Chapter 7
The Swan Dive
Izuku's eyes fluttered open as light seeped through a small gap in the curtains beside his bed. He blinked several times, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. Slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, he groaned as pain shot through his left abdomen, forcing him to clutch his side.
He looked down prompted by the weird feeling in his fingers when he had touched his abdomen. He noticed that his abdomen was wrapped with bandages making him wonder: who was it that had patched him up?
Taking shallow breaths to calm himself, Izuku surveyed his surroundings. This wasn't his room—that much was clear from the moment he'd woken up. But where was he? What had happened last night?
Racking his brain, Izuku pieced together the events of the previous evening. He'd been approached by that Maya girl in the alley. Thinking about her brought a disappointed frown on his face. How could be someone so cruel? To do something like that to your own father. The entire reveal about the girl's deed seemed surreal to him. He shook his head, diverting his thoughts from the morally dead girl.
He remembered that the girl had taken him to a van which had then driven to the abandoned sector in Tokyo. Upon arriving at the warehouse, he'd fought the transformed thugs, only to be interrupted by their boss. The ensuing battle flashed through his mind, ending with the arrival of a hero and his own desperate attempt to crawl away before losing consciousness.
If the hero had found him, there was a high chance he'd been captured. Yet this place hardly resembled a prison—it looked more like a cozy home, which seemed improbable.
Izuku cautiously approached the window, drawing back the curtains. The windowsill was locked tight, refusing to budge despite his efforts. Peering out, he considered the possibility that heroes were surrounding the premises, lying in wait for him to make a move.
Or perhaps...
Glancing around at the brightly colored walls and furniture, Izuku entertained another theory: this could all be the result of an illusion quirk, a clever ruse to manipulate him.
The sound of the door opening snapped Izuku to attention. In one fluid motion, he flipped the bed onto its side and took cover behind it.
As the door swung open, Izuku peered over his makeshift barricade at the woman who entered. Her eyes blinked in confusion at the overturned bed. Realizing she was unarmed, Izuku abandoned his cover and aimed his palm at her, ready to unleash an attack if necessary.
"Where am I?" he demanded, his voice taut with tension. Now that he could see her clearly, he noticed her thick, purple, spiky hair and baggy beige cardigan paired with tight black leggings.
The woman arched an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by Izuku's attempt at intimidation. To her, he looked more like a child throwing a tantrum. "Alright, calm down kid," she said, her tone nonchalant. "Everything is alright."
"Calm down?" Izuku spat. "You expect me to relax in an unknown place? For all I know, you've kidnapped me and plan to sell me to human traffickers."
The woman rolled her eyes. "Please. After the stunts you've pulled, you're more likely to get snatched during one of your little vigilante outings than here."
Izuku's jaw clenched at her cheekiness. He longed to bolt, but he needed intel on his prison before making any rash moves.
Before he could retort, another wave of pain erupted from his injured abdomen. He crumpled to his knees, curling into himself as agony overwhelmed him.
The woman was at his side in an instant, crouching beside him. "Hey, is it acting up again? Where does it—" As she reached out, Izuku swatted her hands away, startling her.
"Don't... Don't touch me..." he panted, his voice strained with pain and defiance.
The woman looked at him with a mix of sympathy and exasperation before sighing. "You could really use some rest, you know. Want me to bring you breakfast?"
Izuku groaned, his words escaping through gritted teeth. "I'm fine. I don't need your food." Unfortunately, his stomach chose that moment to betray him with a loud grumble. Glancing at the woman from the corner of his eye, Izuku couldn't help but blush in embarrassment at her knowing smirk. "I... I guess I could... have some breakfast. That is, if you're not planning to poison me."
The woman rolled her eyes again and helped Izuku to his feet. "Yeah, because poisoning a kid is totally on my to-do list today." She stood up and walked to the closet in the room. Opening it, she pulled out a white T-shirt and threw it at Izuku. "You can wear that."
Izuku nodded his head and put the T-shirt on. It was oversized for him, hanging loosely on his body. And the word "CHIBI" was written in bright pink for some reason.
The purple-haired woman started towards the door, pausing when she realized the kid was not following. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed him staring at the overturned bed. "Don't worry about that. I'll sort it out later. Come on, breakfast's ready."
Izuku tore his gaze from the bed and followed her out. The moment he stepped into the hallway, a familiar aroma hit him. The room opened up into a combined dining and living area. As he approached the kitchen, he saw the woman setting the table. Suddenly, something grazed his leg and he jerked back in shock. Looking down, he noticed a cat looking curiously at him.
"Meow~" The cat called before walking away towards the living room.
"Her name is Rainbow," the woman introduced as she noticed that the boy had met her dear cat.
"I don't care, really," Izuku retorted with lack of interest. "Who healed me?"
The woman looked at him, her eyes studying his face. "A dear friend of mine," she said cryptically.
"I would like a name," Izuku pressed, trying to know as much about his current condition as possible. If he just knew about the name of the person who had healed him, he could access the amount of meddling his body had sustained from their 'healing' while he was unconscious.
"You would not know," the woman replied, fixing the dishes for their breakfast.
"Just tell me," Izuku murmured through gritted teeth.
"Shizune Kato," the woman answered with a flat look.
"Who the hell is that?" Izuku asked with a flat look of his own.
"Told you, you would not know," the woman said, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
Izuku grumbled in annoyance, approaching the dining table.
Noticing him, she smiled. "Hope you don't mind katsudon. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I just went with my gut." She said, before thinking to herself, 'Can't let him know I only had ingredients for this dish.'
Izuku eyed the food suspiciously. Of all the dishes she could've made, she'd chosen his favorite. Yeah, that wasn't fishy at all.
The woman took a seat and studied Izuku, who remained standing. "Everything okay? Do you not like katsudon?"
Izuku chuckled. "Who told you to make katsudon?"
She tilted her head, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Someone must have tipped you off that it's my favorite, right? No way this is just a coincidence."
'What incredible luck! I guessed his favorite food right!' she cheered internally, but outwardly frowned at his accusation. "Nobody told me anything. I just thought it'd be nice."
Izuku chuckled again. "Yeah, that's exactly what someone who already knew my favorite dish would say."
"Has anyone ever told you you're way too paranoid for a kid?" she asked with a deadpan.
Izuku shrugged and finally sat down. "Can't be too careful, especially considering my... Nightly activities."
