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( - )

(Last Time)

Naomasa wet his lips. Ino made it sound simple, but he suspected that this case would be far from simple. This case was high profile.

No, that was an understatement. The case was massive and had already attracted international attention. The fact that they had already started drafting in heroes and additional resources from across the country was evidence enough of that.

From what he had heard, politicians, and his politically conscious higher-ups had started getting involved, and even All Might had taken a personal interest.

This was a make-or-break situation.

As in, if he succeeded it would make his career, but if he failed then he could kiss his job and reputation goodbye.

No real pressure though….

( - )

Chapter 6

( - )

(With Haise)

The bar his would-be attacker took him to was dark and gloomy. It was relatively fitting, he supposed considering, the shady nature of the people who did business there.

The Black Pearl was a front essentially, and a very stereotypical one at that. By day it operated as a hole-in-the-wall bar serving overpriced, artisan beers to hipsters and tourists. The walls were dark, lacquered, panelled wood. The floor was a swirling black and silver faux marble. The tables were black glass laid atop black twisted black metal frames. Lots of dark colours essentially.

During the day, when the bi-fold doors that made up the front of the bar were thrown open and sunlight was blazing through the now-shuttered skylights, he imagined it looked pretty suave and sophisticated. But in the evening, when lit only by the dim lights ensconced along the wall, it seemed seedy and dingy.

The vibe wasn't helped by the clientele, all of whom looked shifty. They were all well-dressed and appeared perfectly respectable on the surface to a casual observer. But beneath that outer veneer, he could see the tension in their frames and the furtive look in their eyes. Most of them were grouped in the surrounding booths, their voices lowered as they sipped their drinks and muttered to one another.

All the while, music was playing in the background. Loud enough to be heard and to mask people's conversations from potential eavesdroppers, but not so loud that it would distract those in the bar from their business. All of this had to do with Giran, the information broker and the guy who knew how either to get you whatever you wanted or at the very least put you in contact with someone who could – no questions asked.

Entering the Black Pearl, his eyes flicking back and forth, Haise didn't say a word as he allowed his unwilling guide, Benimaru, to take the lead.

Despite his whinging and complaints, it hadn't taken the mugger all that long to arrange a meeting with this Giran character.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Haise waited as Benimaru nervously approached the bar, his voice lowered as he leant forward and whispered a few things to the barkeep – a plain-looking man with dark hair, dark eyes and a pale complexion. He was the kind of harmless-looking person that wouldn't stand out in a crowd.

Idly listening to what Benimaru was saying, he allowed his attention to wander to the other occupants of the bar. Some stood out more than others. Including a very distinctive-looking spikey-haired man with horrific burn scars around his mouth, throat and eyes. Looking closer, it appeared that the puckered flesh surrounding the burns was stabled into place, like poorly done skin grafts.

Even when compared with some of the more eccentric ghouls he'd met, it was a unique look.

Perhaps in contrast to his mutilated appearance, the man wore a smart, expensive-looking black suit, a crisp black shirt and black tie – classically cliché and very fitting with the rest of the bar's motif.

With a twitch, Haise saw the scarred man's eyes shift in his direction as if he could sense his gaze.

Burning, half-mad blue eyes met his own calm, gaze for but a moment, before the man smirked at him. His face twisted grotesquely as he revealed blackened gums and pearly white teeth.

Giving him a short nod, Haise's attention moved to the callow-faced youth the scarred man was talking with. In complete contrast to him, the youth looked almost normal. He had a frail build, hunched posture, stringy blond hair, nervous brown eyes, and twitchy fingers. Where the dark-haired man looked like a Frankenstein's monster-wannabe, the blonde-haired teen looked like Igor, a broken pitiful excuse for a person. Which of course begged the question of who Frankenstein was in the metaphor?

The blonde kid looked very uncomfortable with his conversation partner, while the dark-haired man looked bored. They were both clearly waiting for someone, with the scarred man making idle conversation in the meantime.

Not that it really mattered; they were just two among the dozen or so denizens currently haunting the small bar.

