your Grandpa said, I did not cry when I saw it as a kid, and I'm damn sure not going to cry watching it with you now.]] Anyone else would've heard the intensity in Oleg's tone and would have taken his insistence as carved-in-stone fact, but Kolya knew his father well enough to know when he was simply trying to put on a strong face. It was moments like that, which made chances like this to break his toughened exterior so irresistible.

Turning on the small television set sitting on the nearby kitchen counter, the father and son were met, not with the black-and-white opening of Mikhail Kalatazov's magnum opus, but instead the stern face of one of Russia's many installed national news anchors.

[[As we begin approaching the end of another year, let us not forget that we are fast approaching the eleventh anniversary of The Siberian Flash. A day that will live in infamy in the hearts of all our countrymen, the day we paid for our hubris, letting those individuals with Quirks we were placated into calling Heroes, go around playing God, and nearly destroying our nation in the process. Over two centuries of prosperity and advancement, snuffed out in a flash by the hands of our once greatest national icon, Tunguska, still missing without a trace since then; leaving us, the common working people he claimed to be the representative and protector of, to pick up the pieces.

Candlelight vigils have already started forming in major cities and small villages all across what was once our great republic, with many citizens praising the efforts of our fearless president, Dmitri Zaitsev, for his efforts to quell the menace of Quirks in our society, and preparing and equipping our brave law enforcement and military forces to combat these inhuman threats. While the rest of the world continues to fool themselves into thinking Heroes will always protect them, praising the likes of the so-called Symbol of Peace known as All Might, we proud and steadfast people of the Russian soil will not be swayed again.]]

The footage then cut to an image of a middle-aged man in probably the most pristine suit either father and son had ever seen. His head was topped with a very disciplined military-style crew cut of black with speckles of gray, his frame was particularly strong for a politician in his age range, and his eyes betrayed a balance of coldness and depth that few could form into words. This was the current president of this strange new place that now bore the mantle of Mother Russia, the man who had nearly erased the idea of Heroes from the modern Russian people's mentality, and lumped them in with all the other monsters under the children's beds: Dmitri Alexandrovich Zaitsev.

[[Citizens, my fellow children of Mother Russia's soil, we have endured trials and tribulations for well over a thousand years, ever since we laid claim to this land and called it 'Rus'. We have weathered pain, cruelty, starvation and oppression from countless forces, foreign and domestic. And each time, we have risen up from the dirt, stricken our enemies down, and proclaimed to the heavens above and hell below that Russia will not fall, and we will not let it. None of that has changed. We have not allowed two hundred years of prosperity to soften our spines and weaken our resolve.

We did not let the sensation of Quirks, Heroes and Villains make us think that we could leave our responsibilities to those with powers beyond ours. When The Siberian Flash happened, we rose up from the ashes like the proud and mighty phoenix, and realized we could no longer rely on those that claimed to be there to protect us, those that failed. We rose up and drove away that which threatened to make us weak, that which threatened to bring us further turmoil and pain, and struck down those that resisted, with the righteous fury of our people that they had earned. Even if the one who we once called our greatest Hero, the one who cost us all the lives of so many of our loved ones through his reckless arrogance, still remains to be found, we will remain as vigilant and ready to act as we ever have been, and once his presence has been wiped from the face of our steadfast nation, we will continue to stand strong against the rest of the world and its monsters.

It doesn't matter if the population of our world with Quirks is 80% or 100%; the Russian people will stand and fight any threat that turns its eyes to us with tooth and nail, to our very last man if we have to. The Mongols learned it, Napoleon's armies learned it, the Nazi war machine learned it, and even if our enemy has to be the so-called Symbol of Peace that is All Might and his legions of Quirk-possessing goons, we will make them learn it just as thoroughly! We are unbending, and we are strong!]]

SNAP!

The relative quiet of the dining room was broken by the piercing sound of Kolya's spoon finally breaking in half in his grip. Just as Oleg began to open his mouth to scold his son, he noticed the unmistakable shimmering of angry tears in those green eyes. Without another word, Kolya slammed the handle of his utensil to the table and stormed out of the dining room, soon punctuating his departure with the echoing slam of his bedroom door. Oleg knew there would be no way to speak calmly about this with his son tonight, and sat back in his chair in defeat. It wasn't like he was feeling much more calm and composed. It killed him every time people voiced their hatred for Tunguska, the Soviet Union's #1 Hero. It wasn't right for something like The Siberian Flash to be blamed on a single person, but when a nation is reeling from destruction and incalculable loss of life, if the people aren't able to direct their emotions towards something, then what are they supposed to do?

As much as it pained Oleg to admit it, perhaps the government had done what was ultimately wiser, in order to keep the people of this still proud land from inflicting their anger towards each other. An American president from ages long past had once said that a house divided against itself could not stand. Perhaps there was far more weight to that than many Russian folk today could bring themselves to admit.

