Well, I'm off work for the week, so I'm glad to get this chapter out to you all so (relatively) quick. Now I'm off to finish a chapter of my One Piece story a week early since I've got so much time on my hands. As such, you all teg a chapter that's almost twice the normal length. WOOO!

Gamelover41592: Thank you.

LEGOBRICK13: Yes, the first oversight is usually the worst.

maxperseus130: I hope this one is a little more entertaining.

Monkey D. Conan: You'll know by the end of the chapter. Things are indeed spiraling, but everything isn't hitting the fan quite yet. I don't plan for that until after a second Sports Festival at least.

Monster King: And the story continues.

Pirohiko-Baltazar: Yes, All Might is getting involved, against most advice he's getting. As for Ubisoft, they've been making a lot of questionable choices as of late. Mirage was a return to tradition after Odyssey and Valhalla, but Shadows seems to have diversity shoehorned in. Obvious politics are obvious, so I understand all the dissatisfaction with the trailer. I mean, we already had Freedom Cry and Liberation with the racism messages. I'd rather see a Yasuke-like character with a US Civil War era game, not one for Japan.

stevenpiskunov2: I plan on doing a timeskip of a few months to a year max at the end of this book. Given the speed of things here, I'd guess we're maybe halfway through?

Chapter 64:

Confrontation

If he were any other student with any other life with a note from almost any other student, Izuku would have thought he was waiting for a stereotypical love confession. Unfortunately, Izuku knew his life would never be that simple. Even before he joined the Brotherhood, his Quirklessness had long since dashed any hopes he may have had of some picturesque, romantic confession on the school roof.

Izuku lamented this loss of the ideal normality he'd never expected to have as the door behind him opened. The green-haired student turned, trying to read Jiro's body language as she shut the door to the (off-limits) rooftop.

"No one saw you come up?" she asked in way of greeting.

"I think I have a little more experience with that than you do," he answered. "Plus, I have Tsu to help cover for me."

It seemed he was always relying on Tsuyu. He needed to find a way to thank her properly and congratulate her for her promotion to Soldier over the weekend.

Jiro didn't reply while Izuku was thinking, her lips pursing into a thin line. She walked over, staring deep into his eyes as if searching for something, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Jiro," he blinked. "Why did you call me here?"

"Because I needed to confirm something," she responded, breaking their eye contact and stepping away. "You know."

"I know a lot of things." Izuku followed her with his eyes, watching as she sat against the low wall. Since the rooftop was technically off-limits, there were no benches or the like, leaving her to lean against concrete. Deciding it would be weird if he continued to stand, Izuku trudged over and sat a respectable distance away.

Silence stretched between them. Izuku had an inkling of why she'd slipped a note into his desk telling him to meet her here, but it wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss. Jiro, for her part, didn't seem to know how to start the conversation.

When the silence started to turn awkward, Izuku reached into his bag and pulled out his lunch. Lunch Rush's cooking was great and all, but his mom made katsudon last night. He wasn't going to let any of that go to waste.

"Really?" Jiro demanded, Izuku turning to look at her with a piece of pork hanging between his lips. "You're eating lunch?"

"Well…" Izuku slurped up the pork and swallowed. "I mean, it is lunch time. And we have our Heroics class this afternoon. And my mom made this."

"You have intimate knowledge about murders and conspiracies."

"Killers eat, too."

Jiro huffed, turning away. "I don't know how you can eat. I haven't had an appetite all weekend."

"Uh, why?" the boy asked, mentally kicking himself as soon as Jiro turned back to glare at him.

"Because of you, Midoriya," she hissed, pointing at him with one of her jacks. "You know who the Pricetag Killer is, don't you? It's one of your Assassin buddies."

Suddenly, Izuku didn't have so much of an appetite either. Still, he continued to eat, to have strength for their class and to project nonchalance if nothing else.

"Maybe I do," he said between bites. "Maybe I don't. I don't see how that's your business, Jiro."

"It's my business because you and Asui tried to blackmail me." Izuku tried to suppress a flinch and failed. "You're supposed to be a Hero student, Midoriya. The whole assassination thing was hard to swallow but Principal Nezu convinced me not to say anything, That war of yours is a two-way street or whatever. This— This is just straight murder! Civilians!"

"Criminals," Izuku corrected before he could stop himself.

"Then they should be given a trial and locked up! Midoriya, you know this is wrong! You have to convince them to stop!"

"…I can't do that, Jiro," the verdet sighed, his food settling in his stomach like a stone. "The Pricetag Killer has their list. It's been small fry so far, but only because the Heroes and big names are more well-guarded. A tactic the Assassins have used throughout the centuries is to hit the lower ranks first to make the higher-ups paranoid and to get information on them. The paranoid strengthen their defenses, yes, but they also panic. Panic leads to recklessness and mistakes. Sometimes, they slip up so bad that we don't have to do anything."

"So the second killing was what? Publicity?"

Izuku closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He hated it. He hated the statement that he'd taken a life for such a petty reason. She'd been a criminal, yes, and one whose actions had intended to destroy the life, soul, and body of another individual because of envy, but that didn't make his reasons for choosing her time of death any more noble.

"…Yes," he finally admitted. "The majority of the power the Assassins wield is the fear our actions are meant to invoke. We try to use this to better society; to warn people of the consequences of their actions. We work in the dark to serve the light, killing the bad so the good will not be tempted. We know it's twisted and hypocritical, but the alternative is unacceptable."

"You don't do anything when the public doesn't know you exist."

"We prevent. That's the problem; you never know what you prevented, only what you failed to stop." He sighed, looking to the sky. Several clouds drifted by on a lazy wind. "Supposedly, our biggest failures caused World War Two."

"What?"

"Oh, right. Japan doesn't teach about that war because we lost." He gave a mirthless chuckle. "To the rest of the world, it's remembered as the worst multinational conflict in history. Over 70-million people died, about three percent of the world's population at that time. If we'd seen the signs, read the signals… If we'd been paying more attention, we could have killed the men who would have caused the war before they did. They were Templars, by the way. All of them. But we didn't kill them before, and all those innocents paid the price for it." He clenched his fists, still staring at that quiet sky. "What… What the Pricetag Killer is doing, it's to show the populace that something like us is out there. To show that breaking the law, even by proxy, isn't a good idea. Even if you evade the police, there's someone else who will be far less forgiving. We can never know how many this stops from becoming criminals or Villains; we can only hope that it does."

