Aizawa gave them a short speech about how they were all representing UA, how they were no longer interns, how they were not just "on an extended tour" anymore and would be expected to get actual "work" done during work-study. Izuku already knew this. The speech wasn't for him. "Be careful. Learn a lot. Represent UA well," their teacher finished.

"Yes Mr. Aizawa," they chorused before dispersing. Some of them would be leaving that night. Some would be leaving in the morning. Some, like Izuku, would stay at UA and commute.

"Midoriya, I have a question for you if you'll stay behind," Aizawa called to him.

Izuku sighed. This probably wasn't good. "Yes?" he asked his teacher once the door had closed.

"It's about Hirano," Aizawa said quietly. "Are you sure that your kidnapper killed him?"

"What?"

"Are you sure that your kidnapper killed him, Midoriya, in his own home?"

"Yes," Izuku replied immediately. "Nobody... nobody that angry while strangling someone could just... let go."

"Did you see him dead?" Aizawa asked carefully.

The greenette squeezed his eyes closed, trying to read into the details from the very end of that horrific scene. Had he? Had Hirano stopped breathing beneath his hands? "No," he admitted, "no I

suppose... he could have been rescued at the last moment or... maybe my kidnapper decided..." He pressed at the memory, cringing, skin crawling with the frantic heartbeat beneath his fingers. Usually the wall was impenetrable, there was nothing to be gained by this searching, but--calm down, calm down... this wasn't the deal and it isn't the clever thing to do. She'd be ashamed--he blinked, swaying on his feet. "I don't know. Maybe they stopped themselves somehow? But why are you asking about this now?" Izuku asked, weary and wary.

Aizawa seemed to consider withholding the answer, but eventually gave in. "You know the nomu that fought Hawks and Endeavour?" Izuku nodded. Everyone in the world probably knew that nomu. "They sequenced its DNA. It matched Hirano."

The greenette took a step backwards and almost fell before he got himself under control. That was... "I think I actually feel sorry for him," Izuku said, strangled. Stripped of body and mind, turned into a living weapon...

"We'd like to learn how All For One ended up with his body. If you remember anything else, Midoriya..."

"I'll let you know," Izuku replied. Did he kill Hirano or didn't he? That brief flash through the wall when he pressed against the memory had suggested no. No... because "this wasn't the deal." Izuku's deal? And if it wasn't the "clever thing" to do then what was? Who would "be ashamed?" How did Hirano end up as All For One's play thing in the end?

The greenette sighed. "So close, so far..."

What was he supposed to think about his shoulder-sitter now? If they really had kept their part of the deal, to the letter and intention that Izuku had demanded, what right did he have to be angry at them? None. If Hirano had left his hands alive, if, the greenette had nothing to complain about. Maybe he should even be grateful. If.

He'd probably find out. Pieces were falling into place, little by little. He would learn soon enough.

Izuku had a desk to himself in a corner of Nighteye's agency. The nook was surrounded by aggressively entangling plants and the view was impressive, although most of what he could see was other office buildings and a small pond full of ducks.

Mirio dropped by several times on the first morning to help Izuku learn the ins and outs of the paperwork Nighteye had assigned. Izuku also had a hefty stack of case files to read and a book of driving regulations to memorize. Centipeder would take him to his drive test that afternoon. If all went well, he would start his infiltration work that night.

"Midoriya," Mirio greeted him, appearing from behind one of the fluffier ferns. "Interested in joining us for sparring?"

"Sure," Izuku replied, neatly stacking his work and marking his place with a pencil so he would know where to continue when he returned.

"We start out with quirkless fighting," Mirio replied, "and might do some quirk practice later, but not for long." He grinned sheepishly, with the implication being that he wiped the floor with the other combatants so quickly that there was no point in such practice.

Sir Nighteye was incredibly fast, almost superhumanly so, and incorporated his thrown weapons-- seals, like wax seals, which seemed kind of impractical at first glance but proved remarkably effective--so smoothly that the whole event looked choreographed, especially when combined with the dancer-like proportions of the hero's long limbs. Fossa, too, was fast and skilled. The two of them found it nearly impossible to land anything more than a grazing strike on each other. A real fight between them would be a battle of endurance spiced with luck.

Nighteye called the fight a draw. "Where did you train, Fossa?" he asked as the greenette, panting from the exertion, left the mats and fetched his water bottle from the shelf next to the fire extinguishers. Those seemed to be mandatory in all hero training gymnasiums regardless of whether anyone associated with the controlling agency had a quirk capable of setting anything alight.

