"Despite my job description, I know how to respect a client's privacy," Giran says.
Izuku's shoulders relax in the slightest.
There's no going back from here.
"Ah, but before you go," the broker adds, "I've got a meeting scheduled for us tonight."
"A meeting?" Izuku glances around him nervously, doing his best not to accidentally bump into anyone as he makes his way home.
"I've found someone to help with your 'death'. If you want people to believe this then what better way to make it believable than a corpse in your clothes," Giran chuckles.
Izuku scowls, slipping down an alley for a short moment of privacy. "I don't want anyone to so much as question the validity of my death, but not if it means you 'conveniently' finding a body," the boy hisses into his speaker.
"Don't worry, it's nothing you wouldn't approve of," he answers, waving off Midoriya's concern. "I'll explain it more when I see you tonight. This guy owes me a favor too so he'll be doing the work at a discounted price."
"Is he trustworthy?"
"He's a neutral party," Giran offers instead, "And that's about as good as you can get in our business."
"Somehow that doesn't inspire confidence within me."
"I'll put it this way. If he cared about the people who came to him for business, then he wouldn't have any. He doesn't care about your vigilante persona."
Izuku scuffs his feet against the concrete, sighing. "I guess I can only take your word for it." "Would I lie to you?" the man drawls, smile twitching at his lips.
"Absolutely."
Giran laughs at that.
"But, at the very least," Izuku offers, "I doubt you'd lie about this. So what time's this meeting?"
There's a cold feeling that settles in Naomasa's chest like the steel core of a long-dead star.
He tries to remember the last time he saw Piper, tries to remember what kind of interaction it had been. Had it ended on a positive note? A negative one? He can't remember.
His hands shake.
He can't remember.
His eyes trail over the letter again and again, seeing, but not quite taking it in. He feels numb. He feels like fire. He feels like folding in on himself.
Dear Detective Tsukauchi,
If you're reading this then it's been two weeks since I've last been in touch with the person that delivered this to you. You are unlikely to have received this otherwise. In this case scenario, it seems the worst may have finally happened to me. I've cheated death one too many times in the past year so really I can't be surprised. Whatever did me in I'm certain I won't regret it, I never have. I've got to say sorry for worrying you so much though. I'm sure I aged you a couple of years with all my antics. Sorry about that. You're a good man, Detective. I can tell you cared about what happened to me beyond just getting me behind bars. You were one of the first adults to do so, even if we were on opposing sides. I remember I once asked you what the harm was in saving people that no one else would and you told me that's what you were trying to do as well. And no matter how misplaced I thought your efforts were at the time I just want to thank you for working so hard for my sake.
Along with this letter I've attached all of my most recent research into the Eight Precepts as well as a few other criminals and illegal organizations that have crossed my radar within the last year. Depending on when this letter is sent the information could be useless by now, but it's everything I know. I'm not sure how helpful any of it will be, but I'm happy to leave it in your hands. I trust that you'll get all of it to the right people. I'll be the first to admit that there were a lot of things I never got to do with my life. And if you're reading this letter under the circumstances that I assume you will be, then saving that girl will unfortunately remain one of them. In this case I can only ask that you take care of her in my stead.
Heroism was always something that I strived desperately for, but a legal career path was impossible for someone like me. That's why I turned to vigilantism. That's why I became Piper. I wanted to help people, and I did. My legacy lives on in the people I've saved, Detective. I want you to catch the dirty bastard(s) that did me in just as much as the next person, but I'd rather you use your time saving others. I can only ask that you continue protecting people in my stead.
Sincerely, Your Local Vigilante, Pied Piper
Naomasa feels many things. He feels like doing many things.
The paper crinkles beneath his clenched fingers. As of now, he's the only one that knows.
Naomasa Tsukauchi is the only one that knows that Musutafu's most infamous vigilante, Pied Piper, is dead.