The woman bit back a retort and started eating, only to stop when she realized the boy hadn't taken a bite. "If you're worried about poison, which I swear there isn't any, how about I try it first?" She scooped some from his bowl and savored it, letting out an exaggerated moan of delight. "Mmm~ So good. I really am a culinary genius, aren't I?" Her self-praise made Izuku sweatdrop internally.
Taking his first bite, Izuku felt his taste buds explode with flavor. It was some of the most delicious katsudon he'd ever tasted.
Noticing his surprised expression, the woman smiled proudly. "It's amazing, right?"
Izuku had to begrudgingly agree. "Yeah," he mumbled.
A few minutes later, as he set down his empty bowl, the woman asked, "Want seconds?"
Instead of answering, Izuku fixed her with a steady gaze. "Who are you?"
She blinked, frowning. She pointed a finger at herself and asked, "You... don't recognize me?"
Izuku tilted his head, confused. "Should I? I don't remember seeing you in any hero magazines."
The woman's eyes widened in disbelief. How could he not recognize her? Suddenly, realization dawned on her. She WAS in her civilian getup. Of course, he would not recognize her. She stood up abruptly. "Wait here for a moment," she said, jogging into another room. She returned a moment later, something clutched in her hand. "How about now?" she asked, slipping on a pair of triangular Kamina glasses.
Izuku's jaw dropped. "HOLY SHIT! YOU'RE MS. MIDNIGHT!" he exclaimed, his voice so loud it made Midnight jump.
"You finally recognize me, huh?" Midnight asked sarcastically, her lips quirking in an amused smirk.
Izuku replied with a nonchalant shrug, "Well, you look entirely different with your glasses on."
"By the way, when I'm off-duty, I go by Nemuri Kayama," Midnight informed, putting her glasses to the side and taking her seat back.
"Why tell me this?" Izuku inquired, his tone tinged with curiosity.
Nemuri shrugged. "Can't have you calling me Midnight in the middle of the street while I'm shopping, can we? It might draw... unwanted attention."
"You think we're meeting again?" Izuku raised an eyebrow.
"The world may seem vast, but it's too small... and round," Nemuri replied with a knowing smirk.
Izuku studied the older woman. Her behavior was unsettlingly relaxed and tension-free. A frown of confusion creased his brow. Why was she acting like she wasn't harboring a criminal in her home? It made him uneasy.
"So, when are they coming?" Izuku finally asked, breaking the silence that had descended upon the dining room.
Nemuri cocked her head, raising a questioning eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"
"When are they coming?" Izuku repeated stoically. "The heroes? The police? Or are they surrounding this house right now, ready to jump me if I make a wrong move?"
Nemuri's expression softened, a hint of sadness creeping into her eyes. What kind of experiences had shaped such a mentality in someone so young? At his age, kids should be carefree, not carrying doubts in their little minds. Yet, as she gazed at the boy before her, his eyes held the weariness of a world-weary adult trapped in a child's body.
"No one's coming," Nemuri answered, her voice laden with compassion. "And no one's watching us right now."
"And you expect me to just believe you?" Izuku asked skeptically.
"Yeah. Or you can choose not to. It's up to you," she replied, her tone gentle yet firm.
"So, you're telling me I can just walk out of this house, and nothing will happen?"
"Pretty much."
Izuku scoffed disbelievingly. There was no way she was telling the truth. Either way, once he got out of here, he'd need to contact the President in secrecy. He might need to go into hiding, thanks to his incompetence.
Suddenly, the doorbell's chime shattered his thoughts, and Izuku stiffened. "I guess you were lying after all," he said, jumping out of his seat.
"I wasn't!" Nemuri exclaimed before turning towards the front door. "Now wait here. I'll see who it is. And act normal."
Izuku replied with another scoff, preparing himself for another fight. He wasn't going down without one.
Nemuri concealed her apprehension, uncertain of how the kid would react. Unable to predict the visitor's identity, she couldn't foresee how the next moments would unfold. Reaching the door, she peeked through the eyehole and spotted none other than Aizawa.
"Fucking Aizawa," she cursed in a whisper. "Couldn't he have come later?" But she knew keeping Aizawa waiting would only worry him more. So, she plastered a smile on her face and swung the door open. "Aizawa!" she greeted cheerfully, maintaining her usual demeanor. "What brings you here?"
"I had something to discuss with you," Aizawa replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Are you free right now?"
"Is it hero-related? Or personal?" Nemuri inquired, a hint of playfulness in her tone.
Aizawa frowned at the question. "Why would I come to you to discuss my personal life? It's hero business."
"You do know I'm off-duty for a few days, right? And I don't do hero work in the morning," Nemuri reminded him casually.
"That's precisely why I came now," Aizawa said. Suddenly, his eyes caught movement behind Nemuri, and he spotted a...child standing with his right hand behind his back. Weirdly enough, the child had pulled his oversized shirt up to his head, concealing his entire head from him. "Who's he? Or is it a she?"
Nemuri's smile faltered slightly as she turned to face Izuku and her lips twitched seeing him conceal his face in such a comical way. "Oh, him? He's...uh...he's my nephew! Yeah, my nephew."
Aizawa turned towards Nemuri, his gaze scrutinizing. "Since when did you have a nephew?"
"Since U.A., duh~" Nemuri replied, her tone playfully evasive.
"You never mentioned him before."
Nemuri rubbed the back of her neck, feigning discomfort. "Well, his mother—my sister—and I had some... bad history. I only reconnected with her a few months ago."
"You have a sister?"
"Well, excuse me for not sharing every detail of my life, Aizawa!" Nemuri suddenly snapped, her voice laced with manufactured irritation. "I'm entitled to have a personal life, just like you."
Aizawa's expression remained impassive, betraying no surprise. He stared at Nemuri blankly before nodding. "I understand. I'll come back later. Enjoy your time with your...nephew." With that, Aizawa excused himself.
Nemuri sighed and closed the door. She regretted snapping like that, but her nervousness had gotten the better of her. Aizawa was one of the few who could read her like an open book, and the last thing she needed was him breathing down her neck. She dreaded to think what Aizawa might do if he discovered she was sheltering a vigilante. While Aizawa was generally laid-back and held no grudges against vigilantes, he was also steadfastly rule-abiding.
"Why?"
The kid's voice broke Nemuri out of her reverie. "Why what?" she asked, turning to face him.