"It's still sick," Jiro muttered. "They deserve trials. What if the information is wrong?"

"It's not."

"But what if—?"

"It's not," Izuku repeated with more force. "It was written by Hanasu Teian herself and taken directly from her study. There is no reason to doubt it. Not when everything that can be confirmed checks out."

Jiro started, wide eyes slowly turning on her classmate.

"You don't just know," she realized. "It's not just an Assassin. It's you. You're the Pricetag Killer."

He rolled his eyes. "Telling you that I'm not isn't going to change your mind at this point."

"That's why your heartbeat spiked. I knew it was information you knew, but we were talking about you. We were talking about what you did and your motives… That's why you were so tired that day."

"If it was me —and I'm not saying it is, but if it was me— then killing only on the weekends would narrow down fields of suspects. Hero students aren't the only ones taught how the police think, you know. But that doesn't matter because it's not me."

Jiro only stared at him, as if trying to rationalize that the friendly, hard-working student she'd learned was a lethal sort-of-Vigilante was a named almost-serial-killer. The idea that he and Tsuyu had killed before had been one of those nebulous intellectual truths that is learned on the surface but ignored or not fully understood. Now, Jiro could put faces and names to that darker side of her classmate.

Izuku sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Is this what Aizawa felt like dealing with them? He owed the man an apology if so. "I'm not the Pricetag Killer," he lied, trying to line his voice with tired resignation rather than deceit. With Aizawa as a template, it felt pretty easy. "Sure, I've seen the list, but that doesn't mean it's me. Tsu's seen the list, too."

That, too, was a lie, but Tsuyu knew enough about his activities there that he could almost convince himself it was the same thing. The closest anyone had gotten to the full list was Samedare knowing the names since Izuku had needed his help hacking the police records. Luckily, Jiro seemed to interpret his elevated heartrate as stress about the nature of their conversation rather than the stress of lying. At least, Izuku hoped that was the case, but the incredulity never left her judgmental eyes.

"So, what now?" he asked. "You gonna try to turn me in to the Principal with nothing but your word?"

"If he knows you're an Assassin, my word should be more than enough."

"That won't get me expelled," Izuku denied. "Principal Nezu already knows there's blood on my hands. You claiming —incorrectly, mind you— that I'm the Pricetag Killer isn't going to convince him of anything. No one in UA is on the list, so it's fine in his rulebook. Except that doesn't matter because it's not me."

Again, Jiro stared at him, saying nothing. He waited, one eyebrow slowly rising.

"You've changed," she decided. "You were different after our internships. Everybody noticed when you stood up to Bakugo with that shouting match. You were, I don't know, raw? Now, you're jaded."

"The life of an Assassin isn't a kind one," Izuku agreed, running a hand through his hair. "Tough, calloused, jaded, hard-boiled, whatever you want to call it, you don't live this life with your heart on your sleeve for long or else someone stabs it. Or shoots it. Or drowns it."

"Metaphorically?"

"Hopefully before literally." He stood, trying to brush imperceptible dust from his pants. "I could tell you I'm not the Pricetag Killer a thousand times and you still wouldn't believe me, and I can't give you a name without betraying the Brotherhood, which I've sworn not to do even to death, so I'll just save my breath." He checked his watch. "We still have 15 minutes before lunch is over. If you're fast, Lunch Rush should still be serving. That is, if you took my advice and started working out. Being fast and agile complements your body type far more than my runner's physique. Makes you harder to catch."

"I'm not hungry."

"Suit yourself." Izuku didn't wait for any dismissal, the boy offering only an uncaring wave behind him as he left. He didn't say anything, barely even dared to breathe, until he was sure he was outside Jiro's hearing range. He slumped against the wall, looking at his hands.

"I've changed, huh?" he muttered, opening and closing his fists. He knew it was only in his mind's eye, but he could almost see the blood on his hands, feel it running over his fingers and dripping to the floor. With a blink, it was gone. "Yeah, I guess I have."

He shook the thought away for a later time. For now, he needed to get ready for his Heroics class. Maybe that was what he needed to take his mind off the whispers about what a monster he was becoming.

—AHC—

"That tiny, know-it-all, scar-faced, fuzzy-assed…" Toshinori muttered to himself as he stalked the halls of UA. He was still in his smaller form, his suit just a little too big, but steam poured from his skin as the rage he felt under the surface threatened to expose his true identity. The possible recipients of said secret pushed themselves against the walls as he passed, teachers and students alike not wanting to question the man whose apparent Quirk was acting up in response to obviously-negative emotions. "If that rodent won't do it, I'll force the bastard out myself."

Sections of the discussion he'd just had with Nezu repeated in his mind, each one stabbing the metaphorical tiger of his anger with a red-hot poker. His fingers twitched, his every instinct screaming to punch the closest wall. Or window. Or Villain.

Or Aizawa. Preferably Aizawa.

"No, Yagi," Nezu had said. "I understand that Nighteye's disappearance upsets you, but you're trying to step into a battle you are not prepared for… This is not a fight between Heroes and Villains. You cannot punch this problem away… The battlefield you're staring at is unlike anything you've seen before. Frankly, there is nothing you can do about this."

He'd taken Mirai's last letter to the principal, he remembered, demanding the world's smartest mammal (or at least one of the smartest) help him break up this killer ring and find his hopefully-just-missing former Sidekick. That the rat (or whatever) had not only said no but also had the gall to tell him to drop the matter altogether had seen the Number One's anger flare in a way he'd thought he'd curbed long ago.

Nana had always said he'd had a temper; getting a handle on it had been her biggest stipulation before she finally gave him One For All. Since then, he'd had breathing exercises and mental gymnastics drilled into his core, keeping the true depths of his rage locked down tight for fear of what his power fed by hatred could do to both a human body and the environment. He could still change the weather with a single punch even in his weakened state; he didn't want to know what would happen if he didn't hold back. Now, breathing and counting backwards from 1050 in intervals of 7 did nothing for him.

"Aizawa!" he snarled, his grip shattering first the handle then the entire door as he barged into the teachers' lounge. Three sets of eyes and a helmet turned to look at him, Aizawa, Nemuri, Ishiyama (Cementoss), and Korose (Thirteen) tensing as their instincts as pro Heroes alerted them to a threat. "I— You— This—!" Toshinori couldn't decide what to say, and the presence of the other teachers only compounded his hesitation. His voice dropped to a growl. "Aizawa, I need to speak to you. Now."

