Hatsume had the room buzzing like a circuit board, alive with energy as she directed everyone's attention to the new gadgets spread out like treasures. "Alright, gear up, everyone! Shout out if something's weird or wonky!" Her voice carried over the commotion as eager hands reached for her inventions.

As the noise level climbed with the tinkling of metal and the murmur of impressed voices, Hatsume tapped her screen, and Inasa's face burst into the space, his laughter almost tangible. His enthusiasm was a spark, igniting excitement in the room.

"Dude, Hatsume, you're seriously genius!" Inasa's voice filled the space, his presence felt even in pixelated form. "Wish I was there to try out the cool stuff!"

A small sigh slipped from Hatsume, and Izuku caught the flicker of something more in her eyes as she replied, "Miss having you here, Inasa. You'd totally rock the gear I made just for you."

Izuku, watching the scene, felt a smile creep onto his face. That yearning for someone's presence? He got it, felt it deep in his bones. His gaze slid over to Kacchan, who was poring over a set of new gauntlets, his critical eye missing nothing.

Izuku took his chance then, weaving through his friends, moving closer to Hatsume under the cover of their chatter. She was in her element, a conductor of chaos, her focus never wavering from her tech.

"Hatsume," he began, infusing his voice with an ease he didn't quite feel, "could I borrow a pair of those comm bees? I've got a... mission coming up and they could be of help."

She glanced up, a teasing skepticism in her squint. "My bees for a mission, huh?"

He could almost see the cogs turning in her head. "Yeah, it's just, you know, precautionary stuff," he fumbled, his heartbeat a stuttering drumroll.

With a shrug that said she wasn't buying it but was too intrigued to pry, Hatsume reached for a pair of sleek, metallic bees and handed them over with a flourish. "These are fresh off the press—improved signal, crystal-clear sound, and they come with their own little screens."

He took them, feeling the weight of the small machines like a promise in his hand. "Thanks, you're a lifesaver, Hatsume."

She flashed a quick grin, then turned back to Inasa, her curiosity already swallowed by her explanation of the gear she made for him.

While tucking the bees away, Izuku embraced the laughter and lightness around him, even as his mind raced with the weight of what lay ahead.

Izuku felt the twinge of guilt as his mom's cough cut through the buzz of excitement. She looked small, almost swallowed up by the surrounding chaos, cradling a mug of tea that Chieko had brought her. Despite the heat steaming off the cup, the sound was a harsh reminder of the delicate balance of their lives here.

It's okay, Izuku. Go, see what your new gear can do," she said, her voice a balm even as it rasped slightly, telling tales of whispered fears and fought battles.

Kacchan was already at the door, a restless energy about him that made the air crackle in anticipation. "These better not disappoint," he growled, more an invocation than a statement, beckoning them to follow.

Denki's whoop of excitement, a lightning bolt of levity that zapped through the heavy expectations, broke the moment. "Time to crank up the volts in the training room!" he exclaimed, brandishing his device like a war prize.

"Just make sure you don't fry the rest of us, Sparky," Shinso tossed back, a smirk playing on his lips, as rare and quick as a shadow in the bright light of Denki's enthusiasm.

Then Chieko was there, her touch on his sleeve grounding, her whisper laden with unspoken truths. "We have to head out, remember?"

Hatsume raised a curious eyebrow at them, and Izuku's stomach twisted with the performance he had to give. "Oh, yeah, Chieko and I have some... one-on-one training planned," he said, his voice a shade too bright, like a flashlight trying to cover a cavern.

Denki leaned in, the mischief in his eyes sparking like his quirk. "Secret training, huh? Sounds super cozy. Spill the deets, Midobro."

Izuku forced a chuckle, feeling it rattle hollowly in his chest. "Ah, it's just the boring stuff, really. Basics, isn't that right, Chieko?"

Chieko nodded, her response much more natural than Izuku felt.

Shinso's offered to join, but casual as it was, sent a jolt of panic through Izuku's nerves. "No need, Shinso," Izuku blurted out, a little too fast, his hands painting the air with his anxiety. "A refresher course, ya know? We'll loop you in soon, promise."

