Chapter 6
The Night comes Crawling
Fire.
Flames everywhere.
The world around him dissolved into an inferno of flames licking at every corner of his vision. The acrid stench of smoke and burning debris choked his lungs, each labored breath a stark reminder of his helplessness.
Paralyzed, he couldn't muster the strength to move, to escape the all-consuming blaze that threatened to engulf him whole.
Just as the flames seemed poised to claim him, a sudden tug at his midriff yanked him backward, away from the fiery abyss. Relief washed over him, a fleeting sense of gratitude towards the unseen savior who had intervened, sparing him from the merciless flames.
Hopefully, this night, like all the others before it, would soon succumb to dawn's light...
But then, the sea of flames parted, revealing a wooden door that seemed to materialize out of the smoke. The door... Its familiarity gnawed at him, a nagging sense of déjà vu.
Where had he seen it before?
In an instant, visions burst forth, a blood-soaked tableau unfolding before his mind's eye: A small, outstretched hand, a desperate plea for aid. Driven by instinct, he strained to reach out, to save the unknown figure, but his efforts were in vain. The distance between them grew, an unbridgeable chasm.
"NO! STOP! WE HAVE TO HELP! WE CAN'T JUST LEAVE THEM!" His voice, laced with desperation, echoed through the void as he struggled against the grip of his rescuer. "PLEASE, STOP! LET ME HELP THEM; THEY NEED US!" The words tumbled out, a heartfelt plea to an unresponsive presence.
Frozen in anguish, his gaze remained fixed on the door as it receded into the distance, his heart heavy with the weight of his powerlessness.
And then, a face materialized, a macabre grin spreading across blood-smeared lips. The mouth moved, the words barely audible, yet etched in his mind forever: "Sa... m... O..." The echo lingered, haunting him.
"Save my son."
"NO!"
Izuku's anguished cry pierced the night air as he jolted upright, his back ramrod straight, and his chest heaving with ragged breaths. Sweat-drenched and disoriented, he frantically scanned his surroundings, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, struggling to anchor himself in reality. The residual fog of the nightmare clung to his mind, slowing his recognition of the familiar space. It wasn't until his gaze lingered on the recognizable contours of his room that the panic's grip began to loosen.
With a heavy sigh, Izuku's face crumpled into his palms, and he began to take deliberate, deep breaths, attempting to calm the tempest within. His fingers instinctively rose to rub the tears that had welled up in his eyes thanks to the nightmare's unyielding grip on his emotions. "These dreams... they're suffocating me," he whispered, the despair barely contained, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet making contact with the cool, smooth marble floor.
For several minutes, Izuku remained frozen, allowing the stillness of the atmosphere to envelop him, gradually slowing his racing heart. His gaze drifted leftward, towards the bedside table, where a familiar, bittersweet sight awaited. His mother's photograph, once a comforting presence, now lay flipped, facing away from him – a poignant reminder of the unspoken guilt that had been his constant companion since the Lebanon mission. The weight of his inability to meet her gaze, to face the memories they shared, threatened to overwhelm him once more.
The tranquil morning atmosphere was shattered by the jarring ring of the alarm on the bedside table. Izuku silenced it with a swift press of the off button, only to be reminded by the clock's glow that it was merely 5:00 AM. The night's tally: a meager two hours of sleep. He couldn't help but worry about the toll this would take on his health. Lately, bed had transformed from a sanctuary to a battleground, where the more he lay down, the more his mind surrendered to the onslaught of depressing thoughts.
With a weary sigh, Izuku heaved himself out of bed and trudged towards the bathroom. The morning routine offered a fleeting sense of normalcy: brushing his teeth, a quick, invigorating shower, and then, the aroma of freshly prepared breakfast wafted from the dining table, courtesy of the mysterious chef. As always, the first bite was a masterclass in flavors.
Post-breakfast, Izuku washed the dishes with methodical efficiency, ensuring each item was returned to its designated spot. Back in his room, he began to dress for the day, opting for a laid-back ensemble: a white T-shirt emblazoned with "DUDE" in vibrant red, paired with green cotton full pants, and, of course, his trusty sunglasses. A few swift strokes of the comb, and he swung his backpack over his right shoulder, poised to depart. Just as he reached for the door, the HPSC-issue phone buzzed to life in his pocket.
Izuku retrieved the phone, his eyes scanning the message from the President. The brevity was characteristic.
"Meet me at the Office at 10."
No elaboration, just a curt summons. Though the reason was left unspoken, Izuku's instincts hinted at a mission update being the likely agenda. Tucking the phone away, he exited his apartment, his first stop being the cemetery, a place where solace and reflection awaited.
"We are going to the beach." The President announced, her gaze drifting out the expansive window behind her desk, where the morning light danced across the cityscape. Her hands, clasped behind her back, added a touch of nonchalance to her posture, belied only by the intensity of her focus. The vibrant yellow sundress with intricate floral patterns seemed almost out of place in the otherwise austere office setting, yet somehow, it looked good on her.
Did she always look this young or was he noticing it just now?
Izuku's eyes widened in bewilderment, his voice barely above a whisper, "What...?" Disbelief and confusion wrestled for dominance on his face, as if questioning the very sanity of the statement. Had he misheard, or was this some form of surreal test?
The President's repetition, calm and matter-of-fact, only served to deepen the furrow on Izuku's brow. "We're going to the beach."
A frown of misunderstanding appeared on the poor green-haired boy. "Why...?"
The President half-turned, her eyes locking onto his, a fleeting glimmer of amusement dancing in their depths, a stark contrast to the Emotional neutrality of her face. "Why, Izuku, do people typically visit the beach?"
Izuku's internal sarcasm screamed, 'Certainly not to discuss mission details!' Aloud, he opted for a more diplomatic response, tinged with uncertainty, "To... relax?" The words hung in the air, a tentative offering.
A nod of approval from the President, her expression unreadable, was accompanied by a dry, "Good. It appears your fundamental cognitive functions remain intact."
Izuku's skepticism boiled over, his finger extended in a somewhat accusatory gesture, "You... want to go to the beach to... relax?" The incredulity in his voice was palpable, as if he dared her to confirm the absurdity of it all.
The President pivoted fully towards him, her shrug a masterclass in nonchalance. "I, too, am a human being. I, too, appreciate unwinding from time to time." Her words, laced with a hint of deadpan humor, seemed to dare Izuku to challenge the statement further.
Izuku's retort, tinged with sarcasm, betrayed a hint of amusement. "Uh-huh. Ordinary people go to beaches on weekends." He raised an eyebrow, emphasizing the absurdity. "Today's Wednesday. Who, in their right mind, visits a beach on a Wednesday, smack in the middle of the workweek?"
The President's response, devoid of emotional cues, left Izuku wondering if she was attempting to craft a joke or merely stating facts. "How... thoughtful of you to consider us normal, Izuku." Her tone, a perfect blend of neutrality and subtle wit, made it impossible to discern her intent. "Chop, chop, Izuku. We are leaving in thirty minutes."