Nevertheless, of course that wouldn't make things any easier for his boy. When his own Quirk had begun to manifest after everything, all Oleg could think of was how to keep it hidden, keep him away from the eyes of those that would lock him up like an animal in the gulags, if not worse. Hearing all his countrymen continuously deride people with Quirks as monsters only made that damage so much worse. When it came to things like this, especially now that Kolya was on the verge of turning fifteen and still having no means to express himself or even just let his emotions out without putting himself in danger; Oleg had no choice but to admit his own defeat.

He finished the rest of his dinner in the awful silence, and when he had finished cleaning up, he saw the light to Kolya's bedroom had long since gone off. With a weary sigh, Oleg decided he would simply try to talk to the boy again come morning, try and help him get his emotions back on track. For now, all he could do was go to bed and hope tomorrow would be a little better.

Knock, Knock, Knock

Oleg's heart nearly jumped up into his throat at the pronounced knocking at the front door. His body went rigid, and he could even feel the beginnings of a cold sweat coming on. Nobody in this entire town knew where he lived; he had made sure of that personally. That was why the only socializing he ever did never went further than the local bar, so no one would ever feel the need to follow him home. There was no way this was just some drunken vagrant or nosey co-worker. If someone had managed to find this place, they had come here with a purpose, and none of the ones he could think of were good for him, and especially not for his son.

He knew he couldn't just stay back and wait for whomever it was to just give up and leave. The lights were on, and that only meant that someone was definitely home. Oleg gave a heavy sigh of resignation; he was going to have to confront this stranger head on and only hope he could avoid the worst possible outcome. With a few cautious steps, he had his large hand on the knob and had to take another steadying breath, bracing himself for whatever was waiting for him outside. With that, he steeled himself and opened the door.

At first he was met with nothing but the cold and dark of the wintry outside illuminated by the full moon above. Then he thought to look down. Standing at just about the height of Oleg's chest, was a single slightly hunched over middle-aged man in a winter coat that almost looked several sizes too big for him. He had long, angular blonde hair; and from the shape of his face, Oleg could tell he looked downright frail, practically skin and bones, almost as though he could keel over any second. The expression on his face was undeniably stern and serious, even if his eyes were partially obscured by his pronounced brow; but it could just as easily have simply been the result of his thin-as-a-rail physique. By the notably tanned complexion of his skin, Oleg could instantly tell this stranger was no local to these parts. He was clearly of Asian descent; Vladivostok saw a considerably regular number of them due to their proximity to Japan, and their essential shipping harbor and the business it provided. It wasn't impossible this was just some crewmate from one of their ships who had simply gotten lost in a drunken stupor. The thought almost made Oleg give a sigh of relief.

At least, that was until this angular-looking stranger finally spoke up in English: "Good evening, Tunguska. Long time no see."

Oleg's entire body jolted, as if a lightning bolt had struck him. His eyes focused on the stranger like a hawk, having to fight the urge to wrap his massive hands around their scrawny-looking neck. There was no possible way he could let this man leave if he knew who he really was. "Who the hell are you? Answer me," he demanded in English as well. Surprisingly, this beanpole of a man didn't look remotely intimidated by the sheer height and mass difference between them, instead answering him with a wry chuckle. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you don't recognize me. I rarely let anyone who knows me see me like this."

Before the last of Oleg's patience could run dry, the stranger lifted his head to look him in the eye. What Oleg saw diffused his anger in an instant. Looking back at him from under that seemingly scowling brow was a pair of luminescent blue eyes. They carried with them the strangest sense of confidence, almost as if they were meant to inspire only the most positive of feelings in people. It looked outlandishly out of place on this man. However, seeing them made everything click on Oleg's head.

Piercing hope-inducing blue eyes, blonde hair, pronounced tan, and the fact he knew Oleg's real identity. There was no other possibility as to who this was, but the appearance made no sense to him. Nevertheless, Oleg couldn't suppress the need to mutter his guess: "All Might? Is…is that you?"

The angular man gave a single clap of his hands in faux congratulations, on top of a brief affirming nod. His off-putting expression, however, remained the same. "I'm glad to see your memory hasn't completely escaped you, though I admit I would have preferred not having to come to you like this. Things being the way they are in this country, I figured it would be best not to draw attention to myself. Now, would you mind if we continued this conversation inside? I'd forgotten how frigid the winters are, over here."

At a loss for words, Oleg simply stepped aside, motioning for the unexpected visitor to step inside. Once he did so, Oleg quickly shut the door and was immediately back in the man's face. "What on Earth happened to you? Clearly the years haven't been much kinder to you than they have me. Better yet, why are you even here at all?" Oleg's mind was a flurry of questions, but the man calling himself 'All Might' quickly took a step back with his hands up, motioning for the large man to do likewise. "Please, one question at a time, Tunguska. The trip to get here has been more taxing than I expected."

Oleg gave a frustrated grumble and retreated back to the dining room, with his uninvited guest following closely. "I'll make some tea, help you warm those skinny bones of yours. And don't call me 'Tunguska' anymore, either. When you're in my house, you call me 'Oleg'. Understand?"