It sounded awkward even to his own ears, his words clinging to the thin veneer of casualness. Shinso's eyes stayed on him, a calm ocean of thought, before he gave a shrug that somehow said he understood more than he let on. "Sure thing. Just hit me up if you guys want another pair of hands."

Izuku's smile was a feeble twitch of relief. "Yeah, absolutely. Thanks, man," he managed, feeling the weight of Shinso's gaze like a warm coat that was just a tad too heavy.

The bustle of the group dissipated as they shuffled out, the hum of their excitement trailing after them like the tail of a comet. Chieko's presence beside Izuku was a silent anchor as they slipped out of the room. Passing Katsuki, Izuku allowed himself a quick glance, their eyes catching for a heartbeat.

In that sliver of time, a torrent of unspoken words roared silently between them. Katsuki stood still as stone, his jaw a testament to the tension he carried, a sentinel of unyielding silence. Izuku recognized that look—it was Katsuki's way of armoring up, a fortress in the making, every brick a word unspoken, every parapet a feeling unacknowledged.

Breaking the gaze first, Izuku felt a twang of... something. Regret? Longing? It was hard to pin down as he stepped through the doorway, the click of the closing door cutting the invisible thread between them.

They scooped up breakfast in the bustling cafeteria, trays heavy with an extra portion for Eri, then made their way to the quiet of the storage room.

Stepping into the storage room, Izuku greeted the figure of Eri, a quiet figure, amid their crafted refuge. He offered her a smile and knelt down with the gadget that Hatsume had engineered—a communication bee paired with a small monitor.

"Hey, Eri," Izuku began, his voice a warm whisper of encouragement. "Wanna see something cool?" He watched her eyes, always so full of quiet wonder, flick to the device and then to him.

She nodded, and he tapped on the screen. The bee, previously still, buzzed to life, its wings a soft whir, hovering before her. Her eyes widened in a silent marvel as Izuku guided it through the air with deft flicks on the monitor. With a gentle tilt of the screen, the bee landed delicately on her open palm, its artificial intelligence so lifelike that for a moment, it seemed as though a real insect rested there.

"It's like a little buddy for you," he told her, "and see here?" He pointed to a button on the side of the monitor. "You press this to talk to us. Just be sure to check if it's okay to speak, alright?"

Eri's eyes, showing a glimmer of understanding, moved from the bee to the monitor and back to Izuku. "Like a secret?" she asked, her voice a hushed whisper, revealing her grasp of their need for discretion.

"Exactly, like a secret," Izuku confirmed with an encouraging nod. "It's our special way to stay connected."

Chieko, meanwhile, had arranged breakfast on a makeshift table constructed from sturdy boxes. "We've got some yummy food for you," she said, her voice encouraging.

Izuku carefully placed the bee on Eri's shoulder, where it nestled unobtrusively. "This little friend will show you what Chieko's doing," he told her, infusing his tone with a hint of playfulness. "And the other one will stay here so Chieko can see you. It's almost like being on a secret mission together, isn't it?"

Eri picked up the monitor, her fingers gently tracing its edges. "Will I see everything?" she asked, the faintest note of awe threading through her words as she glanced at the screen.

"Everything Chieko sees, you'll see," Izuku reassured her, his grin broadening.

As Izuku and Chieko made to leave, Eri's voice stopped them gently. "Thank you," she said, looking at the bee, then the screen, then at her caretakers. "I'll be quiet. I'll be good."

With a last look back at Eri, now engrossed in the world unfolding on the small screen, Izuku felt a stir of hope. Here was their promise, not just of safety, but of a continued presence, a way to keep the light in her eyes from dimming. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing within it a moment of connection, the simple yet profound pledge of a lifeline.

The sparring session had moved them away from the prying eyes of their peers, to a more secluded part of U.A.'s sprawling grounds. Izuku eyed Chieko as they circled each other on the dew-laden grass, the morning sun casting long shadows across the ground. With each step, he could see her anticipation, her readiness to respond to his moves.

