Clouds of condensation waft from a loose manhole cover, sewer steam lacing the air with an odor that makes Izuku's nose tingle more than his Spider-Sense ever did. Damp cardboard that's matted to the ground in patches where puddles aren't already occupying space paves a path forward; it's not the most charming welcome rug but it is probably the cheapest. A metal door plastered with newspaper is just as moist from the precipitation of the alley, layers sheeting the surface the way a child's drawings would be clipped to a refrigerator, except there's no magnets to hold these soggy pages in place. Moldy brick on either side of the boy presents an unlit bar sign shaped to fit the kanji in a bottle.
Izuku digs a hand into his back pants pocket to produce the paper slip that his recent employer gave him. The address written down appears to match the location. He shrugs before stepping up to the metallic entrance and rapping his knuckles on the door to knock. While he waits for somebody to answer, he hoists the stack of pizza boxes that he's carrying a little higher to rest upon his shoulder, hoping to keep them suspended away from the less than sanitary environment. It also helps to smell parmesan cheese and pepperoni instead of whatever rank filth coats the pavement. Seriously, his shoe outsoles are starting to stick to the ground, and that's without spider abilities. Finally, the metal door's lock unlatches with a click and creaks open a crack for someone to peer through. Their voice is raspy but Izuku deciphers the question well enough, "What is it?"
Izuku offers the best smile he can muster under these circumstances as he presents the person's order. "Pizza time!", his tone of voice is much more chipper by comparison. A combination of the two, however, manages to convince the customer to open the door a little further. Izuku can see now that it's a guy whose face could use some moisturizing, which is ironic considering the dampness of the alley; though he doubts splashing some dirty puddle water would do anything to help – then again, Crusty McGee here does look to be a special case…
"Hang on", the man's throat must be as dry as his skin since his voice somehow sounds raspier when he shouts over his shoulder, "Kurogiri! Did you order a pizza?" Uneven waves of blue hair are paling as much as the guy's face; he's either never seen a day of summer sunlight in his life or he really needs the nourishment from the pies Izuku brought to deliver. Red eyes flick back and bore into the boy's contrasting green gaze, prompting Izuku to quickly divert his stare. Considering what some quirks are capable of, the teen worries that he might've insulted the customer, since mind reading isn't too far fetched of a possibility.
"Yes, Tomura, I thought it best to order takeout tonight", a much smoother tone of voice that likely belongs to 'Kurogiri' can be heard from somewhere within the bar. 'Tomura' gives Izuku a skeptical look despite receiving confirmation that the pizza is being delivered to the right place; in all honesty, Izuku is still wondering whether this is the correct customer. "Allow the delivery boy to enter. The longer you leave the door open, the more moths there are that get in", a few bugs flutter from the broken bar sign to the narrow gap of the entrance as though on cue and that seems to be enough to convince Tomura more than anything else.
"Tch", Tomura steps aside. The door's hinges squeak as it swings fully open. Surprisingly, the interior of the bar is much more refined than the establishment's exterior. Izuku gets an eyeful of decorational design and decor. When his shoes step on blackened ebony floorboards instead of blackened asphalt, zero stick or puddles and not even so much as a creak from the wood, he has half a mind to leave his sneakers at the door. "You answer the door next time then", Tomura grumbles and groans as he saunters to one of many seats lining a bar counter. Bottles brim the wall beyond the serving station, lining shelves until they reach the ceiling where a fan is set to a lazy and slow spin.
"It's the least you do to pitch in around here", Kurogiri doesn't even try to hide the snark in his retort when he disregards Tomura's complaint. It almost makes Izuku laugh. Almost. He's too awe struck by the man's quirk to admire any quippage. Clearly the bartender, if his elegant suit and tie assembly of attire is anything to go by, Kurogiri is made up of a purple smog coating his entire body's form. That smokey overlay conceals the man's face, leaving only two glowing slithers of yellow to emote for him. Izuku would have whipped out his quirk analysis notebook by now if it didn't mean dropping the stack of pizza boxes he's been holding.
Remembering that he has a job to do, Izuku stops gawking at the bartender's quirk and places the man's order atop the serving station. He then retrieves the customer's receipt from the same back pants pocket where he stuffed his address slip. The boy reads off the amount due. "That'll be four thousand yen", his earlier smile returns as he holds out the bill. It's what he supposes can be considered a customer service smile. It's not really had the best of luck with results thus far but maybe that'll change with experience. God, he can only pray and hope so.
"Pass it over and gimme a slice already", Tomura grabs the top box for himself before it can even be paid for. He licks his chapped lips, tongue running over scarring. "I'm starving", the guy is practically salivating as he flips open the box's lid to get at the pie within. When he sees what's inside though, his composure immediately changes to one less than thrilled by the prospect of devouring a pizza. "What the– ?!", his face scrunches into a world record breaking number of creases and wrinkles. Izuku glances over to see what the fuss is all about, his face doing the opposite as it drops.
Melted mozzarella clings to the box's top, whereas tomato sauce paints the rest of the cardboard container like a Picasso painting. Dough lays mashed in the middle, looking more like a misshaped potato than a circular pizza. Izuku tries to blink in order to break his mesmerized gaze but the sight is just too baffling to look away from. He had thought it was a good idea to web swing across town, thinking that he could deliver orders faster that way, but apparently the ride is way too bumpy of a trip for pizza cargo. All those flips he did are going to make his boss flip if these customers don't first.
Since Tomura's red eyed glare is making the guy appear ready to kill him at any given moment, Izuku's Spider-Sense even triggering a mild warning, it's an easy guess as to who is gonna flip out first. Fortunately, Kurogiri is the much more sensible member of the duo, and he intervenes before things can escalate to a level of violence. "I believe it would be in your business' best interest to let us have this one on the house", talking things out even if all Izuku does is rapidly nod in agreement winds up being a much better alternative. "And as dissatisfied patrons of your delivery service, we will also be excluding any sort of tip", though that may as well be a verbal kick to the butt for him to run out the door.
The metal entrance slams shut behind him on his way out, latch locking with a sharp snap. Izuku starts to sigh but finishes with a disgruntled groan. That was a total bust; not only is he coming back short handed on the balance due but he's not even got a personal tip to stash. The boy runs a hand through his hair, fingers coursing over green curls. He won't be surprised if he gets fired for this. First day on the job and he's already messed it up. Now might be a good time to start considering alternative occupational trades. Izuku forces down a scoff; he wishes it were as simple as something smacking him right in the face, but the chances of that happening are slim.
First peeling off the bar's metallic door and then secondly blowing through the air with a gust of wind, a wet newspaper slaps against Izuku's face. The boy sputters and spits as he pries the damp paper away, cursing his Spider-Sense for the zillionth time for not warning him while hoping it'll at least let him know if he catches a disease now. When he stops and sees what's printed on the front page though, he's not so concerned about his health anymore. All that praying paid off. He's found his solution to his job and money problems. An ad posted by Juko News flying right into his head is all it took.
70,000 Yen Reward For Photos Of Spider-Man!