Precisely one and half hour after their departure, Izuku stepped off the local bus at the Beach Gate, the President closely following, having settled the bus fare with a discreet exchange of funds. The lengthy commute – half an hour by train, followed by another by bus – now seemed inconsequential, overshadowed by the surrealism of his current situation: at the beach, in the company of the enigmatic HPSC President.
The President's gentle prompt, "Do you wanna stay here all day?" came without her breaking stride, her gaze fixed ahead.
Izuku, jolted into motion, hastened to catch up, his eyes briefly locked on the pavement before refocusing on the President's unhurried form. The backpack on his shoulder, once a comfortable weight, now seemed to have gained an inexplicable heft.
At the ticket counter, the President efficiently procured two tickets, introducing herself with a practiced ease, "And I'm his aunt, of course". The moniker, often employed in public encounters, left Izuku pondering, not for the first time, if she derived amusement from this ruse or simply found comfort in the persona.
With tickets in hand, the duo resumed their leisurely pace, approaching the beach. It was then, without forewarning, that the President posed an inquiry, her voice tinged with an uncharacteristic hint of curiosity, "What are your impressions of the beach?"
Izuku's blink was almost imperceptible, his glance flicking towards the President, searching for any telltale signs of emotion behind her stoic façade. "To be honest, I've never really thought about it," he replied, his tone carefully calibrated to mask any undercurrent of disappointment, "This is my first time visiting a beach." His gaze, steadfast and unwavering, met the President's, as he awaited her response.
"Had you ever considered visiting here prior to today?" the President inquired, her gaze drifting momentarily towards the horizon before refocusing on Izuku.
"A few times," Izuku replied, his response measured, as if recalling a long-held desire. "I've always been drawn to the ocean." The mere thought sent a thrill through him, though he tried to maintain a nonchalant demeanor.
"I guess I have chosen the correct destination." The President's response while nonchalant yet held a little pleasure.
Izuku turned his head in curiosity. "What made you say that?" he asked, his 10-year-old curiosity getting the better of him.
"I had initially planned a trip to the mountains," the President revealed, her expression unyielding as ever. "However, I opted for the beach instead, thinking it might be a more... appealing destination."
As they finally reached the beach, Izuku's eyes widened in awe, taking in the breathtaking expanse of the ocean. The gentle ocean breeze caressed his face, prompting him to close his eyes and savor the sensation. The distinctive, salty aroma of the ocean enveloped him, a stark contrast to the city's familiar scents. Without his sandals (which he had carelessly discarded to the side), the warm sand beneath his bare feet felt surreal. He couldn't resist wiggling his toes, delighting in the tactile experience.
The President's voice broke the spell, her gaze directed towards a point to her right. "Shall we change? I spot the changing rooms just over there."
Nemuri Kayama lounged in an outdoor café chair, her gaze drifting aimlessly into the distance, a vacant expression softening her usually enigmatic features. She had opted to wear a white oversized cotton sweater, its V-neckline slipping tantalizingly down, exposing a glimpse of her luscious, milky cleavage. The gentle swell of her breasts threatened to spill over the edges, teasing all who dared to glance her way.
Unlike her nocturnal Hero patrols, where she donned the signature Kamina glasses, Nemuri now wore a pair of nerdy, black-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of her nose. This unexpected choice somehow accentuated the sharp angles of her face, contrasting intriguingly with the usually glossy, purple tresses now mussed and lacking their customary nighttime sheen. A small, alluring black mole on the right side of her lip, typically concealed during her Hero duties, lay bare for all to admire. Her long, toned legs were showcased to perfection by a pair of high heels.
As she savored the anonymity of her civilian disguise, Nemuri couldn't help but marvel at the human mind's remarkable ability to not match patterns in the simplest form. The general public, so accustomed to the iconic Hero costumes, seemed to suffer from a form of cognitive dissonance, rendering them oblivious to the very same individuals when dressed in everyday attire. This phenomenon proved to be a blessing in disguise, allowing her to roam the streets during the day with a relative sense of peace, unencumbered by the incessant demands of fans clamoring for photographs or autographs or sometimes something more intimate.
To further deflect inquisitive gazes, Nemuri had mastered the art of transformation, donning the persona of a bespectacled, nerdy lady – a deliberate 180-degree departure from her slutty, Heroic alter ego. This dichotomous approach, honed over the years, had proven remarkably effective in bolstering her anonymity. Few Heroes could lay claim to such clandestine freedom, a privilege not afforded to the likes of All Might.
A pang of sympathy stirred within her as she pondered the Number One Hero's plight. All Might's chiseled, hulking physique, though undeniably ravishing and irresistibly fuckable, defied concealment. In a nation of modestly built men, his towering figure stood out like a beacon, an unscalable barrier to anonymity. Nemuri's gaze drifted, her thoughts lingering on the captivating All Might, a towering Adonis, forever trapped in the spotlight's unforgiving glare.
Blending into the crowd was a breeze for Heroes like herself. Those without distinctive features could effortlessly camouflage themselves with a simple makeover. Her current disguise was a prime example – with her nerdy glasses and understated attire, she had become just another face in the sea of people. On occasion, she felt grateful for not having any singular, attention-grabbing traits that might make her stand out in public. Of course, her voluptuous assets – ample breasts and a curvaceous butt, for which she was decidedly thankful – did draw admiring glances, but conveniently, these gazes tended to focus on either her chest or her posterior, leaving her face and identity obscured.
In her right hand, she cradled a book titled "The Beauty and Dangers of Motherhood", its author an actress who had also taken on the role of a mother – to be precise, a step-mother. This actress, a solitary figure with no intentions of marrying due to her unconventional lifestyle, had nonetheless adopted a child, a boy, to alleviate her deep-seated loneliness. Nemuri found the first part of the book, with its poignant documentation of life's solitary struggles, to be particularly well-written. The second part, where the author chronicled her son's adoption and the transformative impact he had on her life, had also piqued her interest. She was delighted to have purchased the book, especially after stumbling upon glowing reviews online. As she turned the pages, her left hand grasped a dainty, white tea cup, deceptively filled with rich, aromatic coffee.
A sudden shift in the light, as a shadow fell across her, alerted Nemuri to the presence of someone beside her. She lifted her gaze, and her countenance instantly brightened as her eyes met those of the one person she had been eagerly anticipating a conversation with. "Sosaki! You're finally here," she exclaimed, her voice infused with delight.
Nemuri, unapologetically indulging her inner voyeur, drank in the sight of Sosaki, her eyes roaming over the other woman's captivating form with unbridled appreciation. Sosaki's ensemble was a masterclass in understated sensuality: a brown dress with a tantalizingly short skirt, adorned with intricate patterns that danced across the fabric. Her feet, clad in humble, non-heeled open-toed shoes, seemed almost demure in contrast to Nemuri's own high heels. The crowning touch was a delicate floral hairband, nestled within Sosaki's short, brown tresses, while subtle eyeliner accentuated the allure of her eyes.