Inko gets takeout for dinner and they both eat on the couch, talking intermittently over an All Might documentary about how school was and his newfound friendship with Shinsou. Inko smiles at him softly. Pain and trauma and worry for what's to come forgotten momentarily in favor of talking about the ordinary things in life.
For once he acts like a normal kid because he is a normal kid. Piper is on the verge of death, depending on how tonight's meeting with Giran goes, the vigilante could be dead come morning.
His grin widens as he watches All Might slam a villain into the pavement, the road cracking beneath the impact. He just barely manages to suppress a cheer. Inko pulls him into an excited side hug as All Might's blinding grin takes up the screen.
Izuku sees golden medallions in that smile, he sees the sports festival podium, he sees Aizawa approaching him with an offer to 1-A.
He sees Bakugou's seething cherry eyes and cracking palms. He sees fire, smells smoke, feels a burning heat biting into the nape of his neck. His smile falters, slipping into a grimace.
"After nearly two decades in the spotlight of hero society, All Might shows no sign of slowing down, and his retirement seems implausible to onlookers—"
His chest feels uncomfortable tight and he wants nothing more than to slide his way out from Inko's loving hug. Instead, he bites harshly into his lower lip, doing his best to keep from squirming and trying his best to focus back on the documentary. He tries to force himself back into the first fantasy, phantom hands desperately grasping for gold, for All Might's outstretched hand. The hero's voice is distorted, "I have great respect for underground heroes like yourself!"
Midoriya pinches his eyes closed, doing his best to focus the moment. "I am here!" echoes heartily through the tv speakers.
The image in his head only continues to waver.
It takes all Izuku has in him to slog through the short essay for Midnight's class and every practice
equation he solves for math leaves him with answers different than those in the book. It's frustrating and hard to focus on anything because he's distracted by his thoughts and his meeting with Giran tonight and his need to explain everything to Reo before he talks with the broker again. His leg bounces nervously, glancing towards the new picture frame on his desk. His mother had given it to him after dinner, a present for his recovery. It's a photo of Reo and him during their last dual family dinner.
It's meant to be something that brings him happy memories, but as of now Reo's bright smile only serves to set him on edge.
What if he hates me now? Can I handle that?
He thumps his head into his desk in defeat. He can ask Shinsou for help with the math tomorrow, for now all he wants to do is sleep.
"How do we know the letter is actually from Piper anyway?"
"That letter talked about something only he and I would know, there's no way it's not him. But, I'm starting to wonder if it's possible that all of this is just poor timing," Naomasa states, pacing, "He might've just forgotten to get into contact with this person, or—or been unable to reach whoever delivered this before it got sent to me."
"Tsukauchi-san," Detective Nakajima cuts in sternly, leaning back against the edge of the meeting table, "be realistic here."
It's late, later than any of them would like to be in the office, but it's the earliest that Naomasa was able to gather the people he needed. They've been bickering back and forth about where to go from here for well over an hour and everyone is starting to get fed up with one another.
"He's not dead until we get a body," Naomasa snarls.
"There may not be a body to recover," Nakajima growls back, "You're not fit to handle Piper's case, you haven't been for months now. You're too close, too invested. We're police officers," he states harshly, "The government doesn't pay us to be optimistic and they certainly don't pay us to be surrogate parents for teens that can't follow the rules."
Naomasa rounds on the man, curses on his tongue, fire in his eyes, ready to risk demotion for the honor of a kid whose name he doesn't even know. He's not dead. He can't be dead. Instead of Nakajima's aging face, however, he's met with Sansa's soft eyes and flaxen fur standing in the way, blocking the other from sight.
A kind hand settles on his chest, stalling his momentum, extinguishing the flaming crater in his chest that'd been left in the wake of that damnable letter. "Go home," Tamakawa tells him gently. With the fire put out the cold is quick to seep in, settling in its place. "Go home, Nao" the feline repeats, quieter this time.
He feels as if the fight's been sapped from within him.