Izuku tugs at the heel of his left sneaker, using his thumb to pry it off, as he hops up and down to maintain balance with his other foot. A brief alternation to switch sides in order to do the same process with his other sneaker nearly causes him to trip. Nevertheless, once they're both removed, he sets each of his shoes down at the welcome mat of his home. "Mom! I'm back!", he shouts just loud enough to be heard; he figures he'll do his mother the courtesy of announcing his return this time rather than giving her another fright.
"I'm in here!", he hears his mother raising her voice from the living room before heading that way. The boy can't help but smile fondly, knowing that she's been there waiting for him to come home. Izuku finds her sitting on the couch while she knits a blue sweater that's still missing its sleeves; the television is on, playing some sort of game show, but the audio is muted. "You're done with work so soon?", Inko sets her crochet hooks aside and puts her project on pause in order to address her son as soon as he enters the room.
Izuku feigns a laugh, but only manages a forced chuckle. The boy bashfully rubs the nape of his neck, hand running up to the back of his head where he can nervously scratch his itchy mess of a bush that he calls hair. "Funny you should ask that…", his voice wanders off with his eyes when Inko fixes her son with a stare. Clearing his throat to cease his act of amusement, he tries to salvage the situation by getting straight to the point and asks, "Do you know where we put dad's DSLR from America?"
Inko blinks back her initial shock, having not expected that from Izuku. Any other parent would probably sit their child down and interrogate them in this type of scenario; her son came home early from his new job, acting stranger than usual, and now he's asking about his late father's camera. This parent, however, knows her kid to be the most sweetest sincere and honest person in the world. So she lets her questions wait for later and answers her boy's instead, "That old thing? It should be up in the attic with the rest of our storage."
A look of relief washes over Izuku's face. He's already turning on his heel, an arm thrusting a thumb over his shoulder. "Is it okay if I go dig it up?", but the boy knows better than to bolt from the room without first getting permission.
Inko nods, granting him the seal of approval. That's more than enough for Izuku that he doesn't wait for her to confirm it with words, "I don't see why not but–"
"Thanks, mom! I'll explain later!", Inko watches her son scamper off as he promises to make sense of his absurdity some other time. The woman sits still, a baffled expression on her face for way too long, before she rolls her eyes at his antics and smiles.
Inko reclaims her crochet hooks, returning to her hobby of knitting. She doesn't concern herself with her son's shenanigans. She knows that whatever his reasons for acting this way, they're likely noble and righteous; he's not a delinquent. As fortunate as Izuku is to have her as his mother, she's grateful that he's her son. Inko can count on her boy making good on his promise, and that the explanation will be worth the trust of waiting.
Whereas Izuku waits for nothing, climbing into the attic without needing to use a ladder. The space is cramped and covered in more cobwebs than he can afford to weave with his own webbing. If not for his Spider-Sense, he'd no doubt stub his toe on one of the many packing boxes covering the room in towered stacks; it takes the pull chain whipping his forehead for him to find the attic's light. The bulb burns once it's switched on, casting a yellow tint to the dusty domain. Izuku fans his hand by his mouth, fending off any floating particles that might be tempted to make him sneeze or cough.
"Let's see…", he muses aloud as his emerald eyes slowly search the labeled cardboard cartons. The boy moves from one box to the next, naming them off. "Christmas decorations.. Blankets… More Christmas decorations", Izuku pauses when he reads the kanji written in marker on a container that's stowed away in the back, "My old manga?!" He's half tempted to bust it open and binge read his collection right there. Except, he shakes his head clear, remembering that he's on a mission. Izuku moves a few boxes around in an effort to dig deeper. After a little more poking about, the boy comes across a pile of bags, and he finally finds a leather satchel with the initials 'H.M' embroidered on it.
He holds it up to the attic's light. It's his father's old camera case. Izuku's eyes water and it isn't because of the room's dust. When he opens the satchel, Hisashi Midoriya's DSLR is still inside the bag, completely intact as though brand new. There's even an SD card lodged in the device, saving him a trip to the store. Izuku's thumb presses the power button up top. Its battery life hasn't drained after all this time, leaving Izuku impressed. Whatever memory is kept preserved on the SD card becomes accessible when he powers the camera on.
Pictures appear on the display screen. They're photos from a time when Izuku was younger; his mother looks less aged as well. It's stuff from a trip to America, most of the images showing them at landmarks like Mount Rushmore or The Statue Of Liberty. It's all things that make the boy smile. What he doesn't realize until getting to the final picture though, is that they all only contain him and his mother in them. The last photo is all three of the Midoriyas as a family, his father holding him and his mom close, the man grinning in between them.
Everyone has always said Izuku takes after Hisashi in the genetics department. Considering Inko shares the same color of locks as her late husband, the green hair was bound to be passed down by one of them. The curls, however, those are all thanks to Hisashi's side; the man's messy mop is a spitting image of his son's. Even the freckles are a byproduct of the boy's dad. Izuku can't help but wonder if what he's looking at is an image of his future self. The glimpse ahead becomes a bit blurry, confusing him momentarily, but then he understands why when a tear drops on the tiny screen. He's crying. Of course he's crying.
"Oh, shoot!" Izuku wipes the water off with the hem of his shirt before giving the device a few good blows in an extra added effort to dry it. He looks the camera over to make sure it isn't damaged from his tears. When he confirms that it's fine, he allows himself a few more sniffles and then proceeds to dry his face next, but this time using the sleeve of his shirt instead of the bottom. "Get a grip, Izuku…" He laughs at himself, voice still wet even if his eyes aren't anymore. While rugged handsome features may have come from his father, Izuku knows that the waterworks are a trait given to him from his mother. That makes him laugh again, this time a little more humored than sad.
He clicks the camera off before shoving it back into his father's bag for safekeeping. Having found what he came looking for, Izuku slips the satchel's strap over one shoulder to take it with him. He steps over the boxes blocking him on his way back, also making sure not to exit without pulling the attic's light chain first. Izuku leaves the dark place behind, heading for a bright future that he'll be able to capture with his camera's flash.
Spider-Man steps onto a rooftop's ridge, naturally balancing himself by making his soles stick to the slim surface. It's from there that he begins pacing, walking along the eave as he pulls his trusty notebook out from the tucked confines of his spandex. The vigilante keeps going even when reaching the ledge's end, feet moving down and under to walk beneath the overhanging architecture; he defies gravity by pacing below the platform, back the way that he came. "Let's see… Quips… Quips…", Spider-Man thinks aloud with mild mutters while tapping a pencil against the blank page of his notebook, "Should I be expecting to stop another robbery? If so, then what would make for a good opener?"
"Hey guys! Making a withdrawal?", he tests some material by rehearsing it first. For a second, there's only sky high silence and the slap of spandex covered feet against brick to be heard, the vigilante considering whether the joke works or not. Spider-Man ultimately winds up scribbling over the line he wrote and shaking his head, "Ugh! That's lame! I have a reputation!" A moment more of rethinking what he can open with when making an epic entrance leads him to trying another quip on his tongue, "Hey guys! How's it hanging?" But that doesn't work either. "No.. I used that one already – didn't I… ?" He can't go rehashing jokes; not only is repeating himself insincere and unbecoming as a hero, but he can imagine the humor would get old fast.