"Of course, I came." Sosaki Shino, or popular for her Heroine persona - Mandalay - smiled wryly at Nemuri's effusive welcome, settling into the chair opposite her. As her gaze swept the table, it alighted upon the book in Nemuri's hand, prompting a faint grimace. "You're actually reading... that book?" she asked, a hint of incredulity creeping into her voice, her brow furrowed in distaste.
Nemuri's attention shifted from Sosaki to the book's cover, a look of mild curiosity on her face as she responded, "Yeah, I'm just at chapter 10. What's with the concern?"
Sosaki nodded sagely, her expression a mask of knowing restraint. "You know I wouldn't dare give away spoilers. Just... keep reading, and all will be revealed." Her eyes sparkled with mischief, leaving Nemuri's curiosity piqued.
Nemuri's gaze narrowed, her voice laced with trepidation. "I don't like where this is going... Does someone die in the story?" Her words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation.
Sosaki's enigmatic smile only deepened, as she deftly sidestepped the inquiry. "You will see...," she murmured, her eyes darting toward the approaching waitress, as if summoning an unlikely savior. "Perfect timing," she seemed to imply, as she turned to the waitress. "I'll have an iced tea, please."
The waitress nodded, her expression a picture of efficient politeness, before departing as swiftly as she had arrived.
As the brief interruption dissipated, Sosaki redirected her attention to Nemuri, who was now studying the book with renewed curiosity, her brow furrowed in concern. "So, tell me, how have you been lately? Have your Hero duties been treating you kindly?" Sosaki's voice was infused with genuine interest, her eyes locking onto Nemuri's with warmth.
Nemuri's gaze drifted upward, her eyes disconnecting from the book as she met Sosaki's inquiring stare. A hint of intrigue danced across her features, foreshadowing a more complex response. "Yeah, about that... This week has been downright weird."
Izuku emerged from the changing room, clad in a vibrant yellow short pant adorned with chibi All Might's faces, a playful touch that seemed out of place amidst the seriousness of his thoughts. As he strolled past the female changing room, his gaze was drawn to the vast expanse of the ocean, his eyes aglow with wonder and awe. He inhaled deeply, attempting to capture the essence of the sea's scent, the salty air filling his lungs.
A furrowed brow beset Izuku's face as he pondered the President's intentions behind this unexpected beach excursion. Throughout his five-year tenure at the HPSC, the President had consistently presented herself as a paragon of stoicism, leaving him perplexed by this uncharacteristic display of leisure.
A nagging feeling persisted, suggesting that this outing was, in fact, a veiled lesson – one that would likely prove as unorthodox as the President's previous teachings. Izuku's imagination ran wild with possibilities: was she planning to instruct him on the art of shark hunting or, perhaps, shark combat?
"Ah~ You're done. Good," the President's voice interrupted his reverie, her tone deceptively nonchalant.
As Izuku instinctively turned to face her, his eyes widened in shock, the balls almost threatening to shoot out of the eye sockets.
The President's audacious choice of swimwear was a jarring contrast to her usual composed demeanor: an extreme micro slingshot bikini that was, in essence, a masterful arrangement of delicate strings. The garment's scant design ensured that her luscious curves were tantalizingly showcased, with only the most essential coverage. Two circular adornments, seamlessly integrated into the bikini's framework, discreetly veiled her nipples and areola, drawing the eye to the sumptuous expanse of her breasts.
The bikini's slender straps, akin to gossamer threads, cascaded down from her neck, converging at a delicate ring poised precisely on her navel, accentuating the toned, smooth skin of her midriff. A solitary, slightly thicker string – a elegant strand of white pearls – graciously draped down, artfully concealing her intimate contours. The overall ensemble was crowned by a large, elegant white hat, perched atop her head, and dark sunglasses, which subtly shrouded her eyes, adding an air of enigmatic allure.
"W-W-Wh-Wha-What the hell!" Izuku sputtered, his face a deep crimson as shock, embarrassment, and shyness wrestled for dominance. "W-W-Why a-a-are you wearing that?" His eyes darted about, as if seeking an escape from the spectacle before him.
The President's expression transformed into one of genuine perplexity. "What...?" she trailed off, her gaze drifting downward to take in her attire, the micro slingshot bikini that had ignited Izuku's consternation. "Isn't this what young people wear to beaches these days?" Her mind launched into a recollection of her previous day's excursion to a swimsuit boutique, where she had sought guidance on trending swimwear among the youth. The female shop attendant, she explained, had assured her that this particular swimsuit was all the rage.
For once, in a long time, the President's words were unvarnished truth. Unfortunately for Izuku, he had no way to discern this rare instance of sincerity.
"W-W-What do you mean by young people?" Izuku stammered, his eyes wide with incredulity as he fixed the President with a disbelieving stare. "No one wears something like that!" His tone conveyed the unspoken implication: certainly not someone of your stature, your age.
The President tilted her head, her expression a picture of genuine confusion, before she shrugged off the concern with a nonchalant air. "Oh well, what's done is done. Shall we enjoy the beach?"
"I ain't going with you like that!" Izuku protested vehemently, his arms crossed in a stubborn gesture of defiance.
The President's demeanor shifted, her stoic mask sliding back into place as she issued a warning laced with a hint of mirth. "You come with me, young man, or I'll pull your ears and drag you along."
"Nah-uh!" Izuku defied boldly, puffing his cheeks up and looking away.
In the end, the President's unspoken threat became a reality, as Izuku's persistent protests culminated in him being dragged by his ears, his feet scraping against the sand in reluctant accompaniment.
Nemuri's hands hovered merely inches apart, as if cradling an unspoken secret, her voice dripping with intrigue. "Suppose, hypothetically," she began, her words dripping with nervous undertones, "you stumble upon a mysterious figure.., slicing through the shadows, meting out justice to the criminals." Her gaze locked onto Sosaki's, her eyes burning with intense curiosity as she leaned forward, her elbows splayed on the table, her body arching in a tantalizing curve. "And, as fate would have it, you discover this enigmatic, moonlit avenger might, in fact, be a delicate, troubled kid, shattered by the cruel whims of fate."
Sosaki's eyes narrowed, her gaze slicing through Nemuri's veil of hypotheticals, her voice laced with skepticism. "Tell me, Nemuri, are you, by any chance, talking about the Night Crawler?"
Nemuri reclined, her eyes darting back and forth, engaging Sosaki in a nervous game of cat and mouse. "No...?" A coy smile played on her lips, as she feigned innocence.
Sosaki's hands slipped beneath her bust. Her eyes sparkled with knowing amusement. "Let me get this straight, Nemuri. You encountered the infamous vigilante, rumored to be wreaking havoc around the town, only to discover this dark, brooding anti-hero is, in truth, a tender, wounded child. And, for some reason, you've sought ME out, of all people, for counsel on how to handle this delicate, damaged soul."