"Remember, keep your center balanced," Izuku coached, feinting to the left before darting right. Chieko pivoted, her arms rising in a well-practiced block that deflected Izuku's mock punch.

"Good! Now counter!" Izuku's words were a mixture of challenge and praise.

Chieko lunged, a controlled strike that Izuku narrowly sidestepped. He couldn't help but feel pride in her progress, even as his mind turned to the darker facet of her abilities.

They paused, chests heaving with exertion, a natural break for them to delve into the more complex discussion. "You're getting a solid grip on defense, but we've got to explore your quirk capabilities," Izuku said cautiously, his eyes scanning her face for signs of apprehension.

Chieko's stance was rigid, her hands opening and closing as if grappling with an invisible adversary. "It's... not so easy, Izuku. Transferring injuries? That can go south real fast."

He understood—the gravity of it all. "Right. So, we'll ease into it, okay? How about I be the test dummy? We can start with... you know, just scrapes or something small?"

But Chieko flinched, recoiling from the suggestion as though he'd proposed something unthinkable. "No, Izuku, you're not hearing me," she implored, desperation lacing her voice. "When my quirk goes off, it's like unleashing a storm. It doesn't just trickle out, it floods. The last time, that guy got all the damage I'd absorbed. He didn't stand a chance."

Izuku's concern deepened at her words. "That time? Do you mean against Hachiro's crew?"

She nodded, a haunted look crossing her features. "Yeah. The guy who cornered me and Hatsume upstairs—he took it all. He was... in so much pain, that's how he fell out the window."

The pieces of the puzzle fit together, casting a grim picture. Izuku felt a cold shiver. "And the hospital? Inazuma hinted at... something." He didn't want to push her, but he needed to understand.

"I can't," she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself. "Not that. Please."

The subject was a closed book, and Izuku respected that—yet he couldn't shake off his concern. "Does Hatsume suspect anything?"

Chieko looked away, her eyes distant. "She might. She hasn't said anything, though."

Izuku and Chieko sat side by side on the U.A. grounds, the lush grass beneath them a contrast to the complexity of their thoughts.

Izuku, stretching out a leg, brought up the subject that had been like a splinter in his mind. "I keep going back and forth on Aizawa," he confessed, plucking at the grass. "With Eri, we can't just be... too trusting. Not like before."

Chieko's gaze drifted towards the horizon, her expression a mix of determination and worry. "Yeah. After everything with the yakuza, I can't stomach the thought of her being used again."

The weight of their responsibility towards Eri was a constant pressure, but sharing it seemed to lighten the load. Their trust in each other was a given; it was the trust in others that remained a question.

"I mean, Aizawa reacted well when I told him about One for All, but Eri's quirk..." Izuku's voice trailed off. The implications of Eri's powers were too great, too tempting for those who fought in the shadows. "He's a good guy, but he's also a hero, and I don't know how far he's willing to go against the villains."

Chieko nodded, her silence an echo of Izuku's unspoken fears. The potential risks overshadowed any trust in the adults, and the silence that stretched between them became thick with the tension of what that might mean.

As they wrapped up, Izuku watched Chieko head off to meet with Nurse Shin, her figure growing smaller with distance. He exhaled slowly, the earlier closeness giving way to the solitude of his thoughts.

Stepping into the dim light of the briefing room, the shift from open sky to closed walls was immediate. Aizawa's presence dominated the space, his figure casting a long shadow over the map sprawled across the table. Izuku's gaze focused on Aizawa's hands—steady and sure—as he moved across the map, carving out a tangible plan from the intangible unknown.

Aizawa's voice, always a direct blade of reason, sliced through the thick air of anticipation. "We're looking for someone who might not want to be found," he said, locking eyes with every person in the room.

"She's alone, frightened. So be gentle in your approach. Move methodically through your assigned areas and communicate regularly with your partner."