Sansa turns to the rest of those gathered in the room. "That'll be it for tonight. Thank you for your time, we'll pick this back up tomorrow after everyone's slept."
Izuku wakes like clockwork, his body has yet to forget its vigilante roots and it rouses him for his usual patrol hours without the need for an alarm. He takes extra precaution preparing for tonight's
outing, slipping a pillow into a hoodie from his closet and laying it carefully beneath his comforter. He fashions a t-shirt into a head and an extra blanket into legs. He can't risk getting caught by Inko.
He stuffs what remains of his vigilante gear into a duffle bag and throws on a dark hoodie and sweatpants before catching his reflection in the mirror, staring at the barebones version of what used to be his vigilante persona. His eyes are colorless in the darkness, but he slips in a set of blue contacts just to be safe.
On his way out he grabs a medical mask. He feels awkward sneaking out without his usual gear, he feels naked, unprepared. The only thing that's in his bag is his vest and even that will do him no good if he's not wearing it.
In all technicality he's not even supposed to meet Giran for another two hours, but he's got somewhere to drop by before then. He grimaces as he slides the balcony door open and close, dropping the bag down and crawling over the edge, making his way to the ground.
Even after making a full recovery, Izuku can tell his body isn't the same anymore. He'd jogged most of the way here and already he can tell he's out of breath. Midoriya raps gently against Reo's window, trying to manage his breathing.
He wonders if the boy will even open it.
He doesn't.
Izuku sighs shakily, taking a careful seat on one of the fire escape steps.
Reowo ⟩ Today 1:23 am
Today 1:29 am
Today 1:40 am
we need to talk
Reo please it's kind of cold out here it's important
Reo please
He drops his phone in his lap, puffing warm air between his palms as he stares absently down the
alley. He doubts the boy will respond now. For all he knows he could very well already be asleep given Midoriya hasn't been here to keep him awake at all hours of the night.
But a light flickers on in Reo's window, catching his attention. Midoriya watches it expectantly. He has to hold himself back from jumping up the moment the curtains part to reveal Reo unlatching the window locks. He pulls it open silently. He doesn't so much as look at Izuku.
Izuku rises carefully, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He shuffles his shoes off, leaving them on the stairs by his duffle bag as he slips inside.
Reo takes a seat in his usual spot at his desk. He looks pointedly at the wall.
Izuku carefully picks his way towards the bed, sitting hesitantly. He too shies away from looking at the other, offering only fleeting glances that send his nerves skyrocketing.
He'd come with a plan of what to say. He spent the entire walk here running through his internal script and brainstorming responses to every one of Reo's possible reactions. Unfortunately, all of that planning goes straight out the window as soon as he finds himself in his friend's presence.
Neither of them say anything.
The older teen is obviously waiting for him to speak even if he's refusing to so much as look at him. Izuku however, can't remember any of the things he planned to say.
He can't even manage an 'I'm sorry'.
The silent tension builds quickly and without mercy. Despite how chilled he'd gotten outside Izuku can already feel a nervous sweat beading beneath his bangs.
Eventually, Reo lets out a deep, tired sigh. The sound startles the already on edge Izuku whose eyes whip up on instinct.
When Reo finally looks at him takes immediate notice of Izuku's blue eyes. "You got new ones?"
Midoriya fiddles with his nails, quickly looking away again. "They're not new. And they're not for what you think," he murmurs softly.
"What I think they're for?" Reo deadpans.
Izuku nods jerkily.