"You know about that, don't you?" Izuku raised an eyebrow. Had Nighteye not been fully read into the greenette's case during the discussion about All For One all those months ago?

The hero blinked as if recalling something distantly. "Ah. Right. Of course."

When it came to quirkless combat, Izuku tied Nighteye for most skilled in the small agency. He managed to put the other three on the mats a handful of times.

Five seconds after the rules changed to allow quirks, it was evident that Mirio outclassed them all. The intangibility would have been enough to make him a terrifyingly formidable opponent, but the blonde also had enhanced speed, strength and some kind of blue-gold whip that could grab and restrain opponents at a distance. Apparently his power was some kind of crazy stockpiling quirk that kept giving him new abilities as he got older... Izuku, flat on his back with a budding bruise on his shoulder, held up his hands in surrender and shook his head. "There's no point in me fighting you."

"Aw, come on. You were doing fine!" Mirio replied.

On some level that was flattering, but on another level Izuku did not come here to be a punching bag. "There's no point. I won't learn anything from this other than how much it hurts when someone fifty times stronger and faster than you hits you a lot... and I already kind of know that."

Apparently that was why they didn't often spar with quirks at Nighteye's agency.

Izuku rubbed his bruises, stretching as he made his way back to his desk. "He'd be better off sparing with Endeavour and Miruko," Izuku mused.

"He would," Nighteye agreed quietly. Izuku jumped, not having realized the hero had followed him so closely. "And he will."

That was as good as saying Mirio was on his way to frontline top ten. Yeah. Probably. With Mirio under his wing already, why had Nighteye bothered to take on someone like Izuku? The greenette was... drab in comparison. It was like adopting a house finch as a pet when one already owned a scarlet macaw. Was he just a charity case of some kind?

Maybe. That might explain why Nighteye mostly left him to his own devices. The hero might have elevated standards of what most students ought to be capable of as a result of having such a

powerhouse in his employ, or he might just not have time for the moderately useful student whose sole purpose was to blend into the background when he had a showy superstar to train.

Izuku had, apparently, learned to drive from Chris not Arch (presuming that these skills were inherited from the MLA generals themselves and not some intermediary). The engine whined, automatically cutting into a higher gear as the RPM passed some threshold. This car was unbelievably cool. It might not look like much from the outside--a fairly small, blue, Japanese domestic sedan--but wow could it move. He could feel the tires gripping the road beneath him. It was like riding a rollercoaster...

No wonder people were constantly killing themselves doing stupid things in sports cars. They were built to make stupid things easy and fun. Fortunately, Chris had been good at outrunning the police and not crashing while doing so. Even though the incredible view--the Green River Lounge was practically on this nameless mountain's summit--occasionally drew his attention from the road, Izuku was confident that he would arrive in one piece.

Mostly traditional Japanese architecture... sweeping, red shingled roofs, ancient trees on every side, one growing through the building itself, spreading branches above the third floor's apex... unbelievably huge picture windows on every side... what an incredible place.

Izuku eased off the accelerator and turned smoothly into the parking lot, taking the first space available. He stepped out of his vehicle, leather satchel slung over his shoulder.

The slicked back, brown hair, leather jacket and designer jeans sent a pretty clear message: "I would have ridden a motorcycle here if my parents would only let me get one. Almost certainly. Well, probably. Maybe I'd be too chicken."

Mihara Izuho served as his alias once more. As he strutted past the attendant at the entrance, head tilted back as if the entire world revolved around him and nobody would dare try to keep him out, he casually flashed his membership card. It was a forgery, but the membership number was real, meaning if they scanned the card it should read as legitimate, though not under his name. That would be tricky to deal with... His demeanor sold his presence well enough. The glorified bouncer merely nodded to him.

Inside the building was... like some sort of contemporary office mixed with a medieval hunting lodge. There was more western than eastern décor... lots of stuffed animal heads on the walls. The furniture--sleek, modern stuff--and shining hardwood floors did not fit the rest of the place at all. "Trying too hard," the greenette hummed under his breath.

So... he was supposed to just... hang out here for the rest of the day and then drive back down the mountain like a maniac sometime around midnight. He was supposed to do the same tomorrow. And the next day. Cool. On the surface, acting like a stuck up brat at an expensive club for a few days seemed like the easiest and most enjoyable assignment in history... except it wasn't because what did people actually do at these kinds of clubs? Well, there were outdoor baths (not natural springs, although they tried to pretend they were natural springs). There were a number of table top

games, backgammon, darts, pool and Foosball upstairs... but it turned out the real answer to "what do people do here" was, for the most part, drink... even if you were underage.

