Tilt right, sharp left. Around a stump, Overhaul a fallen log so I'd have enough room to drive through. Ease up on the throttle and pause for a moment to check for any other disturbances in the surrounding area. That had been my routine for the last couple of hours.

Driving a bike through a wooded area, no matter how sparse the trees were in places, seemed like a horrible idea. For the most part, you would be right, but I had two distinct advantages going into this.

First of all, I'd only had about five minutes to work on this bike, which had included where in my body I could store it for easy travel and how exactly I'd need to take it apart and put it back together. Needless to say the thing could barely top out at double the average running speed, and likely never would until I had the time to figure out a proper fueling system that wasn't just using Overhaul to constantly recycle the same lump of gasoline-soaked hair.

Second, it was a motorbike. I'd been driving those since I was fourteen years old, across far more dangerous landscapes than some bumpy wetlands. Having an accident under those conditions would just be embarrassing, and I refused to believe it could happen.

Considering this entire journey had started because I was too damn stubborn to settle for a mediocre life, you could see where this was going.

Really, the bike had been a last minute addition to my plans. Even long before myself or my merry band of criminals had stepped foot into our new place, it had been collecting dust for who knows how long. The fact that it could still turn on was in itself a miracle.

Initially, I was going to rent a car. But renting would leave a paper trail that I could do without, and trying to drive a car through trees? Good fucking luck.

Still, it could have been a lot worse. Not only was the quarry I was hunting violent, he was also remarkably stupid in some aspects as well. If the obvious footsteps that were visible for large swathes of time weren't already a dead giveaway, then the broken trees and burned remnants of buildings in a relatively straight line would have been.

Part of me wondered if he did this for fun. Idle musings at best for a man soon set for death, but it helped break the monotony as I carefully crossed over yet another path. If someone saw me I'd probably have rangers of police hounding me, but the recent string of arson and murders in the area meant that most people were avoiding the areas that weren't heavily trafficked. Less people I could ask, less trouble I would have to avoid.

It was while I was passing the first paved road in a half hour that I heard it. An echoing crash coming from further down the road, along with the acrid stench of distant smoke. Another minute atop my pitiful steed had me breaking the treeline, staring down the entrance of a sleepy little town. Flames licked at the sky further into the building blocks, and as I eased the pressure on the engine, the low rumble of my bike gave way enough for me to hear the screaming further in.

Another crash shook the town. I rotated my shoulders, doing my best to physically shake off the nerves before gripping the throttle and allowing myself to roll into town.

Showtime.


It had started off as any regular day for Kota Izumi.

The sun had barely been peeking over the horizon by the time his alarm started beeping through the headphones he'd fallen asleep listening to. With the most heartfelt groan any six year old could give, he'd rolled out of bed and taken a moment to orient himself properly in the hotel room.

His parents had been in the other bed. His father was snoring lightly and his mother was kicking her leg against the blanket covering them, just like every other morning when they weren't working an overnight rescue. Phone in hand, he'd tiptoed around them towards the bathroom, intent on taking a light shower and brushing his teeth.

By the time the clock had hit half past six and his parents were blinking themselves awake, a small spread of breakfast awaited them. Toast, some rice, and sliced chunks of fruit. Not the most elaborate assortment, but still impressive for someone who could barely see over the counter and reach the knives.

Most children didn't have to make breakfast for their parents. But most children also didn't have parents that were as desperately sought after as the Water Hose duo. With their flawless record in land and sea rescues, it was little wonder that Kota had taken most of the chores upon himself.

The world waited for nobody, and every day another person would need saving. Initially, he'd been bitter. What was the point of having parents if they spent all their time with other children; other people who were dumb enough to need saving? So what if they were nearly in the top ten for rescue statistics? That was probably only because their agency insisted on moving them around to where they were needed the most.

By the time he'd developed his Quirk, on the night before his fifth birthday, that discontent had faded into apathy. Even as his parents celebrated, his Quirk a perfect combination of his father's water generation and mother's hydrokinesis, he'd given up dreaming about the kind of hero he could be.

So long as he could save his parents the time in the morning, and the hunger in the afternoon, he would be content. It was enough to watch their exploits on the news while he read through his textbooks and completed his homework. It was enough that every now and then he got to taste his mother's delicious cooking for dinner. He wouldn't be forever six, trapped in hotel rooms for the rest of his life with nothing but a hastily hired tutor and the cleaning staff for company.

Of course, that was when it had to go all wrong.

There was a villain. Every day there was a villain, but this one was different. This one was scary. The first villain Kota had seen on the news since his family had been sent to Hiranai had just been a man taking things from a convenience store without paying. Mama had managed to arrest him without even needing to fight. The second was another scary man, who'd been loud and angry about the series of burning buildings that had drawn Water Hose to the area in the first place. Papa had calmed him down with a squirt of water to the face, and Kota had gotten a good giggle out of the expression the news lady was making in an attempt to not laugh at him.

Papa had just flicked some water into that man's face. It hadn't even been an attack, Kota had seen him throw water harder at Mama when they were training against each other. The water that Papa was shooting at this man wasn't playful, though. It was water that could dent buildings and only really came out when Papa was really, really mad about something.

Mama was lying on the ground. The camera in the helicopter that was streaming the news was trying not to get her in frame, but every now and then it would slip. She hadn't moved since the scary man hit her.

She'd hit him too, though. All Kota had been able to see before the man holding the camera moved it away was a lot of blood going down the scary man's face. Even with the helicopter so far away, the microphone had still picked up his laugh.

Chilling. Deranged. It was nothing like Papa's hearty chuckles or Mama's tinkling giggles. That laugh only got louder when the scary man hit Papa. It made Kota want to cry.