'All Might', sitting himself at the table with a tired sigh, kept his blue eyes focused on his put-upon host. "If you insist. I suppose I should have you call me Toshinori Yagi, in that case. We wouldn't want any curious passersby to listen in and hear something they shouldn't, would we?" Oleg could tell the man was being slightly sarcastic, but the implication wasn't appreciated either way, and Toshinori could tell from the way the man's muscles stiffened.

"I can see these last several years have done your sense of humor no favors. Though I certainly can't blame you for that." For once, Oleg remained silent, instead simply keeping his attention on the teakettle, letting the minutes pass by in a suffocating silence that left Toshinori subtly uncomfortable. Once it was finally done, Oleg sat himself opposite his guest, still managing to practically tower over him while they both partook in tea.

"Thank you, Oleg. It's just as good as I remember." Toshinori's attempt at diffusing the tension went unrecognized, as Oleg continued staring him down from across the table, even as he drank from his own cup. Finally, the blonde man gave a weary sigh. "I can only imagine the questions you want to ask me. Well, I did come all this way incognito to talk to you personally, so go ahead and ask away. One at a time, if you don't mind, please."

Behind his furrowed brow and stony expression, Oleg's mind was racing. He had never expected to come face to face with this man again, assuming he really was 'All Might'. But those eyes were unmistakable, and on top of all the other physical traits, it only made sense. But what could have happened that would reduce the world-recognized Symbol of Peace to such a frankly pathetic-looking state? That being the first question to come to mind, that was what Oleg naturally opened with: "What happened to you?"

Toshinori let out another dry chuckle. "I suppose you do ultimately deserve the truth, but something tells me you still won't believe me. After all, you've always been the giant you are, inside and outside the costume. The truth is, I've always looked this way; the face, the towering stature, the Symbol of Peace that everybody across the world recognizes and loves? Honestly, that was my Quirk simply running on a 24/7 basis. Like I said, I chose to come here looking like this since no one would recognize me, but the truth is that I haven't been able to maintain being All Might constantly like I could before."

This was all news to Oleg. When he and All Might had met in the past, the idea that it was simply an elaborate façade never would have occurred to him. He had honestly never encountered a Quirk that could completely change a person's appearance and physical capabilities that completely. However, he couldn't allow himself to be distracted by questions about the man's Quirk. He had still come here uninvited, and Oleg was going to find out why.

"Alright, how did you find me? I've made a point never telling or showing anyone where I live, so I know nobody could have simply told you." At this, Toshinori let out what sounded like a sigh of embarrassment before taking another swig of tea. "I will admit that wasn't one of my finer moments. You're pretty hard to miss among a crowd, but I had a feeling simply calling out to you in public would have put you in more than a little tough spot, so I had to bide my time and follow you from a distance until I was sure we could finally talk in private."

At first, Oleg looked like he was just about ready to flip the table over, hating the idea of having actually been followed without realizing it. However, with that came the inescapable and sad realization that time was taking more of a toll on him than he wanted to admit. Back in the old days, nobody could be able to get the drop on him like that. He really was getting old, after all.

"Alright, then. It's been over eleven years since we last spoke to each other. You're not the kind of man who does things on a whim, so you obviously came here with a purpose. Why did you decide to come here now, and why me?" Toshinori remained silent for a few moments, visibly pondering how best to answer that question, while every now and then pensively sipping his tea. Finally, he set it down and let out another heavy sigh.

"First of all, I want you to know I didn't wait eleven years before reaching out to you because I wanted to. We may not have ever really been friends, but we've never really been enemies, either. In the end, I have always respected you, if nothing else. We just had the misfortune of being on opposing sides of an ideological dispute and—"Spare me the speeches and just answer the question." Oleg's impatience was clear as day, but he still was exercising the restraint to raise his voice. The last thing he needed was to wake Kolya and have him discover his father having tea with the Symbol of Peace himself.

"I wanted to reach out to you sooner, at the very least give you my condolences for your losses. Whether you choose to believe me or not, I do know what it's like to lose the people you care about. At the same time, though, things in this part of the world got so out of hand so fast, and once everyone had lost track of you, I had no idea where to begin searching for you. I must say, for your first time actively trying to avoid being seen, you proved quite the master at it."

Oleg's stone-faced stare signaled Toshinori to get to the point. "*Ahem* given what had happened to you and the rest of the New Bogatyrs, I figured you would want time and space to grieve, however much you needed. Then, of course, you dropped off the radar. If I'm being perfectly honest, I really wasn't sure if I would find you here or if I would have to move further in-country from town to town, or if I would have to start combing the wilds of Siberia to find you. The fact we're talking right now is honestly something I can only chalk up to luck."

"I thought you said true Heroes don't rely on things like luck." Oleg made no effort to hide the hint of condescension in his tone, thinking back to one of the numerous coined motivational catchphrases All Might had been so fond of spouting in the past. Toshinori gave yet another tired sigh. "Alright, I suppose in this case I deserve that. The point is, Oleg, that I came looking for you now, because I want to help you."