Faking intoxication was a good way to get people to talk without reticence around you, so Izuku spent several hours throwing darts and pretending to down a small series of cocktails (when in actuality he was surreptitiously pouring the stuff out into a nearby plant) and generally trying to appear as a wannabe in the worst kind of way. He avoided drinks later in the evening--no need to get the staff worried about whether he should be driving.

Towards the end of the evening, he caught sight of two of his marks conversing quietly on the balcony. Otani Bussho and Ogami Yuki... they looked kind of like Izuku--kind of like this whole building--like they were trying way too hard. Their suits were expensive. Their hair had been extensively styled. They walked with their noses in the air... and yet every move seemed forced and overacted.

Otani strolled back inside. "A round of darts, Dokuro?" Izuku asked, then, feigning abashment, backtracked, "oh, sorry... I thought you were someone else. Very sorry. Getting late." He glanced at his wrist. The watch looked expensive but it wasn't.

Otani laughed. "That's quite alright. I could throw a few rounds." Excellent. That couldn't have worked better.

Fossa let Otani believe the older man was his superior. In fact, the student had to try very hard to do worse than his opponent. Faking being bad at something was hard. "You're quite good," Izuku nodded, twisting his lip as if this irked him.

"Don't get discouraged," Otani replied. "I've had many more decades than you to practice." "Sure," Fossa crossed his arms petulantly.

"I am Otani Bussho," the man finally introduced himself.

"Mihara Izuho," Fossa replied.

"Have I seen you around before?" Otani narrowed his eyes.

"Maybe? I just got back into town a few days ago..."

"Hm. Perhaps I've seen your parents?"

Fossa shrugged. "I guess? They're kind of boring these days. Don't go out a lot."

"Might I ask as to their profession? Perhaps we have attended similar business meetings."

"They do insurance," Fossa answered, "shipping insurance and stuff like that. Boring stuff." If Otani was as heavily involved in drug smuggling as Nighteye suspected, this could be good bait, interesting the man enough to let the undercover hero orbit him like a distant moon, picking up tidbits of information over the next few days.

"Well, it may seem boring to you now, but in truth it's quite fascinating. The entire world is linked together by a massive fleet of cargo ships. Can you even comprehend the amount of..." International trade was a remarkable thing, but the five minute ode to cargo ships which Otani delivered at the drop of a hat was a bit excessive.

"Ah, my apologies, it really is getting late now," Otani glanced at his own watch which looked

expensive and was. "Perhaps it's time I let you go on your way."

Fossa yawned. "Yeah, got to get my sleep sometime." Got to get back to the agency and write up some reports before taking the late train home. "I'll see you around. Was nice to play against someone even if Dokuro never showed."

"Safe travels young man."

It had been a much more successful evening than he could have imagined. Fossa hadn't expected to exchange more than a few words with Otani, but the man was--against all odds--very outgoing and friendly. This might be easy.

Izuku arrived back from lunch at a cafe with Bubble Girl--Kaoruko--and Centipeder to find Hawks of all people lingering in the foyer. The winged hero was speaking with Nighteye.

"Are you sure you can--" Nighteye began.

"Hey, don't worry. It's all good, no problem," the winged hero said with a very atypical kind of cheer. Hawks' public persona was sometimes bubbly and flippant but this... didn't seem like a persona. He just seemed to be in an extremely good mood.

Nighteye did not share any of Hawks cheer or accept the other hero's assurances. If Izuku read his body language correctly, All Might's former sidekick was--upset wasn't quite the word--distressed. "It's, well, Hawks I--"

"Gotta' get on my way, Sir," Hawks grinned. "Oh, got a book for you, by the way. Great stuff. Take a look at it if you have the time, 'specially the second bits." Second bits of what? "Gotta' fly. Being fastest in the air's a full time job, you know."

"Hawks!" Nighteye tried to interrupt again, but the other hero had already slipped out the door and into the sky. He snapped his wings and turned a pirouette above the street as he ascended. Nighteye stared after the retreating red wings, hand outstretched, and a pained grimace on his face.

"That was... odd," Centipeder said.

A very disturbing smile crept onto Bubble Girl's face. "He sure did seem cheerful, didn't he? Almost like a man in love." The tone, however, seemed to suggest something much raunchier than the words.

"Don't go there," Centipeder replied immediately.