"…Why?" The man blinked slowly, a crudely-cut hotdog octopus with a carved smiley face held between the ends of his chopsticks. Said edible invertebrate matched a few others in the bento sitting on his lap, a couple clearly made by more experienced hands. Toshinori felt an eye twitch. He'd only ever seen the Underground Hero slurp from his liquid nutrient packs. Why did the accused murderer get to enjoy such a peaceful lunch when Mirai was still missing?

"Alone," Toshinori clarified. The steam around him thickened slightly.

Aizawa ate his crude hotdog octopus. "Can it wait until I'm done?" he asked, still chewing.

The blond stomped forward, grabbing the man by the scruff of his clothing and lifting him from the chair. Despite his shriveled looks, Toshinori still retained most of his strength even while shrunk, so it was with scrawny arms that the emaciated Hero carried the other out of the room. Toshinori didn't have to worry about the others there seeing anything since they already knew about his injury.

"Uh, should we help him?" the radio-warped voice of Thirteen questioned behind him.

"Nah," Midnight replied. "He probably deserves it."

Much to the blond's ire, Aizawa neither dropped his food nor stopped eating as he was carried through the halls and out the back of the school. Upon reaching one of the paved pavilions (only one of several but this one was at least empty), the older Hero threw the younger, his elegant landing without even a lost grain of rice eliciting another eye twitch from Toshinori.

"Do you mind?" the dark-dressed man questioned. "I almost spilled my lunch."

"Where is Mirai?"

Aizawa blinked, staring at him with that same 'done with the world' look he always seemed to have. "Do you mean Mirai Sasaki? Sir Nighteye?"

"I know you know where he is. He was investigating you and your little murder pals."

Outwardly, Aizawa didn't react, but Toshinori wasn't fooled by his faux nonchalance. He'd never been the best student —Toshinori always did have trouble studying and testing, even though his years in UA and American college— but that did not mean he was stupid. He had not spent the last 40 years as a pro without picking up some useful skills and learning to look for certain reactions, even if trying to explain them was outside his ability. It was the black-haired man's fingers that gave him away, the digits just slightly tightening on his chopsticks before relaxing once more.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aizawa lied. Toshinori was sure it was a lie. "Plus, that's a pretty severe accusation."

"You don't need to play dumb," he growled, pointing at the dark-dressed man. For a moment, Toshinori considered buffing up just for the added intimidation, but that would be next to useless on a man like Aizawa who could turn his Quirk off with a look. "Mirai left me a letter about what he'd been investigating. He saw you, the Hero Killer, and several others murder an underground organization using a past-viewing Quirk."

Aizawa blinked at him, again, slowly, still eating as he did so. Toshinori noted that his fingers tightened again. The eating hid it and even Toshonori would have missed it if he hadn't already been looking for it. "…You know that's not credible evidence of anything, right? There are probably hundreds of people that look like me in this city alone. Hell, there's a kid in 1-B who could be my kid with how he looks and acts if I hadn't been 14 when he was born."

Damn, he had a good poker face. Only that one nearly-imperceptible tell gave him away. If Nezu hadn't explained everything —well, not everything, and that was most of the problem— only minutes ago, Toshinori would have fallen for it. It was no wonder he had the rest of the staff fooled.

He needed to try something else.

"Fine. Then can you swear to me that the Assassins had nothing to do with Mirai's disappearance?"

"…The Assassins?" Aizawa echoed, feigning incredulity. "Is that from a video game or something?"

Toshinori felt his fist shaking at his side. "I already know, murderer. Nezu explained it to me."

"Nezu tells people incorrect things all the time for his own amusement. Like when—"

"Not this time," Toshinori interrupted. Clearly, Aizawa wouldn't engage seriously unless his exposure was clear. "I know all about your Brotherhood and that you've been fighting a pointless war for centuries, so I'll cut to the chase. I want you to give Mirai and his Sidekicks back and I want you away from the students. And if you don't, I'll tell the press—"

That was as far as he got before finding himself on his stomach, his hands wrenched backward and Aizawa's boot pressed into the small of his back. Pain flared from his injury and, when he tried to call upon One for All, it would not respond. Realization shivered down his spine like ice: he was all but powerless against Aizawa's Erasure.

"If that's the game you want, I'll show you why you shouldn't play," the Underground Hero growled above him. "You know nothing about the darkest truths of the world, Toshinori Yagi. They would leave you for dead in an alleyway because, even with all your power and prestige, you would have no defense from anyone who strikes in the shadows. With that, I will tell you two things. One: these quote-unquote 'Assassins' you think are real did not attack Sir Nighteye. Two: telling anyone about this could easily get you killed in your bed where all your strength means nothing but a heavier coffin. If I wanted to, I could kill you right now and no one could stop me. Am I clear?"

"You would never get away—"

"I don't need to." The killer's voice was ice, each work punctuated by a light but firm tug on his arms. "Even then, I could. If I wanted to disappear and never be seen again, I could do so easily before you'd gone cold. That said, I have a duty to see the next generation reach adulthood, to see them prove we can trust the world in their hands when our time is over. We are not the end, nor will they be, nor their children or their children's children. Do not presume to know me or my motivations, do not accuse me of baseless slander, and do not presume you can bully me into any sort of submission, All Might, because you are not almighty."

"You wouldn't be so defensive if the slander really was baseless," Toshinori grunted through the pain.

"And you wouldn't threaten to talk to the press if you knew what you were talking about." Aizawa dropped his arms, practically throwing them to the ground, and the pressure of the boot on his back stayed for a couple seconds more before removing itself. "You have become a societal pillar, All Might, but you won't be around forever. Sooner or later, you will die and the rest of us will need to be around to pick up the pieces. Do not rush to your death now."

"Is that a threat, Aizawa?" the blond demanded, getting to his feet. He fought the instinct to clutch his wound.

"It doesn't need to be," the other replied, kneeling to pick up his undisturbed lunch. His watch beeped. "I don't know anything about Nighteye's disappearance. I don't know what happened to him. I don't know anyone who does. Now then, we have five minutes before Heroics starts. Are we done here?"

Aizawa didn't wait for an answer, already turning to walk away.