Nemuri's shoulders rose in a hesitant shrug, her smile faltering. "Maybe...?" The word hung in the air.
Sosaki exhaled, her sigh whispering across the table as she gazed to her right, the sunlight dancing in her hair. She savored the chilled kiss of her iced tea, the condensation on the glass a testament to the refreshing escape it offered from the sweltering heat – and the intricacies of their conversation. "Understandable why you did not approach Eraser Head for counsel. Aizawa, dear as he is, would inevitably tell you to hand Night Crawler over to the authorities, wouldn't he? Let them navigate the legal labyrinth."
Nemuri felt her eyes flutter downwards, her focus drifting to the tepid remnants in her cup, the tea's warmth – much like her lead on the vigilante – having long since dissipated. She toyed with the cup's edge, a subtle display of her growing unease. "Exactly. But with you, Sosaki... Our vibes align in a really good way, you know. I was hoping you could give me some insight on how to approach this delicate case."
Sosaki's lips curled into a dejected, yet endearing pout, her voice laced with a hint of melancholy. "Unfotunately, I'm afraid I've never tangled with a case like Night Crawler. The truth is, the more I ponder a response, the more I fear any advice I offer might boomerang, placing you in an even more precarious situation." As she spoke, her fingers absently traced the rim of her glass, the gentle motion a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within.
Nemuri swayed her head in a gentle shake, her hopeful eyes locking onto Sosaki's with an unspoken plea. "Honestly, I didn't invite you here seeking advice," she confessed, her lips compressing into a thoughtful pout. "I wanted to understand... how you would navigate this situation. What would you do if you were in my place?"
Sosaki's gaze drifted upwards, merging with the sky's azure canvas, as she savored another sip from her cup, the pause a precursor to her contemplative tone. "If I were in your place, huh? I'd try to find the reason behind his actions. A soul as young as his, that is if you're right in the first place, doesn't take such actions without scars or promises driving him. Once the veil of mystery lifts, I would let my heart decide the next step."
Nemuri spoke, her voice woving a cautious melody, each word carefully selected. "And what if you find out that the Vigilante is indeed a child being forced to act the way he is?"
Sosaki's eyes, like the sky before a summer storm, darkened with empathy, a profound sadness etched in their depths. "Then, without hesitation, I would extend a hand to help him in any way possible for me."
As the weight of Sosaki's words settled, Nemuri's scrutiny, akin to a gentle caress, bathed Sosaki's face for a fleeting moment before she exhaled, the sigh a poignant blend of relief and solidarity. "Thank goodness... I'm not the only one who came up with that answer."
Afternoon
Izuku laid face down on a towel, his body language showing his exhaustion, as groans of frustration escaped his lips. His damp hair clung to his scalp, and grains of sand adhered to his skin, a reminder of his recent, unwanted aquatic excursion.
"Cease your groaning, Izuku," the President's voice cut through the serene beach atmosphere, her tone firm yet measured. "It's unbecoming of one striving to become the Number One Hero." She sat beside him, her presence marked by the subtle rustling of her long, white shirt – its translucent fabric billowing gently in the coastal breeze. Her legs were drawn up, folded against her chest, as her gaze drifted towards the horizon, where the sun's descent painted the sky with warm, golden hues.
Izuku's frustration continued to simmer, his voice laced with annoyance. "I wouldn't be groaning if you hadn't forced me into the water! I don't know how to swim, goddammit!" The words, though muffled by the towel, conveyed the depth of his discontent.
The President's response was characteristically nonchalant. "At the very least, you now possess a fundamental survival skill." Her eyes, however, betrayed a hint of a deeper intent, a spark of amusing that Izuku had grown accustomed to not deciphering.
As Izuku shifted, his face partially emerging from the towel, his voice took on a low, inquiring tone. "Why did you bring me here, anyway?" His brow furrowed, skepticism etched on his features.
The President's gaze slid towards him, her eyes narrowing slightly at the corners. "Why do you ask, Izuku?" Her tone was tinged with genuine curiosity, a rare deviation from her typically stoic demeanor.
Izuku's frown deepened, his brows knitting in perplexity. "You always have a reason. Is this another of your lessons?" His voice trailed off, a hint of wariness creeping into his words.
The President's eyes, for an instant, gleamed with a knowing amusement – a fleeting echo of the same glint that appeared when she entrusted him with more... delicate, high-stakes assignments. "Well, as you've noted, you did acquire a new skill... There's that, indeed."
Izuku burrowed his head into the towel, his frustration palpable. Why did the President always have to shroud her intentions in mysteries?
"The lesson, Izuku..." The President's voice was a soothing balm, imbued with wise serenity. "To truly learn, one must understand the value of repose. Overexertion has never yielded positive outcomes; it merely saps your strength, causing performance to wane significantly."
Izuku's head remained submerged, his voice muffled as he sought clarification. "So, I've been brought here to... unwind? Because I was overworking?"
The President nodded, her expression transforming into that of a concerned parent as she turned to face him. "Indeed, I've observed your relentless work ethic. Tell me, Izuku, when did you last enjoy a restful night's sleep?"
As the ocean's waves serenaded him with a gentle, lapping melody, Izuku's gaze drifted towards the horizon. His response was barely audible, a whisper above silence. "It's been a while." The unspoken truth, however, was that his travail wasn't solely rooted in workload, but in the haunting nightmares that plagued him. He chose to keep this to himself, deeming it futile to broach the subject.
"See, Izuku, how embracing life's simple joys can have a profound impact." The President's gaze returned to the ocean, her eyes mirroring the undulating waves as if in harmonious resonance. "Tonight, go take a reprieve. Indulge in the pleasures typical of someone your age. Allow yourself to unwind, to let go. It will be a balm to your weary soul."
Izuku's response was a subdued, noncommittal murmur. "Yeah…"
The ensuing hour was a serene, wordless interlude, with both figures basking in the symphony of waves and the warm, golden glow of the setting sun. At one point, Izuku's eyelids surrendered to the tranquility, and he drifted into a much-needed slumber. The President's attention was drawn to him, and a gentle, maternal smile spread across her face. With a tender touch, she lightly stroked his hair, her fingers weaving a soothing melody.
As the moment of departure arrived, the President scooped Izuku up in her arms, cradling him with care. Her hair, now animating with a life of its own, extended like supple whips, gathering their belongings and suspending them in mid-air. As they floated effortlessly beside her, she began a leisurely stroll towards the exit. A warm, nurturing thought occurred to her. Perhaps a comforting, homemade katsudon would be the perfect evening accompaniment for the slumbering young boy.
Abandoned district,
Outskirts of Tokyo...
The night was quiet, a cool breeze whispering through the trees. A lone truck rumbled along a dirt road, emerging into a moonlit clearing. At its center stood a warehouse, its imposing silhouette a stark contrast to the serene forest.