All was deathly silent between them for an agonizing minute, Toshinori calmly taking another sip of tea while Oleg kept watching his every movement, as if he were trying to find a crack in the demeanor, something to reveal that this man was simply messing with him. When he found no such thing, his own brow furrowed in distaste. "I don't want your charity, or your pity."

"It's neither of those things. It's an honest and sincere extension, from one great Hero to another." Toshinori extended an open hand to his host with that, but Oleg looked from the hand to the face, and simply grimaced in disapproval. "You're talking to the wrong person, my friend. I'm not Tunguska, The Sun of Justice, anymore. He died out in the Siberian wastes with the rest of his comrades. All you see in front of you now is Oleg Borisovich Bezpalov, a lowly dockworker with a son to take care of."

Oleg began to rise from his seat, all but ready to motion Toshinori to the front door, but the blonde man was already on his feet, his blue eyes reflecting a great intensity inside. "You and I both know that isn't true. Men like us, the Heroes that are known and revered by all; we can't simply just pack away our suits and pretend that we can live the rest of our lives in normalcy. We threw away the chances for that when we were given our Quirks and the responsibility that came with them."

Crash

Toshinori was rendered silent when the teacup in Oleg's massive hand shattered in his grip; his massive frame just visibly trembling with barely concealed anger as his eyes burned into the rail of a man. "Where the hell do you get off, talking to me about responsibility? You've never experienced failure like I have. Yeah, I'm sure you and all the other Pro Heroes back home know the 'official' story about the Siberian Flash, but none of you know it the way I've had to know it. You don't know what it's like to know that you're personally responsible for the destruction of everything you knew from the day you were born, and the deaths of all those you cared for and loved. You don't know what it feels like to have the entire nation that praised you as their Hero and savior from the first day you put on the suit, just as quickly turn their back on you and call you a murderer and a monster, like a pack of rabid animals. You don't know what it's like to have only one thing in this forsaken world worth protecting, and having to discard everything you were brought up to believe in, just to keep that one flicker of light from being snuffed out. So don't you dare talk to me about Heroes and their responsibilities. Mine have all been wasted away. The only responsibility I have left is to my son."

"Then if you don't want to take me up on my offer for your own sake, then do it for his." Toshinori stood firm before Oleg's massive frame, his eyes never once backing down or even showing a flicker of doubt. Finally, the first true spark reminiscent of the All Might Oleg remembered. "I'm sorry for your losses, Oleg, I truly am; and I'm sorry for speaking out of turn, but you know as well as I do that whether you like it or not, you'll always have some kind of responsibility to uphold to the world at large; that's the price one has to pay in order to be a great Hero. I can see why you wouldn't want to believe that, given how things in your homeland have gone for people with Quirks over these last several years, but that doesn't make it any less true. If you don't think it's possible to show the world that Tunguska, the Sun of Justice, has not yet set upon the world for good from here, then why not take that chance somewhere you won't have to constantly fear for your son's life every time you put on the suit?"

Oleg thankfully felt his blind anger fade with each word coming out of Toshinori's mouth, but the resentment was still as present as it had ever been as he scornfully got back in his seat, motioning his guest to do the same. "So what exactly is this offer of yours? You want me to just pull out my stakes, immigrate to the United States or Japan with you, and try and register with one of your Hero Agencies? Try to give the old dog another go out on the field?" Toshinori gave another wry chuckle as he finally finished his tea.

"Registering with an Agency would come along further down the road, but it's not exactly like that. I want to offer you a teaching position at Yuuei Academy." Oleg's sarcastic smirk instantly disappeared, as if he had misheard. Toshinori had to resist the urge to crack a victorious smirk of his own to have blindsided his old acquaintance. "So, the old place is still going strong, eh?" Oleg halfheartedly asked as he leaned back, his expression once more unreadable.

"Going strong and only growing. More and more children with Quirks are being born every year, and we need to be as prepared as we can be for each new generation that will come along. That's why I wanted to reach out to you, to give you the chance to take part in seeing our successors off into the world." At this, Oleg gave a bitter scoff, rolling his eyes.

"What would a bunch of Japanese Hero students stand to gain from someone like me, other than an example of how not to be a Hero? You know, I should be throwing you back out into the snow for even considering that offer for me. That school's slogan you always loved shouting out: Plus Ultra. You keep telling that to your students, to push themselves to the very limits of their Quirks, and then go just beyond that, and you don't even stop to consider the potential disasters you're inviting. Look at what happened with me. I took that stupid saying to heart after hearing you say it so many times, and I pushed myself the furthest I had ever gone, because I thought it was the only thing I could do to save everyone. And now here we are, in a shell of a nation that now treats the people that could have been its future Heroes like animals to be put down before they bring about something much worse. They get carted off, while I, the one responsible, have to live with all that weight every single day; and the only reason I don't simply turn myself in is because I'm all my boy has left. All these things happened, and are still happening, and you and the others continue spouting your idealistic drivel to those young and naïve enough to buy into it, as if what happened here was nothing more than a figment of everyone's imagination. You know this is all true, just as much as I do, and yet you still come here to give the old has-been a handout; make everybody see just how charitable you are, on top of everything else. It's almost like the adoration you've received from the whole world up to this point still isn't enough. And you think coming to me looking like you do right now will just magically make me forget how infuriatingly massive your ego has always been? At least I was smart enough to cast mine aside when I saw what I was responsible for."