"Wait!" Toshinori said. Aizawa paused, glancing back. "I won't stop until I find Mirai, but at least tell me this." He swallowed. "Mirai's letter said a little girl was rescued on that raid he saw. Where is she now?"

He took longer to answer than anyone without information would, the Underground Hero clearly considering his words.

"Who knows?" he finally decided with a small but genuine smile, popping the last of the hotdog octopi into his mouth. "Wherever she is, I'm sure she's much happier than before."

He walked away, leaving Toshinori with mixed emotions. On one hand, he was more certain than ever that Mirai's letter told the truth about the Homeroom teacher. On the other, Aizawa's words and actions showed these Assassins —or Aizawa at least— considered him neither a threat nor a target. To them, he was someone who could be disposed of the moment they wanted to. Nezu had insisted they had no reason to move against him, that that was another reason to drop the whole matter, but the morals in his gut just didn't want to let go of this now that he knew some killer secret organization —two of them!— had been fighting in the shadows his entire life ahd had some hold on UA. Yet here he was, unable to confront even one of them.

Perhaps, if the Assassins had someone inside UA, then their enemies, these Templars Nezu mentioned, did as well. And if Nezu knew Aizawa was an Assassin, then he must know the Templar in the school, too. Maybe they would be more forthcoming with the information he needed.

While Toshinori returned to the principal in the hopes of a less-fruitless interrogation, Aizawa was more concerned with the continuation of his day job. 1-A was trained enough in the day-to-day schedule of UA and his own expectations that they should already be arriving at the changing room. They'd already been told their Heroics lesson today would take place at Ground Omega, so he only needed to meet them there.

He arrived only slightly before the first students walked out, the man giving a subtle nod as Izuku and Tsuyu showed their speed and promptness. Others hurried out relatively quickly, Iida at the lead with Pony, Ojiro, Shoji, Tokoyami, Hagakure, Bakugo, and Yaoyorozu all but following him. The rest of the students trickled out one-by-one but still within acceptable time.

"Midoriya!" a female voice called, the green-dressed Hero student turning at the unexpected call only to be all but bowled over by his pink-dressed classmate. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Uraraka?" he questioned, barely staying on his feet. "U-Uh, what did I do?"

"You did it! I know it was you!"

"What did I do?" he repeated.

"You had Mirko as your work-study," the girl explained. "I got a call from my parents at lunch. Mirko called them offering a contract! She wants Uraraka Construction to build the agency she's starting!"

"Mirko's starting an agency‽" several other students gawked. Uraraka pulled away from her rather-forceful hug, nodding quickly.

"Yeah! And she asked my family's company to do it! This is the big contract we've needed for years! If Papa nails this, we'll be set for years! Other contracts will come rolling in! We won't have to worry about bigger companies with longer CVs stealing our work!" She turned back to Izuku. "And it's all thanks to you, Midoriya."

"I didn't really do anything," the verdet waved off with an embarrassed chuckle.

"You must've told her about Papa," Uraraka argued. "I can't image she would've heard about our company anywhere else."

"Er, well, you know, it might have come up in conversation once or twice…"

"Mirko's making an agency," Kirishima echoed with a blink. "Where?"

"She's decided to build in Hiroshima," Uraraka answered. "It's her hometown. She says she wants to finds kids that are like her, with nowhere to go and everything to gain. Delinquents that can still get on the right path before they fall."

"How noble," Aizawa drawled, making a mental note to question the Rabbit Hero when next he saw her. He imagined most of the kids she found would be pitched an offer to join the Brotherhood, so he couldn't fault her logic, even if it may slow her own work on both the legal and illegal fronts. He gestured to the massive forest that was Training Ground Omega behind him. "Anyway, set that aside for now. Heroics has started. As you know, Heroes my be called into any and all situations in any and all terrains, so you must train for all scenarios. Today's will be forest rescue…"

—AHC—

Kagareta Fuchui had the flare of a politician, something Izuku was sure benefited the man in his work since that was his job. He was a rather tall man with two tenacles that hung down on either side of his mouth like a mustache. Two more tentacles framed his face from where they began where his eyebrows would be, each of the four almost mimicking his hands as he spoke to those who had attended his rally.

"We have made great strides!" he said, a mohawk-like fin on his bald head twitching, milky but not blind eyes roving over the crowd without really registering any of the faces. "We've pushed legislation through already! Public buildings are required now to make their doors larger to accommodate large-size Mutants! Public fountains and bathrooms must have smaller equipment for those Mutants who cannot reach the normal ones! No one is to be denied work or housing because of their appearance! These things are an excellent start, but we cannot give up the momentum we have! There is still more to do!

"You've seen it too, haven't you? The stares Normals give you when they think you aren't looking? The whispers behind your back? Difficulty finding clothing that fits that isn't expensive specialty? These things, too, must end! Mutants like us must raise our voices against these injustices! We are more than our muscles or some ability to breathe underwater! We…"

Izuku tuned him out, turning away and disappearing into the crowd. It wasn't hard with his unmarked, reversable red hoodie. It was a Saturday and Kagareta Fuchui had chosen today to have a rally, which lined up perfectly with Izuku's schedule. He'd only needed a moment to pop into the Den's open wardrobe for some disposable clothing, a few small knives, and his hidden blades before he was ready for his next target as the Pricetag Killer. He'd also grabbed a small choker, the prototype voice changer Mei had first built for Shinso. He was several models in at this point, so it was easy for him to ferret away a couple for him and Tsuyu to use when they were out in the field.

He'd been a little disappointed to find Fuchui's name on Teian's list. The man's Mutant Rights Movement was something he could support, especially since the policies he'd pushed at the beginning were perfectly reasonable. They had, however, slowly begun getting more and more niche, demanding something closer to special treatment rather than equal equipment. Most of it was fine and Izuku was pretty sure the more extreme stuff would be curved by the Diet, but it was his mission today to end the movement's leader.

Guilt and justice should care not for politics. Fuchui had sold one of his aides to Heartseed and justice would be served.

Izuku moved quickly but quietly through the crowd, nondescript in his muted red hoodie with the hood up, dark slacks, tinted glasses, and a disposable mask. The last things would keep his face obscured and, thanks to the density of Japan's cities, no one batted an eye at the covering. He moved on the edges of the crowd now, working his way toward Fuchui's limousine.

