The walk home is quiet.

Well, as quiet as a walk with Kirishima can be.

I think Sensei is kinda glad when we get to the school though. We drop him off at the front of the dorm, and Sensei, of course, has to get all serious before he leaves, making a comment about how he needs to see Power Loader and replace his uniform. Tamaki-senpai leaves as well, agreeing to check in with Recovery Girl Monday morning. He seems relieved, though its hard to tell, mumbling and twitching weirdly as he walks off.

By the time we make it back to our rooms, it's nearly midnight.

"You never ate your dinner," I grumble, rubbing my eyes and staring at his cold bowl of rice and vegetables still on the table where he'd left it. I'm surprised Miska didn't eat it.

"I'll eat now. Go change and get ready for bed," he says, picking up the bowl.

I do, yawning and shuffling into the living room when I finish. I'm unsurprised to find Sensei on the couch, lips curled down as he stares off into space with an empty dish in his hands.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask, sinking into the space beside him.

He raises an eyebrow, shifting the bowl to one hand, and giving me a look.

"You were worried about the drug?" he asks instead, his arm sliding up and across my neck to settle loosely against my shoulders.

"I... Yes," I admit quietly. "Will- Can Kaito just- just shoot them? My classmates, I mean?"

Sensei tilts his head, lips drawn down, and meets my eye.

"On UA campus, no," he says flatly, his voice so certain I can't help but relax a little. "Off-campus? There's always a possibility. But that's true of any villain with weapons. It's why we're taking the precautions we are. It's also a part of your training. Second-year is when students practice learning how to take on weapons."

I make a soft noise.

"Oh."

"Was there anything else?"

I consider it, or at least I try to, but settled so close it's hard to concentrate. I want to know more about the blood, about Kaito and the gang that were carrying the drug. But asking would mean admitting to hearing, that I lied, and so instead I bury my face in the side of his chest.

With Miska's snores in the background and the smell of familiar detergent in my nose, it's only too easy to relax. In the quiet safety of our home, it's hard to imagine anything bad happening.

"Rin?" he asks gently, voice taking on an amused edge. "I suppose it's well past your curfew."

I close my eyes and groan, twisting sideways and shoving my face just a little further into his uniform. The weight of his capture weapon shifts against me, pressing solidly down and I groan.

"Unnnn."

Sensei just chuckles, leans close, and presses a kiss against my hair.

"Go to bed Rin. I'll see you in the morning."

Tiredly, I decide to just listen.

"Fine," I mumble, rubbing at my eyes and blinking blearily as I pull away. "Night Sensei."

"Good night, Rin," he replies softly.

.

.

.

I wake to messages from Kagura.

Here's what I could find.

Attached are photos, at least forty of them, of redacted pages, with more blacked-out lines than actual text. I don't have time to analyze them, but the few glances I had managed seem useless. There're no images, no name or age or really much more besides blacked-out names of officers and facilities and brief descriptions of crimes. Each of the pages is a different crime, the date at the top blacked as well.

Arson, vandalism, trespassing, burglary, larceny, motor vehicle theft… it goes on and on. Murders don't start until later, and I don't even know what Larceny is, but it appears multiple times, and then there's battery, kidnapping, drug trafficking, and distribution.

I… I don't know how to feel. Numb? Disappointed?

It aches in a part of my chest that feels too raw and jagged already.

So I bury it in my phone, focus on my classes and try not to consider it.

When the day ends, I don't follow the others back. Instead, I linger outside, wandering towards the grassy hill I'd found over the weekend shaded by an old oak and surrounded by sweet-smelling flowers. My eyes drift up to the cloudy skies. I wonder, not for the first time what I should do.

The unrelenting need to know more eats at my chest like hunger.

Kaito. Brother.

Why?

People didn't… People don't just change like that.

But I don't know what else to do. Don't know how to make the numbers and dates and the words make sense.

I frown at the sky.

What to do…

.

.

.

In the end, I decide to print out the pictures.

It's only rational.