"Why did you lie to him?" Izuku pressed, allowing his t-shirt to fall back in place, revealing his face again. "He was Eraser Head, right?"
Nemuri exhaled deeply. "I don't know. I have no idea why I'm doing this. I could just hand you over to the police and easily crack the Top 10. But I... I can't. You're a child. You don't deserve to spend some of the most important years of your life locked up in a cell. No child does."
"I killed people," Izuku stated flatly.
"And that's exactly what makes this harder," Nemuri replied, her voice tinged with conflicting emotions. "You killed people—criminals of the worst kind—but still, you killed people. And I... I don't know how to process that."
Izuku studied the older woman, recognizing a kindred lost soul. It shocked him. He'd seen many... videos of her on HeroTube to 'analyze' her fighting style, and in all of them, she projected the image of an outgoing, confident woman. Seeing her now—confused, tired, and vulnerable—was eye-opening.
"Why do you do this?" Nemuri asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Izuku frowned, confusion evident in his eyes. "Why do I do what?"
"Why did you kill those criminals? Why go after them in the first place?"
"I have my reasons," Izuku grumbled, his tone brooking no further discussion.
"Thought as much," Nemuri replied with another sigh. She walked up to him and extended her hand towards him.
Izuku raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Give me the knife. I know you have it behind your back."
Izuku blushed lightly as he handed the kitchen knife to Nemuri.
"Were you really planning on attacking Aizawa with a butter knife of all things?" Nemuri asked tiredly.
"Some weapon is better than no weapon," Izuku replied. It was something taught to him by Yukimiru.
Nemuri shook her head as she walked into the bathroom where a washing machine hummed quietly.
Izuku followed her, curiosity piqued.
"I took the liberty of washing your clothes and armor," Nemuri said without facing Izuku. She reached into the washing machine and pulled out the dried garments. "Here," she said, handing them to Izuku, who accepted them gratefully.
"Can I get a carry bag?" Izuku asked. It would be more discreet to carry his armor in a bag rather than wear it in broad daylight.
"Sure. Wait here," Nemuri replied, her voice softening slightly.
She returned a minute later and handed Izuku a paper bag. Izuku took it from her and put his armor in it.
"Thank you for your hospitality, but I must take my leave," Izuku said, receiving a nod from Nemuri. Izuku glanced down at the T-shirt he was wearing.
"You can keep it. Bring it back to me the next time we meet," Nemuri said with a smile.
"I can't carry this shirt with me forever," Izuku replied flatly.
Nemuri chuckled. "Then you don't have to return it. Keep it as a gift from me. Would you like me to sign it?"
"Uh, about that..." Izuku scratched the back of his neck uneasily.
Nemuri's laughter made Izuku blush. "You're adorable! Makes me wish I could keep you with me forever. Wait here."
Izuku couldn't help but blush as Nemuri went back into her house and returned a few seconds later with a marker. She bent down and signed the T-shirt at the chest.
"Here you go," Nemuri said, excitedly as she straightened up.
"T-Thank you," Izuku stammered shyly.
Izuku walked towards the front door, followed by Nemuri.
Nemuri stood at her door as she watched the boy walk away at a leisurely pace. "You never told me your name," she said matter-of-factly, causing Izuku to stop in his tracks.
Izuku turned around. "I don't think we'll be meeting again. So, telling my name is unnecessary. Besides, I don't trust you."
Nemuri sighed helplessly. "You know... Yo should really stop what you're doing."
Izuku chuckled and turned back again. "I wish I could," he said, and left Nemuri standing at her doorway with a sad expression.
Izuku walked through the street but there was much more tension in his steps. He had extended his senses to its maximum capacity to search if anyone was following him.
He did not want to risk it. He could not be found by the Heroes. Ms. Midnight seemed like a hero of her words, but it was still a possibility that she was indeed lying to him and was involved with the heroes in some plan.
His first course of action was to find a safe place and call the President. So, he decided to head to the park. It was open and the calling booth was also shielded from the outside world by an opaque wall.
It took him twenty minutes to reach the park. Once there, he looked around one more time before entering the calling booth. He had been told that if one dialed a certain three-digit number before dialing the actual four-digit number, one could connect to the HPSC.
Izuku had never tried that before but he remembered the sequence he needed to dial to reach not the HPSC but directly the President.
"Ah, Izuku. I was wondering when you would call," the President said once the call connected.
"How did you know it was me?" Izuku asked through the telephone.
"Well, considering that there are only a couple of people that can reach this line and one of them is in the office right now, I think I could guess easily," the President replied.
"I see… About yesterday…"
"Come to my office, we will talk then," the President said.
"But what about…"
"What about what?"
"Wasn't I reported to the police or the Heroes?"
"No. You weren't reported to anyone, thankfully."
Izuku's eyes widened at that information. "Really?" He asked.
"Yes. Anyways, come to my office as soon as you can."
"Yes, ma'am."
Izuku hung up the phone and exited the calling booth. It was still unbelievable to him that Midnight had not just handed him over to the authorities and put him in jail. He wondered what could have let Midnight make such a decision. Why spare a criminal like him? Was it the Hero in her speaking? Or was it something more?
But either way, he knew that things were not going to go as smoothly with the President as it did with Midnight.
The President's gaze bore into Izuku, her elbows resting on the desk as she cradled her chin in the delicate cage of her interlaced fingers. Though her face remained a mask of blankness, her eyes burned with an intensity that made the air seem to vibrate around her.
Izuku's skin prickled under the weight of her scrutiny, his fingers involuntarily drifting to fidget with the hem of his shirt. The new T-shirt, a hasty change from his visit to the apartment on the way to the HPSC, now felt embarrassingly tight, especially in the President's imposing presence.
As he stood there, a familiar sense of powerlessness crept over Izuku. Years of rigorous training had significantly honed his combat skills, reducing these scrutinizing visits to a rarity. Yet, here he was again, subjected to the President's piercing gaze, her blank expression somehow still conveying a deep-seated disappointment in his latest failure. The weight of his incompetence hung heavy in the air, suffocating him.
The President's features underwent a subtle transformation, softening as she rose from her seat. Her long strides effortlessly closed the distance to the couch in the room's furthest corner, where she settled with gracious elegance. With a single, slender finger, she beckoned Izuku closer, her eyes never leaving his.
Izuku's nervousness intensified as he obeyed wordlessly, his legs moving on their own, his footsteps quiet on the floor. Noticing the President's gesture towards the seat beside her, he sat down, his fingers instinctively seeking out the shirt's hem to fidget with once more.
