Tsukauchi grasps Midoriya's hand and flexes his fingers over the envelope. Midoriya examines it but both sides are blank. He doesn't dare holding it against the light to read what's inside with Tsukauchi still present and breathing down his neck.
"Tsukauchi-san, is this All Might's letter?"
The detective nods, solemn, "I arranged a meeting with Todoroki. It'll be in the cafe down the street."
Midoriya's nose wrinkles. Such proximity won't only set Todoroki on edge but himself as well. Will one of Tsukauchi's men spy on them with an expert in lips reading to ensure Midoriya doesn't mess up? Tsukauchi's all talk, it seems, with his 'Trust goes both ways' philosophy.
"What did you tell Todoroki-san about the reason of this meeting?"
Tsukauchi hands him another envelope. "It's to thank him for his collaboration."
Midoriya doesn't have to try looking inside to know it's full of yen bills. He takes the second envelope, noticing this one's identified.
"I can't guarantee anything," he warns his superior. "I don't have an hypnotising Quirk or anything similar to make sure he'll read the letter."
"You have something much more compelling, Midoriya-kun."
"A-Ah?" He gets the feeling he's being mocked. "What is it?"
Tsukauchi nudges him almost playfully, saying, "Your innocence."
Midoriya resists the urge to burst in laughter. He can't bear the risk of having to explain himself to Tsukauchi and his damned Quirk. He muffles his laughter, making it appear like a withdrawn chuckle and his face, red as he refrains himself, can easily pass for a blushing one.
"You have a lot of faith in me."
"Of course I do," Tsukauchi smiles.
Neither for the first nor the last time, Midoriya wishes he possesses Tsukauchi's Quirk to assess the truth of his affirmation.
The cafe across the street is a small establishment huddled between huge city buildings, but it has a warm glow the entire street lacks. It may be because of its orange hues that create a stark contrast with the greyness of cement or because of the aroma of ground beans floating out of its windows but it always drew Midoriya. He never had time to enter, though, with his load of work increasing the more they were working on the Judge case. Thus his experience with the cafe's a deep longing each time he hovers near the printer located next to a window and gazes down to the tiny splash of colours in a world so dull.
Midoriya arrives thirty minutes before the time and settles in the very back. If his decision displeases Tsukauchi, then it's one more good reason to lounge there and relax. He's almost being swallowed by the sagging sofa like into quicksands but he willingly sinks into it rather than escaping its hold. The last few days have been hectic at the Police Force as well as in his persona as Judge. He deserves to relish this fleeting peacefulness.
Hands cupping his mug, he sips the coffee and shudders when the liquid warms his throat. He always drinks coffee at the office, which is a matter of survival and not of taste, and he never particularly liked the beverage. This one isn't as bitter as the one he downs in the morning. Plus, it has cream that melts on his tongue instead of bland coffee scorching it. He lets his mind be drowned by the other customers' idle chatter, the whirring of coffee machines and the background music. If, for one second, he can let go…
"Midoriya-san."
Midoriya's eyes snap open and he jolts so abruptly that half of his drink spills on the floor. In front of him stands Todoroki who meets his eyes with a steely edge.
"Todoroki-san," Midoriya answers back breathlessly. "I apologise, I didn't see you—"
"I don't have much time. What is it Tsukauchi wanted to tell me?"
He blinks, taken aback by such harshness, but composes himself. He hands over Tsukauchi's envelope with a small bow.
"Tsukauchi-san wanted you to receive this to express his gratitude for your help," Midoriya informs, although Todoroki already tore down the letter and took out the bills.
"I assume you have another envelope on you, don't you?"
"What if I have?"
Todoroki extends one hand, ordering, "Give it to me."
"You'd just burn it."
"What if I do? This letter's addressed to me, so I can do whatever I want with it."
"Your sensei took his time to write this letter and even drafted it several times," Midoriya protests. "You may be crossed with him, but you have to recognise his efforts. Reading it would be respectful."
"I never asked him to write a letter. If that's all, I'm leaving."
