Chapter 11
Not in a Million Years
[Next day...]
Nemuri Kayama stirred awake, her eyelids fluttering in an effort to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. She stretched languidly in her warm bed, feeling her muscles extend and the kinks in her joints slowly dissipate. Lying back, she stared up at the ceiling, her mind replaying the events of the previous night.
It had been a nightmarish ordeal. The gang leader's sudden and violent demise at the hands of an unseen force still haunted her. The gruesome sight of his head bursting like a balloon was something she had never encountered before in her entire Hero career and would forever be etched in the back of her mind. The way the innards had exploded, the inside of his neck and the detached eyeball, the mere thought of that scene sent a shiver down her spine, her hand instinctively rising to trace the spots on her face where the blood and gore had splattered. Her fingers trembled slightly at the memory.
After handing over the leader's lifeless body to the authorities, who had thankfully arrived promptly, she had rushed home. The need to wash away the remnants of the carnage had been overwhelming. She had scrubbed her skin raw, desperate to cleanse herself of the bloody evidence and the horrifying images etched into her mind.
But now, a persistent question gnawed at the back of her mind: what had caused the leader's head to explode like that? Was it some sort of programmed self-destruct device, a failsafe in case he was captured by a Hero? Or was it a Quirk gone awry?
A Quirk seemed unlikely, but a suicide bomb implanted in the leader's head... that was within the realm of possibility. Especially if there was someone even more sinister pulling the strings—someone with access to that kind of technology.
"There are powers at play here. Powers that are worse than any villain out there."
Those words echoed in Nemuri's mind, crystal clear. Izuku had said them during their first meeting at the cafe. Could he know something about all this?
As her thoughts drifted to the green-haired boy, a more pressing concern settled in her chest. His last words to her the night before had felt... final, as if he was saying goodbye forever. But that couldn't be right, could it?
Nemuri slowly shifted into a sitting position, the blanket that had been covering her sliding down to reveal her naked form. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet meeting the cold marble floor with a slight jolt. It's probably nothing, she reassured herself, trying to calm her anxious thoughts. Izuku was likely talking about giving up his vigilante activities and returning to a normal life. Yeah, that's probably it, she rationalized. And if he was stepping away from this dangerous lifestyle, he would need to disappear, to keep himself hidden. That would mean no more contact with her. Hopefully, they would cross paths again once he had grown up, Nemuri thought with a wistful smile.
Standing up, Nemuri stretched her arms overhead, her muscles taut and her breasts bouncing gently with the movement. Catching sight of her reflection in the dressing table mirror, she couldn't help but admire her own beauty. Her eyes lingered on the curves of her hips and the fullness of her breasts, a sense of pride and confidence washing over her. She turned around, playfully sticking her ass out and giving it a light smack, giggling as it jiggled slightly.
With no one else around, Nemuri saw no need to get dressed. She loved the comfort and privacy of her own home. Stepping out of her bedroom, she glanced into the living room to check on her dear cat. Thankfully, the feline was curled up peacefully on the couch, just as it usually did. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she watched the gentle rise and fall of the cat's furry body, content in its slumber.
Nemuri headed towards the bathroom, eager to wash away the remnants of the previous night and prepare for the day ahead. It was already 10 o'clock, and she needed to be at the police station to give her report on the night's events. Stepping into the bathroom, she made her way to the sink to brush her teeth, the cool water splashing against her face bringing a refreshing jolt. Once her teeth were clean, she stepped into the shower, turning the knob to release a stream of hot water.
"Mmm…" Nemuri moaned softly as the warm water cascaded over her body, a sensation of pure bliss washing over her. She cherished the moment, feeling the water wash away her tiredness, her weariness, and the lingering disgust from the previous night's ordeal. It was a cleansing ritual, both physically and emotionally.
She reached for the bottle of shampoo, pumping a generous amount onto her left palm. Rubbing her hands together, she worked the shampoo into a rich lather before applying it to her hair. Her fingers massaged her scalp, scrubbing away the grime and stress, ensuring every strand was thoroughly clean. The scent of the shampoo filled the air, adding to the sense of renewal. She took her time, savoring the relaxing sensation as the shampoo worked its magic.