"Lie down on my lap," the President's soft voice commanded, the gentle tone belied by the unmistakable authority underlying her words. Izuku understood the distinction clearly: this was not a suggestion, but an unequivocal directive.
Without a word, Izuku reclined, the back of his head nestling comfortably into the President's lap, his gaze drifting upwards to the ceiling. Avoiding her stoic countenance, his eyes wandered across the false ceiling's surface, noticing the peculiar circular patterns etched into it. Had they always been there, or was this a recent addition?
Soft, ethereal light emanated from the President's left hand as it hovered above Izuku's abdomen. With deliberate slowness, she guided her hand upwards, pausing momentarily over his chest before finally hovering above both his hands separately.
As the glow dissipated, she withdrew her hand, her voice tinged with a hint of curiosity. "Whoever tended to your wounds appears to possess considerable expertise." Midnight's involvement now seemed to be a point of interest, as evidenced by the President's next question, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you aware of the individual's identity?"
Izuku's head shook in a shaky denial, his voice laced with trepidation. "N-No... I—I woke up at Ne—Midnight's house this morning, and I was already... healed."
A contemplative hum escaped her lips, her eyes glazing over as if lost in thought. Her hand began to gently stroke Izuku's head, her fingers softly raking through his hair. 'Fascinating that she was the one to find you', seemed to be the unspoken thought behind her distant expression. "So, you were at Midnight's residence..."
Izuku's inquiry was laced with caution, his voice barely above a whisper. "Is... there a problem, ma'am?"
The response was immediate, though the tone seemed almost too nonchalant. "No, none whatsoever."
"Did you know about the leader?" Izuku asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence. Once upon a time, he had enjoyed these moments of tender affection from the President, but lately, a growing apprehension had taken hold, fueled by the doubts clouding his mind about his long-time mentor.
The President's eyes drifted downwards, her gaze transforming into an inquisitory stare. "The leader? You mean the one running the gang?" Her eyes rose again, a distant look sweeping across them. "Yes. Yes, I did." The words hung in the air, shrouded in cryptic intent.
A furrow creased Izuku's brow as frustration simmered just below the surface. "And you didn't feel like informing me?" The question was laced with a hint of accusation, seeking clarity on the President's decision.
Her response was almost absentminded, a counter question that seemed to dance around the issue. "Hm? Should I have?" As she spoke, her gaze once again descended to Izuku, her hands continuing their gentle stroking of his hair. "I didn't tell you because I didn't think it was important. Tell me, Izuku. Was it important?"
Izuku gulped dryly, his eyes evading the President's, unable to meet her piercing gaze. "It would have been nice to know whom I was facing, you know." His voice was tinged with a mix of disappointment and longing for transparency.
She spoke sagely, her words dripping with a deep understanding of Izuku's psyche. "If I had told you from before, you would have been fueled by the desire to do the right thing. Your past would not have let you rest without seeking justice for that man. Without even knowing his identity, you were pushing yourself beyond your limits. Now, think what you would have done if you knew who he was."
Lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, Izuku remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as the office descended into an unsettling stillness. Neither he nor the President broke the silence, each enveloped in their own contemplations. The only motion inside the office was the soft, rhythmic stroking of Izuku's hair, a constant reminder for the boy of the President's presence.
The tranquility was shattered by Izuku's sudden inquiry, his voice cutting through the silence like a razor's edge. "Why do you think Midnight didn't report me to the authorities?" The question hung in the air, prompting a nonchalant shrug from the President.
"I don't know," she admitted truthfully, her expression a mask of puzzlement. "A self-absorbed individual like Midnight should have seized the opportunity to hand you over to the police, cementing her status as a Top 10 Hero. The publicity and freedom that would have brought her would have been invaluable to her."
Izuku's perplexity deepened, driving him to press for answers. "Then why didn't she?"
The President's response was a mirror image of her previous one – a shrug, accompanied by a succinct "Who knows."
A fleeting moment of hesitation gripped Izuku before he mustered the courage to pose his next question. He turned to meet the President's gaze, his eyes locking onto hers from the corner of his vision. "I-If I had been jailed, would you have... saved me?"
The President's glance faltered, a flicker of confusion dancing across her face before being supplanted by a enigmatic smile. "Of course, I would have," she replied, a rare, melodic lilt to her voice.
Izuku's emotions seesawed, unsure whether to bask in the warmth of her words or succumb to trepidation. A newcomer to the President's presence might have been swayed by her apparent sincerity, but Izuku's familiarity with her behavior over the past three years only served to deepen his apprehension at that statement.
The President's hands cradled Izuku's head, her face drawing closer, her voice taking on an unsettling, almost manic, tone. "Dear Izuku, you must be cautious, must be vigilant. Your death is not an option... not yet. You need to endure, to survive. Your fate is inextricably linked with that of this world, and you cannot begin to fathom the gravity of your importance." Her words dripped with an unnerving intensity, echoing the ravings of a deranged mind. "A destiny awaits you, one that you must fulfill. Should you perish before that moment, this world – our world – will be doomed."
Izuku was too weirded out by the sudden ramblings of the President. Suddenly, he started to feel warm, his vision becoming cloudy. Something felt absolutely wrong. His breathing quickened as he began to shake slightly. A searing headache split through his skull, causing his face to contort from the pain.
He squirmed and managed to extract himself from the grasp of the President. Now on his feet, he took a few steps backward to make distance between himself and the President who was looking at him with that blank stare of hers. "Uh... I-I have to go..." Izuku sputtered uncomfortably.
The President raised a questioning eyebrow. "You have some place to be?"
"I...Uh..." Izuku's mind whirled trying to find any excuse that he could give to leave this office. "Y-Yes. I-I would like to go visit my mother's grave." He said, finding a nice enough reason that the President would not question outright. "I-I haven't visited her today. So, I would like to go and pay my respect to her."
The President nodded in understanding. "Very well. You can leave," she said matronly. "But remember you have to take caution when you go out on your hunts, okay?"
"Y-Yeah... I understand," Izuku said and excused himself, hurrying out of the office as fast as possible. For some reason, today's talk had rendered him too uncomfortable and that last ravings of the President did not sit well with him. It was like she knew something, but refused to tell him what. But then again, she hardly ever parted with information.