The hush of the briefing room lingered even as Aizawa concluded his instructions. His finger traced the last segment of the city on the map, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their mission. "Check every potential hiding spot—alley ways and any stacks of clutter. If you go into any building check closets, under furniture, any nook or cranny a child might see as a refuge. It may be danger to announce yourself, but if you find her, be careful in explaining we're here to help her."

The murmur of acknowledgments filled the room as everyone paired off. Kacchan, predictably, gravitated towards Ochako, and Izuku didn't miss the slight shift in her stance as she accepted his unspoken offer to team up. Thankfully, Izuku didn't have to face the awkwardness of selecting a partner; Shoto had given him a nod, affirming their partnership with that reliable, calm demeanor of his.

"Stay alert, stay safe, and remember: our goal is to bring her back unharmed. Dismissed," Aizawa's last words echoed, sending them off with a mixture of duty and urgency.

Izuku and Todoroki made their way through the quiet city streets, their movements deliberate amidst the overwhelming stillness. Each step echoed a hollow sound that bounced off the lifeless walls, resonating in the eerie calm. The quiet was a tangible thing, thick enough that Izuku felt it press against his eardrums, a reminder of the tension that lay just beneath the surface of their calm demeanor.

Their eyes roamed with focus—past hollow storefronts, over the stillness of empty swings swaying gently in a playground that hadn't heard laughter in far too long.

"Todoroki," Izuku said, his voice cutting softly through the stillness, "about Dabi... Can I ask you about it?"

The question hung in the air, a delicate invitation. Todoroki stopped. For a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched between them like the shadows at their feet.

Then, slowly, Todoroki turned, his gaze meeting Izuku's—"It's... confusing," Todoroki finally admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper against the cold air.

"It's like they have turned my entire past upside down," he murmured, his breath visible in the chilling air. "Finding out about Dabi, about Toya... I still can't wrap my head around it."

Izuku listened, his heart heavy. "That's... It's a lot," he managed, his own words feeling inadequate against the enormity of Todoroki's pain.

"There's this anger, you know?" Todoroki continued, more to himself than to Izuku. "He's my brother, but also the one who... who took everything away. Our parents, our home. And I'm left with nothing but questions and this... void."

Izuku stood beside him, quietly supportive. Words of comfort felt trivial in the face of such a revelation, and so he offered his presence instead—a silent vow of camaraderie for a new friend.

"And now," Todoroki said, a trace of frost lingering on his words, "I'm supposed to pick up the pieces. What pieces remain even?"

Izuku's response was a soft exhale, a whisper of empathy in the chill. "I can't even imagine what that feels like," he said sincerely. There was a pause as he searched for the right words. "But you're not alone in this."

Todoroki's breath misted before him, a ghostly affirmation of the cold that had nothing to do with the temperature. "Thank you, Midoriya," he said, his voice steadier now. "That... that means a lot."

Izuku and Todoroki took a moment's reprieve, perching themselves on the weathered steps of what once might've been someone's home. The place was a picture of the world's quiet after a storm, so unlike the racket bouncing around in Izuku's skull. He drew out a tattered notebook; the margins jammed with hurried scrawls and ideas. Inside his head, it was like a crowd all talking at once, each trying to climb over the other for his attention.

As Izuku's pen raced to quell the inner tumult, capturing snippets of the cacophony on paper, Todoroki observed the fevered scribbling with a furrowed brow. "What are you writing?" he asked, his question gentle, yet tinged with the curiosity that had been kindled between them.

The pen halted, hovering in suspension. Izuku met Todoroki's gaze, finding an earnestness there that beckoned his trust. "It's not just writing... it's more like trying to sort out voices," he confessed, the weight of his secret lifting in the sharing. "Voices that started crowding my head after... after an incident with Shinso's quirk."

Todoroki's expression softened, the bond of their earlier confidences making this moment an exchange of trust. "Voices?" he echoed, not with disbelief but with a desire to understand, to stand with Izuku amidst his trials.

"Yeah," Izuku replied, the admission bringing a strange comfort. "They're not there all the time, but when they come, it's overwhelming. Like a storm where every drop tries to make itself heard."