Then I can look at them any time, and I can mark them up with pens and sticky notes, and the cases Sensei always gave us were printed, and…

And it means heading back to the school. I don't have a printer, especially since Sensei usually prints everything for us and expects hand-written essays, but there's a computer lab on the 8th floor—at least I think it is, and it's supposed to be really elaborate. Shinsou's friend, Daisuke, had talked about it one day at lunch and how he'd gotten overwhelmed and something about the business classes. At least, I think he did...

Honestly, I wasn't really listening…

Should probably work on that.

Still, the lab isn't hard to find. Following the signs makes it easier, and when I finally find it, I kinda get where the other boy was coming from. The room is huge. Huge and noisy and full, with students standing and shouting and someone throwing paper balls and others arguing by a printer. I nearly don't go in. But I need this. So instead, I sort of cling to the wall and walk around the wildest bunch, finding a computer towards the back, one next to a boy with alligator skin and a super elongated jaw.

And I have no idea how to do this.

There's not even a power button.

I press a couple keys and poke at the screen. Nothing.

Crap.

Turning to the alligator-boy beside me, I tug at his shirt.

He blinks, two eyelids sliding over a black pupil strangely.

"Ahh… Hi," I manage, quickly removing my hand at his dark look. "Um… How… How do you turn it on?"

The alligator boy glares.

Or at least, I think he does. It's hard to tell, especially when he says nothing.

"Put your hand on the screen."

He turns back to his work with a grunt.

I blink.

Then, shrugging, do what he suggests. The moment my full hand touches the screen a green outline appears underneath it. In seconds my name, ID number, and course name appear to the side. Is this you? I click yes, intrigued as the entire screen shifts changing to the UA logo.

What if I'd hit no?

I ignore that thought for a moment, realizing my newest problem.

How do I print?

There isn't a tutorial page, no cords to hook to my phone, and the internet is entirely unhelpful. I glance back at the alligator boy beseechingly.

"'Scuse me," I mumble, pouting when he ignores me.

I sigh.

Then, reaching out, tug at his shirt again.

His eyes cut to my hand, expression a promise of death. I flush, red light spilling across my skin. The alligator-boy does not smile back, visibly not amused.

"Ah… I'm sorry. I don't… I mean, how- how do I print from my phone?"

He glowers, so I offer him my phone, not really sure what to do. He snatches it, slides his fingers across the screen to an app I didn't even know I had, and types in something quickly. Moments later he smacks it back in my hand.

"Folder. Computer. Phone. Find the picture and print."

It takes me a little too long to realize those are instructions.

I hurry to find the folder, but it really doesn't matter because the boy's already turned back to his computer and I have a feeling disturbing him further will not end well. But his instructions work and printing the pictures isn't hard at all.

It's finding the printer on the other hand...

I just don't understand. Even if the room is enormous, why?

Why are there so many stupid printers?

There has to be at least fifty! All spread out in clusters of eight all over the room and I have no idea which one is mine. Cause when I watch, one person in the middle is running to the one at the far end, and a person at the end is laughing at the person beside them as they walk towards a cluster three tables over.

And- And they're disgusting! I wrinkle my nose at the closest pile. You can't even see under the reams of paper and scattered half-printed graphs. The unemptied trash spills over onto the floor and I think there's a computer person in here, but I'm not sure because they're leaning back reading something and is that coffee? I gingerly lift several pages and scowl at the quarter-full, stained cup beneath.

What a mess.

Grabbing a random handful of paper, I check them for my pages before giving up and chucking them towards the back. Several other printers flare into life, whirling and screeching as they spit out twenty-plus pages. Some person with wings nearly smacks me as he rushes for his pile. A second later a boy half my height barks at me to move.

I finally find my papers about halfway down and two clusters over, buried uselessly beneath "A systematic review of electric conduction versus electro-magnetized convection in micro-causal transactions."

Seriously?

"Why?" I huff, shoving the pages onto another printer beside the mess of coffee cups and scattered, half-printed mess. The girl that shows up almost immediately as I do so glowers before snatching them back.

