Chapter 12
Tired
[After Izuku's trial]
Izuku sat in the back of the police van, his wrists bound tightly in Quirk-suppressing cuffs. Around him, three heavily armed officers maintained a vigilant watch, their advanced tactical rifles held at the ready. The van's movements were erratic, lurching unpredictably over bumps and potholes, forcing the passengers to shift involuntarily with each jolt.
He studied the officers in silence, his sharp green eyes flicking between them. Their caution amused him more than it should have. To deploy a unit like this for him? It was almost flattering. Japan wasn't as militarized as nations like China or the United States, but its Special Response Task Force was nothing to scoff at. It was a legacy of the Civil War. That bloody conflict had reshaped the country in countless ways, and this elite division was just one of its enduring "gifts."
The court trial earlier had gone as he'd predicted. His sentencing was lenient, considering the circumstances. After all, the ones he'd killed weren't innocent, they were monsters, the worst kind of criminals. He hadn't spilled the blood of innocents, and that distinction had worked in his favor.
But that didn't mean he was getting off lightly. The court had sentenced him to ten years in one of Japan's most secure prisons. Frankly, Izuku was surprised it wasn't more. Considering the sheer number of lives he'd taken, twenty years or even a one-way ticket to Tartarus would've made more sense. He had killed a lot of people, after all.
The van's abrupt screech brought his musings to a halt. He looked toward the front, expecting they'd stopped at a red light or maybe hit some road obstruction. But the answer came faster than anticipated.
The rear doors of the van slammed open with a forceful clang, the sudden noise drawing Izuku's attention immediately. His eyes widened at the sight of the unexpected visitor. "Yuki?!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with confusion. "What are you doing here?"
Yukimiru, the Vice President of the Hero Public Safety Commission, stood there, his sharp suit immaculate as always. He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he raised his thumb and gestured behind him with casual authority.
Without hesitation, the armed officers guarding Izuku filed out of the van. Not a single word was exchanged as they exited in perfect formation, their movements crisp and synchronized. Izuku watched them leave, his shock quickly morphing into burning curiosity. What the hell was going on?
"What the hell is going on?" Izuku demanded, his voice sharp with confusion.
Yukimiru climbed into the van with practiced ease, his movements as precise as they were graceful. He settled into the seat directly across from Izuku, his piercing gaze locked onto the child. Without a word, he reached forward, grabbed Izuku's restrained hands, and began tapping buttons on the cuffs. After a series of precise clicks, the cuffs released with a quiet hiss.
"You're being let go," Yukimiru said, his tone calm and calculated, betraying no hint of emotion.
Izuku blinked, momentarily dumbfounded. "Let go?" he echoed, his voice quieter now. "What do you mean, let go? I was sentenced to ten years in prison for my crimes."
Yukimiru leaned back slightly, his expression unchanging, his unrelenting stare cutting through Izuku like a blade. "I am extremely sorry for this ordeal," he replied, his voice unnervingly steady. "You were being framed by Night Crawler. Don't worry. The real Night Crawler has been apprehended and is now securely in Tartarus where he belongs."
"What?" Izuku's breath hitched as he stared at Yukimiru in disbelief. "What do you mean the 'real' Night Crawler? I am the real Night Crawler."
Yukimiru's brow furrowed ever so slightly, as if the words Izuku had just spoken were the ravings of a madman. "What are you talking about, kid?" he said, shaking his head dismissively. "There's clearly been a mistake. We're sorry for the inconvenience."
Izuku's stomach twisted as he tried to process the man's words. This wasn't adding up. None of it was adding up.
Yukimiru stood and gently pulled Izuku to his feet, his movements almost fatherly. Without saying a word, he guided the shell-shocked boy out of the van, even offering a hand to help him down, as if Izuku were a fragile child.
"We're truly sorry about all of this," Yukimiru said, his unsettlingly calm voice softening with a touch of sorrow. "It must have been an awful experience, being accused like that."
Izuku froze mid-step, his gaze narrowing at the older man. "What the hell are you talking about?" he growled, frustration sharpening his tone. "What is all this? Is this another one of the President's games? Why are you doing this? Just let me pay for my sins like I want to!"