The truck ground to a halt. A man leapt from the passenger side, striding up to the warehouse's massive steel door. He pounded his fist against the cold metal and bellowed, "OPEN UP!"
With a groan, the door began to rise. The truck inched forward, coming to rest in the warehouse's heart before falling silent. The driver hopped out, joining his companion.
Inside, cardboard boxes of unknown contents littered the floor. A rusted metal platform, some 30 feet above, ran the length of the tall walls. Opposite the entrance, centered in the far wall, stood a solitary door.
It swung open, revealing a hulking figure. The man who emerged was easily seven feet tall, his face a stoic mask etched with scars. He wore a camouflage jacket and brown pants, his hands encased in gloves. Gripping the platform's railing, he surveyed the newcomers before descending to the warehouse floor.
"How was business?" the giant rumbled, his lackeys gathering around.
One of the newcomers swallowed hard. "Not good, boss."
The boss's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why?" His voice was low, a growl of barely contained fury.
"Uh... The agents in town are all afraid, boss," the other lackey replied, shrinking under the intense gaze.
"Why?" The boss's voice grated like steel on stone.
"B-Because of the Night Crawler, boss," the lackey stammered.
Silence fell, heavy and oppressive.
"Boss...?"
In a blur of motion, the boss backhanded one of the lackeys. The man went flying, crashing into a stack of cartons. Tubes filled with multi-colored liquids spilled out, their clattering echoing through the cavernous space.
"Unbelievable," the boss snarled. "Am I really feeding fucking PUSSIES?" His voice rose to a roar. "Are you so incompetent that you can't remind them of our RUTHLESSNESS? Is our brutality really no match for this new SHIT?!"
A brave – or foolish – lackey stepped forward. "B-But boss, the Night Crawler... he kills. We've already lost eleven of our brothers. Thankfully, he hasn't found one of the agents who deals with us yet."
"Then start fucking killing people who refuse!" the boss bellowed, spittle flying. "If Night Crawler kills one, kill ten in return!" He took a deep breath as a shadow appeared on his contemplative face. "I think a message needs to be sent to this 'vigilante'." He muttered in a sneer.
"What s-should we d-do boss?" One of his lackeys asked stuttering from fear.
"Spread the word around," The boss ordered his lackeys. "Bring the Night Crawler to me at the warehouse in Sector 7." A cruel smile stretched on the boss' face. "It is time someone taught this 'vigilante' his rightful place."
The next day...
Night Crawler's gaze, obscured by his mask, swept over the trio of thugs scattered on the ground, their unconscious forms a reminder of his swift intervention. Mere minutes prior, their sinister intentions had been foiled as they attempted to drag a terrified girl into the darkness. Thankfully he had managed to hear the faint sounds of struggle which had guided him to the scene, allowing him to dismantle their sinister plans before they could unfold. The girl had escaped in the midst of the battle. Hopefully, she was alright and had found someone.
Though his interrogation of one of the thugs, kept briefly conscious for the purpose, had yielded nothing substantive regarding the gang's whereabouts, it merely reinforced the familiar pattern of ignorance among the lower rungs – merely pawns, aware only of their immediate dealers.
A gloomy introspection settled over Night Crawler as he pondered, 'Perhaps it's time to change my approach to target the dealers directly.' The frustration was palpable; each lead, thus far, had culminated in a dead end, a relentless series of disappointments clouding his pursuit.
With a deliberate motion, Night Crawler crouched, retrieving a discarded gun from the alley floor. He aimed the gun down the narrow passageway, his voice, laced with a robotic detachment, echoing through the night, "Come out, whoever you are."
Footsteps echoed through the alley, drawing nearer. The figure's emergence from the shadows was met with an unflinching stature from Night Crawler. As moonlight danced across the scene, it momentarily framed the newcomer – a lean physique shrouded in a baggie hoodie, the hood obscuring and shadowing their face.
The feminine voice pierced the night, a melodic timbre accompanying the monotone words, "You are truly impressive, Night Crawler."
"Who are you?" The query hung in the air, a controlled tone tempering wariness. Brief silence ensued, punctuated solely by distant nightlife.
Dispatched by an unknown entity, words were delivered in an eerily flat tone, sparking a flurry of speculation. "I have been sent by the boss to escort you. He wishes an audience with you."
This revelation prompted inquiry. Was this the gang's leader, the very individual he was hunting? The question lingered, prompting another, "Where am I to meet him?"
"Follow me, and I will guide you to the designated location," the figure said dispassionately.
A contemplative pause preceded the gradual lowering of the gun. The metal glinted faintly in the moon's pale light. "Lead the way," were the affirming words from Night Crawler, now laced with resolve and anticipation.
Abandoned district, Tokyo...
"Abandoned" hardly seemed to suffice for the desolate Tokyo district, its ravaged landscape a haunting reminder of the nation's turbulent past. The van, Night Crawler's mode of transport, navigated through the deserted streets, guided by the enigmatic figure beside him. This once-thriving business hub, now a mere shadow of its former self, had played host to Heroes seeking refuge during the Civil War. The subsequent brutal onslaught and bombing by villains, wielding both quirks and illicit wartime armaments, had left an indelible scar. The war's cessation had not brought renewal, only abandonment, as if the area's memories were too agonizing to confront.
As Night Crawler traversed the sectors with his mysterious escort, the visceral remnants of the war served as a stark reminder of the deep-seated animosity towards villains. The conflict had unmasked the malevolent intentions of these adversaries, threatening the very fabric of society and igniting an unquenchable thirst for retribution among the populace. The heavy toll on the Hero community, with countless lives lost, had further stoked the flames of hatred, rendering the emotional wounds of the war still palpably raw.
The van's journey ended abruptly before a colossal warehouse, its façade bearing the scars of neglect. A quick glance at the nearby location board revealed to Night Crawler that they had arrived in sector 7. The structure loomed large, its abandoned state seeming almost deliberate. With a purposeful stride, the unknown figure stepped forward, her fist connecting with the warehouse's metallic door in a sharp, resounding bang.
"The Night comes crawling," she declared, her voice clear in the stillness. Night Crawler's instincts swiftly deciphered the announcement as a passcode, one so simplistic it bordered on the absurd.
The desolate area reverberated with the thud of machinery as the metallic door began its slow ascent, the entry point creaking open just wide enough to admit two. Without hesitation, the pair stepped across the threshold. No sooner had they done so than the door descended, its ominous closure sealing their exit.
A deep, gravelly voice filled the warehouse, its timbre like a rough, unyielding stone. "You're finally here. Good, good. Your punctuality has always been commendable when it suited you."
As the unknown figure halted at the warehouse's center, Night Crawler followed suit, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. In a wordless departure, she pivoted left and walked away, abandoning Night Crawler at the focal point of the warehouse. His keen senses took in the deliberate formation: figures stationed to his left, and right, their eyes converging on him with unyielding intensity.
