Nomi Tatsui has always known he is destined for bigger things than being a small-time hero in some podunk little town like this. His quirk is powerful and flashy, and he has the necessary drive to climb the ranks if someone would just give him a chance. Yet, somehow, he has been passed over by every nearby cities' agencies. Instead of patrolling the streets searching for real criminals and making an actual difference in the world, he's listening to a shopkeeper's angry ranting. Apparently, someone broke in and uprooted half the shop's plants during the early morning hours. Boo hoo.
Tatsui nods along, assuring him that he'll write up a report. He doesn't know why he's here instead of the police. It's not like there is any indication of villainous activity or illegal quirk usage. He and the shopkeeper both know it's just local kids bored and looking for something to do, but nobody ever wants to acknowledge that, so this case will go nowhere, just like all the others. Just another useless waste of time and another unresolved incident marring his record.
"You might want to consider better security," he offers despondently as his eyes wander the store, noting the lack of cameras. "If there had been video footage of the perpetrators, things would move much faster."
"We've got a security guard," the shop owner replies, face twisting immediately into a grimace like he regrets his words the second they're out of his mouth. "It was his night off."
"Right. You still might want to invest in cameras."
"It costs less to pay this guy than a subscription for the cameras would cost," the store owner shoots back, motioning vaguely towards the wall behind the register. Tatsui rolls his eyes, the motion hidden behind his mask. He has no idea why this guy is trying to pick a fight over this, and frankly, he doesn't care. Still, he follows the man's motion and sees a picture hanging on the wall below a cheap plastic plaque reading, "Employee of the Month." The man pictured is half turned away from the camera, mouth open like he was mid-word. It's obviously a candid photo, taken without the employee's knowledge. Even so, he manages to look furious.
"Employee of the month?" he reads out loud, the incredulous way his eyebrows raise hidden. The store owner nods, the hint of a smile flickering across his features. His fat cheeks dimple, and Tatsui resists the urge to scowl since that won't be hidden behind his elaborate domino mask.
"Yeah. The honor usually goes to my daughter, but she got caught skipping school last month, so I had to take it away. He's the only employee besides my wife, so..." He shrugs, still looking very satisfied with himself and his parenting.
"I'm sure that taught her a valuable lesson," Tatsui intones dryly, not bothering to hide his disdain. His eyes stay trained on the picture, though. Something about it tickles a half-forgotten memory hidden somewhere in the back of his mind. He frowns.
"So your store was robbed while he was off. Are you at all concerned that he might have had something to do with it?"
The owner's eyes go comically large, and for a second, Tatsui thinks it must be in realization right before the man throws his head back and howls with laughter. It is an irritating sound, grating on Tatsui's already fragile patience. He shakes his head, far too cheerily for Tatsui's taste, and flaps a hand dismissively.
"No, no. Yamada's a great worker. Real private, but he needs the money, so even if he did break in, he'd go for something actually worth something and not just trash the place and break some of the merchandise."
Tatsui resists the urge to rub his temples. A migraine is forming behind his eyes, and he wishes he was at home in bed instead of standing in some stupid flower shop listening to this brainless babbling. He can't wait for this shift to be over. It's not even worth it to write up a report at this point, so maybe he'll just…not mention this to his supervisor.
"Okay," he says, pasting on a smile. "If we find anything, I'll keep you updated. In the meantime, just make sure you lock up at night. And maybe get some cameras."
He leaves before the man can launch into yet another explanation about why he doesn't need cameras. As he goes, though, he can't help but take one final look at the picture of the security guard, Yamada. There's something strangely familiar about him, and he gets the sinking feeling that the mystery of why will keep bothering him until he figures it out.
.
As soon as Chizome's left for the week to return to town, Izuku fills the tub and sinks into the lukewarm water. He hasn't had shampoo for the last month, so he makes do with body wash. He doesn't like how coarse it leaves his hair feeling, but it's better than nothing. He misses the comforting, familiar scent of his old shampoo. Lately, he's begun to forget how it smells, anyways. But it's fine. There are bigger things to worry about, though he tries not to think too hard about them as he tenderly rubs at his chronically sore muscles. Beneath the rippling water, gentle swirls of pink seep from the sores and cuts littering his hands and wrists as the scabs are irritated by his movements.
Izuku doesn't like the new lessons. Every time he has to run through another of Chizome's drills, he resents them more and more. By this point, he can't remember if lessons were ever fun before, but he doesn't think he ever hated them. With every new thing he learns, though, he feels his stomach churn at the realization that Chizome has known these sorts of things all along. Maybe he should be grateful that he's waited until now to start teaching him, but Izuku's having a tough time dredging up any positive feelings about the lessons at all.
What's worse, though, is how quickly he's mastering them.
He hates how each thrust of a knife or punch to the dummies' necks has become muscle memory. The fact that he can stab someone in the kidney with his left hand and in their lung with his right, with near-perfect accuracy, makes him want to cry. When he looks at a picture of a human being, he can identify every lethal point on their body before he's even processed their hair color. When he tries to sleep at night, his body twitches as soon as he allows himself to relax, like it's still trying to run through drills. Memories of blood force their way into his head, making him remember cut tendons, a bleeding head wound, a sweater on fire, a knife through the eye.