Izuku felt his mind bombard with worry, questions and doubts. He needed to leave and find a quiet place to sort his emotions and thoughts before even interacting with the President.
That night...
Rain lashed down on Tokyo, casting a relentless gloom over the city's neon-drenched streets. Umbrella-clad pedestrians hastened along, their colorful canopies a stark contrast to the monochrome night. The rhythmic patter of raindrops on glass skyscrapers wove a melancholic melody, eerily echoing the turmoil that churned within the enigmatic figure high on one of the many skyscrapers of the city, hidden from public's eyes..
Perched on the railing of one of Tokyo's towering high-rises, Izuku sat exposed to the deluge, letting the icy rain soak through to his skin. His vibrant green hair, now plastered against his forehead, veiled his eyes, but he didn't flinch. The biting cold of the rainwater was a welcome respite from the numbing emptiness that had been suffocating him.
Waterlogged and weighed down, his armor clung to his frame as he fixed his blank gaze on the mask cradled in his palm. His thumbs absently traced the contours of the eye protrusions, his mind a maelstrom of anguish. Unrestrained tears mingled with the rain, his sorrow momentarily shielded by the downpour. 'What a fitting day for rain, indeed,' he mused despondently, his inner voice laced with despair.
The unsettling reality that he had tried to avoid for so long had finally sunk in: the President had been masterfully manipulating him all along. Though he'd harbored doubts about her intentions, he'd clung to a desperate hope that his paranoia was misplaced. Now, the confirmation stung like a betrayal.
For so long, Izuku had attempted to live in a state of willful denial, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that she might exploit his devotion. His unwavering loyalty, now felt tainted, reducing him to the role of a compliant, obedient puppy. The bitter pill to swallow was the stark realization that her control extended far beyond the realm of the mind – it had also shackled his body somehow.
It was ironic that the truth would have remained elusive had it not been for today's events. A nagging sense of ineptitude, first felt at the meeting's onset, had long puzzled Izuku. This strange, enervating sensation would resurface whenever his missions fell short of substantial success. Initially, he'd written it off as a manifestation of his low self-assurance, but with time, his confidence had grown significantly. Yet, the question lingered: was his subconscious fear of the President so profound that it could cripple his motor functions, rendering him a puppet under her gaze?
Izuku took pride in having overcoming his confidence hurdles, believing he'd earned a more esteemed place in the President's eyes. He was convinced, or so he thought, that he didn't fear her. So, what had triggered his body's inexplicable unresponsiveness? The disconnect between his mental assurance and physical reaction was jarring. And then there was that weird feeling he had felt after her mad ramblings. That was enough to finally confirm his doubts. The President was doing something to his mind, but what?
The more he delved into the labyrinth of his thoughts, the more he uncovered a web of subtle manipulation that had been spun around him since the very beginning.
It started with the way she presented facts, carefully curating the narrative to serve her purposes. The revelation that the gang's leader was the same individual he had spared three years prior, and her deliberate omission of this information, spoke volumes. Apparently, she had deemed him too emotionally volatile to handle the truth, implying that she had been pulling the strings behind all his actions. The irony was almost palpable: she had been goading him toward revenge against those who had wronged him, all while training him under the auspices of strengthening him to avenge his mother's death. Yet, she had engineered a protracted wild goose chase, diverting his attention from the true target. In essence, she had utilized him as a tool for meting out retribution against those who defied her authority, while denying him the same privilege in his own quest for justice.
A disturbing pattern emerged in his mind: she had schooled him to perceive the world through a stark, black-and-white lens, discouraging him from questioning her authority. This had sowed seeds of self-doubt, rendering him increasingly reliant on her guidance. The weight of his actions settled heavy on his conscience – the lives taken, the population annihilated – all at her behest. And yet, he had never once mustered the courage to challenge her decisions, nor his own complicity in them. The silence of his dissent was deafening, a haunting testament to the depth of her psychological grasp on him.
Doubts crept in, casting a shadow over the very foundation of his trust. Izuku's mind questioned the authenticity of the documents the President had presented, supposedly exposing All Might's darkest secret: the elimination of a villain to ensure peace and prosperity. Were these records genuine, or had they been meticulously forged to coerce him down a path he had always been reluctant to follow? If she had deceived him about the leader's true identity, how many more untruths had she fed him, leaving him none the wiser?
A more sinister concern, however, began to grips his psyche. Izuku's gaze widened in horror as he strained to recollect conversations with the President from two years prior. His mental archive, normally a treasure trove of vivid memories courtesy of his eidetic memory, lay disturbingly bare. He couldn't recall the specifics of why he'd agreed to the Lebanon mission. The rationale behind his acquiescence to assassinate the Vietnamese business tycoon remained equally elusive.
Izuku's eyes darted wildly, as if searching for fragments of his own memories. The eerie realization dawned on him: his exceptional memory, once a reliable asset, had retained only one consistent detail – his unequivocal agreement to the President's proposals. The submissive echo of "yes" haunted him, a chilling reminder of his obedience. When had the erasure of his memories begun? What had triggered this depth of submissiveness towards her?
'A quirk?' Izuku's inner monologue echoed with perplexity. 'But which quirk, exactly, is hers?'
He recollected that her quirk was somehow linked to her hair, yet this knowledge was at odds with the numerous instances where she'd seemingly employed diverse abilities. The memory of his inaugural meeting with the President, accompanied by his mother, resurfaced. She had conjured an assortment of beverages – tea, coffee, and juice – out of thin air. The connection between this feat and her hair remained elusive. Furthermore, he recalled the incident at the brothel, where her eyes had briefly glowed with an orange hue. This sparked a new train of thought: Could her quirk be eye-based after all? A chilling possibility emerged: Was it conceivable that his memories were being manipulated, erased even, whenever she locked gazes with him? The mere prospect sent a shiver down Izuku's spine. 'Come to think of it,' Izuku mused in apprehension. 'What is her eye color?'
However, this theory didn't account for the multiple occasions where she'd effortlessly masked her face in public, adopting the visages of others with uncanny realism. How could an eye-based quirk facilitate such seamless identity concealment in the real world? The discrepancy between these observations and the supposed eye-based quirk left Izuku baffled.
His thoughts circled back to the sole instance where her hair had been overtly utilized as a quirk – four years prior, when she'd crafted bullets from her tresses. Yet, this isolated event failed to explain the broader array of abilities she'd demonstrated, including her astonishing capacity for facial transformation. Izuku's mind wrestled with the contradictions, struggling to distill a coherent understanding of the President's enigmatic quirk.