Tearing his gaze away from the duo, he turned his attention back to Benimaru as he approached, his eyes flitting nervously back and forth as if looking out for an ambush.

"Giran will see you soon," Benimaru said nervously. "But you'll need to wait. He has another appointment first."

Haise gave him a level look, before nodding.

He should have expected it really.

If this Giran was an actual player in the city's underworld like Benimaru claimed, then it should have been obvious that a non-entity like him wouldn't be able to rock up and demand an audience straight away. That he had even managed to get an appointment at all was marginally impressive. Though whether it was because Benimaru had more pull than he'd initially made out, or because Giran was more curious than expected, was up for debate.

"S-so, does that mean I c-can go now…" Benimaru trailed off, his frightened eyes darting back and forth again.

Haise titled his head curiously.

"No," he said softly. "You can get me a drink; coffee, black, and then we will wait for my appointment. Once I've gotten what I want, then you can go."

Benimaru flinched but didn't object. Instead, he hung his head forlornly and slumped his way back to the bar, pausing only long enough to ask, "I don't have any money…" the fact that Haise had taken it off him went unsaid.

"Then set up a tab."

Benimaru flinched but nodded.

For a violent mugger, the other man was surprisingly petulant and spineless.

Watching him go, Haise turned and looked for an empty booth.

"There's space at our table," the scarred man's voice sounded out, pitched high enough to be heard over the background music, but not so loud that it would disturb the conversations of the bar's other patrons.

Turning his attention to the man, he paused for a moment, his gaze shifting over the pale blonde who averted his gaze, before moving back to the scarred man who just gave him a languid smile.

Shrugging, he walked over to their booth and took a seat.

It wasn't like he had much to lose.

"The name's Dabi," the man said his smile widening. In response, a dribble of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. The cause was likely from one of the many staples he was using to hold his face together. "The nervous one calls himself Mustard."

"Mustard?" Haise raised an eyebrow.

The blonde flinched for a moment, before forcing a scowl trying to look tougher than he was. "It's an alias."

"Uh huh," Haise hummed, his gaze boring into him for a moment, before shifting back to Dabi.

"So, you here to see Giran for the first time, or has the snake already sunk his fangs into you?" Dabi asked drolly.

"The first time," Haise said shortly, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated Dabi's words. "It's a one-time thing."

"Yeah, I've heard that before," Dabi grinned, his smile more horrific than most people's scowls. "It always starts with just the one, and in return, he wants a favour… and from there it'll escalate until eventually, you're just another one of his pawns."

"No favours, only cash," Haise disputed.

"You can try," Dabi shrugged. "But Giran is good at what he does. He knows just what buttons to press to tempt you into wanting more, and then he'll play you like a fiddle until you're fully under his thumb, just as he does with everyone else."

"Considering why you're probably here… I imagine you're one of the ones he has 'under his thumb," Haise said idly, his gaze moving back to Benimaru as he saw the would-be mugger approach with a cup of coffee in hand. "Though if that is the case… why are you being so open about it."

"Oh no," Dabi refuted, his smile turning cruel. "Giran's ploy only works with run-of-the-mill gangsters and street-level thugs. People he can extort, blackmail, bully… you know the type. The weaklings. Prey that thinks themselves predators."

Haise tilted his head curiously.

That kind of rhetoric… reminded him of something… of the ghoul's hidden underworld society and their obscure hierarchy. So many different groups and gangs all held together by powerful individuals, and all constantly vying for supremacy over the different wards. Or at least that was how it first appeared. In reality, the hierarchy was far more simplistic. The gangs and groups bickering over territory and hunting grounds like the Black Dobers or Devil Apes, were at the bottom, just above the lone ghouls that hunted from the shadows. While at the top, there were just a couple of very powerful factions who dominated. Those at the top could act with impunity and with no worries about consequences or retaliation. The rest just had to deal with it.

It was social Darwinism at its finest, which was also what Dabi was referring to. In a world where eighty per cent of the population had superpowers, was anyone truly born equal anymore? Could you compare someone who could create fire or shatter mountains with their fists with someone who could just see a little further than the average person or grow their nails a half centimetre longer?