Between Teian's death and the last two killings, Fuchui must have been smart enough to connect the dots because there were two security personnel guarding his vehicle along with another eight in an octagon around him on the stage. Izuku imagined he couldn't up his security too much lest he draw questions and unwanted attention, but the increase would still make this mission a little more difficult. Having Master Usagiyama patrolling as Mirko nearby did little to alleviate his nerves, but said nerves served to make his senses sharper.

"Alright, I just need to get into position," he muttered, activating his Eagle Vision. Most of Fuchui's guards were Mutant-type Quirk users themselves, as were the majority of the crowd. This meant that, while most of them may have increased senses, the chances of any of them having a sensory Quirk were reduced, allowing Izuku to hedge his bets with the plan he'd come up with.

He approached the limo from behind, using bushes, trees, and other people to break the two car guards' lines of sight whenever possible. That said, the guards weren't paying him any mind. One of them, the one facing the stage, seemed enraptured by his boss' speech. The other, who was facing the opposite direction on the opposite side of the car, looked bored, stifling a yawn.

Izuku grinned. Clearly, Fuchui hadn't told his security he feared being a target since that would mean probably explaining why. Checking his surroundings one last time, Izuku ducked down behind the limo, flicking a lockpick from his sleeve. He'd gotten better at it over the past couple months, so it was within a minute before the trunk of the vehicle clicked, allowing him entrance. He didn't open it far, rolling through the smallest crack he could before holding the door down.

The back of the limo was open to the rest of the cabin, but mostly as a junk area for those riding in the back to throw whatever needed to get out of their way. There were several empty sake bottles, a couple broken cups, forgotten pens, old papers, rumpled button-ups and ties, and even a few items of the adult kinds that really should have been removed and thrown out long ago. It seemed Fuchui's marriage wasn't as binding as it should be and that he treated his limo as a fun room, lending evidence to Izuku's theory of his deal with Heartseed.

Now certain he would have access to the cabin, Izuku fully closed the trunk of the car and pressed himself against the back of the closest seats. The cabin itself was open with couch-like seats ringing the area, but Izuku knew Fuchui preferred to sit as far from the door as possible, always being the first one in and the last one out. He just had to wait.

"Excellent rally, sir," he heard one of the guards mutter some time later, the door to the cabin opening. "The people love your ideas."

"Of course they do," Fuchui harrumphed. "You mark my words, Umino. Japan has kept us Mutants down for too long. We are the next stage of human evolution and the Normals will become obsolete soon enough."

"As you say, sir," Umino replied, sounding carefully neutral. Fuchui's heavier weight fell into the seat closest to Izuku, eight of the ten guards piling in after him. The other two got into the cab at the front, one starting the engine.

"I'll be reelected in no time!" Fuchui stated, a cork popping out of some bottle it had been plugging. "Everyone, a celebratory toast!"

"I'll drink to that," some other guard laughed. Sake sloshed and cups tinked, the nine men celebrating the successful campaign rally they'd just held.

'Shit,' Izuku thought. Two or three guards he could've handled, especially in such a small area. Eight? He'd have to improvise now.

Izuku didn't pay too much attention to them, only really listening to if any with heightened senses picked up his scent or something similar. Instead, he scanned the refuse around him, looking for something that could be a weapon to follow his Modus Operandi of using something from the scene. With Kagareta Fuchui so close, he opted for one of the campaign pens branded with the slogan "No more normal, be more!". It would need quite a bit of force, but the pen was pointy enough to work. The killer nodded to himself, drawing a missing persons poster with a price tag from a pocket.

The picture depicted a green-haired early-twenty-something with wide eyes and no nose smiling in business attire. She had grey eyes and held a binder in one hand. Her name was Okane Seicho, and until the affair with Fuchui that got her pregnant, she had been a college volunteer and bookkeeper for his campaign. Izuku suspected she'd approached her boss about the result of their illicit activities and he had, in response, paid Heartseed to make her disappear to the tune of 198,580,000 yen. Her treatment since had broken her mind, leaving her braindead, unable to tell her own story. Izuku suspected her life support would only last until the end of her pregnancy.

The limo rolled down the road for about half an hour, Izuku's internal map guessing they were somewhere over the Yamanote Line, Tokyo. No surprise considering many of the richest areas were directly connected to it.

'So much for his 'one of the oppressed like you' line,' Izuku scoffed internally. No one who lived in this area was oppressed. 'Besides,' another part of Izuku thought bitterly, 'Mutants are still treated better than the Quirkless.'

He shook the thoughts away and focused, wiggling the missing persons poster onto his weapon of choice. The limousine slowed to a stop, the first guard getting up from his seat to open the door. One-by-one, as was probably customary, the guards filed out of the car to confirm the safety of the surroundings. Izuku grinned slightly to himself as Fuchui stayed seated even as the last guard got out. He was a patient man and would wait until the guards had full confirmation before even moving.

Izuku struck, his left hand covering the man's mouth as the other stabbed the pen into his chest, the pinned poster held between two of his fingers. The man jerked, his cry of pain muffled by Izuku's gloved hand and his face tentacles trying to pry the killer's hands off in his panic. Izuku pushed the pen a little deeper, already sure its point was in one of his lungs.

"Okane Seicho sends her regards, Kagareta Fuchui," Izuku muttered in his ear, feeling the man go stiff at the woman's name. "It's a real shame, too. I thought you were doing good work overall, but then you had to deal with Heartseed. You destroyed her life and her future. Her child will grow up with love from neither of its parents and that's your fault, too. Accept this as recompense. Yukkuri yasunde kudasai, Kagareta Fuchui."

Izuku grabbed at the man's jaw and yanked, snapping his neck for good measure. He thought the political pen was a nice touch, but he doubted it had the lethality to kill him before he called for help. Izuku waited for a moment, ensuring all movement had stopped, before leaning back and reaching for the inside latch to the trunk.

He tried to move slowly, drawing no attention to his actions as he opened the truck and rolled onto the pavement. Even as he did so, one of the guards returned to the limo.

"Area's secure, Boss—" Izuku heard him suck in a breath, banging his head on the top of the doorway in shock. "Boss! He's dead! Assassination! Find the bastard!"