Yukimiru stopped and crouched slightly, his sharp eyes meeting Izuku's with a strange tenderness. His hand rested on Izuku's shoulder, steady but light. "Kid," he said gently, "I understand if you're scared—no—afraid that Night Crawler might come after you. But you don't need to worry. He's been dealt with. He won't hurt you."
Izuku's eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to grasp the man's words. "Huh? What the hell are you talking about, Yukimiru?" he burst out, shaking his head in exasperation. "I don't understand any of this!"
Yukimiru blinked, his composed demeanor momentarily breaking as surprise flickered across his face. "You… know my name?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Izuku's frown deepened, confusion mingling with irritation. "Of course I know your name!" he exclaimed, his voice rising. "You're the one who trained me!"
Yukimiru stared at Izuku for a few moments, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small shake of his head, he spoke. "I don't know what you're talking about, kid. I've never trained anyone."
Izuku's stomach twisted. Something was wrong; terribly wrong. Yukimiru wasn't acting like himself. Was he lying? Or worse, had the President manipulated his memories as well?
"Yuki," Izuku began cautiously, his voice quiet but insistent. "Come on. Think. You taught me hand-to-hand combat. You showed me how to break down theories in physics and chemistry. Remember? You were the one who oversaw my training sessions with Master Yoshi."
For a split second, a flicker of doubt crossed Yukimiru's face. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same impenetrable mask. He frowned, his tone flat and detached. "I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated, his voice mechanical, like a stuck record.
He lifted a hand, gesturing toward a sleek black car parked a short distance away. "That vehicle will take you wherever you want to go. Tell the driver to take you home."
Before Izuku could respond, Yukimiru turned on his heel and walked away without so much as a backward glance. He climbed into another car, its engine humming softly as it pulled away, leaving Izuku standing alone.
Izuku glanced to his right, only to find that the police van had vanished, along with all the officers. He turned slowly, scanning his surroundings, only to confirm what he already suspected. He was alone.
The car Yukimiru had pointed out stood a short distance away, its backseat door ajar. The vehicle idled in silence, waiting for him. Izuku squinted into the distance, realizing with a sinking feeling that he was in the middle of nowhere.
With a resigned sigh, he made his way to the car. The open door seemed almost inviting, but it still felt wrong. Warily, Izuku leaned inside, his eyes widening when they landed on two large cartons sitting neatly on the backseat. Without hesitation, he climbed in and tugged one of the lids off, his heart racing.
Inside were his belongings. Clothes, books, and other personal items—all packed carefully. He rummaged through them, his fingers shaking slightly. It was as if someone had plucked his life out of his room and dropped it here, in this strange place, for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom.
"Where to, sir?"
The calm voice startled him. Izuku's head snapped up, his gaze locking onto the driver. The man was watching him through the rear view mirror, his expression patient but unreadable.
"What the hell is going on?" Izuku murmured under his breath, his confusion mounting with every passing second.
"Izuku?" Nemuri's voice cracked, her tone heavy with a mix of surprise and sorrow as she stared at the boy. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
Before her stood Izuku, his frame hunched in exhaustion. Behind him were two worn-out cartons. He looked like someone who had been through hell and back, a survivor of a battle no one else could see. His hair was an unruly mess, sticking out in odd directions, and the clothes he wore—likely the ones provided by the authorities—were rumpled and stained. His usually bright, determined eyes were dull and hollow, devoid of their familiar spark.
"Hey..." Izuku greeted weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nemuri blinked rapidly, brushing away her tears as she stepped aside. "Come in first," she said, her voice soft yet firm.
Izuku moved as if on autopilot, bending slightly to reach for his cartons. But before he could lift them, Nemuri placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, sweetie, you just go inside. I'll take care of these," she insisted.
He hesitated for a moment, his green eyes flickering with a fleeting hint of gratitude. With a shaky nod, he straightened up and shuffled past her into the apartment.
Nemuri crouched to pick up the cartons, her brows furrowing as she realized how light they were. She didn't want to dwell on what that might mean, so she tightened her grip and nudged the door closed with her foot, locking the outside world away.