"And you think you're different from the rest?" Haise asked, his gaze shifting to Mustard. The short blonde looked uncomfortable at the topic of conversation and almost flinched when they made brief eye contact.

"In a world of predators and prey, I'm an apex predator," Dabi said grandly, his lips curving up into a wide smile. Yet more blood dribbled from underneath his stapled flesh. "Our society is inherently broken. Heroes, villains and the sheep, if you take a step back, you can see the cracks starting to form. It's unsustainable, and held together by just a few strong individuals, a polite fiction that protects the majority from the cruel reality of this world."

"And what is this reality?" Haise asked softly.

Dabi didn't answer, his blue eyes just bored into his skull for a moment, before he grinned. "I think you already know the answer."

"Uh huh," Haise hummed, unimpressed.

This guy was a tool. For all his grandiose bragging, and edgy rhetoric. At heart, he was just a hurt child screaming out for attention and for recognition that he was somehow 'special'.

It was as pathetic as it was familiar.

Back when he had worked with the CCG he'd met enough uppity ghouls that thought themselves great. In the end, they all died the same way. Quickly and unceremoniously.

Smiling sharply, he took the coffee Benimaru offered him and took a sip.

"I see."

"Yes, I'm sure you do." Dabi nodded, his eyes flickering with a combination of hunger and interest. "And soon the world will see. Things are changing. The current era, the era of the hero is coming to an end. Already its foundations have crumbled. The only thing maintaining the fragile peace is All Might. But even the symbol of peace. One of the few great pillars holding up society is beginning to flag, and when he falls so too will the pathetic façade that the government and Hero Commission have been shoving down our throats."

"And are you going to be the one that ushers in this new age," Haise asked blandly. Dabi was being suspiciously candid and open with his thoughts. But he'd heard things like this before. Throughout history, there have been those who espoused this kind of rhetoric, and who tried to reshape society in their own image, often through force. In the end, they all failed.

"No," Dabi said, the feverish light in his eyes dimming. "That is not my destiny. My path has already been set and has been since birth. Tell me, stranger. Do you believe in destiny?"

"No," Haise said bluntly, draining his cup of coffee. His mind was a wreck and his memories were fractured, but even so, he knew he didn't believe in something as intangible and cowardly as fate.

Dabi didn't reply, and instead just smiled.

At his side, Mustard sidestepped away from Dabi, his eyes frightened. He looked like a little rabbit standing in the shadow of a wolf.

"Erm boss," Benimaru said nervously, breaking the brewing tension. "Giran will see you now."

"Well look at that," Dabi said, his smile returning to something almost normal. "You must have caught his interest. He doesn't normally allow people to jump the queue."

"Maybe," Haise said, giving him a nod, before turning away.

"It's this way," Benimaru said, scuttling forward as he led the way past the bar and through some dark curtains.

Feeling Dabi's gaze on his back as he left, Haise gave Benimaru a hard look. "Do you know why this Giran is so eager to meet me?"

Benimaru shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't tell him anything. But he has a way of knowing things. I'm not sure how. But he knows everything that happens in the city's underworld."

That was a disconcerting notion.

Just how much did this broker know about his activities? He'd hardly been subtle, even if he had tried to hide his face whenever possible. But in a world of obscure superpowers, and advanced technology, who knew what kind of methods there were for gathering information.

( - )

(With Toga Himiko)

The police didn't have a clue what was happening. They had no real leads on the villain who had defiled Yoroi Musha's grave and cannibalised his remains, only that they might be connected to a murder of some low-level villain only a few miles away from the cemetery.

It was a shame really.

In this world, there were a multitude of monstrous humans. There were humans with mutant-type quirks who looked like monsters. There were humans with twisted quirks that either appeared monstrous in their utility or could only be used to cause suffering. And beyond that, there were those rare few who had normal quirks and appearances but warped personalities. These were individuals who could pass as normal law-abiding citizens on the surface, even when beneath their outer veneer, they were far more monstrous than polite society would ever believe possible.