Once she had thoroughly lathered her hair, Nemuri reached for the bar of soap. She rubbed it between her palms, working up a rich, creamy lather. Starting with her hands, she methodically applied the soap to her body, savoring the slippery smoothness against her skin. She moved up to her chest, taking extra care to soap up her breasts, cupping them gently and running her fingers over her nipples, which hardened at the touch. She didn't neglect the undersides of her boobs, ensuring every inch was covered in the sudsy lather.
Continuing down, she soaped up her long, toned legs, paying special attention to the sensitive skin behind her knees. She spread her legs slightly, allowing her hand to glide between them, cleansing her most intimate areas thoroughly. Even the soles of her feet received a good scrubbing, leaving no part of her body untouched.
Satisfied with her soap application, Nemuri turned the shower back on, letting the warm water cascade over her, rinsing away the suds. She stood under the stream, eyes closed, luxuriating in the sensation of the water running down her body. The heat seeped into her muscles, melting away any remaining tension. Time seemed to stand still as she basked in the simple pleasure of the shower.
When she finally felt fully clean and relaxed, she reached out and turned off the water. Grabbing a towel from the rack beside the shower, she wrapped it around herself, the soft fabric absorbing the moisture from her skin. After drying off completely, she hung the towel neatly on a hanger to let it dry.
Without a stitch of clothing, Nemuri casually strolled into her kitchen, feeling no need to conceal her nudity. The sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on her bare skin. On a whim, she decided to catch up on the news and detoured into the living room. Flipping on the TV, she tuned into the national channel, her fingers absentmindedly gliding through her cat's soft fur. The creature stretched languidly, waking up from its peaceful slumber, and Nemuri hummed softly to herself, enjoying the quiet moment.
After a few minutes, she sauntered back to the kitchen, her hips swaying gently with each step. She began to gather the utensils and ingredients she needed for breakfast, her movements fluid and unhurried. The cool tiles felt refreshing under her bare feet as she opened cupboards and rummaged through drawers, the clatter of pots and pans filling the air. She was completely at ease in her own space, her mind light and unburdened, focused solely on the simple pleasure of preparing her morning meal.
"~Meow~"
Nemuri glanced down to find her cat gazing up at her with wide, sparkling eyes, a soft mewl escaping its lips. She understood the hint immediately. "Alright, just a sec, sweetie," she cooed, her voice warm and indulgent. With a playful sway of her hips, she sashayed to the other side of the kitchen. From the counter, she retrieved her cat's bowl and then glided over to the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of milk.
Cat in tow, Nemuri walked back into the living room and placed the bowl gently on the floor. She poured a generous serving of milk, the cool liquid splashing softly against the bowl. Her cat mewed happily and began lapping up the milk, its tiny tongue darting in and out. Nemuri hummed a cheerful tune, her fingers lightly stroking the kitty's soft fur as she watched it drink.
After a few moments of tender affection, Nemuri stood up and returned to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast. All the while, her ears remained tuned to the news reporter discussing her recent bust. She couldn't help but giggle, knowing this would significantly boost her reputation among the public. She made a mental note to find Izuku and treat him for his invaluable help.
"And now, we bring you breaking news," the reporter announced, snagging Nemuri's attention as she moved gracefully through her kitchen. She had just picked up a white porcelain plate, intending to set it aside, when the reporter's next words hit her like a punch to the gut.
"The vigilante known as Night Crawler, who has been terrorizing the streets of Tokyo and delivering his own brand of justice to criminals, has surrendered to the Tokyo Police this morning."
The plate slipped from Nemuri's grasp, shattering into a hundred tiny pieces on the floor. She stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock. This can't be right, she thought, her mind racing. There had to be some kind of mistake. Slowly, she turned on her heels, the marble floor suddenly feeling ice-cold against her bare feet.
Nemuri staggered into the living room, her legs barely supporting her. She stood behind the couch, her gaze locked onto the news reporter on the screen. This had to be a prank, some twisted joke, she tried to reassure herself. But her hopes crumbled as Izuku's image flashed across the television, still cloaked in his vigilante armor, thankfully concealing his identity. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and disbelief coursing through her veins.
"At this time, the police have not disclosed specific details about the vigilante, such as his name or age," the reporter continued. "However, from the image captured, it is evident that this vigilante, Night Crawler, is alarmingly young—likely around 10 or 12 years old. This raises several pressing questions: Why was a child involved in such violent acts? Was he being manipulated by someone, or were these actions his own? Our on-scene journalist has managed to speak with an officer at the Tokyo Police Station. Let's hear what he has to say."