Spider-Man stops, stumbling upon another self imposed criticism of his comedy. "Besides – maybe they're not all guys – heck, it could be just one guy!" He hums, hanging from his upside down demeanor. All of the starting statements he has jotted down already get scratched off, the plural approach completely scrapped. He tries another take, "Hello there!", even adding a little wave for added emphasis. The boy's raised hand comes back down, but towards his masked face instead of swinging down at his side; his palm places itself over his eyes as the lenses covering them squeeze into strained slithers. "Ugh.. Am I expecting to run into General Grievous now?", but when he considers the chances with some villains and their quirkiness, "I guess that's not too unlikely to happen…"
An alarm's shrill shriek startles the boy, nearly causing him to drop his pencil and notebook as he fumbles to keep them from falling out of suspended animation. Once his gloved fingers get a good grip on them, he puts them back under the waistband of his uniform. A quick turnover from using his feet to stick to using a single hand gives him a proper perspective of the city. That bell isn't school letting out nor is it church calling. "Guess I'll just have to improvise", he was right when predicting somebody would wind up robbing a bank. The vigilante lets his fingers slip from the surface of the eave, dropping down into a free fall. It's time to spring into action.
Spider-Man juts out an arm, already firing a line of webbing from the shooters concealed by his gloves. His pinky and thumb point with his index finger while the other two digits in between press the trigger of his customized support gear. The instant his fingers lift from his palm, he snatches the end of the thick strand shooting from the nozzle strapped to his wrist. The line goes taut, sending him curving through the air. Spider-Man's body becomes a red and blue blur that zips between buildings. The boy lets out a whoop of excitement, "Whooo HOOO!", as he performs a thrilling maneuver that not even a skydiver would dare to do at such a height without a parachute.
Mere moments later, Spider-Man swings down, already arriving on scene before any police or pro heroes can answer the bank's alarm. The young vigilante enters the building with a series of acrobatics, feet bouncing from wall to ceiling as he ricochets across each surface. He ends the flow of movement by landing atop a bank teller's desk, crouching into a form that qualifies as 'perfect pose' material; this would no doubt make for a good shot to put in the paper, he thinks. Wanting to make sure the camera gets his good side, Spider-Man webs it into a corner with the auto function enabled. From there, the vigilante gauges his surroundings to see what kind of situation he sprung himself into.
Spider-Man does a double take, the expressive lens of his mask expanding with his eyes. There's nobody there with him. No bank tellers, no customers, and surely not a single robber. The vault isn't even open. Spider-Man glances around, looking for whatever it is he may be missing. It's not until the alarm stops ringing that he realizes he's been lured into a trap. Drones that have been painted pink uncloak themselves, at least ten of them hovering close by with cameras of their own mounted to the bottom. The remote piloted machines surround the vigilante, getting multiple angles of him as he twists and turns to keep track of how many there are within the room.
"It seems our guest of honor has arrived–", a squeaky voice blares through the bank's hacked speaker system before cutting itself off, "Wait! You're not any pro hero that I recognize!" A good margin of the drones hover back while one draws closer; the camera beneath the lead drone's belly whirs as it focuses and zooms on Spider-Man. "I was hoping to reel in a big one but we're already live so I guess I'll settle for you…", the disembodied voice loses its earlier flare before boosting to a higher volume again, "I know what we can do! We'll have you introduce yourself! Who are you?"
The vigilante bounces back, doing a flip to leap over the drones, clearing them completely. The flying cameras turn in the air, making an effort to track his sudden movement. When he sticks to the ceiling only using his feet, Spider-Man gestures with his hands to the insignia on his chest. "The spider emblem didn't give it away, huh? Go figure…", whatever damage is done to his ego gets put on the backburner when he realizes there's an armada of cameras pointed directly at him, "Wait – Did you say that this is LIVE?"
"Correct, Spider-Guy!" Spider-Man resists the urge to correct his videographer; he has other problems, like being filmed for the internet to see. But before the vigilante can web the cameras or flee the scene, he finds himself pausing to listen a little more from the remote controlled drones pilot. "You're the first ever guest star of Screwball's live show! Prepare to prove yourself the hero that you claim to be by completing my villainous challenge!", the streamer's squeaky voice carries on with increasing enthusiasm. Spider-Man squints at the camera that's closing in on his masked face, not quite matching that energy.
"Gee.. What if I'm too camera shy to participate?", the vigilante covers the photographic lens in thick gray goop so that it backs off. Another drone flies in to replace the one that's been webbed, but Spider-Man is already turning to leave. The other UAVs follow along in an effort to block his path. They're nothing a little added agility can't help him get through; Spider-Man springs surface to surface, redirecting himself a route towards the bank's exit. Not without snatching his father's DSLR first though, unable to leave without it.
He's just about to swing away, "I guess it'll be your fault that the bombs I set up will go off all over the city then", until he hears Screwball say that. Spider-Man stops, turning back to reevaluate the challenge that he's being given. Suddenly, the bright pink drones look a little darker. The severity of the situation seems a bit more serious since the bank's security system was hacked to make this shindig happen. Screwball suddenly sounds more like a threat than a streamer trying to get views. "Oho! It appears Spider-Fella is reconsidering looking the other way!", the feminine voice giggles with glee upon seeing she managed to gain the vigilante's attention, "Will he stick around to play?"
Spider-Man lowers his head, staring down at the DSLR he brought with him; it serves just as much of a reminder as Screwball's dare is to what happened the last time he looked the other way. "Never again…", he whispers to himself a reconfirmation of the vow he made back then before fully facing Screwball's drones, "Alright! I'll bite! What's your game?" The vigilante hops onto a pillar that supports the ceiling, giving the villain exactly what she wants by presenting himself to the flying cameras. He figures it's a good idea to play along for now, not willing to take any chances with her bomb threat.
A light clap carries audibly clear through the bank's speaker system; she seems appeased afterall. "You're gonna love it as much as my viewers will", Spider-Man somehow doubts that but he listens to Screwball anyways, "We'll do some sightseeing and decide whether or not Musutafu's hotspots are up to par together!" The drones circle around the vigilante as though to emphasize her excitement. He watches them closely, still sticking to one of the building's support pillars.
Spider-Man hesitates to ask, "And what if you decide that they aren't to your liking?", but it's a question that he needs answered. There's a sinking sensation in his stomach that tells him he already knows the answer but he ignores it. Despite Screwball's clearly deranged and delusional performance, the vigilante's Spider-Sense hasn't warned him of any danger just yet. There's some small semblance of hope that he's holding onto.
"I'm so glad that you asked!", but that hope drops when Screwball makes puns about her aforementioned explosives, "We'll do what anyone would do when visiting a landmark – we'll photoBOMB the place – which is always a guaranteed blast!" Her laugh echoes from drone to drone but Spider-Man doesn't reciprocate her sense of humor as he grits his teeth behind his mask instead. The villain is unphased by the vigilante's lack of amusement, still giggling for the both of them in between the words that formulate her next sentence, "Shall we get started then?"