The building under the helicopter was on fire. The camera had focused on that, on the damage that had been done and away from the sight of Papa falling to the floor beside Mama. The laughter got louder. Tears dripped down Kota's face, his hands doing nothing to hide the image of Papa's wide open eyes or the way Mama's neck had twisted around too far.

Vroooom…

The laughter stopped. No matter how much he didn't want to, Kota felt his hands falling away from his eyes, tilting his head back up to watch the screen.

The camera wasn't on his parent's bodies anymore (they were dead, they died because of the scary man, he was alone now). Instead it was pointing further up the road, towards the same entrance that Mama had used when they'd driven into town.

It was a motorbike, the same kind that Mama had forbidden him from ever driving. Too dangerous, she'd said, and she knew danger because she was a hero. The man riding the bike didn't seem to know danger all that well, seeing as he wasn't slowing down even as he got closer to the scary man.

Then, with a weird shimmer, the bike disappeared. The rider continued sliding along the ground, and the scary man laughed again, his arms getting much bigger. Kota cried out again, his throat raw with anguish, as that same fist that had slain Papa came down on this new man's skull.

And then, like the bike had before, there was a shimmer, and the big arm was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Nobody seemed to know what to do at that moment. Kota had stopped breathing, his eyes glued to the television, his ears deaf to the frantic knocking at the hotel door. It was probably his tutor for the day, or someone who worked at the hotel and knew that Water Hose was staying in the room with their son. On the screen, the scary man backed away. He wasn't laughing anymore, now he was screaming.

The new man turned away from him, finally giving the camera a good look at his face. Though he was wearing sunglasses and a mask, there was no mistaking the way he looked down at Kota's parents, bent and broken and once again in frame. Bile stung the pit of his stomach at the sight, air having a difficult time moving through his suddenly too tight throat.

Thin, purple ropes broke away from the braid that the new man had his hair in. His Quirk, it must have been, as the strands fell upon his parents' bodies. People had done that sort of thing at the few funerals Kota had been to in his time, so maybe this new man was paying his respects.

Except, with that same fuzzy shimmer, their bodies changed. Mama's neck was facing the right way. Papa was blinking and looking around. Both were breathing, and both of them sat up.

What…?

The new man didn't acknowledge them, didn't react when their mouths started moving. Instead, he turned back to the scary man, who didn't look so scary anymore. Where there had once been a manic smile was now an uneasy grimace. The scary man was the one scared now, and that brought a wet chuckle to Kota's lips.

The helicopter had moved up again, the woman with the microphone talking about the miracle on display. The camera drew back, widening its scope, just in time to catch the scary man move towards the crowd. The laugh that had been bubbling through Kota's lungs was cut off as someone screamed, so loud that he could hear it through the television and also from the street somewhere in town. Quicker than he could blink, the scary man had made it across the street, one hand stretched out towards a young girl that couldn't have been any older than Kota himself.

He's trying to take a hostage, Kota realised, his voice rising into a wordless, alarmed shout. Almost like that shout had alerted him, the man with purple hair knelt down to touch his hand against the street.

And then the world around him moved.

The road, slabs of paved cement, flowed outwards like water. The ripple of power was visible through the camera, reaching and then overtaking the scary man in a heartbeat. From the earth itself rose an enormous hand, concrete melded together with dirt and tree roots into a facsimile of the stories of Dojin. Close enough for his fingers to brush against the little girl's skin, the constructed hand swung down, bringing force from nothing to slam against the scary man and sending him skidding back the way he'd come.

Directly into a net of purple rope.

The scary man struggled for a moment, before going deathly still. Kota moved closer to the screen as his frozen state gave way to even more desperate thrashing, squinting carefully against the pixelated glare. It wasn't just his imagination, the scary man was definitely getting much skinnier.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME!?"

It was the first words that microphone had been able to properly pick out, erupting from the scary man in a panicked shriek. The new man was much calmer, his mouth moving and the words far too quiet to be picked up. Strips of purple hairs moved across the scary man's mouth, muffling whatever he'd tried to say next as that same amalgamated hand rose from the ground once more.

The world felt still for a moment. Mama and Papa were still on the ground, their mouths moving but their words going unheeded. The crowd had rapidly dispersed after the scary man had been slapped away from them, leaving the street mostly empty save for whoever was watching from the safety of their homes.

Where before he had been healthy and imposing, the scary man was downright emaciated as he lay tethered to the ground. The stone hand curled into a fist, and whatever the new man said next had his eyes bulging and his struggling renewed with unequaled fervor.

The fist came down. Kota wobbled in his seat, the impact heavy enough to shake the entire town. Oddly, despite being right next to it, all three of the heroes seemed perfectly fine.

With a flick of his wrist, everything the new man had moved shifted back to its original position. There was no trace of the scary man, and Kota found that he didn't mind that one bit. All he really wanted was for his parents to come home, and if the scary man was the price they had to pay for that, then he would accept it.

Kota stayed glued to the screen as the aftermath played out. The new man, apparently thinking better than to leave in a way that could be followed, tapped his foot on the ground twice and opened a hole underneath him, which closed up again as soon as he'd sunk through it. Kota watched as his parents walked away, neglecting to comment and choosing instead to hold each other as they faded from view. Eventually, the scene shifted to one of those newsrooms that he'd always considered boring, but not this time. Theories flew left and right as to who the man was, what his Quirk could be. If he was a hero or a villain. If he was a good person or a bad person.

Finally, after far too long, the door clicked open. The voices entering were hushed, but Kota would have been able to pick up Mama and Papa anywhere. Climbing to his feet, he switched the tv off, running to the entryway to wrap them both in a hug.

Kota didn't know if the man with the purple hair was a good person or not.

But he was fine with there being a few bad people in the world, if it meant his parents would be able to come home every day.