Reo's lips pull into a thin line. "You know," he starts, "I held you tight the first time you crawled through my window, incessant that you'd died at the hands of a villain," he says quietly. "I wasn't angry then. I was worried. I'm always worried about you. Every time you slip out my window there's this small part of me that wonders if that'll be the last time." He takes in a shaky breath, steadying himself. "When my father left my uncle moved in with us for a while. He wasn't a detective yet, it was a dangerous job and I was just a kid with a quirk that let me remember every bad thing I'd ever read. Every time he left for work I'd have that same feeling of dread that I have now. 'What if this is it?' It scared my mother to death how much I'd cry when he'd leave for work." The teen looks away carefully, absently studying a shelf of half-finished projects. "I had to learn how to deal with it. It was his job after all and he was an adult, he was saving people. But... I can't learn how to deal with this, not now. Not with you. I'm angry. I'm angry and I'm worried. I'm angry because you almost died from something that could've been prevented and I'm worried
because I'm so scared that you'll just do it all over again." Reo's ochre eyes bore into his, they're desperate, pleading, angry. "You're my best friend and I love you, but–"
Izuku shifts uncomfortably, sinking into himself.
"I can't—" Reo chokes out, voice cracking. "I can't just ignore it or learn to deal with your reckless self-endangerment. Your life matters too! What part of that is so difficult for you to understand? Is it so hard to think that people care about you?! That I care about you?! What about me? What happens to me if you die! I can't—!" he shouts, clutching at his shirt. His voice drops to a whisper, fingers unfurling from the fabric, "I can't..."
He doesn't say anything more. He doesn't need to.
Izuku can finish the sentence on his own. He's known, secretly, that he was hurting Reo. He can't count the number of times he's crawled through this same window, littered with open wounds and old scars that Reo has detailed maps of imprinted in his head.
Reo has always been his sole confidant.
Every problem he's ever had has gone directly on his shoulders. But who was Reo's confidant? Izuku can't remember the last time his friend had come to him with any concern of his past the usual highschool drudgery. It makes sense if only because all of the boy's recent issues have stemmed from Izuku's vigilante persona.
All of the built-up hurt that he rarely got to see was coming out and Izuku, once again, was the cause of it.
Izuku's knee bounces with anxiety. He takes a deep, steadying breath.
No more.
He stares down at his clasped hands helplessly.
Never again.
"Piper's dead."
Reo stares at him for a long time without saying anything and Izuku doesn't dare speak and disturb him. He doesn't dare to even look the boy in the eyes.
"What."
"At least he will be soon," Izuku explains, holding himself back from fidgeting. "I-I talked with Giran, everything's in the process of being set up," he murmurs.
"You're... you're done?" Midoriya can hear the skeptical hope in the boy's voice.
He nods jerkily, knot in his throat. "Yes," he croaks quietly. "You were right... This whole time. I was just too blinded by finally being able to do something for people that I got ahead of myself. I've been looked down on my whole life, you know?" He huffs out a weak laugh. "Quirkless, useless, weak, they were all synonyms for my name. You were the first person that... that didn't care about that, the first person who didn't judge me for what I lack," he says hoarsely. "The people at the dojo don't know, Chee Sensei being the only exception. I was just so happy," he chokes out, "I was so excited to prove everyone wrong. But, there's no point in being right if I'm dead," he states weakly. "I told everyone that I tried to kill myself, but like you said it wasn't too
far off from the truth. And aside from that I pushed everything onto you without asking and you hardly ever complained and I took that as an answer without understanding the implications. I was always able to talk to you about everything, anything. But you never said a word." His voice cracks painfully. "And I never even noticed."
Reo remains silent, fists clenched in his lap.
"I've done all I can," Izuku murmurs, staring defeatedly at his hands. "I can't save anyone else. I've... I've accepted that now."
Reo curses. "That's not—" the teen sighs heavily. "I don't want you to give up on your dreams. I want you to take care of yourself. I want you to stop– stop sacrificing your well-being for those dreams. You can still save people, you're good at saving people," Reo insists and Izuku looks up hesitantly. "But, vigilantism can't be the answer anymore." He runs a hand over his face, a shaking sigh escaping him.
Izuku looks down again quickly, blinking back his blurring vision. He takes in a breath and holds it for as long as he can stand in an attempt to compose himself. "I know." He folds into himself gently. "I know."
Reo rolls his chair towards the bed, pulling the boy into a hug that shatters his remaining composure.