The sheer venom in Oleg's words was palpable, as Toshinori solemnly bowed his head. He could not deny there was a very valid point to his compatriot's fuming rant. There was a degree of irresponsibility to simply telling every potential young Hero to push themselves beyond their boundaries, especially dependant on what their Quirks were. However, experience had taught him that sometimes, when things were serious enough, it was worth taking that risk, simply because the other outcome would be too terrible for words. But how could he justify that argument, knowing what he did about what Oleg had lost and suffered through, what so many other once-potential Heroes had suffered through as a result of Oleg simply following his example?

Just as he began to speak, a sudden but immense pain suddenly swelled up from within the pit of his chest. It was no stranger to Toshinori, but it was never any less unwelcome. Within seconds he was bolting from his chair, hand over his mouth, to the sink, and just as Oleg began to go after him, Toshinori hunched over and vomited a mouthful of blood into it. Oleg froze in his stride when he saw this, his body suddenly overcome with a frigid cold. Of all the things he had expected to one day see from the great All Might, this was not one of them.

Toshinori remained like this for a good few minutes, trying to clear his airways as he wiped his mouth clean of blood; his eyes downcast, as though ashamed of being seen like this. Oleg didn't move once his guest had finally stepped away, unable to take his eyes off him, still struggling to comprehend what he had just seen. Once Toshinori sat himself back down, Oleg was once again quick to follow, his gaze now much more intent. "What the hell was that? I've never seen you do that before."

"That's because back then, I wasn't in the condition you see me in, now." Toshinori replied, an unmistakable twinge of cynicism in his tone, a far cry from that familiar demeanor of the world's most beloved Hero. As much as Oleg didn't like having him here, he liked what he was now seeing far less. "What is happening to you? You come here looking more like a beanpole than a man, and now I see you hacking up blood like a decades-long coal miner. Something more is happening here, and I want you to tell me what it is. You talk about always respecting me? Well, I want you to prove it, and give me the whole truth this time."

Toshinori was deathly silent for a minute. From the look in his eyes, Oleg could tell he was fighting a mental battle to force the whole painful truth out. Finally, with a sigh of defeat, the blonde man lifted his head up to look his host in the eye, his gaunt face completely resolute. "I'm not like this because the years are catching up to me. The truth is…I'd been pushing myself the hardest I could possibly go to try and keep being the Hero everyone believes in. It had been getting to the point that I basically had no life of my own outside of my duties as a Top Pro Hero. 'Plus Ultra', remember? I guess there are more grains of truth to your little rant earlier than I wanted to admit.

"The truth is, at one point…I got sloppy in the middle of it all, and my archenemy, All For One, got me good. This was several years ago, but the damage has steadily been getting worse. At first, it was that I simply had to revert to this form for about an hour out of the day just to help myself recharge. Now? Nowadays, I can't handle being All Might for more than…I'd say, two hours a day."

Oleg leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. This was a lot to take in. He had heard the name All For One back in the old days, but he hadn't thought it was possible to damage someone like All Might to this extent. It almost sounded akin to watching an iconic face slowly wither away from the inside out from cancer. It honestly made it a little harder to look at Toshinori now.

"We still get news from the outside world, and I hadn't heard anything about this. I take it, that means the public doesn't know about your condition?" At that, Toshinori went surprisingly tense, his partially obscured eyes widening. "Absolutely not. Not even all the other Pro Heroes back home know, only a select few, including you. The people…the people can't afford to lose hope, not now. If they knew this was happening to the Hero they revered the most…I dread to even imagine what could happen, especially if any Villains were to find out. The image of The Symbol of Peace manages to help keep society in check as much as it has been these days; I can't risk dismantling that balance just by being transparent with the public. If I can manage to somehow find a Hero worthy of taking my place before it's too late, then maybe the people's hope can still be maintained."

Taking this all in, Oleg instinctively crossed his arms over his broad chest, the beginnings of a wry smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Is that why you want to offer me a job? Take a Hero that was essentially the equivalent of you, put him in your place, and just hope that's enough?" Toshinori's immediate reaction was a resounding shake of the head.

"No. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but we both know that neither of us is in the shape we once were, even if you had kept up your job as Tunguska the last eleven years. The fact is; injuries and other outside factors notwithstanding, neither of us is getting any younger. That's why places like U.A. exist, so that all the Quirk-users that come after can learn from their predecessors everything they need to be able to use their Quirks for the best purposes, take the lessons of the past, utilize them, and be able to make the best decisions in order to ensure that hope and justice continues to prevail for everyone in the end. If anyone is going to end up taking the mantle of the new Symbol of Peace…"

Toshinori fell silent for an agonizing minute, and all the while, the wheels kept turning in Oleg's head, until he came to a realization that left an unsettling feeling in the pit of his gut. "Nikolay. You…you want to enroll my Kolya into U.A?" Toshinori's answer came in the form of only the slightest, yet clearest, of affirming nods. "Knowing even what little I do know of what you two have been through, I wouldn't dare to be so cruel as to separate you two. That's why I'm offering you to become a teacher there, so you both can have a fresh start there together. Your son being a potential student aside, you yourself still have a great wealth of experience and passed down knowledge like every other Pro Hero that would be invaluable to all students."