A jarring sequence of sounds pierced the air: a dull thud, followed by a splashing noise, and then the rolling motion of something coming to an abrupt halt against Night Crawler's feet. His gaze dropped, and behind the mask, his eyes dilated in unmitigated horror.
At his feet lay the severed head of an aged man, unmistakably the same individual he had spared just the previous day. The face of the man had a horrified look etched on it, like he had seen something that had crushed his very soul.
A voice, devoid of emotion, cut through the silence. "That incompetent fool couldn't even fulfill his obligations." The rough, gravelly tone seemed to dismiss the man's very existence. "We had a symbiotic arrangement: I supplied the drugs, he peddled them, and in return, I claimed a modest sixty percent of his profits. But then, Night Crawler, you interfered, disrupting the delicate balance."
Night Crawler remained statue-still, his mask a fortuitous barrier concealing the horror welling up in his eyes. The man's words drifted into his consciousness with the detachment of a narrator's monologue.
"Your silver-tongued promises whispered deceitful solace into his ears," the man continued, his voice untroubled by the gravity of his words. "You fostered false hope, and that fool had the audacity to follow through. He refused to sell drugs. Now, behold the consequence." He pointed his hand at the severed head. "A life reduced to a mere severed head at your feet. Tell me, Night Crawler, does this vindictive triumph bring you pride? Does the destruction of a man's existence, orchestrated by your self-righteous whims, fill you with satisfaction?"
Astonishment washed over him as his gaze jerked upwards, eyes piercing through the material of his mask as if unobstructed. A shiver cascaded down his spine, widening his eyes in unmitigated horror. Perched atop a tangled nest of pipes, the last person he expected to see now claimed the role of gang leader: the man he had spared three years ago. Questions swirled in his mind like a maelstrom. Had the President been aware of this unexpected connection? Had she knowingly sent him into this confrontation, deliberately forcing him to confront his past?
Disdain dripped from the Boss's voice, slicing through the reverie. "Speechless, I see. Understandable, given the circumstances. Perhaps you've begun to realize the folly of your actions." Leaning forward, a sly smile spread across his face, illuminating the dim surroundings. "I'm a benevolent leader, and I can see you're just a child. I'll make you a proposition: a handsome sum to turn a blind eye to our operations and pursue other, less... complicated targets. What do you say? A fair offer, don't you think?"
The silence was finally broken by a low, even voice, posing a singular, pointed question. "What did you do to his daughter?"
Mocking laughter exploded from the Boss, echoing off the warehouse's walls. "His daughter?" he repeated, chuckling. "She's the one who delivered you to our doorstep. The old man really thought she was an angel. Oh, how wrong he was." The boss burst out into a maniacal laughter. "but no... Maya is merely a plaything, a vessel for our pleasure and a means to an end."
Rage was palpable as a single, incredulous word was forced out. "What?"
"Maya!" The Boss bellowed, his voice ringing out across the warehouse, summoning the subject of their conversation.
Heels clicked against the concrete floor as the unknown female, who had led him to this point, detached from the gang members and approached the boss. She positioned herself beside him, hands clasped obediently before her waist.
A curt command cut through the air. "Do it." The Boss's voice was laced with an unspoken threat, hinting at severe consequences for non-compliance.
Night Crawler's composure cracked, his words bursting forth in a loud, urgent plea. "You don't have to!" he exclaimed, attempting to deter the girl from taking any action against her will. "You don't have to do anything they tell you to! I promise I will save you from them! These bastards will be dead by tonight!"
The girl's actions had momentarily stalled during Night Crawler's outburst, but she swiftly resumed, her hand rising to the chain of her hoodie. Beside her, the Boss's mocking laughter erupted.
Amidst his laughter, the Boss hurled a scornful remark. "You're just as foolish as that father of hers!" His words were punctuated by chuckled mocking. "We're not coercing Maya into anything. Her actions are entirely voluntary." A heartless smirk twisted the Boss's face, as he revealed a cruel truth. "You see, Night Crawler, Maya is a whore who sells her body for money."
Night Crawler could only watch hopelessly as Maya pulled the hoodie's chain down completely and in one fluid motion, discarded it from her body, standing completely naked in the middle of the warehouse. Several chains dangled from her body making clinking sounds as they hit each other. There was a dog collar tied on her neck from which three chains fell down loosely their ends consisting of metal clamps two of which were clamped to her nipples and another was clamped to her clit. All across her body, several humiliating and degrading words like 'whore', 'slut', 'human cow', 'breeding sow' were tattooed. On her pelvis region was a tattoo of an arrow pointing to her womanhood with the word 'Breed Me' tattooed on the other end of the arrow.
"You don't know how funny it was when we showed that foolish father of hers just what kind of daughter he had." The Boss continued, his enjoyment palpable. "The way he completely broke down and kept yelling as my boys gangbanged her. We even spit on her face and dropped the money on her cum soaked body as she kept trying to collect the soaked notes. He probably died happy knowing how happy his daughter was." The Boss paused, the smirk on his face stretched even further. "What say, Night Crawler? Want to be part of our gang? Someone like you could be a really good member. You can earn money, and all the girls you want."
"That won't be necessary." Night Crawler's words came out in a whisper but it carried to every criminal in the warehouse. Just what kind of monsters was he dealing with? Was this the reality of this world? Was this how the world truly behaved? Why did such disgusting people exist here?
Night Crawler took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves. Then again, he should really not be surprised at this point. He had seen ever far more heinous crimes in Lebanon. A daughter selling herself to the very guys that her father had made a deal with for money for her education. Yeah that was just as hellish and sad as all those crimes.
Did he want to save Maya? In another world, he might have tried to. He might have tried to reach out with an understanding hand for her. But unfortunately, this was not that world and he wasn't someone who had grown up on ideals. He had seen first hand human cruelty and had himself dealt some too. No, Maya was far gone already. There was no saving a girl who would betray her own father like that.
The boss straightened, his gaze fixed on the vehicle. "And why's that?" he asked nonchalantly.
Silence stretched for a heartbeat before the voice replied, "Because tonight's a good night for a funeral."
In a blur of motion, the truck that was beside Night Crawler, was hurtled towards the Boss. The Boss pushed Maya away but stood his own ground. Metal met flesh with a sickening crunch as the vehicle slammed into him, pinning him against the far wall.
"BOSS!" The anguished cries of the lackeys filled the air. They turned, wide-eyed, to where the truck had been. Even Maya had yelled out in surprise. A goon had soon arrived and grabbed Maya before taking her to a cover.
Night Crawler's fingers cracked ominously. "Surrender your lives," he intoned, "or I'll claim them for you."
"YOU BASTARD!" A lackey roared, yanking a gun from his waistband. He opened fire on the vigilante, his comrades quickly following suit.
Seconds ticked by, and realization dawned. Night Crawler stood motionless, bullets suspended in the air several inches from his form.
"W-What?" A lackey stammered, his weapon clattering to the floor.