The screen shifted, now displaying a young man holding a microphone emblazoned with the news channel's logo. "Thank you," the journalist acknowledged, adjusting his earpiece. "To all our viewers, I am currently at the Tokyo Police Station," he said, as the camera briefly panned to the imposing building behind him. "With me is Detective Tsukauchi, who was present when Night Crawler surrendered to the authorities."
The camera and the reporter both turned towards Detective Tsukauchi. "Good morning, Detective Tsukauchi," the reporter greeted formally.
"Good morning," the detective replied, his expression carefully neutral.
"Can you please tell us the exact moment when Night Crawler came to the station and surrendered himself?" the reporter asked, moving the mic closer to the detective's lips.
"He arrived at the police station sometime past 5:30 this morning," Detective Tsukauchi explained. "He burst into the station, and initially, many people thought he was there to free a thug that Ms. Midnight had captured. It was quite surprising, to be honest, to see him surrender like that."
"I'm sure this is a question you've asked yourself, and our viewers are wondering as well: how certain are we that this is the real Night Crawler and not just an imposter?"
Detective Tsukauchi nodded, understanding the reporter's concern. After getting the microphone, he began to explain, "Yes, we had the same thought. Fortunately, one of our officers has a Quirk that allows her to detect when people are telling the truth. We had her verify Night Crawler's claims, and it turns out, he is indeed the real deal."
That was all Nemuri needed to hear. She sprung into action, rushing back to her bedroom. Grabbing her fur coat, she threw it on, not caring that she was completely naked underneath. There was no time to waste on her Hero costume. From a secret cabinet on the wall, she retrieved her Hero ID and tucked it into the pocket of her coat. Snatching her car keys as she dashed past the living room, she called out, "I'll be back in a few hours. Take care, Rainbow." Her cat mewed softly in response.
With a final glance around her home, Nemuri put her heels on and hurried out the door, locking it securely behind her. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and worries, but one thing was clear: she needed to get to the station as quickly as possible. The cold morning air hit her as she stepped outside, but she barely noticed, her focus solely on reaching Izuku before it was too late. Her heart pounded with a mix of fear and determination as she slipped into her car, the engine roaring to life. She had to save Izuku, no matter what it took. As she sped away, the tires screeching against the asphalt, the city blurred past her windows. The normally bustling streets seemed to part for her, as if the very air understood the urgency of her mission. She would face whatever awaited her at the station, but she wouldn't let Izuku down. Not now, not after what he had done for her.
The President of the HPSC stared at the screen, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits as she seethed silently. Sitting rigidly behind her desk, her gaze was locked onto the monitor displaying the live news broadcast.
She couldn't fathom how Izuku could be so foolish. Why on earth would he surrender to the police? The thought gnawed at her, frustration mixing with anger. Didn't he want to become a Hero? This stunt was basically torching any chance he had of achieving that dream.
Fortunately, the police had the sense not to release his name to the public just yet. There was still a window to salvage the situation if she played her cards right. Of course, it was always Izuku causing one headache after another, she thought with a mix of exasperation and strange pride. In an odd way, she admired his reckless courage.
"Madam President," a male voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see her junior, Vice President Yukimiru, standing in front of her desk, his expression grave. "What do we do?" he asked, a sense of urgency hidden beneath his calm demeanor.
The President shifted her gaze slightly, her mind racing. She bit the inside of her cheek, contemplating their next move. "Contact the Tokyo Police Department immediately," she ordered, her voice firm and decisive. "Tell them to bury any information about Night Crawler. Nothing, and I mean nothing, should leak about his identity."
Yukimiru nodded, but his expression remained tense. "And what about Izuku?" he asked, his voice neutral, carefully concealing any personal feelings.
The President pushed herself up from her seat and walked around her desk, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She brushed past Yukimiru, heading towards the door. "I'll decide what to do with him after I've had a word with the foolish boy myself," she said, her voice laced with a mix of irritation and concern.
Nemuri slammed the car door shut with a forceful thud, shoving her keys into her pocket as she sprinted toward the police station. She weaved through a sea of media vans, cameras flashing and reporters shouting questions, all hungry for the day's sensational headline. Ignoring the chaos, she made a beeline for the entrance.