Of the three types of monsters in this world, Toga Himiko knew she fit into two of the categories. She was a self-acknowledged and identified monster.

Sighing as she walked down the street in a recently purloined school uniform, her arms crossed behind her head, she swirled her lollipop around her mouth and took in her surroundings.

It was late evening and yet the streets were still busy.

People were hustling back and forth barely glancing at each other. Lots of worker ants just going through the motions. But then again that summed up most of humanity. For the majority, their paths in life were set and they all followed the same stages. They were born, grew up, went to school, made friends, got a job, got a partner, had kids, worked, retired and then died. That was the lifecycle of the majority. Just a series of stages that people mindlessly wandered through, never straying from their predetermined path. The path societal norms and expectations thrust upon them from an early age.

It was all so… boring

Continuing her stroll nobody gave her a second glance.

With her blonde hair, bright cardigan, slightly tanned skin, and golden eyes – those passing likely thought them either contacts or quirk-related – she just looked like another random teenager on the cusp of adulthood. Just a normal girl who was making a few perfunctory attempts at being rebellious, what with her messy hair, short skirt and slight tan.

Gyaru, that was the box they tried to put people that looked like her in. Whether it fits her or not.

Not that being typecast really bothered her in the end.

It was the benefit of her quirk; it made her quite a fluid and adaptable person.

When you could change your appearance with just a taste of blood, it was difficult to really become attached to something as arbitrary as your physical exterior.

Still, she was disappointed. Not by the sheep around her. Her dissatisfaction and disillusionment with society had started at an early age and had been cemented following the actions of her piece-of-shit parents. Instead, she was disappointed that she couldn't find a fellow monster, especially when it was prowling around her usual hunting grounds.

As much as she would deny it if anyone asked or made the accusation, she was lonely.

Being a lone wolf sucked.

No matter how cool people made it out to be, the isolation and the lack of company… it was so boring and grating. When you were stuck with just your own thoughts for so long it would reduce even the most stable of people to madness. Considering she wasn't that stable to begin with… well the longer she spent by herself, dwelling on her own existence and trapped in her own thoughts, the more she spiralled.

The only relief she ever got from her own thoughts was when she found a playmate. Unfortunately, they never lasted long. It was her own fault really. When she met new people. Interesting people. People like her. Not the sheep that flitted around frittering away their lives. She tended to go overboard and by the time she calmed down and started to think slightly more rationally. Well… they tended to be bloodied husks by that point.

Once she got the taste of blood and saw the despair and pain in their eyes… it was difficult to quench her thirst. Her vision went red, her heart raced and any semblance of restraint she had vanished.

She sighed wistfully at the thought.

It was her own fault really. Despite her statements to the contrary, she was in truth only a half-monster. Growing up in a stable, if judgemental home, she hadn't managed to escape some of the early-stage social indoctrination that had been thrust upon her. That or her particular case of psychosis was more complicated than most others.

The reality was she was too picky when it came to her playmates. She didn't prey on the sheep unless provoked. As they were just too easy. There was no fun in hunting down people who couldn't fight back. Plus, their minds and/ or bodies tended to be far too fragile. By the time she truly got started, they were already broken or dead. Villains and lowlifes were more fun. They were slightly more resilient, plus when she focused them it actually felt like she was doing a public service. Sure guilt wasn't much of a factor in her day-to-day life. But the thought that she was cleaning up the street and doing so more efficiently than the so-called Pro-Heroes, gave her a warm fuzzy feeling deep inside.

Veering off the high street and heading down a dingy alley she made sure to put a little extract swing in her step as started strutting her stuff. It made her walk more provocative and eye-catching, especially considering the length of her bare legs and the shortness of her skirt.

She'd never met a cannibal before.

Murderers, thieves, vandals and over-the-top villains, sure, they were a dime a dozen. Less so the murders when compared to the rest. But still, with a little effort, she could find a couple of such individuals in any given ward.