Rude.

I'm beyond ready to go, hungry, and annoyed. I collect my own pages and sign out—this time not needing any help.

I carefully skirt the chaos, not sure why all these people are still here almost two hours after school ended, but not curious enough to care. Instead, I make a break for the door and barely make it out when something hard crashes into my side. My feet tangle on impact, my hands are reaching for purchase before I can stop them. I latch onto an arm, papers strewn across the floor, and I balance us both.

I glare up, seeing nothing but chest and open my mouth to complain.

Only the words die in my throat.

A torso that keeps rising, shoulders well past my head. Sunshine yellow hair. Blazing blue eyes.

Toshinori-san.

All Might.

"Ah! Forgive me! I didn't see you there—oh, uh, Young Rin? My- Are you okay?"

I let go immediately.

Hand retreating as if burned, I stumble back and nearly slip. The printed page beneath me slides noisily, the noise of the computer lab disappearing behind heavy glass.

Something tight and bitter claws at my chest. I haven't seen him in weeks, but he doesn't look better. The cast is gone, but the dark circles under his eyes are still there, deeper and bruise. He looks worn, frayed in a way he never did in those oversized clothes. Sad. I have the strangest urge to hug him, but I don't. I'm still angry.

At what?

My lips purse, not liking the strange mix of emotions swelling inside. Something murky and blue begins to form on my arms, like a dark-colored dew. I focus and shake it away.

"I… I was printing!" I say instead, reaching instead to pick up the page. I nearly smack myself a second later. He didn't ask you what you were doing…

But if he notices, the retired hero doesn't mention it. Rather, he just chuckles, and I focus on the papers instead of him, because it's doing something to my chest. And the page beneath me has a shoe print on it, and that's annoying but ultimately fine. I don't need it to be pretty. I'll hide it in my closet anyway. Sensei will never know. And I reach to grab up a few more, only to fumble as Toshinori-san reaches for the same and our hands nearly touch. And I glance over, unable to stop myself. He smiles awkwardly, stooped over with several pages as well.

"A case file, huh? This looks pretty complex! Are they having you study these already?"

My mouth dries.

Shit.

"Y-Yes!"

The blonde's smile becomes more real in an instant.

"That's fantastic! How are you doing with it? Do you need any help?"

For a moment, nothing computes.

I stare.

Do I… what?

I guess I stare too long, because a second later he slumps under my stare, shoulders hunching and head bowing slightly.

"Ah… I mean, if you want. I wouldn't want to force my presence on you unwillingly of course, and I understand if you're still not comfortable after…"

After what? I want to snap, sour.

But it lacks the usual anger.

And besides… Maybe he could... Maybe he could explain it… Maybe he'd understand and then I'd understand! And maybe knowing—maybe knowing I could stop. Stop thinking and hurting and- and-

"Yes!" I shout, only to flush with red light with how rude that sounded. I move quickly into a bow, papers clutched to my chest. Kneeling there against the tile, I bend to my waist, face only inches from the ground. "I-I mean please help me understand!"

The blonde chokes.

I don't glance up, my braid sliding over my shoulder to hang against my face. I don't want to see the rejection.

"Young Rin…"

I wince.

Head dipping forward and eyes squeezing closed, it's probably for the best. I've been horrible, avoiding him and short. I shove away tears. They usually don't want you for far less. Are you really surprised?

A hand settles against my shoulder.

Bony, wide, and too familiar.

I jerk up.

I look up at a stranger with kind blue eyes, and an unnaturally thin frame, and hair the color of sunlight.

"Please, you don't have to bow. Of course, I'll help! I did offer."

He smiles. It's as kind as his eyes.

I can barely speak past the thickness of my tongue.

"Th-Thank you," I whisper.

"Of course!"

.

.

.

Toshinori-san leads us to a classroom. There's a table in the back and he tells me to sit before disappearing for several minutes. When he returns, its with paper and sticky notes, highlighters and a fancy, colored pen.

With a grin he sits, taking the chair on my left and spreading out the materials.