Pushing through the swinging double doors, Nemuri stepped into the bustling police station. The place was a hive of activity, uniformed officers—both men and women—moving with purpose. She scanned the room, her eyes landing on a female officer nearby.
Nemuri approached her, a sweet smile playing on her lips. "Hello, officer," she greeted, her voice as smooth as honey.
The officer turned, her eyes widening in recognition. "Oh, you must be Ms. Midnight," she said, a hint of respect in her voice. "How can I assist you today?"
"I'm here to give a report about last night's bust," Nemuri said, her voice steady despite the worry gnawing at her. She let her eyes wander over the unusually large crowd of officers milling about the station. "Mind if I ask what's going on here?"
The officer followed her gaze, turning back to the bustling scene. "Oh, we're transferring Night Crawler to the court for his sentencing," she explained, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
Nemuri's eyes widened dramatically, though she wasn't surprised in the least—just deeply worried. "Seems like a lot of officers just to take him to court," she remarked, trying to keep her tone casual.
"Well, he's been evading us for nearly a year now," the officer admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I guess everyone's a little paranoid he'll pull a fast one and escape."
Nemuri let her gaze linger over the crowd, understanding their paranoia all too well. Izuku had been a thorn in the police's side for some time now, always managing to slip through their fingers just when they thought they had him. "Have you... seen him? Like his real face and all?" she asked, trying to sound casual yet discreet.
The officer shook her head. "Unfortunately, no. Not many officers have actually laid eyes on him. From what I've heard, Detective Tsukauchi and the Commissioner have been handling him and his interrogation personally."
"I see..." Nemuri murmured, a slight relief washing over her. The fewer people who knew about Izuku, the better. It prevented his identity from leaking. "By the way, where can I find the Commissioner?"
"He should be in his office," the officer replied helpfully.
Nemuri shot her a warm, grateful smile. "Thanks for the assist," she said, before striding toward the Commissioner's office. As she neared the room, a man in a fedora and a long coat stepped out. She recognized him instantly—the Detective from the news, the one who had briefed them on the drug situation. He glanced at her, giving a nod that she returned before he brushed past.
Nemuri knocked sharply on the door. A rough voice called out from within almost immediately, "Come in." She pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind her. The Commissioner, a hybrid with canine features, sat behind his desk, a stack of papers clutched in his hand. Nemuri tried not to focus too much on them, keeping her gaze steady.
"Ms. Midnight," the Commissioner grunted, greeting her with a respectful nod. "What brings you here?"
"I came to submit my report from last night," Nemuri replied, standing tall near the door.
"Hm." The Commissioner grunted again, his eyes flicking over the papers in his hand. "I see. Could you submit it tomorrow instead? As you can see, I'm a bit swamped at the moment."
"Oh..." Nemuri took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. "Do you mind if we talk for a bit?" she asked, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.
The Commissioner looked at her neutrally but appraised her silently for a moment before setting the papers down on his desk. He gestured to the empty seat across from him. "Please, have a seat."
Nemuri nodded gratefully and walked over to the chair, adjusting her coat as she sat down. Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding the Commissioner's stern gaze.
He leaned back in his chair, his intense gaze never leaving her. "I hope we can make this quick," he said, his voice impatient.
Nemuri licked her lips nervously and leaned forward slightly. "So, Night Crawler's been caught, huh?" she began, trying to ease into the conversation.
The Commissioner's expression hardened. "I hope you aren't here just to chat, Ms. Midnight," he said pointedly.
Internally, Nemuri winced at the Commissioner's sharp tone. She pursed her lips, her mind racing as she tried to figure out how to steer the conversation toward gaining access to Izuku. "I was thinking," she began, her voice measured, "could I perhaps speak with Night Crawler?"
The Commissioner raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "And why would you want to do that, Ms. Midnight?"
Nemuri released a sigh, feigning weariness. "Listen, I'm sure you and those involved in this case have already figured out that Night Crawler's been manipulated. Someone's pulling the strings, using him as a pawn. He's just a lost kid being taken advantage of." She leaned in, her eyes meeting the Commissioner's. "If you let me talk to him, maybe, just maybe, I can get him to reveal who's behind all this."
This was her strategy. She figured if she could persuade him that her only goal was to unmask the true puppet master, she might secure a chance to speak with Izuku. That conversation would be her opportunity to convince him to reveal the manipulation to the authorities. If he cooperated, he might receive a more lenient sentence, and perhaps she could even assist him after his release.