It was what she was doing at the moment as she roamed the backstreets, her arms resting behind her back, and her face, which she deemed to be very attractive to look at, set in an innocent pout as she sucked away on her cherry lollipop. It was a tried-and-true tactic. Pretend to be younger than she was. An innocent schoolgirl, out of her depths. Lure in her prey with a naive, vulnerable façade. And when they pounced… well that was when the fun began.

Giggling to herself, she ran her finger down the blade of the knife she was concealing inside her cardigan sleeve.

Today had indeed been most unsatisfying.

After all of the effort she had made to acquire some blood from a police officer and infiltrate one of the stations looking for a lead on the cannibal, only for her to come up empty-handed. It just wasn't fair.

This guy, or maybe a girl, it could be either. They were a unicorn. In an underworld full of uncreative thugs, they were a rare predator that truly knew the thrill that came with blood. She liked to think that they were a fellow traveller. Someone who was walking the same path as her as they fully gave in to their dark passenger and embraced the deepest, most primal and inhuman parts of themselves.

Her tongue flicked across her teeth, before coming to rest on the tip of one of her sharp incisors.

It was a lonely path she walked. The path of a solitary monster. But maybe this cannibal would understand her. Maybe they could join her on her journey.

It was a beautiful thought.

And if they couldn't, well she'd love to sample their blood. She'd never sampled a human-fed human before.

A grin split her face at the thought, even as she heard the sound of footsteps.

Looking up she saw a grungy-looking guy in a hoodie approaching. Both of his hands were shoved into his front pocket, and his hood was up casting his face in shadow.

She could practically taste the violence in the air as he approached.

He was trying to look innocuous, disinterested.

But she could see from the tensing in his shoulders, and the way he angled his feet as he drifted within lunging distance of her that he'd taken the bait.

Grinning wildly, her golden eyes followed him as his leg bent for a moment, before without a sound he lunged for her, his hand tearing free of his pocket, the blade of his knife gleaming in the oncoming darkness, as it reflected the ambient light of the city.

Letting loose a giggle she stepped out of the reach of his other hand as it attempted to grasp the sleeve of her cardigan, before then stepping in and ducking a wild swing from his knife. With a flash of steel, she slid her own blade across the underside of his arm, drawing out a shrill cry from her attacker. Continuing her motion, she swept behind him as his momentum sent him forward and slashed out his hamstrings.

Blood spattered across her face.

Licking it off her lips, her smile became feral as she leapt on his back and drove him to the ground face first.

Her vision was going red.

Drawing out her other knife, she slashed at his back, more laughter ripped free of her throat as she hacked and slashed, stripping away the flesh and muscle to reveal the bone beneath.

With every strike more blood splashed her form, and the more blood there was the greater her frenzy as she gave into her desires – as she always did – and scratched the itch that had been building in her mind as her frustration mounted, and the gnawing loneliness that gripped her heart, became ever tighter and crueller.

By the time her vision cleared, and her spell of madness ended the man in front of her was little more than gristle and bone.

A pool of blood had started to spread across the dark street, funnelling its way through the cracks and crevices in the asphalt as it flowed slowly into the sewers.

She'd blown her load early.

"Really," she hissed, digging her knife into the very dead man's back. "You barely even lasted a minute. What the fuck is wrong with you."

Huffing, she wiped her blade clean and put away her knife.

It was disappointing.

She hadn't gotten to see the fear in her attacker's eyes, nor the horror, pain and realisation of his impending death.

Still, the sticky feeling of the blood on her face and the metallic tang in the air did go some way to relieving her desires.

Exhaling loudly, she took a moment to look wistfully up at the moon overhead, before with a grin she lunged forward and sank her fangs into the man's neck, her throat working as she started to drink his blood straight from the source.

Hopefully, the cannibal would be more fun.

But first, she had to find them.

Huh, maybe Giran would know, he'd been throwing out some feelers lately looking for some thugs for some big job one of his clients had coming up.