Izuku's mind whirled with the implications: Was she, like him, a multi-quirked individual? If so, wouldn't his quirk, the Six Eyes, have alerted him to this fact? His eyes, after all, held the unique capacity to discern a person's quirk and its focal point – a talent that had previously revealed the President's hair-centric ability. Surely, if she possessed multiple quirks, his eyes would have unequivocally informed him of this peculiarity.
A throbbing headache began to assert itself, likely exacerbated by the relentless rain and the cacophony of conflicting thoughts in his head. Izuku exhaled a stifled sigh, redolent with weariness and trepidation, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his turmoil.
The memory of her grandiose monologue, proclaiming his destiny and the world's fate as inextricably linked to him, now seemed almost laughable. Destiny? Fate? Izuku's lips curled into a disbelieving sneer. Could anyone genuinely believe such far-fetched, superstitious ramblings, especially from someone of her stature?
For now, he wished to shelve the absurdity of her claims. His own self-doubt and the shackles on his free will were burdens enough. The programming that had once compelled him to acquiesce, without question, to the President's violent whims still lingered, a constant reminder of his subservience. The weight of those unexamined choices now bore down upon him.
'I'm have had enough of this,' Izuku's inner voice declared, weary of the monotony, the doubts, the endless dodging of shadows, and the galling sensation of being exploited. He yearned for autonomy – to forge his own path, to live life unfettered by the dictates of others. But a nagging question persisted, refusing to be silenced.
Was such freedom even possible for him?
Escaping the HPSC's clutches seemed a tantalizing prospect, but the harsh realities of such a move quickly sobered him. Where could he possibly seek refuge? The Bakugos' household was an immediate non-starter – involving them would only serve to unleash the full fury of the HPSC upon his friends, a consequence too terrible to contemplate. Orphanages were equally impractical, offering scant hope of evasion; the HPSC's reach was too pervasive, and he'd inevitably be discovered anyways. As for fleeing the country, that option, too, was firmly closed off to him.
With each avenue of escape systematically eliminated, a solitary, unpalatable choice remained...
Izuku's voice was barely audible, a low, indistinct murmur lost amidst the rain's relentless patter, as he repeated the words that had become a festering wound in his mind: "My destiny, huh?" His movements were deliberate, almost mechanical, as he slowly pushed himself upright, his balance precariously maintained atop the slender railing. For a fleeting instant, he seemed frozen, poised on the precipice. Then, in a moment of desperation, he spat out a defiant, rain-shrouded curse. "Fuck this shit..."
Without another hesitation, Izuku leaned forward, and his body succumbed to gravity's pull. He fell, the lights of the street below rushing to meet him with an unsettling swiftness.
As Izuku's body surrendered to the gravitational pull, he plummeted towards the ground with unencumbered velocity. Eyes closed, he reveled in the force of the air buffeting him, the sensation of weightlessness enveloping him like a shroud. For a fleeting instant, everything felt... right. The burdens of his existence seemed to lift, and the promise of imminent release from this tortured world brought a twisted sense of comfort. In mere seconds, all would be over, and freedom – of a sort – would be his.
As weightlessness assumed dominance, his worries, doubts, and fears dissipated, replaced by an eerie sense of acceptance. He felt unmoored, yet liberated, like a bird in effortless flight, charting its own course. A serene smile crept onto his face as he contemplated the prospect of reuniting with his mother – though, with a tinge of dark humor, he acknowledged that his past deeds hardly guaranteed a heavenly reception. Still, the promise of freedom, no matter the afterlife's uncertainties, filled him with an intoxicating sense of relief.
His mind felt unshackled, no longer troubled by the burdens of the gang, the President's manipulations, the weight of his own sins, the crushing pressure to meet others' expectations.
In this fleeting moment, Izuku was, at last, free.
Or so he thought...
Without warning, a sudden, jarring impact from his left shattered the serene tableau. In an instant, his downward trajectory veered sharply sideways, defying gravity's pull. A slim, gloved arm encircled his torso, holding him fast against a mesh-suited form. Glancing down, he saw bare, pale hands grasping his armored torso with an unyielding grip. As he turned right, his eyes widened in alarm; the glass exterior of a building's window was now rushing towards them with heart-stopping rapidity.
In a swift, reflexive motion, the person holding Izuku repositioned themselves, shielding him from the impending impact. The crash still shook the air, but its force was now mitigated. The sound of shattering glass exploded through the space, followed by Izuku being released from the tight grip. He tumbled across the floor, coming to a stop amidst the wreckage.
A woman's anguished cry pierced the air. "FUCK!"
Izuku's gaze snapped upwards, the voice sending a jolt of recognition through him. His eyes widened further as he took in the sight of Ms. Midnight lying amidst the shattered glass, her back arched, head pinned to the floor. She writhed, rolling away from the treacherous glass-strewn area.
"Ms. Midnight!" Izuku exclaimed, rushing to her side in alarm. "M-Ms. Midnight! W-What the hell did you do?" His voice trembled with concern.
Midnight was clearly in agony, having managed to prop herself up on her right forearm, her body swaying with each labored breath. A faint, telltale flush colored her cheeks, obscured from view by the cascade of her hair. Izuku's worried gaze, however, took in the disturbing sight of glass shards protruding from the skin of her back, piercing through the translucent mesh suit. Her voice, laced with pain and erratic urgency, crackled through the air. "Holy fucking shit! I remember why I don't go crashing into glass..."
Izuku's question tumbled out in a frightened stammer. "A-Are you a-alright?" Though, in the same moment, he wondered if there was a more pertinent question to be asked, one that might better address the unfolding crisis.
"Are you kidding me? Of course, I'm not alright!" Midnight's retort was laced with justified irritation, her expression scorching with a mix of pain and indignation. Her vocabulary, indeed, grew more... creative. "Fucking shit, indeed!" She struggled to sit up on her knees, her eyes blazing as she directed a withering glare at Izuku. Her gaze could have incinerated him, had it been possible. "What in the world possessed you to jump off like that?! Did you have any idea what you were doing?!"
"I-I..." Izuku's response faltered, words failing him in the face of Midnight's ire.
"What?!" she barked, her rough tone overrideing the pain shooting up her spine. "What was going through that head of yours?! Do you even grasp the enormity of what you almost did?! Why on earth would you leap off a building like that?! I waited, expecting some semblance of reason, but no! You took the leap! Are you utterly out of your mind?!"