It took a moment before the other guards comprehended what their coworker said, Izuku using that time to bolt. This was a rather nice, ritzy neighborhood located above the Yamamoto train line, so he only needed to avoid them long enough to get underground and into the subterranean metro. From there, he could get into the nearby safehouse and hunker down long enough to lose them.

His instincts flared, Izuku diving to the right as a trio of quills shot through the air where his left shoulder had been. He chanced a look back to see a quartet of guards had spotted him, three of them already giving chase while the fourth —the Porcupine Quirk Mutant— was grabbing more quills to throw at him.

"Damn," he hissed, running into a manicured lawn. Yes, the vegetation would be obstacle for him, but he was trained enough to deal with such. More importantly, it would repeatably break line of sight for his pursuers.

"You won't get away, bastard!" a greyhound Mutant barked, catching up quickly. Izuku judged his speed took a turn, jumping onto a fence that divided yards between two houses and balancing himself, running along the thin line. One hand came up, activating the voice changer around his throat just in case. The greyhound man cursed, slamming into the fence.

Considering him no longer an immediate threat, Izuku turned his attention to the sky. Sure enough, the other two guards at taken to the air, one with wings sprouting from his back like those of the mythical angels and the other with purple wings that were his arms, his main weapons being his talon feet, making him more like a harpy.

Bang! Bang bang!

"Shit!" Izuku hissed as three bullets whizzed past him, his voice now distorted by the voice changer.

"Get him, Harupi!"

"Roger that!"

Izuku felt and heard rather than saw the harpy man diving for him. His wings and thinner body all but whistling through the air as he descended. Izuku was not too worried, however. Short of slamming into him —something unlikely given the hollow brittleness the man's bones would need to have to allow him viable flight— he suspected the man would need to come out of his dive early to snatch at him with his talons. Sure enough, the harpy-man did just that. He screeched, the sound oh so similar to birds of prey despite his lack of a beak, as his feet swung forward to snatch at Izuku's arms.

The clandestine Hero student, however, had far more training than the man could ever have imagined. He lunged forward despite the precarious foothold of the fence top, those wicked talons slashing the air where his shoulders had been. Before the harpy could fully comprehend that he'd missed, Izuku completed his single handspring and reached back, wrapping his fingers around one of the man's ankles.

His squawk turned into a scream as Izuku dragged him in and brought down his other hand, confirming his theory that the harpy's bones were lightweight enough to be brittle. A small yank was enough for Izuku to drop the writhing man into one of the yards before continuing on his way, hyper aware of the gun-carrying angel hovering above.

"Damn it!" he heard the winged man shout, the exclamation quickly followed by another three gunshots. Izuku hopped from one fence to another before dropping to the earth, throwing himself behind some rich person's backyard garden.

This was not a situation Izuku wanted to be in. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the security force started catching up and a bullet wound —even if it wouldn't stop him necessarily— would both leave his DNA at the scene and be hard to explain to his mother and classmates. What he needed was to get to a populated area where he could blend into the chaos and limit their willingness to shoot.

"Sorry about this," he muttered through the voice changer, grabbing a shoot of bamboo from a cluster before using his hidden blade to cut it off at an angle. He spun with the motion, throwing the bamboo like a javelin.

"Mother—!" the angel-man squeaked, contorting himself so the plant didn't skewer one of his wings. "You little bastard!"

Izuku didn't listen, already making a break for the house. He muttered another apology as he kicked in the back door. Someone in the second level of the house screamed, but he wasn't here for them. He charged through, breaking the angel-man's vision, jumping over a kotatsu, and spinning around a China cabinet before seeing the front door. Again, he kicked the door out —this one more structurally sound— and turned left. He stayed in the shadow of the house and sprinted, hoping the angel-man would miss him.

It seemed to work for the first minute, at least, but Izuku wasn't going to relax. He hadn't gotten a good look at the guards before he struck and had to run, but at least the greyhound-man would be able to track him if given enough time. Izuku continued in the shadows of the buildings, not daring to chance the open to cross the street. Distantly, he heard the guards shouting at each other, trying to catch his trail.

The neighborhood curved slightly, Izuku not following the road. Instead, he ran down an area between two of the houses at the curve. Leaving the road for the guards to search, he ran under the sparse but somewhat regular cover of backyard trees.

He was coming down the home stretch, the entrance to the neighborhood in sight, when a branch slammed down into the road just in front of him. Izuku gasped but couldn't stop, tripping over the limb and rolling over the concrete. He needed a moment to collect himself, his arms and sides now aching from impact, and that was all the time the lobster-man needed to get Izuku into his claw, one of his hands pinned to his side.

"Eh?" The man would have blinked if his heteromorphic eyes had traditional eyelids. "You're just a kid."

"I'm not a kid," Izuku said, his voice somewhat garbled from more than the device around his throat. "I'm the Pricetag Killer."

"Yeah right, bub. Boss was an upstanding man and you're gonna pay for what you did to him!" He squeezed, Izuku coughing into his surgical mask at the pressure on his torso. That was sure to bruise and he felt rather than heard one of his ribs crack.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone else." Izuku pulled one of his knives from within his clothing. If the lobster-man's eyes could have, they would have widened, but he wasn't fast enough to stop Izuku as he brought the blade down, stabbing into his wrist.

"Ah, fuck!" the man screamed, blood squirting from the wound as Izuku ripped the knife out. The pain forced his grip to release, allowing Izuku to break free. His shoes barely touched the pavement before the man's lobster tail swung around, smacking Izuku in the back. "He's over here!"

The hit sent the teen tumbling over the concrete, again, and it was only his clothing that prevented him from leaving DNA behind. Luckily, the hit also sent him closer to the road. The Assassin Apprentice stumbled to his feet, adrenaline numbing the pain in his chest, sides, and arms, and took off.

Izuku wheezed as he ran through traffic now, dodging, ducking, dipping, diving, and dodging oncoming cars that swerved and blew their horns at him. His own heartbeat pounded in his ears as he made out signs for the subway entrance, his every focus going to ignoring the people everywhere getting out of his path, pointing, whispering, or even reaching for their phones.

"Get back here, murderer!" a man yelled, Izuku glancing back to see a partial-bull-man charging him. Civilians screamed and dove out of his path, even if the man was just overly muscular with horns and a nose ring (which was a little much for the aesthetic, Izuku thought).

The word 'murderer' certainly had an affect on the crowd, a number of people screaming and running at the first sign of danger. Others started calling for police or pro Heroes, both of which would probably take kindly to neither his actions nor the guards' endangerment of civilians.