( - )

(With Haise)

The music faded entirely as he walked upstairs. It was almost unnatural just how good the soundproofing in the club was. The upstairs retained the same general aesthetic as the rest of the establishment, but as he entered the hallway at the top things definitely became more extravagant and expensive.

The upstairs area was divided into two parts. The first part was another bar, though it was smaller, and had a distinctly 'black label' feel to it. Probably for the true movers and shakers. There was some smooth-flowing background music, less harsh than downstairs. It gave the place a classy vibe. The second part, hidden behind the only door in the area, was clearly Giran's office.

Looking around, and ignoring Benimaru fidgeting, he was soon greeted by a sharply dressed woman with golden eyes and hair, and an even tan. A bright smile – one that looked too perfect – stretched across her face as she gestured silently for him to go through the door and into Giran's office.

Crossing the upstairs bar, he noticed others were sitting around watching him. Only most of them were wearing masks of some sort, hiding their identities, even as they watched him pass. Their eyes glimmered in the dark as they tracked his movement, barely even flickering to Benimaru's quaking form. It felt like he was being x-rayed.

Ignoring the eyes on him, he entered the room without a sound and took in the interior. It was as plush and darkly coloured as the rest of the joint. Barely worth paying attention to at this point. But of more interest was the man who was sitting lounging behind the large desk that dominated the room. Giran was an unassuming middle-aged man of moderate height and slight build, his hair was greying, and his face was clean-shaven. Other than his white suit and the round glasses he wore, there was almost nothing remarkable about him. He was neither handsome nor ugly. He didn't have an overbearing presence, but neither did he fade into the background like a wallflower. He just existed, as an average everyday person.

Only, considering all he'd seen and heard, that was clearly not the case.

"Please close the door and take a seat," Giran said, his eyes surveying him disinterestedly.

"Very well," Haise nodded, doing as asked and taking the seat in front of the desk. It was smaller than Giran's but was still comfortable enough.

"You're not a subtle person, you know."

"Oh," Haise asked, his head tilting to one side.

"You've barely been in the city a few days and you've already committed several crimes, caused national outrage and killed someone…." Giran trailed off meaningfully.

"I don't know what you mean," Haise replied, schooling his expression to give nothing away.

"I'm sure you don't. Now, can I get you anything to drink before we begin? Another coffee, black?" Giran offered, his eyes crinkling up as he gave him a warm smile.

"No, thank you though."

"Not a problem, common courtesy is such a simple thing to engage in, and yet so many people don't even make any attempt at it. Now tell me, why did you want to meet with me?" Giran pressed on, barely blinking as he quickly shifted gears from talking about beverages to talking about business.

"I understand you have access to people who can craft an identity," Haise said bluntly. He didn't like playing word games or engaging in some kind of verbal jousting match. Though partly that was because he just wasn't good at it.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?"

"Please don't play coy. Benimaru has told me a lot about you, as have some of your other clients. You know how to get things and what's happening in the city. Some identity papers are well within your capabilities."

"A fair point. Though, it is somewhat concerning to hear how many people with loose lips there are. But well, let's say I know some people. What are you looking for?"

"An identity," Haise said, a hint of irritation welling up within him has having to repeat himself.

"But do you want a fake identity for yourself? Or for someone else? How comprehensive do you want it to be? Does it just need to stand up at a convenience store so you can buy alcohol, or is this something that will be put under a significant amount of scrutiny?"

"For me, and I need everything. Birth certificate, driver's license, passport, school history, even a social security number. I can't get this from just anyone off a street corner and I've heard that you are a professional." Haise said, hoping that by leaving it as an open-ended list appended to the word 'everything' Giran would include anything he missed.

"Ah, your visit makes more sense now. And what do you offer for my services? A complete legal identity fabricated from nothing will cost you upwards of 6 million yen."

He couldn't help but wince.

Although he wasn't fully aware of the value of money in this altered future of the world he knew. It still sounded like a significant sum of money. A lot more than he had on him, Benimaru had a decent amount stashed away. But at the same time, he couldn't say it was unreasonable for a complete history rewrite, not without seeing what Giran's competitors – if he had any – were charging for the same work.

