Hawks knew something was wrong the moment he saw Shoto burst into his office.
The day had begun like any other.
Hawks had gone to Nagano, both to reassure the civilians and to make sure his apprentice was doing his job properly.
And the boy was doing well, from what he'd been told: apart from some grumbling, he didn't bat an eye at the workload, didn't refuse orders, and wasn't too unpleasant with his colleagues.
Hawks had lunch with some of the top brass at the city's hall, then returned to Tokyo to catch up on some paperwork at his office.
As the next day was Shoto's day off, Hawks, in a merciful mood, decided to leave the boy alone and spare him another long meal where he would (presumably) get more than a little drunk.
Thus he was in his office, filling out incident reports for the minor interactions he'd had with villains, a document of an entirely different nature - and of an entirely different gravity - in his hand, when Shoto had barged in unannounced.
Hawks had been working on his weekly report to the Commission for nearly half an hour.
Usually all he needed was a few lines - usually summed up in 'r.a.s.' - which were supposed to summarize events or information likely to be of interest to the Commission, but since he'd taken Shoto under his wing, his superiors had become much stricter.
They wanted information about the boy and had openly asked Hawks to establish a relationship of trust with him.
Which Hawks had done, like the good, loyal little soldier he was.
"A power like his... we don't want to rush him, but you know what I mean, don't you?", Ryota had told him, "He has to be on our side, first to clear our conscience, but most importantly to prevent anyone else from getting their hands on him".
Hawks understood, of course.
If he'd been any other Hero - say, a civilian who'd acquired a Hero licence at the age of seventeen through a Hero training school - he'd have thought the Commission paranoid, perhaps even abusing its powers for obscure purposes.
But Hawks had seen the world, the real world, the one that wasn't shown on television, the one that didn't revolve around costumed Heroes parading with movie stars on red carpets or in perfume ads.
Beyond the countries that had managed to pull themselves up by their bootstraps after the Quirks' arrival, there was chaos.
Small factions fought over land and resources, human trafficking and slavery were rampant, civil wars broke out here and there, and blood and despair spread like the plague.
Hawks wasn't there to say who was right or wrong : no one had that right.
What he could say was that he had seen children of six or seven born with powers capable of rivalling the gods and single-handedly overturning the balance of power in a region.
He had seen their innocent hands spread death like divine judgement, felt the terror and hope that the existence of even one such being could inspire.
First, you tried to control them - and when you couldn't, you killed them.
The first time he'd seen one of these children, Hawks was fourteen: the girl, standing on a desert dune in the blazing sun, had her arms outstretched, her eyes fluorescent, and suddenly a thousand men had fallen to the ground, dead.
No one had tried to control her.
"Men are born equal, but some are more equal than others", Ryota had told him when he was younger.
Hawks understood immediately what Ryota had meant.
If the girl's country had been stable and she'd been able to grow up in safety, then she would have had the right of life and death over all the other children in the world.
Hawks couldn't say whether that was the solution or not.
Ce qu'il savait, c'est qu'il était né au Japon, qu'il aimait les coutumes et les traditions de son pays, les festivals et les temples, la riche histoire de ses ancêtres, les sourires sur les visages des enfants et le sentiment de sécurité que leur société apportait à tant de gens.
Il savait aussi que si des enfants comme la petite fille étaient autorisés à grandir et à vivre, le monde serait condamné.
Hawk tapa son stylo sur le papier, indécis.
Il savait ce qui se cachait dans l'ombre des projecteurs, derrière les tourbillons de paillettes et les éclairs de célébrité.
Hawks comprenait parfaitement les préoccupations de la Commission - du gouvernement - concernant Shoto Todoroki.
Le garçon était un rang mystique potentiel sans croyance qui avait pratiquement atteint l'âge adulte : il pouvait soit propulser le Japon vers de nouveaux sommets, soit détruire le pays.