As she carried the cartons further inside, she noticed Izuku standing stiffly just outside the living room doorway, his shoulders hunched like a child afraid to step out of line.
"Why don't you go in and sit on the couch, sweetie?" she said, her voice warm and coaxing. "I'll put these in the guest room for you."
For a moment, he looked as though he might argue, but then he gave a small nod and shuffled into the living room. Nemuri watched him for a moment, her heart aching at how out of place he seemed even in the safety of her home. With a soft sigh, she adjusted the cartons in her arms and walked toward the guest room. Once inside, she carefully set the cartons down on the floor beside the bed, taking a moment to ensure they were out of the way.
With the room prepared, she headed back toward the living room. There, she found Izuku sitting on the couch, his posture rigid and unnatural. He wasn't slouched, but it was clear that his stillness was born of discomfort rather than relaxation.
"Sweetie," Nemuri called softly, her voice carrying the kind of warmth reserved for someone fragile. "Would you like some hot chocolate?"
Izuku didn't respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was faint, barely above a whisper. "I... I would like to sleep. I feel tired."
"Of course," Nemuri replied gently, stepping closer and holding out a hand to help him up. "Come on."
Izuku rose without protest, allowing her to guide him toward the guest room. The bed inside was already made, as it always was. Nemuri kept it ready for emergencies, when one of her fellow heroes needed a safe place to crash after a grueling mission or long night.
Izuku climbed onto the bed silently, his movements sluggish and heavy with exhaustion. Nemuri pulled the blanket up over him, tucking it around his shoulders with care.
"I'm sorry for intruding like this," Izuku murmured, his tone soft and full of guilt. His eyes, dim and weary, avoided her gaze.
"Shh," Nemuri hushed him, brushing a hand over his messy green hair in a soothing gesture. "You're not intruding, Izuku. You're safe here, okay? Get some rest."
"Can you stay with me tonight?" Izuku's voice was so quiet, so vulnerable, that it felt like a dagger piercing Nemuri's heart. His words carried the weight of a thousand unshed tears, his unspoken pain filling the room. "I just don't want to be alone."
Nemuri hesitated for the briefest moment, then gave him a soft smile, her heart aching for the boy before her. "Sure," she said, her tone gentle.
Izuku scooted back on the bed, making space for her. Nemuri slid under the blanket, careful to keep her movements slow and unthreatening. She barely had time to settle before she felt his small hands wrap around her torso, clinging to her like a frightened child seeking refuge from a nightmare.
"Comfortable?" she asked softly, resting her head on the pillow they now shared.
Izuku gave a small, wordless nod, his face pressed against her chest. Nemuri's expression softened as she began to draw slow, soothing circles on the crown of his head. His hair was soft beneath her fingertips, a detail that made her ache even more for the broken boy in her arms.
"Ms. Nemuri," Izuku whispered, his voice trembling.
"Yes?"
"You won't betray me, right?"
The question hit her like a bolt of lightning. Nemuri tightened her embrace, her voice steady and resolute as she answered. "Of course not, sweetie. Never."
There was a pause, a beat of silence where the only sound was the rhythmic hum of their breathing. Then, so quietly that she almost didn't hear it, he said, "Thank you for being there for me, Ms. Nemuri."
Nemuri blinked, her breath catching in her throat. The words caught her completely off guard. She felt a lump rise in her throat, her emotions swirling too wildly to form a response.
So, she let her actions speak instead. Gently, she leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to his crown. It was a silent promise, one she hoped he would feel in his heart—that she was there for him, that he wasn't alone anymore.
Nemuri continued drawing soothing circles on his head. Neither of them noticed when the other fell asleep. But for the first time in many years, both found peace. Together, in each other's arms, they shared a night of solace and a rare, restful sleep.
[The next morning...]
Izuku stirred in his sleep, the comforting warmth of the blanket cocooning his body. His eyes fluttered open, taking in the colorful ceiling above, a familiar sight that momentarily disoriented him. Blinking several times to chase away the fog of slumber, he instinctively glanced to his side. The empty space where Nemuri had been told him she'd woken up earlier.