"That's a lot of money. You open to negotiation?"

"I like you kid but not that much. So no."

"But Giran, perhaps we would be willing to consider alternative payment methods?" The golden-eyed woman, who up until that moment had stood silently by the door, piped up.

He almost flinched at the sound of her voice. She'd been so quiet and unobtrusive that he'd forgotten she was there. It was… unnatural.

"Perhaps…" Giran hummed, his eyes flicking to the woman with a slight hint of amusement.

Haise resisted the urge to grind his teeth.

They were playing good cop, bad cop.

Giran was acting as the pragmatic hardball, while the golden-eyed woman was the nicer one who sought to appease and reconcile where she could.

"I can get you the money, eventually," Haise said. He'd have to be far more aggressive than he was planning on being and hunt down some other criminals to rob. It would mean keeping Benimaru around to gather intel on stash houses and the criminal element of the city, plus it would cause a big ruckus and likely paint a massive target on his back until Giran sorted out his new identity. And even then his anonymity all depended on how much he trusted Giran, which wasn't great as he didn't trust him at all.

"I'd want it as soon as possible. Half up front and half upon delivery of the papers," Giran replied. "If not, we'll have to settle for other arrangements."

"How long would forging these papers take?"

"Probably a week or two to get in contact with the right people, grease the right palms, and access the right servers to make sure electronic records match up. Plus I'd need some DNA for the national biometrics database."

He tensed up at that part.

"But of course, we can work around that, though it will of course cost extra."

His eyes narrowed.

"But Giran there is that job coming up. Surely if he did a few little jobs for us you would add on a discount?" The golden-eyed witch added.

"Well I suppose I could, I do have another client who's been desperately trying to recruit some foot soldiers for a high-risk job he's pulling…. But hey, maybe our friend here has the first half of the payment on him. Do you have a spare 3 million floating around?" Giran hummed, "Plus the sooner I start to work on your papers, well the sooner you can get on with your life. After all, you don't want your past creeping up on you... do you...?"

Haise's eyes narrowed, and his hand clenched into a fist. Giran wasn't even trying to be subtle at this point.

A loud crack resounded around the room.

What was it Dabi had said? Giran only tried to get his hooks into those he thought he could control.

A slight smile spread across his face. It was enough to make Giran frown.

How would one go about proving that you weren't to be fucked with, without completely burning all bridges? He needed the identity papers, but he also needed to then ensure that Giran would leave him the fuck alone. It was a tricky one...

( - )

(Nejire Hado)

Life was pretty great. Or at least her life was. She attended the prestigious U.A. Academy, did well at school, had a good group of friends, and also had loving and supportive parents.

If someone were to ask her what she would change about her life she honestly wouldn't know. It wasn't perfect. Nothing in life was. But at the same time there was nothing that really stood out that she would want to change and even if there was, she probably wouldn't change it.

Life in her opinion, was full of wonder and joy. But it also had many twists and turns. Sometimes bad things happen. But when they did, you just had to roll with it and try your best. And at the same time when good stuff happened, you needed to embrace the good and share the vibes as much as you could.

Life was for living and living was sometimes messy. It was part of what made every day so fun and exciting. Even when things were looking down. There was always at least some light to find. There was always a silver lining, even behind the blackest of clouds.

Bouncing cheerfully down the street with the sun blazing overhead and the birds singing. It was beginning to become quite difficult to resist the urge to use her quirk and take to the air, even as those she passed smiled and called out greetings.

But alas, if she did give in to temptation then she would be in trouble. It was illegal to use your quirk in public without a licence, and she wouldn't be getting a licence until she graduated from hero school. But that was something she would soon rectify as she was going into her third year at U.A. which meant graduation was almost within reach.

A bright smile spread across her face at that thought. As much as she enjoyed the holidays. They would soon be ending, and school would be starting once again.

She was looking forward to it.

She liked school. Her homeroom teacher was great. Plus, she loved spending time with all her friends.