Midoriya jumps out of his seat to grasp Todoroki's sleeve. Even if it infuriates him to be retrograded as a mere messenger by Tsukauchi, there's no way that Midoriya won't accomplish his mission. He can't afford returning to the Police Force with his head bowed in defeat.
"What are you doing?" Todoroki asks with a hint of menace.
"If you don't read it now I'll read it aloud."
"I'll just walk away."
"Try me," Midoriya retorts, his hold tightening. "And if you leave, I'll follow you and keep reading."
Todoroki's eyes broaden almost imperceptibly, his lips parting without a sound. His eyes shift to Midoriya's hand, then close in resignation. His voice lacks of any venom when he speaks.
"Why are you siding with him? You don't know even what's going on between All Might and I."
"You're right but I don't like conflict. If I have the power to make things right, I'll use it."
"No wonder you're in the Police Force then. It's fine. You can let me go, I won't run."
Midoriya hesitates but there's no trace of deceit on the man's face. Actually, there's never been much emotion in the first place. Still, Midoriya's grip loosens and he takes his cup of coffee back. There's nothing but dark residues staining the white cup, not even enough to take a small sip.
"I'll pay for another one."
Todoroki's gaze is riveted on his cup that he's clutching close to him. Midoriya reckons the Pro Hero caught his saddened expression of having no more drink before he could school his features.
"Todoroki-san, you don't have to—"
"It's partly my fault you emptied your cup. What do you want?"
"Ah… I don't quite know what I ordered. I think it was a latte?"
Todoroki doesn't pipe any more words and heads towards the counter. Midoriya breathes a sigh and collapses on his sofa, lying spreadeagled. Todoroki's easy to spot with half of his hair white like an apparition and the other, red like blood. Midoriya watches him come back and accepts the cup Todoroki's offering him, one of his hands holding a cup of his own. Unlike Midoriya's, the beverage is of a lighter colour and tinged orange, similarly to the cafe's walls. The bag soaking in the boiling water indicates it's a sort of tea Midoriya's not familiar with.
"Thank you, Todoroki-san." He takes the cup like one receives a laurel branch, like a token of Todoroki's goodwill. "I'll give you the letter now."
"I didn't say I'd read it without any condition," he replies.
Midoriya's teeth clench. "I'm listening."
"Tell me about you."
He almost drops his second cup. "What?"
But Todoroki doesn't as much as twitch, which means Midoriya heard right. He shifts on the sofa but it only makes him sink deeper. The self-consciousness he feels isn't fake this time.
"Why would you want to hear anything about me?"
"Do you want the truth or the lie?"
Midoriya's already shocked enough to be given a choice. "The truth."
"I see." Todoroki removes his teabag from his drink, putting it down on a bundle of napkins. "You don't look like much. Pardon me if I offended you but you agreed to hear the truth," he adds when Midoriya frowns.
"There's a difference between being smooth and being blunt."
"The point is," Todoroki continues, "that you're more than what you seem. Detective Tsukauchi may not see it. It's obvious by the way he treats you as his errand boy. Yet there's more. I want you to tell me what it is."
He doesn't know. There's no way he knows.
"I… I don't have… I'm just being me."
"Then who are you, Midoriya Izuku?"
Midoriya himself would like to know. He feels like he's hovering between two polar personalities, both screaming for justice yet acting so differently. Even as Todoroki scrutinises him, his heart's so muddled that nothing can be discerned.
"I'm not sure I can tell you about who I am, but I can tell you about who I want to be."
Todoroki quirks an eyebrow. "The second option reveals as much as the first."
"Then after you can tell me who I am."
He doesn't miss a beat as he nods, "Deal."
Midoriya straightens, sitting up instead of slouching. He can't quite explain why his heart picks up and why he's burning up as he tries to arrange the thoughts in his head. He's closer to the person he wants to become with every day that the Judge case gains importance.
"I want to be a Pro Hero."
Todoroki waits for more but facing silence, he insists, "Is that it?"
"That's all I can think of right now."
"So you want to be a Pro Hero. Why is that? Is it for money? For fame?"