Understanding flickered in Todoroki's eyes. "Have you thought about going back to Shinso? Maybe there's more his quirk can do. Give you some kind of handle on it?"

The idea seemed to light Izuku up from the inside, his posture straightening as he snapped his gaze to Todoroki. "That... could work. I hadn't thought of asking him again, but maybe I should."

Todoroki's response was a slight, affirming nod. "Sounds like you've got a new lead, then."

"Yeah, thanks, Todoroki," Izuku replied, tucking the notebook away like it was a piece of himself. The voices had settled down, retreating into the back halls of his mind for now.

Todoroki just gave a nod, understanding reflected in his eyes. They stepped down from the stoop, the city's silence enveloping them, but it felt different now—less oppressive, somehow shared.

They hadn't walked far when Todoroki paused, a slight tilt of his head indicating he'd seen something. Izuku followed his gaze and spotted it too—a lone figure darting between shadows, a dance they knew all too well to be harmless.

Their eyes met, and in that glance was an entire conversation. Izuku reached for his earpiece, his voice hushed but clear. "Aizawa, there's a Yakuza member. What's our play?"

Aizawa's voice crackled through, terse and to the point. "Do not engage. Follow and gather intel. Stay out of sight."

Nods exchanged, they set off after the scout, their movements quiet as Aizawa taught them. They kept a ghost's distance, trailing the scout to a building that looked as if it had given up long ago.

Peering through a cobwebbed window, they watched the scout enter a room where Dabi waited. The usual firestorm that followed Dabi was absent, replaced with a demeanor that bordered on polite—a rare sight that prickled Izuku's senses with unease.

The scout departed swiftly, slipping away into the labyrinth of the city. Dabi remained, the room's dim light casting long shadows across his face.

Izuku exchanged a look with Todoroki, one that asked a dozen silent questions. "We need to report back," he whispered, already keying up his earpiece to relay their findings.

Izuku's gaze lingered on Todoroki as they retreated from the shadowed window. His thoughts raced—not just with the mission at hand, but also with the heaviness Todoroki must be feeling. The day's revelations had bonded them in a new way, the silent agreement hanging between them like a vow—they were in this together, through thick and thin.

Aizawa's voice snapped Izuku back to the moment. "Return to base," the instruction was clear, yet something in Izuku's gut stirred—a mix of determination and a dash of that recklessness they sometimes teased him about.

Izuku hesitated, then spoke, "There's an abandoned building he came out of. We're just gonna take a quick look," Izuku shot back, more to the space in front of him than the communicator. Decisions were calling, not for permission, but for swift feet and swifter wits.

The building loomed, an echo of neglect as Todoroki matched Izuku step for hurried step. They entered a tableau of stillness, the kind that spoke of hidden whispers and forgotten misdeeds. Dust particles waltzed in the slanting light, and somewhere, water kept a lonely beat against old stone. The air hung heavy, every breath laced with decay and the silent scream of the papers scattered around them.

Inside, the remnants of the Yakuza's presence were everywhere—documents strewn across a table that looked as if they had used it in haste.

Their hands worked together, rifling through the papers, pausing only when Izuku's fingers brushed against a photograph. Time seemed to slow as he held up the image—Eri's wide, innocent eyes stared back, framed by the harsh edges of the photo. Izuku's heartbeat stumbled, lost a beat, found it again as the chill of reality licked at his spine. Todoroki moved in, a soundless sentinel, his sharp exhale a soft punctuation in the pressing quiet.

"This all looks important," Todoroki said, his voice a low chord of tension and recognition.

"Yeah," Izuku agreed, his gaze not leaving the strewn chaos as he collected it, every move a silent drumroll. "We grab this stuff and split, like, now."

Their actions were a duet of necessity, the scramble of paper and gear a hasty whisper against the silence. With the evidence secured, they vanished back into the city's embrace. Distance gained, Izuku keyed the comm, his words to Aizawa, a tightrope walk between worry and a flare of hope. "We've got something."