She's probably already busy with something, Izuku thought, exhaling deeply as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His gaze wandered around the room, tracing its familiar contours. He had been here before, but his last visit hadn't exactly been peaceful. The memories made his stomach churn.
He sat still, shoulders slumped, as a torrent of frustration began to bubble within him. The HPSC President's face loomed large in his mind, her manipulative smirk an unwelcome specter. His hands balled up the edges of the blanket, shaking with the barely-contained force of his grip.
Why could she not leave him alone? Why did she always have to meddle?
Izuku's jaw tightened as the bitter truth settled over him. He had been naive, thinking he could slip free from her intricate web. Every time he believed he'd found a way out, she revealed the extent of her influence, an influence that stretched far beyond anything he had anticipated.
The realization gnawed at him. He'd been played again, and this time, it felt even more suffocating. Foolish. How could he have thought, even for a moment, that he could outmaneuver someone like her?
Izuku's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed intently on the wall as his thoughts churned. What gnawed at him most wasn't just the President's interference, it was Yukimiru's behavior last night. The man had been distant, almost unrecognizable. It felt as though Yukimiru didn't even know him anymore.
Had the President tampered with Yukimiru's memories, the same way she had twisted his? Or was this simply Yukimiru being… Yukimiru? After all the time Izuku had spent caught in their games, he couldn't decide which scenario seemed more plausible. Neither option sat well with him.
Shaking off his thoughts, he tossed the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Standing, he stretched his arms high above his head, feeling the stiffness in his muscles ease slightly.
His attention shifted to the neatly folded clothes at the foot of the bed; a plain T-shirt and matching pants, crisply pressed. Nemuri must've placed them there, always a step ahead in her quiet way of helping.
Picking up the T-shirt, Izuku felt a flicker of irritation. It was one of the shirts the President had chosen for him. Across the chest was All Might's beaming face, larger than life, with his signature tagline, "Plus Ultra!" emblazoned in bold letters.
Izuku's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at it. The symbol of hope and strength he'd once idolized now felt like a bitter reminder of how much control the President still wielded over his life.
The President always left him tangled in confusion. Her actions were a constant contradiction; ruthless and cold one moment, then warm and maternal the next. Izuku had no doubts about her skill in faking emotions; she was a master manipulator, after all. But then…
Why did some of those emotions feel so real?
He thought back to the night before last. For the briefest moment, he had caught a flash of sadness in her eyes. It was subtle, fleeting, and utterly disarming. Could that have been genuine? Or was it just another layer of her calculated performance?
Izuku shook his head, forcing his thoughts away from her. She always found a way to occupy his mind, and he hated it. Turning his attention back to the present, he stripped off the clothes the police had given him before his trial. Exhaustion had claimed him before he could bother changing last night, and now the stiff, uncomfortable fabric seemed to mock him.
The garments pooled at his feet as he grabbed the new clothes Nemuri had left for him. The T-shirt slid on easily, the cotton soft against his skin. He adjusted it, smoothing out the wrinkles, before bending to scoop up the discarded clothing. He would deal with them later.
Walking toward the door, Izuku hesitated just before reaching it. Nemuri would be waiting, and she'd have questions. He knew her well enough to expect that. But what could he say? What should he say?
His hand hovered over the doorknob as his thoughts churned. Lying wouldn't work, she'd see through it immediately. The truth, though? That might open a door he wasn't ready to walk through yet.
Izuku leaned against the door, his forehead lightly touching the cold surface as his thoughts spiraled. He knew exactly where Nemuri's questions would lead. She'd want to know how he had ended up here, and that path would inevitably bring the President into the conversation.
And once the President came up, the floodgates would open. Izuku would have to explain her role in his childhood, the way she had shaped him, twisted him, and her connection to his time as a vigilante. But that wasn't the part that truly worried him. No, what gnawed at him was the uncertainty of what the President might have done to safeguard her secrets.
The President was a meticulous woman, a master of strategy. If she had gone to such lengths to manipulate him, she wouldn't have overlooked the possibility of him exposing her. Izuku wouldn't put it past her to have set up some kind of safeguard, a warning system to ensure her involvement never came to light.