"No, of course not," he replies, vehement. "I want to save people, nothing more."
"To save people? Have they done anything for you?"
"They don't need to do anything for me to save to save them. I'm doing it because it's just."
"So you're doing it for justice?"
Midoriya falters before confirming, "Yes. People shouldn't get hurt for others' sake."
Todoroki's eyes are unnerving, the grey one glaring at him as the blue one, contemplating. How can someone display two different emotions in one face that never shows any feeling to begin with? Todoroki doesn't elaborate, sipping his tea. Midoriya mirrors him with his latte, but even the comforting drink can't ease him.
"From what I learned about you, Midoriya-san, you don't really want to be a Pro Hero."
"What are you—?"
"You say you want to be a Pro Hero to save people. Most of them didn't even think about saving people in the first place. They were inspired by a hero first. The need to save people develops afterwards. I'm sure it applies to you as well. What happened to the Pro Hero who inspired you, Midoriya-san? Did he fail you? Did he ignore you?"
"Get to the point," Midoriya growls, fists curling.
"So now you want bluntness? I'll tell you, Midoriya-san. I recognise the look in your eyes. It's anger. You're burning from within with anger, with frustration. I don't know what happened because I don't have a mind-reading Quirk, but I can tell something happened and you snapped."
Midoriya shoots on his feet, staring at the ground. Todoroki remains silent, no doubt analysing his reaction while sipping his seemingly endless tea. His comment hit home too close for Midoriya's liking but he refuses to be shaken. He knows where he stands. A Pro Hero uses his skills to protect civilians for noble causes, just like he does.
"Thank you for the coffee."
He moves to leave when Todoroki speaks, "You're not going to ask me why I became a Pro Hero?"
"You're Endeavor's son. I got my answer."
Midoriya hears Todoroki's scowl in his voice as he demands for his letter. Midoriya rather throws it at his face and leaves before Todoroki can talk again. He doesn't even look back to verify if the Pro Hero read the letter. To hell with Tsukauchi's mission. He doesn't care.
He's had enough.
The list thuds on Tsukauchi's desk, the detective's head rising at the sound. Midoriya manages a smile as he gestures towards his work.
"The fire Quirk users list, as you asked."
Tsukauchi rummages through the document, humming in approval as his eyes sweep across one profile. Midoriya prides himself on his ability to organises data by using the most optimal classification. Methodology, after all, is primordial when the Judge has to select a new victim.
"You took it seriously."
Count on Tsukauchi to reduce Midoriya's work to nothing. He even has the gall to sound impressed as if Midoriya's never given him anything but disappointing results.
"Even if you missed your deadline, I can't refuse such a detailed work."
"Tsukauchi-san, if I may, you never gave me a deadline."
"Midoriya-kun, there's always a deadline."
"Then what's our deadline to solve the Judge's case?"
Tsukauchi's smile fades away, shaking his head with a sigh. "Before he takes another life."
Midoriya can't help but see it as a challenge.
"You arrived late this morning so you missed our briefing. The laboratories are irrecoverable but thankfully the fire stayed located in this area and didn't spread on the higher levels. The camera tapes were erased so we have no idea who could've done it. Still, Watanabe will look for the criminal while we continue on the Judge case."
"Watanabe left the team?"
Tsukauchi's gaze darkens. "Among others. After your little speech, I received six demission letters."
Inwardly Midoriya rejoices. Tsukauchi doesn't notice it but his ways are similar to those of a dictator's. He orders them around from eight thirty to five… technically. Most of the times, they finish around ten in the evening, nine if they're lucky. Sometimes they skip lunch since Tsukauchi wants his analyses as soon as possible and chains them to the office, though Tamakawa became their spokesperson in terms of healthiness. He's always the one reminding the detective that they need to eat, to drink water instead of coffee and to go home and sleep. Without him, Tsukauchi's team would've crumbled a while ago.
Although Midoriya's glad as the Judge, he's also glad as their coworker. The brave men he's got to know will be able to see their family and enjoy themselves a little.
"So now we're six. Tamakawa, Yoshida, Katsuo, Subaru, you and me."