The air seemed to vibrate with tension before Izuku's thunderous response shook the space. "FUCK OFF!" His voice boomed, anger and anguish entwined. His hair cast a shadow over his eyes, lending an ominous cast to his features. "You have no idea of what it's like to walk in my shoes! To know the only person who ever showed you kindness was manipulating you all along! To realize your entire existence was nothing more than a means to an end. A tool to be exploited and discarded! So, don't... dare... take that tone with me!"
Midnight's voice caught in her throat, leaving her speechless as she bore witness to Izuku's heartfelt, anguished outpouring. Her eyes, wide with shock and sorrow, remained fixed on him, unsure of how to respond to the depth of his emotional turmoil. The unspoken questions swirled in her mind. What unimaginable hardships had this child endured? What desperate circumstances had driven him to such a bleak conclusion?
Izuku shook his head, a barely audible whisper escaping his lips. "You shouldn't have saved me." The words, though soft, carried effortlessly to Midnight's ears. "I'm just a fucking burden to this world. Someone like me... doesn't deserve to exist." With a quiet resolve, he rose to his feet and padded towards the shattered window panel, his back to Midnight.
Midnight twisted around, tracking his movements, and their eyes met as he turned to face her by the window. In that fleeting instant, she glimpsed the haunting eyes of a soul crushed by the world's weight, a being who yearned for release from existence. The intensity of that moment seared itself into her memory. Without warning, Izuku averted his gaze and, with a quiet leap, vanished out the window.
Midnight's eyes dilated in alarm as she scrambled towards the window, relief washing over her as she spotted Izuku swinging away with an uncanny, Spider-Man-like agility. Perched on her knees, she couldn't shake off the curiosity sparked by this mysterious boy, who doubled as the mysterious vigilante, Night Crawler. One truth, however, crystallized in her mind. Night Crawler's actions were not his own, but rather, the result of coercion by an unknown entity. The question echoed ominously within her. Who was orchestrating this child's destructive path? A shiver ran down her spine as she intuited the darkness surrounding this unknown puppeteer.
With a heavy sigh, the woman's slender fingers combed through her damp, disheveled hair, as if the simple act might unravel the complexities now swirling in her mind. Witnessing Night Crawler's vulnerable side had stirred an overwhelming urge within her: to extend a comforting hand, to reassure him that all would indeed be alright, and that a brighter future awaited for him.
Yet, she hesitated, her thoughts tempered by doubt. Would this enigmatic boy, who wore the weight of adulthood despite his tender years, perhaps merely 10, yet bearing the countenance of one shouldering an adult's burdens, welcome her solace? Would he even desire her intervention, or would pride and the mantle of self-reliance he'd assumed rebuff her efforts?
Midnight slowly rose to her feet, the soft creak of her mesh suit a reminder of the injuries she needed to tend to. A wry smile touched her lips as she contemplated the inevitable: another visit to her friend's abode for treatment – a recurring theme that had likely earned her friend's perpetual exasperation, given the bizarre nature of her injuries.
As for her intentions regarding Night Crawler... A glint danced in her eyes, betraying a long-held truth. The wishes of others had never been a deterrent for her. With a resolute air, she seemed to silently declare that her mind was made up, and the course of action, all but certain.
One Week later…
Nemuri strolled through the streets of Tokyo with a leisurely pace, the cool night breeze creating a pleasant sensation within her. Not being on duty was evident from her attire - a crème-colored baggie cardigan and loose black jeans paired with black heels, a far cry from her revealing Hero costume. Her spiky hair, tied in a high ponytail, still managed to cascade down her back, reaching her waist. She had opted for normal rectangular glasses instead of her iconic ones, giving her an understated look of elegance. To anyone's eyes, she would look like a prim and proper lady, instead of the flirty, bimbo Miss Midnight.
She was on a break from duty today which she considered to be well-earned. The capture of so many thugs the other day had managed to garner her a much more favorable spot with the Tokyo Police department. And while she had managed to capture a whole gang of thugs, she could not apprehend the gang leader. But the biggest find during her little raid was the mysterious fluid-filled tubes packed in cartoons. The Officers who had arrived at the scene had sent those fluids for investigation and had promised to keep her informed if they found anything.
For now, everyone was waiting with bated breath for at least one of the thugs to regain consciousness and provide some much-needed answers.
As Midnight continued her stroll through the streets, she couldn't help but notice the eerie quietness of the night. The thought of Aizawa sighing in relief on one of the rooftops brought a faint smile to her lips.
Aizawa had a penchant for operating in the shadows, using the darkness to conceal his actions and avoid unwanted attention from the news agencies. This approach also allowed him to mitigate one of his weaknesses: physical strength. The night was his ally, and he exploited it to his advantage.
In contrast, Midnight's reasons for working at night were different. As an X-Rated Heroine, her activities were much more restricted, and the night was the only time she was allowed to operate. But what did these ratings signify? The Hero ratings were a classification system that restricted Heroes' activities based on their level of violence, explicitness, and other factors. There were three main ratings: PG-13, R, and X.
The PG-13 Heroes were the epitome of family-friendly role models. They refrained from using profanity in public and wore costumes that covered them fully, avoiding any indecent exposure. As a result, they were free to work at any time of day without restrictions. Heroes like Endeavor and Ingenium were prime examples of PG-13 Heroes, embodying the values of wholesome heroism...well, at least that was the case with Ingenium.
In contrast, the R-Rated Heroes walked a fine line between being family-friendly and pushing the boundaries of what was considered acceptable. While they were allowed to work during the day, they were subject to stricter rules and guidelines. They could use mild profanity in public, and their costumes, although form-fitting, did not reveal sensitive areas. However, they had to be mindful of their language and behavior, especially around children. Heroes like Ryukyu and All Might fell into this category, with All Might's tight jumpsuit and incredible Adonis-like physique being a notable reason as to why the Number One Hero was considered R-Rated. Fat Gum's R-Rating, however, left Nemuri perplexed, as she couldn't quite understand the reasoning behind it. Aizawa too came under this Rating because of how his activities often led him to some dark underground places.
Then, there were the X-Rated Heroes, who faced significant restrictions on their activity periods. They were only allowed to work from evening to early morning before sunrise, as their presence in public during the day was deemed inappropriate. These Heroes often wore revealing costumes or relied on risqué humor as part of their persona. Nemuri, as Miss Midnight, had registered herself as X-Rated due to her sensual persona and her revealing Hero Costume.