"Then if you knew anything about what that boy has gone through, you would know why enrolling him there is a bad idea." Oleg's whisper was as harsh as a whisper could possibly be, his large hands gripping the edges of the table to the point the wood was beginning to splinter between his fingers; knuckles turning white as he somehow managed to keep the rest of his emotions restrained. "My Kolya…he has been through far too much already because of me. He has his Quirk, but unlike any other child given such a gift at his age, he's had virtually no experience with learning how to control it.

"When our country turned on people like us, I made a point to him that we could not reveal our Quirks, lest the government's bloodhounds come sniffing after us. He's spent nearly his entire life trying to act like he doesn't have it, and it's taken so much effort on both our parts just to try and find a way he can suppress it so that when he has to release it, the damage can be mitigated even a little bit. The last time he accidentally revealed his Quirk in a public space, he nearly flattened his school. We were barely able to get away before the authorities could get there. His Quirk is too dangerous in the state he's in now, and it's because I wanted to try and keep him safe, in the hopes it could somehow help him to have a normal life.

"And after all these years of listening to everyone, from the news to the people on the street, calling his father and everyone he idolized monsters? I can see it in his eyes every time the words 'Hero' and 'Villain' get brought up. My boy has internalized all that anger, all that pain, and all that resentment, towards people like us. And you want me to have him enroll in a school that's going to be nothing but the very people he once wanted to be a part of; the same kind of people he now holds nothing but hatred and contempt for because of me? Are you telling me you really don't see the recipe for disaster that could bring?"

By this point, Oleg's anger had transformed into something else, something very much akin to a very old sadness, as the gruff bearded man's icy blue eyes began shimmering with the faintest hint of tears. His large frame was just barely trembling as he was trying his best to choke down the beginnings of a sob creeping up his throat, while Toshinori could only watch him with intent, a plethora of varying emotions conflicting behind his otherwise unreadable façade.

"Your concerns, your hesitation, your reservations, they're all perfectly understandable, Oleg. So is your reasoning for having told your son to keep his Quirk hidden from others. Any loving parent would make such hard choices in order to protect their children from such overwhelming adversity. But do you truly believe, from the bottom of your heart, that forcing your son to live the rest of his life in such secrecy, without a greater goal to march forward to, and with nobody he can open up and be himself to, to be the better option?

"Young Nikolay had the greatest Hero this country ever had to look up to and aspire to be like someday, The Sun of Justice Tunguska himself. To fall from such high hopes to such a lonely existence, having to deny the very essence of who he is and what he could still have the potential to become is a suffocating experience no one should ever have to go through. I am giving you my word that if any place could have the resources and people necessary to help your son overcome all the obstacles he's been living with all these years, U.A. is that place.

"The chance to truly be able to control and ultimately master his Quirk; the chance to process through what ails him and find out what it is he truly wants to be. And, if nothing else, the chance to leave behind these feelings of resentment and anger, and be able to truly experience life with others his age that are just like him, wanting to be the Heroes they know in their hearts they can be, just like I believe Young Nikolay still knows he can be in the deepest part of his heart. If he is anything at all like you, Oleg, I know your son could have the heart and capability to become just as great a Hero as you, if not even greater. Are you really willing to sit there, look me in the eye, and tell me that you would rather not even take that chance, for fear of something none of us knows for sure would happen? Are you really willing to say with all your conviction that The Sun of Justice has set on the world, and there is no new sunrise to come and tell the innocent that justice still lives?"

Oleg had to really fight to suppress the urge to laugh as Toshinori had unknowingly risen from his seat, hands on the table, staring so intensely with those blazing blue eyes. Skinny body or not, that speech was the spitting image of the All Might he remembered so clearly all those years ago. "Well, I suppose it's good to see that years and debilitating injuries have not affected your skill at the heroic speeches. It always was the one thing you were better than everyone else at."

With that being said, Oleg likewise got back up and headed back to the sink, already getting hard at work scrubbing up Toshinori's blood, while the man himself remained rooted to his spot, silently anxious for some kind of definitive answer to his impassioned request.

Oleg never looked back when he finally spoke: "I appreciate everything you're trying to say, my friend, I really do. It's just that…we've lived so long in this constant state of fear, of worrying that somehow, someway, we were going to accidentally reveal our real selves, and they would come to lock my boy away and put me in front of a firing squad. What you're offering is…I suppose there is no other way of saying it; it really is a miracle, one that at one point I had been silently praying for, if for nobody else's sake but Nikolay's. But after making the mistake of not even trying to help him learn how to control it…I suppose I can only hope that what you're saying about U.A's capabilities for teaching is true. There's only one thing left that I need to know before I can even begin to make a decision."