But you don't really have me, do you?
"I'm surprised Subaru-san stayed," Midoriya admits. "Doesn't he have a family as well?"
"A younger sister, yes, but his choices are his alone."
Midoriya nods. He can't refute this when he alone made his choice to become the Judge.
"I also want to congratulate you, Midoriya-kun," Tsukauchi keeps going, this time with a smile. "I heard that Todoroki-san finally read Toshinori's letter."
Did he, now? It's fair enough since Midoriya complied with his demand by telling him about his Pro Hero aspiration. Although Todoroki crushed them without remorse, he did uphold his part of the bargain.
"Then I assume we won't collaborate with Todoroki-san anymore?"
"That's where you're wrong. I don't know what you told him but he decided to work with us to solve the Judge case."
Did he, now? Midoriya struggles to hide his annoyance but Tsukauchi's eyes study his face.
"You don't look pleased. I thought you of all people would be overjoyed knowing that such a renowned Pro Hero works with us."
"We didn't leave on excellent terms," Midoriya confesses, avoiding the detective's eyes.
"I'm sure you two are going to make up. You have to because I'm not letting any awkwardness grow between my teammates. How about I put his desk next to yours?"
"I don't—"
"Then that's settled."
Midoriya's convinced Tsukauchi's doing it to spite him. The office has now six free desks but Tsukauchi chose Ishimura's that's right next to him. Since day one his superior's always been on his case and today even more.
But the longer he watches, Tsukauchi's mischievous smile morphs into a familiar expression, one that first appeared when he saved that little girl whose drawing now adorns Midoriya's working space. It combines the heaviness of disappointment in the way his mouth turns downwards, a sigh raking his frame, but also signs of concern as he bits his lips, his forehead creasing.
"In all seriousness, Midoriya-kun, what happened with Todoroki-san? Normally you have no trouble communicating with people. I think you're the most sociable out of us."
"It'll pass." I don't want to think about it. "Why are you asking me this?"
"Is it a crime to be worried about you?"
Midoriya almost laughs but realises Tsukauchi's not joking. He's scrutinising him like the investigator he is during questioning sessions, trying to find the flaw in his armour. Midoriya hopes he'll never see this expression again because if he does, it'll be when the Judge will be caught.
Instead he scoffs, folding his arms as he looks away, "You make it seem like it is."
Tsukauchi's eyes widen, his mouth falling open. "Midoriya-kun..."
He can count on one hand the times he struck the detective speechless. Midoriya expected to enjoy having the power of shocking him, for once to be the one superior. However, as he meets his eyes, he never expected the colour drain of Tsukauchi's face and to his lips part even more in something akin to distress.
"Ah, Todoroki-san, welcome."
Both Midoriya and Tsukauchi turn to the entrance to see Tamakawa greeting the Pro Hero. Tsukauchi rises, smoothening invisible wrinkles on his shirt, before stepping towards the latter. Midoriya isn't sure if it's a trick of the light but it appears to him that the detective's hands are trembling, even clasped tightly in his back.
"Todoroki-san, welcome to the team."
"Thank you, Detective. Just Todoroki is fine."
"Alright, Todoroki. You can take the desk you prefer."
Midoriya's eyebrows almost shoot up to his hairline. Wasn't it Tsukauchi who insisted that the Pro Hero sit besides him so they could strengthen their quite inexistent bond in the first place? Midoriya refrains a grimace before indicating Ishimura's vacant desk.
"Here, Todoroki. Take this one."
He swears he's never seen Tsukauchi's eyes widen this much. He looks like he's about to protest when Todoroki dumps his bag on the desk, already beginning to sort through his belongings. The detective clears his throat, spinning on his heels as if to leave.
"Midoriya-kun, a word with you."
In fact, they do leave the office. Tsukauchi leads him to the cafeteria which the team never uses, but it's enough for Midoriya to understand they're standing on a neutral ground. To make-believe his own pretence, Tsukauchi orders the week's special while Midoriya follows him in the line without taking anything.