Other X-Rated Heroes, such as Monkey Man, Mariner, and Shark Head, came to Nemuri's mind. Monkey Man's quirk required him to be naked from the waist up, while Mariner and Shark Head's quirks were more effective when they were nude. Monkey Man typically patrolled after midnight, while Mariner and Shark Head worked in the seas and oceans, away from public eyes, allowing them to work during both day and night.
However, there were two significant reasons why Midnight had chosen to be an X-Rated Heroine, despite the potential drawbacks. To many, being an X-Rated Hero/Heroine might seem like a limiting or even useless label, but not to her. The first major reason was financial gain. As an X-Rated Heroine, she attracted attention - attention that many might frown upon, but she welcomed them with open arms. This attention was often indecent and lewd, but she had learned to monetize it, turning it into a lucrative career.
The moment she had entered the Hero business, her popularity had skyrocketed. She had created a new path for herself, one that no other female Hero had ever taken before. Her debut, where she had dressed in literally nothing but strategically placed pouches, had managed to spark controversy throughout the country, but it had also brought her the attention she craved. Many had questioned her sanity, but she had proven them wrong. In just a year, she had risen through the popularity ranks, surpassing heroes with years more experience than her. She had currently even outranked Endeavor in terms of HeroGram followers, becoming the second most followed Hero in Japan after All Might and tenth most followed in the world.
This immense popularity had brought her a windfall of brand deals and endorsement opportunities, earning her hundreds of thousands to millions of dollars. When combined with her Hero paychecks, she had become a wealthy individual, and she made no apologies for it. She was unapologetically rich, and she reveled in the financial freedom that came with being a successful X-Rated Hero.
A blush spread across Nemuri's cheeks as she thought about the other significant reason she had chosen to become an X-Rated Hero. It had taken her some time to come to terms with this aspect of herself, but she had finally accepted it.
She was, without a doubt, an exhibitionist.
For those who didn't know, an exhibitionist was someone who derived pleasure from exposing themselves to the public. And Nemuri had come to accept that she was one.
She recalled the countless nights she had spent on rooftops, masturbating to the fantasy of being seen by someone. The thrill of exposing herself to villains during battles always sent her to new heights of pleasure. There were times when she had even orgasmed during fights, with her opponents staring at her with lustful eyes. The knowledge that they thought they could touch her, only to be crushed by her, was such a turn-on for her.
Nemuri was a complex individual, both a sadist and a masochist. She loved toying with her opponents, making them believe they had the upper hand. She would tease them mercilessly, giving them raging erections or wet kitties, and then crush them beneath her heels. She took pleasure in destroying their souls, in making them realize they were nothing more than her playthings.
It was a twisted game, one that many would consider immoral and unheroic. But to Nemuri, it was a necessary evil. She was a hero who saved people from villains. She protected them in her own way, using her body and her wit to lure villains into her trap.
Dressing like a stripper often led people to underestimate her, to see her as a brainless bimbo. But that was exactly what she wanted. Villains, both male and female, would always fall for the trap, mistaking her for a helpless sex object. And then, she would strike, crushing them beneath her heels in a matter of seconds. It made her feel powerful, satisfied her ego and most of all – gave her the greatest pleasure she had ever experienced. To see the hope, the lust, the craze disappear from a villain's eyes, only to be replaced by absolute fear. Fear of her.
It was...exhilarating.
Nemuri's train of thought came to an abrupt stop as she stood before a quaint café. "Perhaps I should treat myself to a strawberry shake?" she mused, before pushing open the door and stepping inside. She approached the barista and gave her a warm smile, before inquiring, "Do you have strawberry shakes available?"
The barista, a young woman likely in her early twenties, looked up and smiled warmly. "Yes, of course, ma'am. Would you like a small, medium, or large size?"
"A small one, please," Nemuri replied, patting her stomach. "I need to maintain my shape, after all."
The barista chuckled at Nemuri's lighthearted comment. "Naturally. But you look lovely just the way you are, ma'am. Please wait here." She returned a minute later with a small strawberry milkshake and handed it to Nemuri. "That'll be 1000 Yen, ma'am."
Nemuri paid the barista and began to make her way deeper into the shop to find an empty seat. That's when she spotted a familiar green-haired figure which caused her eyes to widen ever so slightly. She approached the person sitting with their back to her, and to her surprise, it was none other than the Vigilante kid.
Izuku, engrossed in sipping his chocolate milkshake, sensed someone approaching. Without looking up, he glanced sideways. "You?" He asked incredulously, his eyes wide in abject shock, and surprise.
Nemuri could not help but smirk at him. "The one and only," she said smoothly enjoying his reaction. "I told you, the world is quite small. You did not believe me."
Chapter End
Author's Post-Chapter Comment:
Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Next chapter is one of my favorites, so I hope you guy look forward to it.
Also, I am going to just insert characters from other manga/anime series here because I am just too lazy to create original characters of my own. Mostly, characters from One Piece, Naruto, AOT, JJK and such. Let me know if you guys want to see characters from other anime/manga series and I will see if I can incorporate them in the story. They will not be playing any major role and their powers/abilities will be toned down to match in-universe power levels, so don't expect a cameo from say Anos Voldigoad and expect him to break space and time fabric. :| Please characters like Goku or Vegeta either, because what the fuck do you want me to do with them, blow up the planet or something, :/
Oh, and also before anyone asks: Why Midnight/Nemuri does not contact Nedzu or U.A. immediately? Reason is subtly hinted in the next chapter.
I just...realized this is and it does not have tagging system. Sorry, this is an A.U., so there are fundamental changes in this universe, especially the pasts of the characters. Don't worry, I won't change the past of characters that has been established in canon like All Might's or Hawk's or Aizawa's or Shigaraki's. I will just change pasts of characters like Nemuri Kayama/Ms. Midnight, or Momo's or someone else whose pasts are not well established and just hinted at. Unfortunately, I am not considering Vigilantes because I have just started reading it and it will take me a year to complete it because I am a slow reader.
I will try to add the tags from AO3 to the first chapter, so you guys can go check them if you want.
Leave a review if you liked this chapter. Don't if you did not like this chapter.
Meet you in a week...hopefully.
Until then, take care.
Bye bye!
Next Chapter: What do you think it means to be a Hero?