She had told him she wouldn't kill him, and he believed her. But that didn't mean she wouldn't find other ways to ensure his silence. Ways that didn't involve death but could still leave scars, physical or otherwise.
A part of him, the reckless part that had grown accustomed to living on the edge, was curious. What had she done to him? What strings had she tied around him, unseen and unbreakable? He couldn't deny the urge to pull at those strings, to find the answers, even if it meant unraveling himself in the process.
Izuku sighed, straightening his posture. If Nemuri asked him about his past, he decided he wouldn't hold back. He would tell her the truth; about the President, about his childhood, about everything. Whatever precautions the President had taken, he would face them. He had survived this long, and maybe, just maybe, he could survive her wrath too.
Gripping the doorknob, Izuku steeled himself. If Nemuri wanted answers, he'd give them to her. What happened after that? He'd let fate decide.
His resolve firm, Izuku opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Almost immediately, the mouthwatering aroma of katsudon filled his senses, drawing him forward like a siren's call. The scent was so comforting, so familiar, that for a moment he forgot all his troubles. His feet carried him toward the living room, and as he entered, he saw Nemuri moving about in the kitchen.
She had changed into a red cardigan, her usual vibrant energy subdued but present. Her purple hair was tied up in a high ponytail, swaying slightly as she focused on the meal in front of her. A soft smile graced her face as she worked, her movements fluid and precise. She was softly humming a song, making the scene melodious as well.
Nemuri looked up as soon as she sensed him enter, her expression brightening instantly. "Ah, Izuku. You're awake. Good morning," she greeted warmly.
"Good morning," Izuku replied, his voice tinged with shyness. The memory of their last shared breakfast lingered in his mind; a meal that had ended with him snapping at her, rejecting her hospitality in a moment of misplaced distrust.
"Take a seat, Izuku," Nemuri said, gesturing toward the dining table. "I'll bring breakfast over in just a minute."
Izuku nodded quietly and made his way to the table, sliding into a chair. He watched her work, his gaze following her methodical movements as she plated the food. The care she put into even the simplest task was evident, and it tugged at something deep inside him.
"I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper.
Nemuri paused for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her eyes softened, the cheerful mask replaced by something more genuine. "You're not causing me trouble, Izuku," she said gently, turning back to the stove. "You don't need to apologize for anything."
The words hit him harder than he expected, and he sat there in silence, unsure how to respond. For now, he could only watch as she continued to cook, the comforting scent of katsudon filling the air and easing the weight on his chest.
A faint blush dusted Izuku's cheeks as he lowered his gaze, letting the quiet moments pass in comfortable silence while Nemuri finished her work. Soon, she approached the dining table, carefully balancing two steaming bowls of katsudon. She placed one in front of him and the other on the opposite side, her warm smile never faltering.
"Your favorite, right?" she asked, her voice carrying an affectionate lilt.
Izuku nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at the bowl. The sight of the dish stirred something deep inside him, a mix of nostalgia and gratitude. How long had it been since someone had prepared a meal for him with such care? Even longer, perhaps, since he'd shared a breakfast with someone else.
His mind supplied a memory: three months ago, when Nemuri had brought him back to her home after finding him broken and defeated.
"Thank you for the food," he murmured, bowing his head slightly in prayer before picking up his chopsticks.
The moment he took the first bite, Izuku froze. The flavor was overwhelming in the best way, a perfect balance of savory and sweet. He chewed slowly, his eyes squinting as he savored every nuance of the dish.
Nemuri giggled softly, resting her chin in her hand as she watched his reaction. "Like it that much?" she teased, her voice full of amusement. "Don't worry. There's more where that came from. Eat as much as you want."
"It's so delicious," Izuku moaned, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Nemuri chuckled, her smile widening. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'll take that as a win."
Izuku continued eating, the warmth of the meal spreading through him, easing some of the tension that had taken root in his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to just be—to enjoy the food, the company, and the fleeting sense of normalcy Nemuri had created for him.
Izuku polished off two more servings of katsudon, the warmth of the meal filling him in more ways than one. Nemuri didn't seem to mind his appetite, in fact, she looked pleased. Each time his bowl emptied, she filled it again without hesitation, a gentle smile never leaving her face as she watched him eat.