Spider-Man leaps from the pillar he was occupying to perch himself atop a wall frame instead. From there, he crawls out the way that he came in. The drones continue to follow him. "You really do have some screws loose, lady…" The boy can't help but mutter his thoughts aloud, a habit he has no chance of breaking any time soon. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing remains to be known when he hears an offended gasp.
"It's Screwball!", the villain scoffs over her speaker system. This time, Spider-Man keeps what he has to say on the tip of his tongue, thinking better of himself to instigate by telling her that she's one to talk by always getting his name wrong. "I'll let that one slide, but you should know that it's rude to insult a woman", he swallows his retort completely when he considers the punishment he could receive from a mad bomber.
Realizing that he might need to win her favor back, he lets his body move freely while parkouring through Musutafu's concrete terrain; some stylized moves to show off for the cameras oughta do the trick, or so he hopes. "Anyways!", Spider-Man clears his throat before trying to take her mind off his remark by refocusing it on the task at hand, "Where to first? We don't wanna get caught up in the morning crowd!"
"Ah! Right!", Screwball startles at his reminder. That seems to do the trick, much to the boy's relief. She reverts back to her streamer personality with a rejuvenated chirp to her voice only matched by the drum of her drones, "Just try and keep up while I lead the way", the machines make haste with their flight as though suddenly spurred on by their controller's cue. Spider-Man leaps atop a ventilation unit before using it as a springboard to catch up.
"Way to keep me in suspense", the vigilante's retort flies out of his mouth faster than he spins a web to follow along. He can't help but find some satisfaction at the fact that he's getting better with his comebacks; then again, Screwball's banter is easier to respond to than the usual death threats that simpletons shout. Spider-Man swings low, hiding the disappointment he has in himself for somewhat complimenting her.
"First stop, the Musutafu Monument!" Screwball announces their destination when they turn a building's corner and enter a less than web friendly area. Spider-Man drops down, a communal square waiting below him with a torii gate as the only reliable place to land. Much to the vigilante's dread, he finds that the place is pretty populated. "Doesn't it make you just wanna EXPLODE with joy?", Screwball's tone takes a turn when she drops her cheerful act for a more dastardly decibel.
Spider-Man hops from his perch to the ground. There's no structures in the surrounding area for him to latch onto with any web lines; the silver lining that comes with a lack of foundations though, is that Screwball's hiding spot for her bomb can be narrowed down. A simple shrine at the square's epicenter stands out as a particular place of interest. "Not really", he dismisses the villain's commentary and heads for what he suspects is the right spot. As he does so, he waves for everyone in his way to move while shouting, "I was actually gonna suggest that we GET OUTTA HERE", in a less than subtle effort to evacuate the monument.
A good margin of civilians pick up on the vigilante's cue and begin to flee. When the screams start though, that's when the others who hadn't caught on to his warning follow suit, fully clearing out the shrine. "Why would we do that when we have the place all to ourselves?", Screwball tauntingly tisks him as her drones film the citizens running away, "We can still have a BLAST without them!" Meanwhile, Spider-Man searches the shrine for the villain's explosive.
The vigilante only stops to clutch his head in order to feign a headache, "You're really blowing my mind with your puns", hoping that he'll actually manage to buy himself some extra time by playing along instead of losing seconds. Judging by Screwball's speaker squeaking laughter, it seems to work. He quickly goes back to scavenging the shrine's surroundings while he has her distracted. It's within that brief moment that he finds the bomb discreetly stowed away beneath an offering box.
Spider-Man no longer needs to fake a headache, the base of his skull starting to tingle. Not that he needs the warning. He stares in the face of danger, eyes expanding with the lens of his mask when he sees mere seconds remain on the bomb's countdown. While his first instinct is to drop the explosive like it's a VERY hot potato, he figures that'll only set it off sooner, and he also doesn't know the range of its blast radius to take such a chance. So what he does instead is carry it with him back towards the Musutafu Monument torii gate.
It's there that he's able to carry out a quickly conjured plan to berid of the bomb. Spider-Man spins two web lines, each strand attaching to each end of the shrine entrance. He pulls them together where a pouch carries the explosive in the middle. It's a makeshift slingshot system that he hopes will be enough to launch the thing high in the sky where its detonation won't harm anybody. Spider-Man pulls back, applying pressure and power, aiming the course of fire towards the clouds. Then he lets the webs snapback and catapult the bomb overhead.
An eruption of conflagration colors the sky with pink plumes of smoke. "I thought dangerous gender reveals were an American thing…", Spider-Man feels as though he's able to make light of the close call now that he's handled it. That doesn't make him sweat any less though; then again, that could just be from the heat of the blast. He hops up onto the safely preserved torii gate whilst receiving an applause from Screwball. The feeling of relief he had fades when he's reminded of the drones that are surrounding him.
"Wow! That was something spectacular! Truly inspirational!", Screwball sounds sardonic with her praise but it fits the mood of the moment when Spider-Man gives an exaggerated satirical bow in response. It's what comes after that which seems a lot more genuine. "So inspirational that it seems some of my viewers are taking it upon themselves to find and dispel the other bombs", the vigilante is unable to blink back his shock due to the expansive expression of his mask eye lenses, "Way to steal my adoring audience with your charm – you ruined the stream!"
Despite his small revolution potentially putting those people in danger, Spider-Man's feeling of relief returns with one of gratitude. All that's left now that the explosives are dealt with is Screwball herself. "I don't suppose that means you'll end it early and turn yourself in now?", he gives asking the villain to cooperate a try. The sound of her drones humming in place of her voice is safe to say is a no. Well, he can't say it wasn't worth a shot.
"Who wants to watch the same spiel of you running around disarming a bunch of bombs anyhow?", Screwball dismisses the matter as a minor setback with a question the boy can tell is meant to be rhetorical. While that should add to his relief, it winds up having the opposite effect when she adds, "We can just skip straight to the grand finale I had planned!" The deep drumming of the drones sounds freakishly foreboding as Spider-Man is reminded how very real of a threat this woman is despite her internet personality charade.
"How about we don't?", his riposte comes with an action in which he uses two web lines to tug a set of drones into one another while simultaneously pulling himself from his perch. He lands atop another UAV, crushing it with his weight. The others veer away to avoid being destroyed too. Spider-Man doesn't let them get very far though. "I'd much rather wrap this up now", the webspinner weaves a net of gossamer to capture and contain the drones. He smashes a good margin of them by slamming the silken sack against the ground.
All but a single drone has been eliminated. The remaining one's speaker screeches from Screwball's shouts causing her microphone to peak. "The event has already been set in motion! You have no choice but to play along, Spider-Jerk!" And although all Spider-Man wants to do is destroy the device to prove her wrong, he has to admit that she's right; the vigilante's fists unfold as he listens to what the villain is saying. Screwball wasn't lying about her bombs. He doesn't doubt this is any different, and even if it were, he's not willing to call her out on a bluff.