"There we are! Now that we have everything, the first thing a hero should do before ever reviewing a case file is to get organized!"

I blink, glancing at all his materials before nodding slowly.

That made sense.

The blonde waits, expression wilting slightly in my silence before seeming to shake it off. Instead, he grabs the first page and my heart leaps into my throat.

I'd gotten rid of the actual first page while he was gone. Folded up in my pocket, I was worried he'd recognize the description for what it was, instead of the false assignment I was playing at.

The skinny man blinks down at the large amounts of redaction before giving a wry grin.

"Ah, Aizawa-kun must be trying to really make this challenging. Normally files aren't this heavily censored."

I furrow my brows.

They're not?

"Why… Why would someone censor a file?" Then, frowning, I consider the file again. "Who censors them?"

"It depends," Toshinori-kun says, one hand reaching up to rub his jaw. "Usually the Hero Public Safety Commission makes the decision, typically its normal to do some minor censorship of materials before a trial, especially if providing it to outside sources, but sometimes heroes get heavily censored cases like this as well. Usually, it's for underground work or when it exceeds clearance levels—in the case of international missions or heroes gone rogue."

I glance at the documents again.

None of that sounded like Kaito.

The blonde clears his throat and picks up a page.

"Well, let's see what it does say."

I watch as the frail-looking man reads seriously over the details. He squints as he goes, his frown deepening the more he reads.

"Well, ahem, it seems he picked something fairly recent. It might not have visible dates, but you can tell by this code at the bottom." He points to the series of numbers before changing his mind and highlighting the code. "About six or so years ago the precincts had too all add an extra digit because crimes had increased, and they needed to expand their files. But it, ah, seems to be missing the front page."

I warm.

"It got messed up," I lie, fingers pulling at each other. "Did… Did you need it?"

"Well, it certainly helps. You can get a good feel for the suspect from the description, age, and a general location but no, I suppose it's not really necessary," the tall man admits, leaning forward and rearranging the pages. When he finishes, he spreads out the top five before sitting back, fingers rubbing immediately at his chin. "Looks like the same agency has been keeping track of this one, you can tell because all the forms are identical, probably a hero agency for this level of similarity."

I nod.

The Owl then.

"And here, these are all the oldest, see how small the numbers are? There's no way to know for sure but there's probably at least a month or two between them depending on the volume. And hmm, these crimes here? It can sometimes help you get a feel for the person's motivation when you look at how they got started. Most villains don't get into a life of crime because they think it's fun, its usually out of necessity or a history of bad choices. Notice the large amounts of thefts and the vandalism? That's probably telling."

I furrow my brows.

He'd gotten more out of the first page than I had in an hour sitting under the sun.

Shifting, I glance at the tall figure out of the corner of my eye.

Even now, knowing what I did, it was hard to grasp that this… that the man I'd thought of as so important was All Might. A hero. My friend.

The blonde, noticing my stare, smiles warmly.

It draws back the skin of his jaw, only enhancing the gauntness of his figure.

His civilian form…

"I probably shouldn't do all the work for you," Toshinori-san says, quickly shuffling the pages together. "There's a lot of different ways to do this, but I usually start by tracking the location of the crimes and then seeing if you notice a pattern. If that doesn't work, Aizawa-kun may be expecting you to build a profile. Just focus on what is being done at each crime, are there any similar themes? Trends in the type of crimes, and so on."

I nod.

He hands me the stack, blue eyes bright, lips drawn back in a smile.

"I'm sure you'll do great Young Rin. You've got the heart of a true hero. So be sure to push beyond your limits, Plus Ultra!"

He lets go, one hand pumping lightly into the air.

My chest tightens.

A hero…

He doesn't wait for a response, standing instead and collecting his things. He leaves in silence, the closing door the only noise.

I don't like All Might.

I stare at the door, sad and fond and strangely disappointed.

I don't like All Might, but I'd missed Toshinori-san.

"Plus Ultra," I mumble quietly, standing as well and heading home.