Luckily, the crowd was still thick enough that Izuku managed to reach the subway entrance a hair's breath before the horned man could get hold of his clothing. The verdet grabbed the stairway railing and flipped, landing on his feet and letting gravity pull him down as if he were shredding a halfpipe on a skate- or snowboard. The action certainly drew some attention, but there was no way the horned guard could follow him nearly as quickly as a straight charge like a moment ago.

"He's gone into the subway," Izuku heard the man report, probably into a phone or watch communicator. He didn't look back to check.

Security took note of him when he rolled over the ticket reader, but he vanished into the crowds as quickly as they noticed. The underground was busy but not so much that it forced Izuku to slow down overmuch. He slipped between stragglers talking to others, moving with directional groups for as long as their ways aligned and only pushing people when he didn't have the time to wait for an opening.

A minute was all it took for Izuku to duck into a bathroom and turn his hoodie inside out, walking out wearing green rather than red. From there, he was essentially home free, only one of hundreds of people milling around the station. He hadn't trained in this area, but he'd studied the secret areas the Assassins had managed to build into most of the high-traffic areas of the country. With all these smells, he was sure even the greyhound-man wouldn't be able to track him, but he doubled back a couple times just to be safe.

His goal was a little café in the corner of the food court. As far as anyone seemed concerned, it was just another place to get food, one young woman running a register and another few workers in the kitchen for the food orders, all of them dressed in a yellow and blue uniform. It was small and not all that fast, but the line showed the food was decent and it smelled good, the sign above calling it [Adrenaline Spike's Café] in English. He shuffled over, bypassing the line and going for the small gap between the counter and the wall.

"Uh, excuse me," the woman at the register demanded.

"Oh, sorry," Izuku apologized, his voice changer no longer active. "I'm the new hire? It's my first day."

"Well, for future reference, have your uniform on when you get here." She waved him through with a nod. Izuku accepted with a smile, ducking into the kitchen.

"Excuse me," he said to one of those in the back. "I'm feeling a little nervous. Where's the bathroom?"

"This way, newbie." The man led him to a walk-in refrigerator, a manhole cover in the center. The employee grabbed a crowbar. "Hey, where do eagles roost?"

"Away from the bloodshed," Izuku answered. The employee smiled and pulled up the manhole cover. Izuku offered him a smile of his own and dropped down, splashing into a puddle of sewage. He flashed his Eagle Vision, finding a nearly-invisible arrow that glowed for his special sight. Two rights and a left then a manhole at the top of a rugged wall with no ladder and Izuku found himself in one of the Tokyo safehouses.

"Ugh," he groaned, slumping against the wall. "Master Usagiyama's gonna kill me for that car stunt. Then I'm sure at least part of that chase was on camera. Shit…" He yawned, the adrenaline finally draining from his system now that he felt safe in this little hidey hole. His ribs ached, the one that he was pretty sure was cracked throbbing painfully. With a flinch, Izuku forced himself up the ladder to the small bed on the second level. He could get home later. Right now, needed a nap at least…

…

He woke quickly, but it wasn't a sudden jolt. Rather, a rising tone of voices had roused him since there should be no voices as long as he was here. His ears strained, trying to pick up words rather than indistinct chatter.

"—uly think that killer is here?" a man's voice said. Izuku felt like he's heard it somewhere before but he couldn't place it. "That government assassin you mentioned?"

"Oh yes," another replied. "With that politician killed so close, this is the most logical place. And—"

"Unless he took a train," a woman argued. "He could have just done that."

"I would like to remain optimistic, La Brava," the first man said.

"Yeah," the woman grumbled. "So am I."

Izuku knew three things. One: there were three intruders, two men and a woman named La Brava. Two: none of them were Master Usagiyama, so this likely was not a friendly party (not that Master Usagiyama would be particularly friendly to him right now). Three: his ribs no longer ached, so he at least wasn't going into this injured. Thank goodness for his Isu healing.

"Assassin!" the second voice yelled. "Come out now and you will not be harmed!"

Izuku huffed. It appeared he did not have the element of surprise here. He doublechecked his sunglasses and disposable mask before flipping his hoodie so the red was on the outside again. He tried not to think about how they might have found him.

He glanced out of the small entrance to the bedroom, studying the trio below. From here, he could probably hit at least one with a throwing knife. Maybe two if he was lucky. That said, they did know he was here. The diminutive woman carried a camera.

"Come now," the one in the mask and top hat said. "We only wish to talk."

Izuku flipped his voice changer on.

"Who are you?"

The man with the mustache started, a smile coming to his face. He stepped forward with a showman's bow and a flourish.

"Lovely to make your acquaintance, my good Villain. I am Gentle Criminal. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

"Nope. Can't say I have."

"Oh…" Gentle wilted a little, but he rebounded quickly. "Well, no matter! Suffice it to say I aim to be immortalized in the mind of man, and Mr. Compress here insists you and your ilk hold one of the greatest secrets in all the world. Now then, expose to me for whom you work and why you killed that politician earlier today."

Izuku glanced at the camerawoman. She met his eye, shaking a little and glanced quickly at the masked man.

"Sure, I'll tell you everything," Izuku started. "My name is Shitwad McGee and my goal is to find out where the pink elephants learn pole dancing."

"What uncouth language," Gentle sniffed. "Please, there is a lady present. Can we not talk this out like gentlemen?"

"If he's one of them, then he won't talk just because we ask him to," Compress muttered, stepping forward. He threw something that grew as it flew into the hole that was the entrance to the bedroom. "Now show yourself!"

Izuku's eyes widened as he registered the grenade clattering on the floor beside him. He threw himself forward, flipping out of the room as the grenade exploded with a great BOOM. Izuku landed on his feet, his instincts screaming.

He responded before he was aware, his own hidden blade blocking the one that aimed for his side. It would have been non-lethal had it landed, assuming he got medical treatment. Compress' other hand came for his face, but Izuku caught that one as well, this time with his fingers around the wrist rather than a blade. La Brava gasped.

"Where did you get that bracer?" the Apprentice demanded.

"I took it off a dead man," Compress answered easily. "And if you don't want to end up the same way, you will come with us."