The wait is interminable. Tsukauchi folds his napkin as if it's a masterpiece that should be handled with delicacy and puts his tie away with such cautiousness, like he's afraid it's a bomb about to explode in his face. He then fumbles to snap his chopsticks in two, his mouth twisted in fake concentration. Midoriya observes him through his struggle, impassible. Tsukauchi's never had any trouble breaking them in two, his motions usually sharp and certain.
"You know I can detect when someone's lying to me," the detective declares, putting down his chopsticks still stuck together. "I would've liked to hear you lie back then but your answer was full of honesty. So much that it was disarming."
Midoriya keeps his mouth shut, watching Tsukauchi's meal as it cools down from being untouched. He has an inkling it'll remain as such.
"My Quirk doesn't allow me to feel emotions," the detective continues, "but please tell me I'm wrong that I felt under your layer of sarcasm a deep hatred."
Midoriya leans back on his seat, clenching his jaw. He thought he did a good job concealing his feelings but it seems he was an open book. Now he's trapped on an uncomfortable cafeteria seat and pinned under his superior's pleading gaze. Yet Midoriya can't give him the salvation he seeks.
"If I do, I'll tell you a lie."
Tsukauchi sighs, his shoulders slouching. "I see. Midoriya-kun, I'm going to ask you a question and I don't want you to lie to me. Forget that I'm your superior if it makes it easier. You won't be punished for whatever you'll say and this conversation will stay between us. I want to know what I did to make you feel this way."
"Why do you want to know?"
Tsukauchi opens his mouth then closes it. Midoriya fights against a smile. He bets that he wanted to say he's the one asking the questions but they're not talking as detective to a versatile clerk, or even as equal colleagues. He willingly abandoned his advantage as his superior, then he has to face the reality Midoriya's always been confronted to.
"Communication—"
He scoffs, folding his arms. "Don't talk to me about good relationships. You can easily ask for another person who has the necessary skills to go on the field instead of the burden I represent. You're wasting a spot on your team. Why are you keeping me instead of downgrading me? Why are you keeping someone as useless as I am?"
Midoriya wants to kick something, mostly Tsukauchi's face. His fists do curl but he keeps them on his knees, his knuckles white. He's tempted to snatch the chopsticks and snap them in two, four, maybe even six, to grind them into fine grains.
"You're believing it…" Tsukauchi's staring at him, incredulous. "You're believing you're useless."
"I'm not. I'm enough."
"You're lying."
"I'm not," Midoriya repeats with a steady voice, his nails burying themselves in his palms to form crescent-shaped scars. "I'm enough."
"My Quirk—"
"Who cares about your Quirk? I don't have any but I'm enough!"
He's standing on his feet, his chair overturned behind him, and his head bowed to hide the hurricane brewing in his eyes. It's silent in the whole refectory, but Midoriya's head is roaring. He can't focus on any of the thoughts crisscrossing in his mind, fighting for dominance, submerging the facade he's trying so hard to maintain.
He sees Tsukauchi rising as if behind a veil, words obscuring his vision. He recognises some of them but doesn't heed them. He knows they'll eat him alive if he does. They'll devour his eyes first, then follow the optic nerve up to his brain to override it. So he blinks them away, striding across the cafeteria until he reaches the door.
Then he breaks in a sprint. He's suffocating in this building, in this position, in this life. There's not enough air for someone like him. It shouldn't be wasted on someone like him, some think. Oxygen goes first to the Pro Heroes who gulp it down, who take so much place in the media, who are almost worshipped by some civilians. They're taking it for granted, aren't they, the constant oxygen surrounding them? Midoriya knows better.
He had to fight to be where he is today, and where he is today is a police officer who's more of a stay-at-home receptionist who keeps making lists and staring at a dried plant. It's far from satisfactory. It's far from enough. He still has to fight, to carve his place, even if he's aware he'll never be completely accepted. There's not enough air in this world for seven billion people.