The Commissioner leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers in front of his mouth. "I see," he muttered thoughtfully. "And you're correct, we do believe someone was manipulating him, orchestrating his actions from the shadows."
Nemuri feigned enthusiasm to mask her true intentions. "Did you find out who?"
The Commissioner shook his head in denial. "Unfortunately, no. We haven't had any luck in that regard."
A flicker of hope sparked within Nemuri. "I'm confident that if you let me speak with him, just once, I can persuade him to reveal who's been pulling the strings."
"Unfortunately, our protocols strictly prohibit any visits to him," the Commissioner stated grimly.
A sly smile played on Nemuri's lips as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. "Oh, come on," she cooed, trying to appeal to the Commissioner's primal instincts. "I can be quite convincing."
For a moment, Nemuri thought she had him. The Commissioner's eyes glazed over, but then they narrowed into thin slits, his expression hardening. "And I can send you to prison for interfering with police business," he growled, his voice low and menacing.
Nemuri stiffened, but quickly regained her composure, leaning back in her seat and staring at the Commissioner with a blank expression to hide her growing unease.
The Commissioner sighed and stood up, walking around his desk. "Let's end this conversation here," he said dismissively. "It's clear to me that this is going nowhere." He glanced pointedly at Nemuri. "Unless, of course, you have something valuable to report to us."
Nemuri's jaw clenched as she rose from her seat, standing to her full height and facing the Commissioner. "No," she replied firmly.
"I thought so," the Commissioner muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment. "Now, let's—"
"Commissioner," Nemuri interrupted abruptly, her voice edged with desperation. "Can't you please let me talk to him, just once?"
"Why are you so adamant?" The Commissioner suddenly asked. He paused and gave Midnight a suspicious look.
"I..." Midnight stammered uncomfortably. "I am just...worried why a child would do something like that...you know."
The Commissioner looked at her wearily, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated fatigue. "Ms. Midnight, even if we were allowing visitors, which we can't due to orders from higher-ups, someone like you would never be permitted to see him."
Nemuri blinked in confusion, a single syllable escaping her shocked lips. "Huh?"
The Commissioner gave a small shrug. "Let's be frank, someone like you, an X-Rated Heroine, can't be allowed anywhere near children. Didn't your own protocols as a Hero already make that clear?"
At that moment, Nemuri felt something inside her shatter. The Commissioner's words weren't cruel, just blunt facts, but they cut deeper than any villain's taunts ever had. "I..." she stammered, unable to form a coherent thought.
"I hope you can see yourself out, Ms. Midnight," the Commissioner said, receiving a shaky nod from the X-Rated Heroine. He turned and walked towards the door, but stopped just short of it. He glanced back at Nemuri. "Oh, by the way, it appears no one was manipulating Night Crawler after all. He confessed that his actions were entirely voluntary."
Nemuri's head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. "What?" she blurted out, her voice a mix of disbelief and turmoil. That...That wasn't right.
[Almost an hour later...]
The HPSC President locked eyes with Izuku, her gaze blank and unyielding. Izuku met her stare with a flat, almost bored expression. They'd been trapped in this silent standoff for what felt like an eternity, the cold walls of the cell pressing in around them. Izuku's court session was just thirty minutes away, where he was expected to confess to his alleged crimes.
Finally, the President broke the tense silence. "Are you done with this rebellious phase?" she asked, her voice laced with frustration.
Izuku's eyebrows shot up in confusion. "Rebellious phase?" he echoed, his voice barely above a murmur.
The President gestured to the stark cell around them. "What do you call this, then?"
Izuku lifted a finger from his right hand, which was shackled to his left with quirk-suppressing cuffs. He spun his finger in a lazy circle, indicating the grim surroundings. "This? This is me paying for my sins," he said, his voice dripping with dry sarcasm.
The President countered, her tone flat and unyielding. "Killing criminals isn't a crime."
Izuku's response was swift and cutting. "Tell that to the Lebanese people."
The President leaned in, her voice steady but firm. "You did what you had to do for your country."
"Is that what you tell yourself at night to sleep easy, Prez?" Izuku asked, his tone mocking as he shot her a questioning look.