Mirio appeared, hopping down the stairs and, hearing only part of the exchange, asked, "who's in love, Bubble Girl? Wait, Centipeder's in love?"

"What? No! Hawks," Centipeder replied. "And not even... Kaoruko thinks Hawks was acting extra cheerful because... you know."

Mirio cocked his head as if he really didn't know (and maybe he didn't--he seemed to be an innocent puppy most of the time) before dropping the subject abruptly when he saw Nighteye's

face. "Sir?" Mirio asked. "Sir? What is--is something wrong?"

Nighteye sighed deeply and threw himself into the nearest chair--a dilapidated piece of folding plastic that was probably slated to be thrown in the dumpster next garbage day. "I can't change what I see," Nighteye whispered despondently. "I can never change what my quirk shows me, no matter how I try. There's no point... no point in even saying anything."

"Is... something going to happen to Hawks?" Izuku asked, putting the pieces together.

"There's no point," Nighteye repeated. "No point in thinking about it. It's fixed now... I shouldn't... I shouldn't have looked, no matter how curious I was, but--but I can never change the future I've seen."

"Curious? What were you curious about?" Mirio asked.

"The same things Bubble Girl was curious about." The sidekick grinned and winked at Izuku as if they were in on some secret and--despite the fact that they were not--it was almost funny. "I mean I would never invade his privacy that way for... he was just acting so strange. I wanted to see if I could find out why. I even got the sense that he wanted me to use my quirk on him, that he was telegraphing openings but..." Nighteye shook his head. "Shouldn't have with Hawks... shouldn't have with Yagi..." Who? "I never learn, do I? Too late now."

Sometimes one had the urge to comfort someone having an emotional breakdown, but often when the individual in question was an authority figure one had the urge to look away and find something else to focus on to spare the individual embarrassment. Izuku turned his attention to Hawks' book and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. "What the hell," he hissed, "was Hawks doing touting The Book of Destro?"

"Huh?" asked Mirio, leaning over Izuku's shoulder.

"It's a bunch of vile, crazy slop written by Destro of the original Meta Liberation Army after he was captured and imprisoned. They'd dosed him with so many experimental quirk suppressants and similar sludge that any trace of his real personality and any of the MLA's original ideals are completely overwritten by the bloodthirsty rantings of a tortured animal that barely remembered he was human," Izuku snarled bitterly. He tried not to think about this book... He had read a few passages, but he never intended to read more. He didn't want to see what they'd done to Chris from the bridge, Chris from the snowball fights, Chris who could never keep quiet through a movie. "The power of Meta Abilities will dictate the rights of ascension for the strength to break chains is what makes one a patron of heaven. We shall ascend from the tyranny of the villains," was one of the saner passages. What Chikara had actually been thinking--if anything--when he wrote that was anyone's guess, but the modern MLA factions interpreted it as, "we should build a pseudo- meritocracy where an individual's rights and worth are solely dictated by the power of their quirk." This stupid book... the idea that the noble demon of his dreams had been twisted and tortured to the point that he wrote this thing infuriated Izuku to no end. "Why... in the world would Hawks have this? Unless..." When the winged hero talked about "especially the second bits..." Izuku raised an eyebrow. Nighteye, significantly more composed by then, snatched the book. The two of them communicated more in a few glances than Nighteye had managed to get across in the rest of the conversation so far:

"Hawks just passed me a secret message, and you figured it out before me."

"Yes, he passed you a message. I know that it's not for me. I will speak no more of it." "Pleasure having silent conversations with you."

"Likewise."

Nighteye got up, apologized for "everything," and slipped away to his office. This must be an example of what Nighteye had meant when he said he knew all about trying to squeeze information out of frightening visions.

"What just happened?" Mirio asked, worrying his lip.

"I'm pretty sure we don't need to know," Centipeder replied. "We should probably get back to work."

"Yeah," Bubble Girl agreed. "Where did I... did anyone see where I set my coffee cup? I know I had it when I walked in here..."

Kaoruko's cup was eventually found in one of the agencies many potted plants. The theory for how it ended up there was, "Hawks used one of his feathers to move it as a gag," because no other rational explanation was forthcoming.

"Why the book of Destro, though?" Izuku wondered as he returned to his paperwork and read documentation in preparation for another spying session. Well, presumably Hawks was working some case involving an MLA revivalist group... still, though, that whole interaction--Hawks demeanor, Nighteye's reaction to his prophetic vision--was bizarre.

Hopefully it would never be Izuku's problem.