"What is it now, Nutball?" He is, however, willing to take a chance when it comes to mocking her. Besides, he knows from years of experience dealing with a hot headed bully that getting somebody worked up will cloud their rational judgment. If he can get her worked up then it might be an exploitable weakness he can use. Remembering the way she reacted the first time that he parodied her name, he hopes that he took the right approach to attempting such an act.
"IT'S SCREWBALL!", the woman's shrill shriek of pure unbridled anger assures the boy that he chose the right insult to bait her with. The villain's drone whirs as it whips around the vigilante, piloted in a fit of rage, losing its graceful flow. "Brat..", her hiss is full of so much loathing that Spider-Man is willing to bet she's regretting having him on her livestream as a guest now. And yet, the show must still go on. Her next line is full of snide satisfaction, "You have a plane to catch", her drone tilting up towards the sky to direct his attention towards an aircraft high above.
"You have got to be kidding me…", is all Spider-Man can manage to mumble from his mouth after that. All out of witty remarks, he finds himself grounded in more ways than one. This isn't the first time he wishes he had access to Airjet's support gear. It's just the one time that he actually needs it. The vigilante frantically brainstorms alternative solutions to compensate for his lack of flight capabilities regarding jetpacks or booster boots. Seriously, he's starting to think he needs his own suit support department already. Then again, that's the downsides of being a vigilante and not a professional hero.
Spider-Man spins a set of web strands on the torii gate again. Some steps back to stretch the bands a bit sets him up for a launching mechanism. He figures if it worked the first time with Screwball's bomb, then a slightly bigger version to slingshot himself oughta be fine. Well, or so he hopes, considering it's all he can come up with on such short notice. "Thisiscrazythisiscrazythisiscrazy", the boy rapidly repeats a slurred pattern of internal to external panic but continues pulling himself back to add more power to the catapult contraption anyways.
A couple quick breaths to prepare himself isn't enough but it has to do. With one final application of strength to the slingshot system by arching his back to bend the web strands as far as they'll go, Spider-Man aligns his projectile course for the plane above Musutafu. Then he releases his grip on the strings and lets it shoot him straight into the sky. Wind brushes against him harder than when he swings through the city. Wind presses into him as he soars higher and higher, nearly pushing him back as strong as he flies forward. All the boy can do is shout at the top of his lungs like he's on some sort of reverse rollercoaster ride.
Rising rather than falling brings the boy through a radical rush of vertigo. Defying gravity is not without punishment, his mind fogging as his eyes are blinded by thick white clouds. He can hardly manage a harbored intake of the air that surrounds him every which way. Not until his forceful thrust to such a height begins losing altitude. Spider-Man flails as his arc curves away from the sky above and closer to the airplane he had intended to catch mid flight. His scream returns when he falls beneath its wings and below the aircraft's belly. It's thanks to his spider-like agility that he manages to brush his fingers against the plane's bottom, and even more so thanks to his spider-like stickiness that he manages to keep the grip.
Spider-Man slides along the surface, clinging to the plane's underside with both hands and each foot for extra adhesion. It's safe to say that he needs to hold on for his dear life or else he'll go splat. "Mom would so ground me if she saw this", his labored breathing makes it hard to talk out loud but it helps him to think through the dire situation that he's found himself in. He's so high above the city now that the Musutafu Monument is merely a speck below him, "Although… Being grounded doesn't sound so bad right now…" He gradually crawls his way up from the bottom of the plane to the top, diverting his vision from the horrifyingly high view.
Just as things don't seem like they can possibly get any more dangerous, Screwball sets off a bomb that dismantles the plane's turbines. Smoke flows from the aircraft as it ruptures and rumbles. Spider-Man's Spider-Sense goes haywire, alerting him to what's starting to become an early descent for Musutafu. "As if I didn't realize that already…", he speaks to the tingling sensation rather than himself before realizing that he basically is only talking to himself still. Each side of the plane rattles, thrusters exploding a second time when what ignited as an inferno sparks another flurry of flames. Spider-Man's head is on a swivel, senses signaling him that it's only bound to get worse.
"Where are the professional heroes when you need them?!", his first instinct is to search the sky for someone like Ryukyu or Hawks who can both fly and catch the falling plane. Except, neither one of them arrives in the knick of time like he sees on the news during villain fights. He's all on his own. He's going to have to be the hero here. The boy's mind goes back to a memory, of a time when he'd watch a rescue video from All Might's debut on loop; the symbol of peace actually laughed as he carried everyone out from a burning bus. "What would All Might do now?", the vigilante finds himself asking for a solution he knows he isn't capable of. He's not like All Might or those other heroes. In this situation, he needs his own style of rescue. "No.. I'm not All Might…", he shakes his head to get out of it before setting his sights on the moment, "What would Spider-Man do?"
Turbulence shakes the plane side to side, but Spider-Man stays stuck to the aircraft's roof with firm footing. While both turbines have been completely blown away, each wing is still intact. Thick webbing latches onto the two triangular extensions, stretching only when the weaver folds his hands into fists to grip them as tightly as possible. Spider-Man pulls upwards with all of his might to shift the level of descent. He begins piloting the plane manually by shifting the trajectory of air against the nose of the plane so that it blows beneath its belly and carries the wings up. A strenuous scream careens with black smoke billowing behind the aircraft.
Clouds clear away when the plane gravitates further into Musutafu's airspace. Spider-Man tugs to turn the aircraft when it flies into city limits, deviating its course of descent to avoid crashing against any buildings. Fortunately for him, his application of strength deters the flight path to head for a harbor instead. A water landing suddenly seems like an option. There's only one remaining problem. There's a bridge in the way. Spider-Man reapplies his webbing to the plane's wings, and pulls harder than before. Everything rattles as opposing forces fight one another; the boy's bones tremble just as much as the plane shakes. Spider-Man gives one final forceful tug. His webbing rips, strings snapping. The aircraft creaks as metal shifts and bends. Off comes the wings, breaking away and flinging themselves through the air as debris.
The plane comes just short of doing a nosedive, passing over the brink of the bridge, just barely scraping by with a literal scrape against its abutment point. The slight impact causes the aircraft to bounce and avoid crashing front first. Spider-Man hangs on to the plane's roof while it collides with open water. A huge splash raises over him as his ride touches down. Though the ride isn't over just yet. Still carried by momentum, the plane glides along the wet surface it uses as a landing strip. Waves part for the sky carrier made floatation hauler. Until it loses enough steam to bring itself into a strong lurch of a stop.
Spider-Man stumbles, nearly slipping and sliding off the plane's roof. He's exhausted. He's ready to slump over and fall asleep. The boy's arms are so sore that he's barely able to raise a single one. When he does, it's not even worth the effort, since his web shooter spits and fizzles a spray of non goopy adhesive. The nozzle hisses as nothing comes out after that except for air. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Spider-Man used up the last of his supply of webbing. He lets his arm swing back to his side, energy draining further as his attitude drops too.