A bloody lump of cartilage and skin and blood on the floor.
When Izuku closes his eyes, he sees petty thieves in back alleys, and he can't help but think about how he could have handled the fight if he knew then what he knows now. He could have killed them before they knew he was there, instead of bruising his knuckles trying to fight them the old-fashioned way. He wonders what the people he helped would have thought of him, then. He gets the feeling that they wouldn't have thanked him.
He can't even watch the news anymore without thinking about how the anchors have left their backs wide open to attack. More than once, he's caught himself staring at them, his mind automatically running through scenarios and tactics to eliminate all of them in one coordinated attack.
Chizome is proud of him. He praises Izuku's skills and tactics and seems impressed by how quickly he's learned all the best ways to kill somebody. Sometimes, he'll give Izuku brainteasers, setting up imaginary scenarios with specific quirks or settings that he has to find a way to work through. The man practically glows with pride each time Izuku comes up with a solution that he approves of. That should probably make him feel good, but it mostly makes him feel crummy.
He's almost glad these days when Chizome leaves. When it's just Izuku and Nikko alone in the little house, he can run through his training and do his schoolwork without Chizome breathing down his neck the whole time. It's still lonely, but he's beginning to think that he maybe prefers that.
Izuku sinks beneath the water and stays there for as long as he can handle. The silence is comforting in a way it never has been before, interrupted only by the rush of blood in his ears and the bubbles that escape his mouth to flee towards the surface. By the time he lifts his head from the now cold water, his lungs have moved past aching to instead feel like fire burning inside his chest. For a few scary seconds, it's like his body's forgotten how to breathe altogether. He clutches at the sides of the tub, eyes squeezed shut, trying to soothe the rising panic and make his body remember how to function.
Outside the bathroom, Nikko mewls mournfully before she starts clawing at the door, making it rattle sound startles him and Izuku finally sucks in a breath, deep and shuddering and painful. He opens his eyes to stare at the shaking door, and the thought that nobody would care for Nikko if he were gone flickers like lightning through his mind.
Suddenly, he's crying. Deep, aching sobs that fold him in half with their intensity. The water laps at his chin, threatening to pull him under its swirling surface once more. Hot tears burn down his cheeks and disappear uselessly into the water below. His throat aches, his eyes burn, and his chest is tight. At the door, Nikko cries and scratches uselessly, sounding more desperate by the moment.
Still sobbing so hard he can't stand up straight, Izuku nearly throws himself out of the tub and stumbles over to the door to fling it open. Nikko darts in, winding around his legs, tufts of her ratty silver fur sticking to the water on them. She continues to scream, and when he crouches down, she clambers into his lap. Her claws poke bloodied holes into the skin of his thighs, and she hisses a little when he tries to pet her with his wet hands, but she stays where she is when he curls himself over her and cries into her fur. Her rattling purrs accompany the sound of his crying, soothing the ache in his chest.
.
Many miles away, Kazuho sits across the table from Inko, head pillowed on her arms. Her drink sits untouched beside her, condensation forming a puddle beneath the cup as the ice slowly melts. Koichi is at the stove, heating up water for the four instant cup noodles lined up on the meager counter space. The old man had stepped outside a few minutes earlier to smoke after Inko and Kazuho had ganged up to shame him for lighting up inside the little apartment. His beer sits abandoned on the floor by the ratty old sofa cushions he likes to claim as his own when he comes over.
"Can't you cook anything better than this?" Kazuho grumbles as Koichi slides the instant ramen in front of her. The thin styrofoam cup threatens to buckle under her grip as she pulls it a little closer.
"Don't be ungrateful," Inko chides, tone light and cheerful as she accepts her own meal. Though, as she looks down into the cloudy broth, a slight frown tugs at her mouth and a crease forms between her brows. She turns her concerned gaze onto Koichi, who freezes under her scrutiny.
"Now that I think of it, though," she says. "Do you know how to make anything else? It can't be healthy to only eat instant foods all the time."
Kazuho groans as he stumbles through his excuses for his poor diet, citing college lectures, picking up litter, and returning purses to little old ladies. She turns her head to hide her smile. It's been a rough few days, what with Makoto being back in the city and stealing all of Koichi's time and the devastating news of Narufest coming to an end. Listening to Inko tease Koichi, and the old man complaining about his beer getting warm when he finally comes back inside, is a welcome distraction from the otherwise directionless path she's recently found her life meandering in.
She's going to be seeing Rokura tomorrow about maybe starting a career as something more than a street performer moonlighting as vigilante support, and tonight is being spent with her odd little collection of friends. She can't help but smile as she thinks that maybe things will begin looking up after all.
.
(Two weeks later, Kazuho's mother will make a frantic call to the police, reporting her daughter missing. A week after that, a villain wearing Haneyama Kazuho's face will appear to cause chaos throughout the city.)
Wow, can you believe that TGIM turned five years old this month? Happy birthday TGIM!
Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, both new readers and familiar faces. This fic would not have lasted this long without you.
A very very heartfelt thank you to Shaegal, who still found time to beta read this despite her very busy life right now. Go give her some love if you have the chance!
Feel free to find me on tumblr at daboyau if you ever want to ask questions or chat.
See you all next chapter!