How was this possible? What kind of quirk allowed such impossible feats?
"Well, as you can see, your tricks are useless," the vigilante stated, his tone devoid of emotion. "You can still end your miserable lives here. Save me the trouble, if you will."
"AS IF! THE ONLY ONE DYING TODAY IS YOU!" A thug snatched up one of the scattered tubes. "WITH THIS, YOU DIE!" He plunged the needle into his arm, the others following suit in a desperate frenzy.
Night Crawler watched impassively as the thugs transformed into grotesque, inhuman figures. Lizard-men, dog-people, cat-creatures, and gorilla-hybrids emerged. Some sprouted elongated necks or hands. One unfortunate soul's face morphed into a snake-like appendage, tearing through his skin and killing him instantly.
The vigilante's stomach turned at the revolting scene. "So, this is what you've chosen," he muttered, assuming a fighting stance. "I apologize in advance – your deaths won't be pleasant."
The monstrous horde charged. Night Crawler moved with inhuman grace, dodging and weaving through the onslaught. He leapt over heads, backflipped away from attacks, and used their bodies as springboards.
Grabbing a chimpanzee-dog abomination, he hurled it into another creature. A kick sent another flying. When a crow-human hybrid attacked from behind, the vigilante ducked, seized its arm, and tore it from its socket. Gripping the creature's face, he crushed its beak before shattering its skull with a single, devastating punch. Blood sprayed, yet not a drop touched Night Crawler.
The brutal display only spurred the others on. The vigilante met them with merciless efficiency. Organs erupted from shattered ribcages. Heads exploded into crimson mist.
None were spared his wrath.
As the horde thinned to the final twenty, the unexpected happened. The truck, seemingly of its own volition, hurtled towards the preoccupied vigilante. Caught off-guard, Night Crawler took the full brunt of the impact. However, before the vehicle could slam him into a nearby pillar, Night Crawler had activated his quirk shielding himself from damage. But the pillar crumbled, burying him beneath an avalanche of debris.
"For fuck's sake!" The Boss snarled, surveying the carnage. His lackeys lay broken and mutilated, a display of the vigilante's ruthlessness and their own failure. "How pathetic are you lot? You can't even take out one fucking kid?!"
A gloved hand burst through the debris, followed by the vigilante clambering out, his armor caked in dust. "Still kicking, huh?" he rasped, chest heaving.
The Boss smirked. "Here to kill me? Sorry to disappoint, but that's not happening."
"Doesn't matter," the vigilante growled, descending the mountain of rubble. His neck cracked ominously. "You'll pay for what you've done to me and all those you have wronged."
Confusion flashed across the Boss's face. "Am I supposed to know you?"
"Yes," came the hoarse reply. "Don't worry. I'll enlighten you when I'm done."
The Boss stared for a moment before erupting into howling laughter. "I'll give you this, kid – you've got guts. Come on! Join me instead?"
The vigilante tilted his head as the Boss continued.
"Cars, money, girls, slaves – anything you want. Join me, live life to the fullest. However, you want" The Boss finished with a smirk, arms spread wide.
"I don't need to join you," the vigilante replied coldly. "Because you're dying tonight."
"HAHAHA!" The Boss bellowed. "Come then, boy. Let's see who emerges victorious."
The vigilante assumed a runner's stance, then exploded into motion. He appeared behind the Boss, fist connecting with the base of the criminal's spine. Despite enough force to shatter a rock, the Boss remained unmoved.
"Surprised?" The Boss mocked, glancing over his shoulder. He turned, presenting his stomach, patting it challengingly. "Care to try again?"
The vigilante retreated, putting distance between them.
"What? Giving up already?" The Boss taunted.
The vigilante cracked his neck, mind racing to understand the Boss's quirk. Behind his mask, he kept forcing his eyes to see through it and give him as much information as it could.
"Oh, to hell with it!" The Boss charged, fist flying towards the vigilante's face. It stopped inches away, blocked by an invisible force. The Boss's grin widened. "What an amazing quirk! What is it? A barrier?"
The vigilante hmphed, raising his right hand, he reared it back and cocked it into a fist. In a fluid motion, Night Crawler delivered a brutal punch at the Boss' stomach just like the Boss had wanted earlier.
The Boss was hurled across the warehouse like a ragdoll, slamming into the far wall. The vigilante did not want to let the Boss have even a second of rest. He pounced at him, aiming a flying kick at his prone target.
The kick connected, but much to the vigilante's surprise, the kick did not even leave a dent on the flesh. The Boss let out a smirk and grabbed the Vigilante's outstretched leg before he could distance himself. With ease, the Boss flung him sideways, smashing him against the wall he was leaning against. The force with which Night Crawler was smashed created a crater in the wall accompanied with cracks. The Boss then threw the vigilante away but the vigilante managed to gain his footing by flipping himself mid air and landing on his feet.
The Boss clambered to his feet, grinning. "Nice, isn't it? Unbelievable hardness – makes me safe from any harm."
The vigilante rose, voice laced with suspicion. "I don't remember you having that quirk when we last met."
"So, we HAVE met," the Boss mused. "Can't recall where. But you see, I had a rather embarrassing run-in with a woman who nearly killed me. Since then, I've been taking that drug daily. Seems to be paying off quite well, don't you think?"
The Vigilante snorted disgustingly moments before he and the Boss collided in a brutal dance. Fists flew, the Vigilante dodging with inhuman grace while the Boss shrugged off blows like raindrops. The invisible barrier thwarted the Boss's attacks, his fists stopping inches from their target. Unfortunately, every time Night Crawler had to attack, he had to drop his barrier momentarily.
In a cruel twist of fate, their simultaneous attacks betrayed the Vigilante's weakness. The Boss's superior reach allowed him to connect first, his fist shattering the Vigilante's defenses and connecting with his face in a brutal way before sending him crashing to the ground.
Before the Vigilante could recover, the Boss's iron grip closed around his throat, hoisting him skyward.
"HAHAHA!" The Boss's laughter echoed through the warehouse. "Your quirk's impressive, but you have to drop that barrier to attack, don't you? Lucky me, figuring that out."
What followed was a symphony of brutality. The Boss slammed the Vigilante repeatedly into the unforgiving concrete, each impact driving the air from his lungs. Grabbing a leg, the Boss thrashed him like a rag doll, blood spraying from the Vigilante's mouth.
Relentless, the Boss charged a pillar, using the Vigilante's body as a battering ram. The sickening crunch of breaking bones mingled with the crash of shattering concrete. One final swing sent the Vigilante's broken form skidding across the floor to land at the feet of the remaining thugs.
"See!" The Boss roared, stalking towards his fallen prey. "This is how you deal with upstarts!" He ground his heel into the Vigilante's back, eliciting a pained groan. "This is RUTHLESSNESS! This is where Night Crawler belongs – under our feet!"