"Then go ahead and ask it." Toshinori had no semblance of hesitation or reluctance left as Oleg finally turned around to look him in the eyes, his imposing height somehow making him look even bigger from across the room. "You said you had been pushing yourself to your utmost limit for so long, to the point of sacrificing anything resembling an actual life for you yourself, and because of that, you're now losing your ability to even use your own Quirk, and yet you're still having to force yourself to live in the shadows when you aren't All Might, simply for the fact that you fear peace and stability would collapse if the public knew the truth about what was happening to you. That kind of responsibility and sacrifice is a lot for any one person to take, Quirk or no Quirk. I can't imagine that kind of truth wouldn't even get someone like you a little discouraged, if not just downright disillusioned with your title, with what it really requires for one to be a real Hero. So please, tell me, what is it that's managed to keep you this dedicated even after all of those things?"

Toshinori began slightly nodding his head, as if he had been expecting this one question above all others. After a moment trying to collect his thoughts, he took a deep breath, looked up to meet Oleg's investigative gaze, and what the large Russian saw reflected in those blue eyes was the one thing All Might represented above all other things Heroes stood for; above strength, above justice, and above power: hope.

"You are right about that, my friend. In the years after what All For One had done to me, I have to admit I did find myself growing weary, not just from my growing limitations, but just the sheer weight of what my responsibility as All Might required me to continue doing, and what I could not allow myself to do if I wanted to keep everyone at large safe and hopeful. There was even a time I was beginning to wonder if the approaching end to my career was not some kind of a sign that perhaps the world would have to start preparing for a time without a Hero that could unify all people in the world with hope. But then…one day I saw something that made me realize just how wrong I really was."

By now, even Oleg could not contain his anticipation to hear what could have possibly wrested one like All Might from something as crushing as the realization of his own finite existence. As Toshinori continued, the faint smile on his skinny face had the strangest air of nostalgia, as if he was reflecting on what could possibly have been one of the most important memories of his life.

"One day, a Villain was running amok in the city. There were these two boys who got involved, probably no older than Young Nikolay. One of them, who had a Quirk, he ended up getting caught, was being controlled. I was about to go in and save him myself…when the other boy rushed in on his own to save his friend. That boy…he didn't have a Quirk. There was no possible way he could've been able to put up a real fight against that Villain, and perhaps a part of him knew it, too. Yet he still rushed in to save his friend without a second thought. Earlier, I asked that second boy what it was he wanted, and he told me he wanted to go to U.A. in order to become a Hero like me. I even tried to talk him down from it, tell him to pursue something more practical yet useful to society at large, given his Quirkless nature. Yet, even after I had told him that, he didn't back down in the face of danger, for the sake of his friend.

"That day, I was reminded of something I had always believed in for the longest time; something I had, just for a moment, let myself forget: Quirks in and of themselves don't dictate who can be a Hero or not. It is the sense of justice, of hope, that burns in one's heart that truly separates Heroes from everyone else. Seeing a boy without a Quirk rush headlong into danger, simply because he wanted to do what he knew in his heart was the right thing, and save his friend…that helped remind me of that most important lesson."

To hear Toshinori say it like so, Oleg felt a similar twisting sensation of an almost bittersweet nostalgia in his heart. How many times had his own father, grandfather, and so many of his comrades, said the same thing to him as a boy, as a young man growing into his Quirk and his role? How many times had he even said such things to all the starry-eyed boys and girls of the Soviet Union, encouraging them to do everything in their power to do their part; to be the Heroes they knew they could be, that their families and their nation knew they could be, that he knew they could be? How could he have taken something so inspiring and hopeful as everyone's in-born potential to be the next great Hero, and let that idea turn to dust in his own heart; and how could he have taken that lesson away from his own son?

Neither man felt the need to say anything more as the silence that hung in the air was, for the first time that night, removed of all animosity, resentment, or tension. The abyssal divide between them had been narrowed, and now both men had a much clearer understanding of each other's positions, challenges, and ultimately, each other's hopes, both spoken and silent.

"Give me the night to think it over…and come back here this same time tomorrow. By then I'll have made my decision, and I'll have had a chance to speak to Nikolay about it. A decision like this, he deserves to have some kind of say in it. And it would ultimately be better to him if it came from me." Toshinori's shoulders visibly lowered with a sigh of what was crystal clear relief. To hear the once stubborn-as-a-mule Tunguska actually concede to at least considering an outside viewpoint was enough for him to consider this evening a win. "Of course, Oleg. However this discussion between you two goes, if at any point you need me to come in and talk to Young Nikolay, know that I'm never far behind. I'll know when you need me."

With that, the two men exchanged a nod of mutual respect, and Toshinori Yagi finally made his exit, once more leaving Oleg to his own thoughts in the silence of his home.