The President's jaw tightened, her teeth grinding as she fought back an angry retort. She knew losing her cool could jeopardize any chance of reasoning with Izuku. But she had to admit, he'd grown bolder in the past few months—she might have underestimated his mental fortitude. She wished she could use her 'erasure memory' quirk on him, like she had so many times before, but his last reaction to it made her hesitate.
"Not going to use your quirk to erase my memories? Make me more susceptible to your manipulations?" Izuku suddenly asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, clearly aiming to provoke a reaction from the President.
But the President remained stoic, her expression cool and unreadable. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her denial smooth and practiced.
"Heh!" Izuku chuckled, a low, dry sound. "Denying it, huh?" He laced his fingers together, palms hovering an inch apart, his gaze fixed on the President. "Mind humoring me with some details about your quirk?"
The President's response was smooth and unhurried. "I thought you wanted to figure it out yourself."
Izuku tapped his temple with the pointer finger of his right hand, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I have been wondering," he admitted. "There's something off about your quirk. I know it's connected to your hair, but I've only seen you use it once, those hair bullets. It makes me wonder…"
The President raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in her voice. "Oh? And what does it make you wonder?"
Izuku's eyes shadowed as his hair cast a dark shade over them. "Do you have multiple quirks?"
A challenging smile tugged at the corner of the President's lips. "And what makes you say that?"
Izuku shrugged, his voice nonchalant. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. I've seen you use too many different powers for it all to come from a single quirk."
"But you're right," the President agreed, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. "My quirk is related to my hair. Maybe you're just confused."
Izuku didn't blink, his stare unyielding and skeptical. He didn't believe a word she said. She'd given him no reason to.
The President broke the tense silence that had settled over the cell. "So, are we done?"
Izuku played dumb, just to provoke her further. "Done with what?"
If the President was annoyed by his nonchalant attitude, she didn't show it. "Are you done playing twenty questions? Can we end this already? I'll go talk to the judges and transfer your custody to us."
Izuku's response was sharp and immediate. "And what? Be your plaything again? Yeah, not interested."
The President's jaw tightened again, a slight twitch betraying her irritation. "You don't have to go on missions. You don't even have to be a vigilante anymore. You can go back to living a normal life, go to any school you want, make new friends. Don't you want to see Ms. Midnight again and talk to her? You can do all that. Just let me get you out of here."
Izuku chuckled, a hollow and bitter sound. "You still don't get it, do you?" He shook his head, a grim smile playing on his lips. He stood up, taking a step closer to the President, his eyes blazing with defiance. "I'm here because of you. Because you forced me to do your dirty work. I'm done being your dog, done being your plaything. I've had enough, and the last thing I want is to be indebted to you again, Prez."
His lips stretched into a smirk, both haughty and playful. "Consider this my final fuck you, dear President."
The President's nostrils flared, her eyes narrowing into slits as she glared at Izuku. "Izuku," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm done with your antics. Stop being a problematic child. I expected better from you."
Izuku shook his head again, his voice laced with exasperation. "Man, you're one persistent woman, aren't you? Can you please just go? I need to prepare for my court session and accept my guilt." He glanced at the President, his eyes filled with contempt. "For things that I never even wanted to do."
"And you're just going to throw away your dreams like that?" The President asked, her voice tinged with disbelief, making one last desperate attempt to sway Izuku. "What about your goal of surpassing All Might? What about your dream of becoming a Hero? If you walk into that courtroom, you'll never be able to pursue your dreams, your goals!"
Izuku sighed heavily and sat back down, his irritation with the President's persistence growing. He scrunched his lips, his gaze hardening. "Do you want me to explain to you in Chinese? Or Vietnamese? I'm here to pay for my sins." He glanced down at his hands, seeing them flash red, dripping with blood. "If that means giving up my dream, then so be it." He looked up at her, his expression defeated. "Considering that I haven't stayed true to my own dream, it doesn't feel like much of a loss."
The President released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She finally understood that Izuku was dead serious. She took a few deep breaths, accepting the harsh reality of Izuku's decision. There was no saving him now. She reached into her suit and pulled out a picture frame, walking over to Izuku and extending it toward him.
Izuku looked up at her, curiosity piqued, before taking the frame. He stared at the photograph. It was the picture of his mother that he kept by his bedside. He glanced back at the President, who was looking at the picture frame in his hands instead of him.