"I think not." Izuku broke the stalemate and jumped back, flinging three throwing knives at the man. Compress jumped over them, throwing his own pair that Izuku snatched out of the air, wielding them in reverse grips.

"Come now, calm down," Gentle urged. "Violence isn't necessary here."

"Against people like this, it's very necessary," Compress rebuffed. "It's the only language they speak."

"I also speak English and sarcasm," Izuku commented. He shot forward, whirling into a well-practiced series of moves that put Compress on the offensive. He was no slouch, however, ducking and weaving through the blows with only superficial damage to his clothing.

"Ah, I see now," Compress muttered. "You're not yet a full Assassin, are you?"

"Not a full—?" Gentle asked. "Compress, what do you mean?"

"Gentle, welcome to the largest story you'll ever cover." Compress flipped away, getting out of range of Izuku's knives. "This… boy… is a member of a secret, murderous group that has existed for nearly a millennia or longer. The Assassin Brotherhood."

Izuku's eyes narrowed. "Templar," he spat.

"Please, I'm more than a mere run-of-the-mill Templar. I am the head of Sigma Team."

The Apprentice's gaze swept over the trio, the grey-haired man gaping as he tried to comprehend what all this meant. The woman, too, looked surprised but angrier than anything else. While both were distracted, Izuku threw one of the throwing knives in his hands, the blade planting itself in the camera's guts. La Brava yelped and dropped it.

"How rude!" Gentle gasped. "Apologize to La Brava at once! Ah, and you owe us a new camera!"

"Listen, me letting the two of you go with your lives would be a mercy," Izuku grunted, his eyes never leaving Compress. "I really shouldn't after you've found me here, but I have more important matters to attend to right now."

"Surely you aren't delusional enough to believe you have any chance against me, boy," Compress said. "I will kill you like I have many Assassins before, but first you are going to help Gentle Criminal here expose your entire organization for what it is to the public."

"I will never betray the Brotherhood. And the one ironclad rule both your side and mine has agreed on in our war is to not get the populace involved. That would cause mass chaos."

"Perhaps, but Gentle here wants to be remembered for generations to come and La Brava—" He jumped, just barely avoiding the box cutter that nearly severed his Achilles tendon. Again, his hand went for Izuku's face, but his slashing blades deterred that action. Instead, he landed by the other man. "My, so that's what it takes to get you to move in the open, Minami Aiba."

"You're putting the entire world at risk for your petty revenge," La Brava snarled.

"Wishing to avenge my father and brother is not petty, coward."

"I am afraid I don't understand what's happening here," Gentle confessed. "Why don't we all just sit down with a few cups of tea and talk this out?"

"Why don't I give you the fast and short," Izuku offered. "That man is a member of the Templars, an international organization bent on subjugating the world for their own sick definition of peace. Sigma Team is their main strike force, a group trained to hunt down those of us who oppose their shadowy rule like animals."

"Yes, when we aren't cleaning up your messes," Compress drawled. "Panic in the streets. National monuments defaced and ancient artifacts stolen. Sometimes dozens, even hundreds dead. Buildings burned to cover your tracks."

"We don't touch the innocent."

"Ah, but your definition of innocence sure leaves a lot to be desired."

"Like you're one to talk, Atsuhiro Sako," La Brava spat. "Your father hunted my parents like animals, captured them, and then burned them alive with my baby brother for his own sick amusement. He and your brother got what they deserved, and you should have died with them, the same way my parents did."

"Where do you think these came from?" Compress removed his mask, revealing that the right side of his face was horribly scared from burns, his right eye missing from the socket. His nose was twisted at an angle and it appeared his lips were synthetic. His right ear was missing entirely. "I will bring justice and punishment to those who hurt my family," he swore. "I will see them hurt until we finally have peace, because peace only comes from aversion to pain."

Gentle took a couple steps away from everybody, the grey-haired man looking between his companions as if seeing them for the first time. The eye contact he made with La Brava morphed her expression from rage to guilt.

"Gentle…" she pleaded.

"Join me, Tobita," Compress pressed. Izuku took a step toward him only for a blue marble to roll out of the man's sleeve. It glowed for only a nanosecond before he caught the pistol that grew out of it, aiming the barrel at the red-dressed teen. Izuku stopped. "Can't you see? Exposing these monsters for who they are will make your name echo eternally."

"We are monsters, Gentle," La Brava admitted. "We needed to be to fight monsters like them."

"…" Izuku waited, not sure what to do. The mustachioed man seemed on a precipice that would make him friend or foe, and it was up to him where that went. Killing Compress now would only drive Gentle Criminal away. Plus, there was the risk of the pistol.

"…No," Gentle decided. "I don't care what past you and La Brava have, that's not who she is anymore. I won't let you hurt my partner because you can't move on. I know who La Brava is now."

"Idealistic fool," Compress sighed. "Fine. Then I guess it's time to get to business."

He fired once, Izuku dodging to the left.

A second bullet passed through La Brava's hair.

The third shattered Gentle's kneecap.

"Gentle!" La Brava screamed as the man went down, grabbing at his ruined knee with a cry. Izuku charged forward, throwing his remaining knife, but Compress smacked it out of the air with his mask and jumped back to avoid the hidden blade. He landed just behind the fallen form of Gentle Criminal, placing a hand on the man.

"It's a shame it has to be this way, Tobita," he said. "You could have been a valuable asset willingly. Luckily, we have ways of changing your mind." A blue glow surrounded the grey-haired Villain, shrinking him into a marble that disappeared into Compress' sleeve. "As for you two, may the despair you deserve find you."

He fired the last three shots of his pistol, forcing Izuku and La Brava to dodge away. White smoke exploded, the blue shimmer of Compress turning himself into a marble nearly lost in the haze. When it finally cleared, he was gone, presumably down the manhole cover.

"Gentle!" La Brava screamed. She rounded on Izuku. "You, what rank are you?"

"I don't—"

"Cut the bullshit. I am Assassin Minami Aiba. Now answer the damn question."

"… Apprentice Izuku Midoriya, ma'am."

"Just Apprentice? Damn, you'll have to do. With me. Now. We're going after them."

End of Chapter 64

Oh No! Gentle's been kidnapped! But there's the reveal! Shoutout to Monkey D. Conan for nailing their allegiances even though I did my best last chapter to keep them vague. I sure hope that rescue goes off without a hitch next chapter!

Read and Review!

-SwordOfTheGods