Izuku hiccups into the other boy's shoulder as he clings to him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." "Dumbass," Reo murmurs into his hair. "You could've started with that."
They must stay like that for what must be a good half an hour before Izuku thinks to check the time. He spent longer than he'd imagined waiting for Reo to let him in. He'll likely be late if he doesn't leave soon.
"What is it?" Reo asks warily.
Izuku shifts uncomfortably, sniveling as he wipes the snot out from under his nose. "I'm supposed to be meeting with Giran soon. He said we'll be going over some of the final details tonight." His eyes are probably puffy, but he knows once he splashes some cold water on his face the swelling will go down.
Reo scrutinizes him. "What exactly are you planning to do? You're not going to stage a fight are you?" He says darkly.
Izuku shakes his head. "Nothing like that." I hope. "We haven't gotten to talk about it too much just yet, but he knows what I will and won't do." He glances at the door. "Can I use your bathroom?"
Reo nods silently and by the time Izuku comes back he looks considerably better. The older teen looks up as he re-enters the room. "Are you leaving then?"
Izuku nods grimly.
"Be safe."
No more.
Never again.
"I will," Izuku murmurs, and he means it this time. Midoriya pauses, remembering something just before he's able to slip out the window. "Also," he starts reluctantly, worried the other will flat out refuse him, "I'm going to need the rest of my gear."
"Kettome," there's an obvious smile in Giran's voice when the name crackles through the speaker.
Midoriya pauses mid-stride, visibly confused. "Kettome?" he asks into the phone, "You realize who you're talking with, right?"
"Of course, kid," the broker says breezily. "But, I thought you'd be more comfortable with a fake name during our little meeting."
"I thought you said this guy was trustworthy. Why would I need a fake name?"
"I said he was a neutral party," Giran clarifies, "Two very different things. There's no reason to give him any unnecessary information."
"So you decided giving me a name that means duel eyes would help alleviate that?" "Yes."
"That's not even the right dual," Izuku emphasizes.
"Well, I couldn't make it too obvious now could I?"
Izuku lets out a long-suffering sigh as he approaches the building he's to meet Giran outside of. He spies the man leaning against the wall and hangs up before the broker can say anything else, approaching from his blind spot. "Couldn't you have used some stupidly common name like Satō or Suzuki?" Izuku calls out to him. "Literally anything other than Kettome would've been fine. "
Giran turns towards him, a grin lighting up his face. "Where's the fun in that?"
The broker catches a glimpse of his blue eyes beneath the street lamp. "You seemed opposed to a new name, but not a new disguise?" Giran asks, raising a brow.
"There's no reason to give him any unnecessary information," Midoriya retorts, repeating the man's words from earlier.
Giran chuckles, shaking his head. "With his quirk it unfortunately won't do much. He's your best option to getting away with this, but the drawback is that he'll know your face by the end of it."
Izuku tenses, eyes narrowing. "You didn't mention that part over the phone."
The broker quickly checks the time, deciding he still has time to explain before they go in. "I mentioned earlier that a body is the best way to make your death believable. Well, he calls his quirk De-Animation, it's unique, makes him a valuable contact. It lets him make clones of other people, the clones, however, aren't actually alive. They'll hold up and decay just like any other body though."
"Then he'll know my face." "That's correct."
"And if he needs my DNA in order to activate his quirk then the police will also get a hold of my DNA when they recover the body."
"Those are the drawbacks," Giran confirms rather grimly.
Midoriya sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "You're lucky the police don't have my civilian DNA."
"Even if they do get it at some point, there's not many reasons for them to both take your DNA and run it against that of a corpse," the broker adds.
Izuku nods curtly as Giran checks his watch again. "Since you seem to agree with it let's head in."
"Shimeka," Giran says with a cheeky grin, looking back at the boy, "Meet Kettome." Midoriya resists the urge to sigh at the name.