To make matters worse, an array of boats come into view just beneath the bridge. It's the coast guard. Along with a few sea rescue heroes like Selkie or Gang Orca. The Oki Mariner leads their charge with a flash of red and blue lights. "Oh! NOW they show up!", Spider-Man would throw his hands up in the air to express his grievance if his arms weren't too heavy to lift. Nevertheless, he figures it's better that the heroes come later rather than never. Not that he thinks it's a good idea for him to stick around and find out if they feel the same way, considering he's a vigilante and those are illegal. "It's a nice summer day… May as well go for a swim…", the boy's gaze shifts from the approaching collection of ships to the water shifting in tall to low tides. He just holds out hope that it won't be too cold before diving in.
After the day he's had thus far, he should have expected nothing less than a freezing harbor. His suit isn't exactly insulated to prepare for such a temperature drop. Well, it wakes him right up, at the very least. Like a cool shower or an ice bath helps to rejuvenate muscles, he's able to move just fine if it means getting out of the water faster.
Glossy photos reflect through large circular lensed glasses, dim lighting provided by an unshaded lamp casting a glare against the thin framed spectacles. They slide down the bridge of the man's nose, his black wavy hair hanging to one side as well when he tilts his head to view the pictures from a different angle. Taneo Tokuda, a journalist for Juko News, sifts through more images from the set that Izuku Midoriya provided him with; each one somehow deems itself an improvement from the previous photo. He goes from propping his elbows upon his desk in order to look at them closely to placing his full forearms across it in order to lay all of the pictures out. Tokuda finally tears his gaze from the images he was given to their originator, a boy with an ancient DSLR camera and a dream if his watery eyes are any indication.
The kid's eyes aren't the only part of him that's damp. What looks like a giant green sponge atop his head is a moist mess. The boy looks like he either forgot his umbrella during a monsoon or just came out of the shower room; considering the weather outside is as sunny as summer can get, Tokuda assumes it's the latter. Young Midoriya is being kept in suspense, waiting to hear the journalist's judgment as he lounges in an old armchair. Well, lounging would imply the kid actually allowed himself a second to relax. If anything, the boy appears less than comfortable despite sitting in a nice cushioned seat; he shifts in place every so often, wriggling with worry. If they weren't in a publishing studio, Tokuda's office light would make the situation seem like a dramatic police interrogation.
Eventually, the journalist decides to take pity on the youth and finally shares his thoughts. "Wow.. It's almost like you were on the plane", Tokuda speaks sincerely when he says the tight closeups on Spider-Man are better than anything he'd be able to snap from a distance and that's when taking his quirk into account. The shots appear as though they're exclusively personal. It's a masterstroke of photography he wishes he could capture with his Whole-Body Lens ability. The kid beams at the man's praise, sitting up a little straighter.
Until, that smile dims back to the room's level of lighting. "No!", the boy bursts with a shout of denial a little too forcefully before dialing the pitch of his voice back down, "I mean – My camera just has a really good zoom function…" Tokuda gives the kid his strongest side eye ever conceived. Young Midoriya does a poor job of covering for whatever his sudden weird shift of composure is about, especially when he gives the journalist a goofy grin as though that'll smooth it over any better.
"Right…", Tokuda uses his forefinger to push his glasses back into a position where they aren't in any danger of sliding off his face. Shrugging off the strangeness of the kid in front of him, he returns his focus to the pictures he's been brought. "In any case, these are more than worthy of the reward", he can see them as front page material already and wouldn't want to miss out on using them as such; he slides out a desk drawer to grab his checkbook.
"Actually, sir…" The journalist pauses when he hears his guest revert to the original demure demeanor that had been there when they first started this meeting. Young Midoriya folds his hands over one another, holding them in his lap. The boy bends a bit, bowing just enough to perk Tokuda's interest even further. "I was hoping for a little more than just the reward", the kid stops to swallow some saliva in order to moisten his mouth before continuing, "It would be much appreciated if you allowed me to continue providing photos to your newspaper."
Tokuda shifts back in his seat, somewhat surprised despite realizing such a request shouldn't come as too much of a shock. The kid's photography skills are exceptional and it'd be a shame to turn him away. On the other hand, the boy is likely much too young to begin working and it's not the journalist's call to make. He resumes with writing out Midoriya's check while also supplying the boy with the best answer he can give for the time being, "Tell you what – Freelance – It's the best thing for a kid your age", Tokuda rips the pay slip from his checkbook to hand over, "Keep bringing me photos like this and I'll take them off your hands."
That seems to be more than enough to placate the prospective photographer, a broad smile overtaking Midoriya's facial features until his freckles are folded over by cheerful creases in his cheeks. "Thank you so much!", the boy expresses his gratitude with a complete bow. He humbly accepts Tokuda's check with trembling hands, fingers curling over the paper. "I won't disappoint or let you down!", a second bow that's even deeper at the waist than the first catches Tokuda by surprise. The journalist fully expects a third if he doesn't stop the boy before the conveyance of appreciation can continue.
"That's quite alright, Young Midoriya! You're completely welcome!", Tokuda waves his hands to signal for the kid to stop. When his freelancer friend picks up on the gesture, the journalist allows himself a relaxed huff of short laughter. But his amusement is brief; he sees the boy's hair is still damp before looking at the pictures on his desk again. "All I ask is that you keep using that zoom function of yours", he also notices the way Midoriya's cheeks color at that comment, "Be careful and don't worry about prioritizing your safety over snapping photos if things get too dangerous out there." The journalist stares at the boy a little more closely now, waiting for a response.
Midoriya stiffens, a stark contrast from his bent bout of bowing earlier. His head bobs up and down, nodding a little too hurriedly. A second later, he clears his throat to speak softly and says a simple confirmation, "Yes… Of course, sir…" Some small specks of water drip from the curls of his hair as he hangs his head, making him appear almost rather ashamed, but nevertheless it's as much of a satisfying agreement to the freelancer terms & conditions that Tokuda is going to get.
"Then we're all done here", the journalist dismisses the kid as he slumps into the cushioning of his chair. But that doesn't mean he's fully taken his eye off of the peculiar photographer either. He doesn't miss the way that the boy jumps when he says, "See you the next time that you decide to swing by", or the nervous way Midoriya shuffles from his seat to the door after that. He waits until the kid completely leaves the room before having another look at the kid's photos. There's something more spectacularly special about them now than there was before.
He ducks under a fence of bright yellow barrier tape, brushing it away with the back of his hand to pass through without having to crouch completely. In the man's other hand is a styrofoam to-go cup full of black coffee, which he's grateful to have brought with him once he sees the scene that he's just stepped foot into. A plane, or what remains of it anyways, floats within Musutafu's harbor along with a bunch of rescue rafts and safety ships. This wasn't the way that the underground hero wanted to end his night. As if he wasn't overworked already, the bags beneath his eyes paying tribute to that fact. He scratches at his stubble as he contemplates turning around before he can be noticed by anyone; the thought crosses his mind to feign ignorance and act as though he never even saw this mess in the first place.