"I thought you could use that," she said, her voice tinged with sadness. She gave Izuku one last look before turning on her heel and walking briskly toward the cell door. She paused a few feet away and glanced back at him. "I don't know if you believe me, Izuku, but I truly wanted to help you achieve your dreams." She offered him a smile that seemed oddly out of place.
"They asked me about you, you know?" Izuku said, staring at the President, his bored look back on his face. "They asked me, who was it that was manipulating me."
The President said nothing, waiting for Izuku to continue.
"I wanted to tell them," Izuku continued. "I wanted to let them know that it was you. That the President the Heroes trusted so much was nothing but a giant piece of shit that would not think twice before sacrificing them for her own gain."
"Then why did not you?"
"Because, I knew you would find a way to twist my words," Izuku replied, sounding defeated. "You are the President of the HPSC. You have the Prime Minister, the President on your call. I am just a lonely guy. No matter how much I try, I can see that I am already fighting a losing battle." Izuku's eyes drifted upwards, staring at the stone cold ceiling. "Some part of me also knows you are going to meddle with my court trial." He closed his eyes, releasing a contended sigh. "I know that you already had precautionary measures placed."
Izuku opened his eyes and shot a suspicious look at the President. "Tell me, Prez. Did you, perhaps, take some precautionary measures that would kill me the moment I confessed to your manipulation."
The President turned towards Naruto and smiled innocently. "Nothing that dramatic," the President replied, her tone casual. "I can't kill you, remember."
The President's reply made Izuku chuckle, but he did not say anything. He instead chose to simply wait for the President's exit.
"Before I leave," the President spoke with a curious tone. "Mind if I ask you one last question?"
"Go on."
"How did you learn about binding vows?"
Izuku's brows furrowed in confusion. "What vows?"
The President released a sigh. "Nothing." She said, as she turned and left without another word, leaving Izuku to ponder about the mysterious binding vow that the President asked about.
Izuku stared at the closed cell door for a moment before looking down at the picture frame. He ran a hand over his mother's image, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. This was painful, he thought, gazing up at the cell's ceiling. When was the court session supposed to start, anyway?
[That night...]
The President stood in her expansive office, the soft glow of the city's lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her desk. The skyline stretched endlessly, a glittering constellation of ambition and chaos. In her right hand, she cradled a glass of red wine, the deep crimson swirling with deliberate grace as it caught the room's muted lighting.
Izuku was right, of course. She wasn't one to stand idly by, especially not with the stakes as high as his trial. Her fingerprints were already all over this; subtle, nearly imperceptible to those not looking closely, but undeniably there. She had nudged the pieces into motion, setting the board to her advantage. The execution hadn't been perfect, few plans ever were, but she had no intention of lamenting the missteps. Regret was a luxury for the idle, and she had far too much to do.
A faint smirk curled her lips as she recalled a saying, one uttered by a great man once: Nothing ever goes according to plan in this accursed world. The truth of it was bitter but undeniable. Yet, she thrived on such chaos. Adaptation was her forte, and the situation was far from unsalvageable.
If Izuku wanted his freedom, she would grant it; for now. Let him taste the simplicity he craved, the illusion of control he thought he had claimed. Let him enjoy his life without her shadow looming over him. But the President knew better than anyone: freedom was a fleeting thing, and control was never truly relinquished.
In all honesty, she would have preferred to keep him close, directly under her influence, where his talents could be sharpened and wielded to their fullest. But what was the point? If a bird longed to leave its cage, why shackle it further? Freedom, after all, was the most insidious of illusions. She would let him spread his wings, let him soar into the open skies he so desperately craved. And when the cruel winds of the world tore at his feathers, battering him down piece by piece, she would be there to catch him. Like the benevolent figure she so skillfully portrayed, she would offer him safety, guidance, and power; a beacon in his darkest hour.
Izuku had no idea what awaited him out there. His power was a beacon, one that would inevitably draw trouble like moths to a flame. Villains would swarm him, their malice sharpened by envy, fear, and the endless cycle of conflict his presence was going to inspire. Worse, they would target what he held dear. Loved ones, friends, any fragment of peace he tried to build. The villains were always predictable in their cruelty. They wouldn't stop until they crushed his spirit, piece by agonizing piece.
A low, bitter chuckle escaped her lips, the sound a soft ripple in the stillness of her office. She had vowed to not harm Ms. Midnight or anyone the woman cared for. That binding promise kept her hands clean, but it didn't extend to the actions of others. The villains would be her unknowing accomplices, their mindless aggression perfectly aligned with her aims. She wouldn't have to lift a finger to destroy his fragile independence. The world's inherent brutality would do the work for her.