From what Giran had told the boy of his quirk, the man's name seems to fit well. Death maker, Izuku thinks briefly. However, Shimeka's appearance isn't as death-like as his name implies. He's got the height that Midoriya imagined, but he's far from being stick thin. He's relatively heavy-set, fingers thick, cheeks thoroughly filled out. His hair is messy, hanging well past his shoulders in a ponytail that's long since started falling out.
Shimeka looks tiredly down at Izuku through wire-frame glasses before turning his attention back towards Giran. "You rarely attend these meetings yourself," he rumbles.
The broker shrugs. "He's a special case."
Shimeka only nods, obviously not having expected a straight answer from the man in the first place. "Either way, starting as soon as possible would be preferable. I've got another client due in six days and I'd like as much time to recover from this as possible." The man looks back at Izuku, studying him. "Given your size, it shouldn't take as long as I anticipated, a few hours at most. We can discuss the details during that time if you don't mind sticking around that long. But, to start I'll need a strand of your hair."
"I can meet you there if you want me to. I-I don't have to go in, but I can be just outside if you need me!"
Coming home after school hadn't been necessary, but he had time to kill before he was supposed to be at his first therapy session, and lurking around town felt strange without any gear.
Midoriya gnaws at his lip. Inko looks so expectant, so hopeful. He would rather not have her go if he's being honest. He's never been to therapy, has never known anyone that's been to therapy and as foreign as the concept is and as nervous as it makes him he wants to be alone for it. 'Therapy' feels like a dirty word to him, even though he knows it's not. It feels like something private that he's not supposed to share with anyone else. In his head, it's something too taboo to even speak about and his fight against this falsity is a losing one.
No matter how much his mind retaliates against the idea, he can't deny his expectant mother. She wasn't trying to force her way into his head, merely offering him moral support and a companion
on the way home. She was respecting his boundaries whilst still trying to play an active part in his recovery.
He nods at her hesitantly.
The therapist's office is closer to UA than he thought it'd be. It's a small building nestled between a coffee shop and a music store. He must've passed it before without ever even realizing.
There's a pastel blue and white awning that shelters the door from the rain and a sign that reads, LC Counseling Center, hanging from the front. He stares at the name as they approach, wondering what it could stand for. Inko gently squeezes his hand before pulling the door open.
The inside is about what he expected. There's a receptionist desk right when they walk in and a small waiting area off to the side with a few chairs and a couch. Inko gives his hand one last squeeze before letting go and walking toward the front desk where a woman waits for them with a smile.
"Are you here for an appointment?"
Midoriya had done well at denying the inevitable, but now that he's actually here he can feel nerves humming in his chest. He shifts anxiously from foot to foot as the two women talk amiably with one another. It takes his mother tapping him gently on the shoulder for him to realize the woman at the desk has stood and is waiting to lead him to the back.
Inko watches him worriedly. "It'll be okay."
He barely manages a nod.
He follows the woman down a narrow hall and up a short flight of stairs, stopping at the second door they pass. When she knocks softly there's a gentle, "come in" that floats through the door. The woman smiles at him reassuringly. "He's just inside. He's a very nice man so there's no need to worry."
She opens the door and gestures him inside. He takes a hesitant step forward, watching from the corner of his eye as the woman shuts the door behind him.
Although the room is bigger than he was expecting, and a window on the back wall lets in a lot of afternoon light. There's a desk off to the side, but Midoriya finds his new therapist perched in an armchair positioned in front of a light-colored couch.
The man's hair is cloud-like, pulled back into an unruly ponytail with bangs that frame his face and white stubble that decorates the base of his chin. His left eye is a pale blue-lilac, his right, however, is as cloudy as his hair. Three long scars mar the area above the right one, cutting through his brow and reaching up into his hairline.
"Midoriya, right?" The man smiles at him softly and it immediately instills an odd sense of relief in the boy as he moves towards the couch. He offers Izuku his hand over the small coffee table positioned between them. "My name's Shirakumo Oboro. It's a pleasure to meet you."