He's overloading. He can't stop thinking about Tsukauchi's last expression. It was but a fleeting glance in his direction before he stormed away but he saw gestures he shouldn't have seen. He saw one hand outstretched as if to cup his cheek instead of slapping him, to reach out for him instead of rejecting him. He saw the creases on his forehead, the furrow of his eyebrows, the parting of his lips as Tsukauchi called his name using not a saccharine tone but one of the softest voices, like speaking to a stranded child or a wounded animal.
Midoriya's nothing of the sort. Or perhaps he is.
The Judge, though, is nothing of the sort.
"Oi."
He whips around, ready to punch a possible assailant, but his fist gets stuck in Todoroki's crushing hold, stopping his momentum. He cocks an eyebrow, taking in Midoriya's frenzied state.
"Where you are you going?"
"Let go."
The man in front of him is a Pro Hero, or rather he calls himself a Pro Hero but Midoriya can't be sure before he witnesses Todoroki in action. A diploma isn't enough for a person to be called a Pro Hero, more of a free ticket to privileges most don't deserve but abuse of.
"You have to show me around."
"I don't want to. Ask Tamakawa."
Todoroki doesn't even budge. "It's a direct order from T
Instead of motivating Midoriya, it causes the opposite reaction. He wants to leave although he has no clear destination in mind. There's the League's headquarters but he doubts he can keep calm if he encounters Tomura and his uncanny ability of prodding where it itches the most. There's his house but what will he do if he goes there? Weep? Tear down his bed sheets? Set the couch on fire? He can't bear having to lie to his mother.
Todoroki lifts one hand to his chin, rubbing it as his eyes narrow down.
"He didn't say when you had to," he admits. "You can show me around another time."
"What's your condition?"
He knows Pro Heroes are greedy creatures, attracted to money, power and fame that their rank instantly procures them. He isn't remotely surprised to see Todoroki's the same.
"Allow me to finish your character analysis."
Midoriya waves one hand, not planning on listening. If he has to play interested for the sake of being left alone with any consequences, he'll do it without hesitation.
"Something happened and on the day you snapped, there was no one there to save you."
Midoriya jerks so abruptly that he assumes it can't be much different than whiplash. He takes a sharp intake of breath but remains gasping for it, the air never reaching his lungs. Todoroki keeps talking, his eyes inspecting him.
"I don't know what happened and I won't try to guess it. In all honesty, it's pointless to dwell on the past. We have to consider the future to the best of our abilities. If the rage in your eyes is anything to go by, then you're dooming yourself."
Todoroki shows him his hand, splayed fingers seeking his to curl around them. Midoriya watches them with bulging eyes.
"I don't know your past, but I'll be alongside you in the present. You may not care about your future, but since we're a team we're heading in the same direction. I refuse defeat caused by someone else than me, so I offer you my best partnership wishes."
But Midoriya shakes his head, inquiring, "What are you playing at?"
"On the contrary, I think you're the one playing around. I can't give you redemption but I can pave your path."
"I don't need to be saved."
"You don't?"
He hates it that Todoroki isn't fazed at all. He hates it that Todoroki's hand doesn't waver and doesn't retract, as if his hand holds every answer in the universe and shaking it will solve all his problems. He hates it that Todoroki's eyes are piercing his very being and penetrating his core as if the barriers he spent years building are transparent. He hates it that Todoroki's voice has no room for insecurity, that he's Confidence incarnate, that he has no reason to feel inferior.
"So you don't want to be saved from the hatred gnawing your soul?"
He hates it that Todoroki's words get to him.
"Why are you doing this?"
He hates it that Todoroki's smile's full of empathy.
"I know what it does. I don't wish it to anyone."
He hates it that Todoroki's intentions are so pure.
"Anyone? Not even to the person who made you feel this anger?"
He hates it that Todoroki's shrug's so earnest, as if the past's an obstacle he surmounted.
"There's nothing to be gained from wishing it since it won't happen. I'm calling a truce, Midoriya. We didn't have the best beginnings and I don't want our mutual first impressions to poison our partnership. Let's do our best to catch the Judge."
He hates it that Todoroki's a Pro Hero.
But he hates himself even more for shaking Todoroki's hand.