He took too long to make such a judgment call, even if it was a partial joke meant only to personally humor himself. Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi is already heading his way, left hand in the left pocket of a tan overcoat while the right hand does a half wave to flag the underground hero down. The investigator is looking rather run thin himself, no doubt having skipped a meal to get here sooner than the other officers or heroes; working late hours with unhealthy lifestyle habits is something the two have in common. "Eraserhead!", Tsukauchi cordially greets the underground hero with a brief bow of his head and a smidgen of a smile, "I'm glad that you could make it."
"That makes one of us", Eraserhead's quick retort isn't without charm; he returns the detective's gesture of greeting, nodding his head only a fraction. When his chin burrows into the warmth of the capture cloth wrapped around his neck like a scarf, the underground hero almost keeps it there. He instead draws heat from the coffee that he's carrying, "I don't suppose you called me out here for a reason less troublesome than that vigilante case you mentioned on the phone?", taking a good long sip like the beverage is alcoholic to brace himself for what he can already presume the answer to his question will be.
The detective's mouth makes a grim smile as he glances back at the plane in the harbor. When he turns his neck to face Eraserhead again, he lets his mouth straighten out. "I knew he'd get himself into something way over his head sooner or later", Tsukauchi clicks his tongue when referencing Spider-Man but doesn't convey any real displeasure when he adds, "Didn't even have time to write an analysis or to leave behind one of his cutesy calling cards…"
That makes the underground hero raise an eyebrow. "Calling card? Analysis?", he pries Tsukauchi for further details. Having dealt with vigilantes in the past, they tend to leave behind messes like this whole plane debacle, but Tsukauchi makes it sound as though this one is a tad bit more courteous. If his caffeinated cup of coffee wasn't enough to wake him up, this fresh information does the trick; though he does take another sip from the drink just to be safe.
Tsukauchi pulls a face, something slightly similar to a grimace but not quite. "Well… That's actually why I called you here…", he draws back with an added cringe to his expression when he sees Eraserhead's skewered stare, "Spider-Man's immature trademarks tipped me off that he might be–" The underground hero nearly burns his throat when swallowing a mouthful of coffee; he prays that the detective isn't about to say what he thinks the man is about to say. "-a bit on the young side…", Eraserhead would cry if his eyes weren't always so damned dry, "I was thinking that you'd have a good shot at getting through to him with your schooling background."
"You thought wrong", he curses U.A's rat of a principal for giving him a prestigious reputation as a teacher for Japan's top hero school. It's not like he dislikes kids, it's just that they're always so impractical; whatever hopes he had about Spider-Man earlier completely evaporate when he hears the vigilante might be a kid. It's bad enough that someone's out there illegally using their quirk without a license but for it to be a reckless youth that he'll have to reprimand is a whole other problematic matter.
"I'm being serious here", Tsukauchi does half an eyeroll before stepping closer to the man so they can speak at a lower level. "If he really is only a kid, then we need to make sure he doesn't get himself hurt thinking this thing is a game…" The detective's tone is as soft as his touch when he places a hand on the underground hero's shoulder. The contact is meant to convince Eraserhead but it winds up nearly having the opposite effect. Eraserhead pulls away.
If not for what Tsukauchi said, the effort to make things personal would have been futile. But the underground hero hangs his head, burdened with the weight of a painful memory when a friend of his died young due to the shortsightedness of not taking hero work seriously. It's a common mistake children make. They see heroes and think it's all about being flashy or cool. It's all power and fame without the responsibility to them. "I'll see what I can do", Eraserhead grumbles in an equally low voice but Tsukauchi hears him.
"Thanks", Tsukauchi's smile is somewhat sympathetic as he stuffs each of his hands in his coat pockets. Only somewhat though. "In the meantime, I'll focus on finding the villain behind this whole bomb business…" The detective has it hard himself with catching criminals as opposed to stopping vigilantes. Especially when he has to deal with one capable of such destruction, a digital trail in their wake that becomes untraceable when anyone attempts to follow it. "This 'Screwball' character is still out there too", Tsukauchi tries not to think about the villain crossing paths with Spider-Man a second time but he knows such a situation is bound to happen in this line of work.
Izuku kicks off his shoes at the door, as is customary in the Midoriya household. However, the boy feels as though he should be kicking himself instead when thinking about his failure to capture Screwball. She had him play right into her trap, making a game out of endangering people's lives, and he just went along with it all. The stream she posted has already been clipped and reposted everywhere, highlighting his oversight as heroism just because he stopped a bomb or two. Little do they know, he thinks, that the villain is still out there and more than likely to strike again. He figures it's all his fault. That if he had confronted her directly somehow that maybe she'd be locked up behind bars already.
He feels the yen from the check that he cashed in his pocket with a pat, and it feels oh-so very-heavy. Izuku starts to wonder if he was being vain in pursuit of fame with his performance for Screwball's stream while simultaneously snapping pictures of himself to sell; since when did he start prioritizing power over his responsibility to do good with his quirk, he wonders. Whatever guilt there was before has now only doubled. It's not his place to be a vigilante in the first place; he hasn't proven himself worthy of being a hero by getting a license – to make it about himself instead of doing it to save lives would just be the cherry on top.
But… Then he thinks about how he inspired Screwball's viewers to ban together and help by evacuating potential bomb sites. He did that just through action as Spider-Man and not words. And if it weren't for Spider-Man, there would have been nobody to stop that plane from crashing completely. He stares down at his hand, the one capable of forming a fist that can smash down a wall or that's able to flex his fingers in order to cling and climb. He wasn't born with a quirk. He was given this one. It's a gift as much as it is a curse. Spider-Man stays because Spider-Man is needed, he decides. So long as he has the power, he also has that as a responsibility.
And while on the subject of responsibility… Izuku peers around the quoin of the kitchen entrance to see his mother going over a pile of bills. The poor woman has a hand clasping the side of her head as she leans against the table, stress oozing from her downtrodden demeanor. She hadn't even noticed her son come in through the door. She's too absorbed by her bank statement to be aware of anything other than her financial problems currently. Izuku's heart aches for her, weighing heavily in his chest; the yen in his pocket is just as laden, feeling as though it'll tear straight through the material of his pants. He grabs the money with the same spider power infused hand he was staring at a mere moment ago.
Izuku clears his throat, stomping his feet a few times to feign footsteps; he watches as his mom scrambles to hide the bills she has out when hearing him. His intent was solely to let her know he's home so that he doesn't scare her, not to let her succeed in keeping the bills a secret, so he heads into the kitchen without waiting for her to finish. "I'm back!", he forces a smile at first but it becomes a natural one when he sees the woman who raised him, "And I'm ready to tell you why I was in such a rush earlier!"
Inko stands, making an attempt to conceal the bills with her body. It's harder to do so when her son steps closer and closer. "Izuku!", she nervously checks to see if the papers within his eyeline give anything away about their money problems before covering them with a hand that she feigns as a means to prop herself up against the table, "Now's not really a good time. Sorry, sweetheart."