When they had both finished, Nemuri gathered the bowls and chopsticks, her movements as graceful as ever. "You can go watch some television if you want," she said lightly, heading toward the kitchen to wash up.
Izuku hesitated, his gaze following her retreating figure. "Ms. Nemuri," he called, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
She paused mid-step and turned slightly, her expression calm and curious. "Yes?"
"About last night..." Izuku began, his words faltering as he tried to find the right way to continue.
Nemuri cut in gently, her voice warm and reassuring. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She gave him a kind smile. Though curiosity gnawed at her, especially about his trial, she didn't want to push him into reliving painful memories.
But Izuku shook his head, determination firming his voice. "No, I want to tell you," he said, the words spilling out with conviction. "After everything you've done for me… I think you deserve to know." His hands clenched into fists on his lap, and he nodded, though his movements were shaky.
Nemuri's expression softened, her voice barely above a whisper. "Izuku..."
She placed the dishes in the sink but didn't turn away, giving him her full attention. Nemuri waited, silent and patient, as Izuku gathered himself to share the truth.
He inhaled shakily, trying to steady himself for what he knew would be difficult. His fingers clenched tightly against his knees as he began. "The one who freed me last night," he said, his voice trembling but desperate, "is also the one who's been... manipulating me. For so long."
Nemuri froze, her hands stilling on the edge of the counter. Her wide eyes fixed on him, horror creeping into her expression.
"She's been feeding me lies," Izuku continued, the words spilling out like poison he had to expel. "Lies to mold me into... into a weapon. A weapon she could use however she wanted."
Nemuri took a small step toward him. Izuku's breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling erratically. He pushed himself to keep talking, but it felt like his throat was tightening with every word.
"She..." He faltered, his vision blurring as his head throbbed painfully. The effort to speak felt insurmountable, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. "Her name... I don't know her name," he managed, his voice growing weaker. "But she..."
The searing pain in his skull intensified, and he felt something wet dribble down his nose. He ignored it, willing his body to cooperate as he struggled to finish.
"Izuku!" Nemuri's voice snapped through the air, cutting through his haze of pain and confusion.
His eyes refocused, zeroing in on Nemuri. She had stepped closer, her left hand raised in a calming gesture. Her expression was one of deep concern, her usual confidence replaced by worry.
"Stop," she said softly but firmly. "I need you to calm down."
"Huh. Why?" Izuku asked blinking in confusion. The fluid dribbling down his nose had intensified. He went to touch it, but—
"Don't touch it!" Nemuri exclaimed sharply, her voice trembling with urgency. "Breathe, Izuku. Take deep breaths."
Izuku froze, his hands hovering near his face, panic rising in his chest. Nemuri rushed to one corner of the kitchen, yanking a cloth from a drawer before darting to the sink. She turned the faucet on, wetting the fabric as quickly as she could.
"What… What's going on?" Izuku asked, his voice laced with fear as he watched her move with purpose.
Nemuri was back at his side in moments, kneeling before him at the dining table. "I need you to calm down, okay?" she said, her voice softer now, though the worry in her eyes was evident. She gently pressed the damp cloth to his nose, her free hand steadying his trembling shoulder.
"Huh?" Izuku mumbled, his words muffled by the cloth.
Nemuri pulled the cloth away to check, and her stomach twisted when she saw the bright red stain soaking through. Izuku's eyes widened in horror as he stared at the blood. The sight of it snapped something in his mind, a horrible realization dawning.
"Of course," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Before Nemuri could ask what he meant, the bleeding intensified. Blood began pouring from his nose, then his eyes and ears, in a horrifying cascade.
"IZUKU!" Nemuri screamed, her composure shattering as she caught him just before he could collapse.
His body sagged against her, his weight heavy in her arms. "No, no, no, stay with me!" she begged, her voice choked with panic. But it was too late. Izuku's world tilted, his vision fading into blackness.
The last thing he saw was Nemuri's tearful, frantic face before unconsciousness claimed him.
Chapter End
Next Chapter: What has the President done to Izuku? Find out in the next chapter...Or maybe not...