Admittedly, there hadn't been a single day that had passed in the week since school broke up where she hadn't had at least some contact with her friends. But passing contact wasn't the same as seeing them every day, going to classes together, gossiping in the corridors, and working hard alongside them as they all strived to be the best heroes they could be.

Smiling wildly and waving as she passed a few familiar people in her neighbourhood, she paused for a moment and looked up at one of the large overhead jumbotrons that littered the centre of her district.

The image on the screen had just switched from an exciting chase scene as the hero Kamui Woods took down a cool-looking cat-like villain who'd just staged a daring robbery, and instead shifted to a familiar-looking newscaster.

Her purple hair was pinned back giving her a professional look, and her clear blue skin almost made it look like she was glowing as she shuffled her papers and looked up at the camera – she recognised the journalist. She was infamous for her sharp opinions and tabloid articles. She couldn't remember her name though.

Smiling despite what she knew would be coming – probably some gossip-mongering and poorly veiled sniping against the current government – she took a moment to listen in as the purple-haired newscaster started reading the headlines.

"In other news. A recent leak from the Mustafa police department has reported that there has been a break in the Yoroi Musha case. Although the details are still vague, and the police are keeping a lid on the more pertinent information, a trusted source inside the department has confirmed that a DNA sample found at the scene was sent for genetic testing after it was identified as potentially belonging to the perpetrator. The results of the tests have apparently provided some important leads for the police to work off."

Looking up at the camera, the woman smiled sharply.

"Although the lack of concrete information from the police department is disappointing, this most recent leak comes at a good time for the department as pressure has started to mount as local politicians and the Hero Commission have ramped up their demands for answers. We can only hope the department is more transparent going forward and recognises the public interest in this case."

Frowning for a moment, Nejire listened in as the woman gave a brief summary of the case and namechecked the lead office for a moment. She didn't give much more detail than that. Either because she wanted to build anticipation for when the actual information was released – maybe in another show or in an online article – or because she had been censored by the network. It could be either.

"In other news, All Might's absences from the hero scene have become more noticeable as the weeks turn to months. Already his rescue numbers, media rating and public appearance have sunk to their lowest on record. Could this lend credence to the rumours surrounding All Might's upcoming retirement? At over fifty years old All Might is long past the age the average Pro Hero retires, and if he does retire, what could this mean for wider society? All Might's agency provided no comment when approached. The Endeavour Agency, however, were quick to point out Endeavour's soaring figures as they continue to campaign for Endeavour in the run-up to the upcoming Japanese Billboard Rating. Will we soon have a new Number One hero? And if we do, what will that mean for the hero industry as a whole? Stay tuned for more!"

Tuning out the rest of the report, as it shifted from the more serious aspects of what was going on in the city, to the more spurious and gossip-related stories, Nejire continued walking down the street her brow furrowed.

What would a world without All Might actually look like?

He'd been the Number One Hero since before she was born. He was a mainstay of her life. The one constant, aside from her parents, in her life. How would society react when he took his well-deserved retirement, and who would step up and become the next Number One hero?

Her friend Mirio was the first person she thought of. Despite him being only eighteen like herself, and still a U.A. student. He just stood out more in her mind than any other, including a lot of the more famous Pro Heroes like Endeavour. But maybe she was just thinking about him because she hadn't seen him properly in a while. Not since he'd gotten a part-time job last week working with a friend of his hero mentor, Sir Knighteye, a nice if slightly odd man called Mr Yagi.

Her lips thinned at the thought of the skeletal, blonde man. She'd only met Mr Yagi a few times over the break, and yet she was worried. He'd looked so thin and sickly. His eyes were sunken, and several times she had seen him cough blood. She didn't know him well, but Mirio was close to him. He'd be crushed if something happened to the old man.

Thinking of Mr Yagi, her mind soon drifted to another injured man she'd met just before school broke up. The stranger she'd taken to the hospital. Maybe she should try and catch up with him? She had been planning on visiting the hospital before the news of what happened to Yoroi Musha first broke two weeks ago and everything went crazy.

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