Leaning close to the Vigilante's ears, the Boss's whisper dripped with mockery. "Had fun trying to kill me, boy? I thought you were going to end me."
Pain robbed the Vigilante of speech, his body a map of agony.
"It's a shame," the Boss continued, false sympathy coating his words. "But you're not the first to try. Your story ends here, Night Crawler. Enjoy what little time you have left with my idiots." He turned to his lackeys. "Do what you want with him, but make sure he's dead by dawn. Maya! You're with me. Don't wear clothes. I need to fuck you to fix my mood."
As the Boss strode away followed by a quiet and naked Maya, one lackey called out, "Where are you going, boss?"
"Nowhere," came the curt reply.
Left alone with twenty vicious thugs, the Vigilante struggled to crawl away. Their grins promised a slow, agonizing end.
"Oh, little Night Crawler~ Where do you think you're going?" One thug taunted as they closed in.
The Vigilante rolled onto his back, each breath a stabbing reminder of his injuries. Though his eyes were hidden, he could see them approaching all too clearly. He gritted his teeth, willing his battered body to respond. Pain clouded his thoughts, making it nearly impossible to focus on his quirk.
Time was running out. If he couldn't find a way to turn the tables, his story would end here – in blood and suffering.
Through his pain-induced haze, the Vigilante noticed something peculiar. Behind his mask, his eyes widened ever so slightly as an almost invisible smoke began to coalesce around them. The thugs, oblivious to the gathering fog, continued their menacing approach.
A realization struck him: this mist was invisible to the naked eye. Such a phenomenon could only be the result of a quirk – which meant heroes had arrived on the scene.
His heart raced, panic setting in. This was worse than death. Being discovered by heroes could shatter his future irreparably. The President might be able to save him, but he dared not risk finding out.
Desperately, he tried to move, to escape both his attackers and his would-be executors. But fate had one last cruel twist. The unmistakable scent of lavender wafted through the air, and his blood ran cold.
"Shit!" The expletive barely formed in his mind before consciousness slipped away, leaving him at the mercy of whoever had come to his rescue.
Midnight descended gracefully from the warehouse's glass skylight, her whip ensuring a soft landing. Her quirk had already neutralized the villains within – a demonstration of her infiltration and incapacitation expertise. Yet, despite her experience, the scene before her was unprecedented in its brutality.
Her eyes swept over the carnage, mutilated bodies sprawled in ever-expanding pools of crimson. The warehouse floor ran red, a grisly reminder of the unimaginable violence.
"What kind of monster..." she whispered, her voice trailing off.
Reinforcements were en route – other heroes and police she'd summoned. She'd face questions about her presence here at such an odd hour. She wasn't worried though. She could always say that she was here because she got a tip off from some drug dealer that some kind of deal would be made here.
In truth, she was in sector 6 indulging in her favorite past time during her Hero patrols. During slow nights she would find such empty locations where she could indulge in her exhibitionist kink. She would often shed her hero costume and enjoy the cool night air in her naked glory. To be honest, she was always naked in her Hero costume but having that mesh outfit on, always managed to irritate her skin. She wished she could be truly naked in her Hero costume but alas, that would make people lose interest in her very soon. Keeping them on edge and teasing them relentlessly was what she enjoyed. Being naked always managed to make her feel liberated and happy, and doing it in such an open place where anyone could walk in and see her made her feel extremely aroused.
But today as she was indulging in her kink, she had heard commotion coming from sector 7 causing her to hide herself, dress up in her Hero costume (much to her disappointment) and check up on what was going on. And imagine her surprise when she found a warehouse with an obvious fight going on in the inside.
As Midnight surveyed the warehouse, something caught her eye. A figure in black armor lay prone on the ground. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized – this was the vigilante everyone had been searching for so long.
"How lucky~" she murmured, rushing to the fallen figure. This could catapult her into the Top 10, erasing any doubt in the minds of the public. It was a goldmine amidst a field of coal.
Kneeling beside the vigilante, Midnight cradled the armored form. "I wonder how you look," she mused, carefully removing the mask. Her eyes widened in shock as she beheld the vigilante's true face.
He was a child as she had guessed, no more than ten or eleven. Baby fat still clung to his cheeks, framed by a mop of curly green hair with striking grey highlights. However, his cheeks were filled with injuries and wounds.
"W-What the hell happened to him," Midnight stammered, her gaze darting between the innocent face and the surrounding carnage. "Did HE do this? He looks too... pure for such brutality."
Her heart raced as she held the unconscious child. Two paths stretched before her: turn him in, securing her promotion and becoming even more popular, or... the alternative. Shielding him, which if found would likely cost her rank and some freedom.
But could she condemn a child to life in Tartarus? Even if he was responsible for this bloodbath and the string of vigilante killings, could she sentence one so young to a life without hope? If she were honest to herself, any Hero in their right minds would hand the child over to the authorities, for them to judge and deal with him.
But Midnight was hardly a Hero in her right mind. And not to mention, there was just something about the kid that did not seem to stand right with her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a constant nagging sensation told her that this little child was innocent and that he was being forced to act this way. And that small feeling was what stopped Midnight from making the easier decision immediately.
Minutes ticked by as Midnight wrestled with her conscience, the child's peaceful face a stark contrast to the horror surrounding them. Suddenly, Sosaki's words appeared in her mind.
"If I were in your place, huh? I'd try to find the reasons behind his actions."
She released a sigh as she finally reached a decision.
It would require courage. It might haunt her for the rest of her days. But she had to do this – for herself, and for her reputation...
Next Chapter: Sometimes, you only have to let go and take the swan dive...
Author's Post-Chapter Comment:
Does Midnight save Izuku or does she condemn him to a life in Tartarus? Find out next chapter.
Oh and Nemuri and Sosaki are friends in this chapter. Or are they more than just friends? Find out in later chapters, hehehe.
Why did Izuku lose to a no-name villain? Plot of course. Just kidding, lol. I will just tell my explanation before someone comes at me calling me a loser because a no-name guy defeated Izuku.
Reasons:
1. Izuku is a child, 10-years-old child!
2. Unlike Satoru Gojo, Izuku does not have the benefits of a clan and while the President trains him, she refuses to help him with his quirk because of reasons explained in the previous chapter. Throughout this story, he would figure out different aspects of Limitless, Cursed Energy and Six Eyes.
3. Izuku is not a fighter. He has never been. This story is about him becoming that fighter like in canon. That is why I am taking slow pacing to show his progression into the ruthless fighter he would become in the future. I am taking a show not tell approach for now. Later down the line, I will just tell and not show too much.
4. This is my fanfic and I want character development. You want some OP Izuku who gets an OP quirk and straight up bamboozles and defeats villains from the very beginning, go read some other story. There are many such stories on both AO3 and . I always believe in properly flashing out a character's abilities before making them too OP. Izuku is going to be OP though, not just yet. And where's the fun in giving him all of Gojo's powers from the very beginning. Let the boy discover them. That's more fun in my mind.