Hawks - et beaucoup d'autres - pouvaient cependant lui attribuer l'ingéniosité qui lui avait permis de vivre paisiblement jusqu'à très récemment.
Si Shoto n'avait pas décidé de se révéler pour sauver son père - non, si Endeavour n'avait pas été la moitié du héros qu'il était, et si Shoto n'avait pas décidé de le sauver de la mort en arrêtant le géant de Tokyo - personne ne l'aurait jamais su.
Hawks était conscient que le fait qu'une arme potentielle de destruction massive ait vécu sous le nez du pays sans que personne ne s'en rende compte avait effrayé beaucoup de ses superiros.
C'est la loyauté du garçon envers son père - qui était loyal au Japon - qui avait empêché une panique généralisée et une action drastique.
Cela, et le fait que les deux hommes les plus puissants du pays soutenaient le garçon.
Hawks soupira, se pencha en arrière dans sa chaise grinçante et se retourna pour regarder la ville en contrebas.
La nuit venait de tomber et Hawks savait que le bâtiment devait être vide sauf pour lui.
Il jeta un coup d'œil traître à sa feuille blanche.
Il savait mieux que quiconque à quel point les préoccupations de la Commission étaient fondées.
Sa conversation avec Shoto dans le bar quelques jours plus tôt lui vint à l'esprit.
La logique voudrait qu'il transcrive la conversation mot pour mot - il avait été formé pour le faire - mais Hawks sentait que ce serait une trahison de la maigre confiance de l'adolescent en lui.
Le fait qu'il ait des sentiments négatifs envers Touya Todoroki n'était pas une information révolutionnaire : tout le monde le savait.
D'un autre côté, le fait qu'il voulait sa mort était une information primordiale.
La Commission pourrait l'utiliser pour leur amener le garçon et le forcer à s'endetter.
Un échange équivalent : telles étaient les lois du monde.
Pire encore, Hawks était sûr que le garçon accepterait sans sourciller, à condition que la Commission n'en parle pas à son père.
Ce serait facile : Hawks pourrait écrire les quelques lignes fatidiques, les envoyer à la Commission, et le lundi, une réunion serait organisée avec Shoto, de sorte que le mardi, Touya mourrait des mains d'un coupable désigné.
Hawks avait l'impression que Shoto serait ravi, et cela l'effrayait.
Une fois que la Commission a mis la main sur lui, elle ne l'a jamais laissé partir : jamais.
On lui demanderait probablement de s'engager auprès de la Commission pendant au moins un an : alors il serait travaillé jusqu'à l'os, répandrait la terreur au nom du Japon.
Puis, à l'expiration de son contrat, il serait mentionné avec désinvolture qu'Endeavour pourrait trouver des informations surprenantes sur Touya, et Shoto serait piégé, car s'il pouvait mentir à son père sur la nature de ses pouvoirs depuis qu'il avait trois ans mais tout sacrifier à la seconde où il serait en danger, il préférerait sûrement mourir plutôt que de voir le jour où son père le détesterait pour avoir fomenté la mort de son propre frère.
It was easy, really : all Hawks had to do was write a few lines.
Hawks bit his upper lip. The tip of his pen trembled on the paper.
Shoto would be no better than a dog tied to a post and thrown into an unmarked pit once he'd lost his utility.
Keigo, shoulders slumped, put down his pen with a heavy heart.
He wouldn't wish this life on anyone else.
Suddenly, the door to his office opened wide.
Hawks pushed his chair back violently, knocked it over and found himself hovering a few centimetres above the floor, his wings outstretched menacingly, sharp feathers already detached and floating around him.
Then he dropped gently to the ground, his adrenaline plummeting as quickly as it had risen.
- Shoto ? What's wrong ?
The teenager stood in his doorway, his hair a mess, his clothes rumpled, his eyes panicked.
He ran a trembling hand through his hair to smooth it back.
- It's- it's Touya
Author's note :
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