As he killed the lights room by room, Oleg took the moment to cautiously peek into his son's bedroom. Much to his relief, the boy was sleeping like a log in his bed, and from where he stood, he could see no telltale signs Nikolay had been listening at the door and had only just now jumped into bed to give the illusion of sleep. At least the thought gave the large man some comfort. If he could sleep knowing his son knew nothing of that conversation, it could help him better figure out how to explain everything to him tomorrow.

Finally retreating into his own room for the night, Oleg felt that same painful nostalgia in his chest again. It was as though on this night, a tiny piece of him that had been lost in the haze following The Siberian Flash had finally come back to the surface, and it did not like what it was seeing. He almost wanted to slap himself for being such a fool and letting himself forget what he once was in the eyes of his child in a wave of self-loathing, self-pity and fear.

Chancing a glance to his closet, Oleg instinctively approached the door, and upon opening it, his eyes instantly spotted the spine of a tattered and slightly burnt photo album sitting on the shelf above his head. Taking it down from its resting place, Oleg felt an old sense of gratitude forming inside. It had been one of the very few things he had managed to recover from their old home, back when everything had just started going downhill after the Flash.

Sitting himself on the edge of his bed, Oleg slowly opened the damaged book, immediately greeted by a snapshot of one of the happiest memories of his life: a photo of a much younger Oleg Sergeevich Bezpalov, standing triumphantly upon a grand stage, joined at both sides by a plethora of his fellow Heroes of the Soviet Union, all paragons of justice, hope and protection for Mother Russia and her children, and all adorned in a plethora of brilliantly-colored Hero suits and armor that made them nearly as radiant as the sun itself.

So many faces that Oleg could never forget, and with them so many irreplaceable memories of a time that felt like it had come from a completely different life. So many names and faces that even now he wished he could bring back, if just to tell them how much he wished he could take everything back; or to beg their forgiveness for having tossed aside his once-sworn lifelong duty to protect their people, to protect the innocent who could not protect themselves. The coming tears in his eyes stung just enough to bring him back to the present as he began to turn the pages.

He felt himself get similarly choked up with each one, whether it was the photos of his own father and grandfather, great Soviet Heroes in their own rights; or if it was simply old photos taken on the occasional friendly gatherings he and his comrades in The New Bogatyrs had taken to simply capture their moments when they weren't fighting the forces that would threaten everything they all held dear.

As he continued flipping through the pages, some of them couldn't help but elicit a chuckle out of him. Some pages were filled with nothing but now fairly worn and aged propaganda posters featuring Oleg in his physical prime, encouraging Soviet children with and without Quirks to join the Young Pioneers and the Komsomol in order to become true Russian Heroes like him. It couldn't help but bring back memories of when he was like those children, and it was his own father adorning those banners. Again, it all felt like a fragmented memory of a dream, it was so long ago.

When he finally got to the final page, the pictures inside felt like they tore Oleg's heart out of his chest. Staring back at him were all photos of Nikolay as an infant, taking his first steps, dressed in a tiny homemade version of his father's old Hero suit, and even photos from his first couple of birthdays.

However, what tormented Oleg especially, was a pristine photograph of himself, looking so much younger than a period of merely twelve years would imply, standing beside a veritable angel of a woman with long flowing hair like dark chocolate, eyes of almost smoldering amber, and an ever-so slightly tanned face that looked as though it were sculpted by the meticulous hands of all the ancient Renaissance masters themselves. And lifted between them both was little Nikolay, as wide-eyed, innocent and hopeful as a child of two-years old could ever possibly look. What Oleg would have given in that moment to see that same kind of light reflected in his son's eyes again.

Unable to bear looking upon it for another second, Oleg hurried to put the album back in its place, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes fell upon a very familiar crest, staring back at him from a far-off corner of the closet floor.

Seated upon a single box was a neatly folded, yet visibly very damaged, single-piece suit of a reflective, almost silk-like fabric, adorned in sleeves and pant legs of white, the torso adorned in a single angular vertical stripe of gold with traditional Slavic edges, and located in the middle of the chest was a single dark red emblem of the blazing sun; the red sun that represented the Soviet justice that the man once called Tunguska fought to deliver upon all Villains that threatened the innocent of his home.

Oleg could feel his fingers just barely twitching towards the folded remnants of his old suit, as if being drawn through the power of his old memories, just to touch it again, let alone put it back on. However, biting down hard on his lip, Oleg allowed himself to step back and close his closet with a resounding click, taking a moment to breathe deep and refocus himself. Once he was sure he was all right once more, he rested his head against the door, and finally let out the most exhausted and weary of sighs.

[[Father, comrades, Lyuda…please give me a sign. I don't care where or how, but please give me a sign of what I should do.]]

* The Cranes Are Flying (Letyat Zhuravli, Летят журавли) is a 1957 Soviet war drama by Mikhail Kalatazov, depicting the tragedy The Great Patriotic War reaps on two young lovers. Often regarded as one of the best war films, and one of the best Soviet films ever made. Highly recommended if you want a classical tearjerker.