"On the contrary–", Izuku pulls a wad of yen out from his pocket to proudly present what his smile turned grin is all about, "-now is the best time!" The money lands beside the bills when he gives it a light toss. "I picked up a photography gig", the boy sheepishly shrugs as his mother glances between him and what he brought home, "I figured it could help with paying for things around here since.. Ya know, since dad's not able to help financially anymore.."
"Oh, Izuku, honey… My sweet baby boy", Inko wastes no time embracing her son in a mama bear's bigger than just big kind of bear hug. Izuku feels his mom shaking in his arms, he can tell it's taking all that she has to resist breaking down into tears, and that makes him have a hard time fighting back the waterworks by extension. She holds him closely, shaking her head. She sniffles but stays strong as she starts to say, "You didn't have to go and do that for me … It's not your responsibility–"
"You're wrong!", Izuku's outburst surprises her so that she stops short. Especially since his shout IS emotional. Izuku doesn't bother hiding or suppressing the tears that are starting to trickle out now. "You ARE my responsibility", his voice wobbles with his body as he cries but he still manages to find a firmness to his tone in order to show his resolve as he replies, "It is a man's responsibility to take care of the people that he loves before himself."
Inko's eyes expand, stretching wider than her gaping mouth. When the initial wave of disbelief passes, then comes a forewash of tears. She shakes her head again, unable to shake the feelings overcoming her no matter how much she does or tries. "Did.. Did your father tell you that?", the woman stares at the face of her son and starts to see how much he's grown; even with water welling up in her eyes to the point of blurring her vision, Inko can still see clearly how much Izuku looks like Hisashi.
Izuku nods, albeit shakily. "He…", the boy gets choked up on his words before swallowing and trying again, "He told me a lot of things that I'll keep with me for the rest of my life…"
Inko coughs on her chuckle until it becomes a light laughter. The tears in her eyes aren't so sad anymore, no, they are now rather fondly filled. "Your father always did have a way with words", she smiles when reflecting on memories of the man that she married, "That was a big part of what convinced me to give him a chance when he first asked me out on a date", she finds herself laughing yet again, "That and his silly sense of humor…"
Izuku can't help but smile and laugh along with her. "It was hard to figure out whether what he was saying was wise or nonsense sometimes", the boy agrees that his father did have quite a way with words. When the man worked overseas to support them financially, their conversations on the phone were significantly improved by Hisashi's skillset in speaking.
"Sometimes I think you inherited that trait of his", Inko is unable to resist teasing Izuku with a poke to his ribs for extra effect. The boy squeals before breaking out into harder laughter, which only prompts his mother to do the same.
The two continue cackling like goofballs, with tears still in their eyes while they do. It's not until they're catching their breath that the laughing comes to a close. Izuku wipes at his face with the back of his hand. In doing so, it's almost like he smudges his smile. The boy slowly settles down, turning somewhat somber. He opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then reopens it again to say, "I… I miss him…"
Inko's smile wavers, falling into a forlorn form. She sighs as she blinks back the threat of more tears to replace what has dried. "Me too..", her voice cracks and so does her son's heart when he hears it. She sees him regretting saying anything and reaches out to place a hand on his head to stop him from doing so, "But I've still got you – my little provider – my personal hero."
Izuku looks at the yen on the table and then back at his mother. He almost tells her the way that he got the money. Right then and there. But thinks better of it when considering part of that story involves him landing a plane. He hugs her to hide his face, unable to school whatever expression overcomes it. Izuku knows the risks he's taking by being Spider-Man. He's not some naive kid thrill seeking as a vigilante. So he also knows how much his mother would worry for him. Truth be told … He worries too sometimes … That one of these days, he might not come home to her, and that'll be when and how she finds out about him.
Manami Aiba reclines within the comfort of her home, scrolling through a collection of comments on Screwball's latest stream with her mouse. Until… She hears a not-so-familiar noise coming from her doorbell. The woman jumps up from her seat, surprised by the startling sound. Her heart pounds in her chest when she thinks that it may be the police; her head swivels to check the monitor that displays a code she developed for the sole purpose of leading them down a cyber rabbit hole in the event that they try tracing her IP address. When seeing that her system is still functioning properly, she allows herself to discard any concerns about cops at her doorstep. And yet, there's still the question as to just who the hell could be paying her a visit…
Slowly. Cautiously. Anxiously. The woman tiptoes to her door. Manami suddenly doesn't feel like the internet personality she usually depicts herself as. All of that bravado Screwball shows to her subscribers is all but nonexistent currently. Manami never gets any visitors. NEVER. Not even from her own family. The woman, to say the least, is a bit of a shut-in. She hasn't ever even had a proper interaction with her neighbors. Manami reaches for her doorknob like it's a hot iron that'll bite her with scalding hot metallic pointy teeth. It may as well. When her tiny hand grabs the knob, she nearly pulls it back, shocked by how cold the metal is.
When finally having worked up enough courage to do so, Manami opens the door to greet whoever is on the other side of it. She certainly isn't expecting to find a very tall and very handsome man. He smiles at her, handlebar mustache and well kept beard shifting with the uplift of his cheeks. She marvels at his refined appearance. It's an extravagant one that she's all too familiar with. Dressed head to toe in a pinstriped suit, a cane in one gloved hand while the other is barehanded while sweeping through his already slicked back hair – he is a gentleman in all manner and meaning of the word.
Manami recognizes him immediately, but her mouth refuses to function while it hangs open as though having lost a few screws to its hinges. Her cheeks turn as bright a red as her hair. She's unable to do anything but stare. It's hard to believe what's happening. Part of her thinks she's hallucinating him. Another side to the woman wonders if she's dreaming. All of those theories could be tested if her body weren't in a state of petrification and she were just to reach out and try touching him. As it turns out, there's no need. He bows down to her height, taking her hand in his; she wants to squeal with excitement because of how well her hand fits in his but she still can't find her voice. Then he does the unthinkable and applies a bushy lipped kiss to her hand. She just might faint.
The charming character pulls his lips away from her knuckles to use his mouth as a means to introduce himself, despite her already knowing exactly who he is, "My dear lady… I am The Gentle Criminal – and I would like to propose a collaboration with the darling Screwball", the internet villain's biggest fan delights in hearing that she'll get a shot at being maybe more than just a fan now.
AUTHOR NOTES
So Chapter One didn't have as much an explosive start as this chapter nearly did (SpideyDeku isn't the only one who can do puns! Remember I'M the one who writes them in the first place!) but I am pleased by the positive responses even if they are few.
To a brave Guest user who wasn't afraid that I might bite them if they left a review (Izuku is the only one getting bitten around here) here is my response to your response! Which funnily enough, has to do with a question pertaining to Izuku's being bitten! While I'm still deciding on if I'll ever fully explore his origins, I can say at the very least that Izuku got his powers/'quirk' in this story some time before the summer started - let's say around the same time that he would have met All Might to begin training for OFA, except that he went on a field trip to meet a special spider instead.
And to Racan who was also courageous enough to comment, I want to give you a big thank you for the kind words! It's always motivating to get reviews like yours!
That being said, I hope the story is still to everyone's liking and will just as hopefully see you in the next chapter!
-Courtesy of your friendly neighborhood author!