And when that moment came, when Izuku was broken, bloodied, and stripped of the hope he had clung to, she would be waiting. A pillar of strength in his despair. She would open her arms, offer him refuge, and whisper promises of redemption and purpose. Not out of kindness, but out of strategy. After all, who could resist the one who saves them when they've lost everything...once again?
Sometimes, you couldn't force a lesson into someone's mind. No amount of words, no matter how carefully chosen, could substitute the raw, visceral clarity of experience. Izuku needed to witness the truth for himself, to confront the unrelenting cruelty of a world built on the brittle dichotomy of Heroes and Villains. Only then would he understand why it needed to be dismantled and rebuilt into something stronger, something sustainable. She had tried, in her own ways, to impart this wisdom, to show him the cracks beneath the shiny veneer of heroism. But Izuku remained stubbornly tethered to his lofty ideals, those starry-eyed notions of heroics that blinded him to the truth.
So, she would let the world do the teaching. Let his ideals clash against reality until they shattered under the weight of their own impossibility. He was resilient, she'd give him that. The boy had an unyielding spirit, a spark that refused to dim no matter how much it was battered. It was... admirable, in its own way. But it was also futile. The world didn't care for resilience, not in the way he hoped. And she was fascinated to see how long he could hold out, how long he could keep those ideals burning before the inevitable happened.
Because he would break. Everyone did. It was only a matter of time. The pressure would build, the cracks would widen, and one day, his beliefs would crumble into dust. And oh, what a sight it would be. To watch someone so strong, so determined, finally fall. To see that last flicker of defiance snuffed out.
She couldn't deny the anticipation that coiled in her chest at the thought. It would be beautiful, she was certain of it. A masterpiece of human fragility laid bare, a symphony of destruction and rebirth. And when the time came, she would be there, ready to shape what remained into something greater.
As much as she despised the idea, the best way to mold Izuku into the tool she needed was through U.A. High. Its reputation, resources, and proximity to power made it the ideal environment to cultivate his potential. But the one aspect of this plan that made her skin crawl was Izuku's inevitable proximity to Nezu.
Nezu, with his insufferable intelligence and irritating political reach, had long been a thorn in her side. She couldn't simply eliminate him; he was too well-connected, too untouchable in the public eye. That rodent had a way of maneuvering through the system, always staying one step ahead, and the mere thought of Izuku in his orbit made her stomach churn.
Still, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. If allowing Izuku to fall under Nezu's watchful gaze was necessary to achieve her goals, she would stomach the bile rising in her throat and endure it. Perhaps, with a bit of luck, Izuku's presence at U.A. could even work to her advantage. If she played her cards right, he could become the catalyst for removing Nezu altogether. Replacing him with someone she controlled, someone pliable and loyal, would finally allow her to extend her influence into U.A., a fortress she had yet to penetrate.
But such precision required flawless execution, a degree of perfection that had eluded her so far. The universe seemed to take sadistic pleasure in disrupting her plans, twisting her carefully laid schemes into chaotic knots. Still, she couldn't afford to falter. Not now.
She swirled the wine in her glass one last time, the crimson liquid catching the dim light as she raised it to her lips. The rich warmth slid down her throat, fueling the fire simmering within her. Her gaze drifted back to the city skyline, her reflection faintly visible in the glass, sharp eyes, a calculating smirk.
"Foolish child," she muttered, her voice dripping with contempt as her fingers tightened around the glass. "You think you can escape me?" Her lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. A soft, chilling chuckle echoed through the empty room.
"Not in a million years."
Nemuri sat slumped on the couch in her dimly lit living room, the only light coming from the moon casting eerie shadows on the walls. Her fur coat was sprawled on the floor, rendering her naked once again. Not that she cared anymore. A half-empty bottle of liquor stood on the coffee table, its cap tossed aside, and a glass dangled from her fingertips, filled halfway with the amber liquid. Her eyes were fixed on a distant point, wide and shattered, glistening with unshed tears that threatened to fall. Two dark streaks marred her cheeks, evidence of the tears she had already shed.
She had been drinking for a few hours, going through two bottles, trying to numb the pain that gnawed at her insides. For the first time in her life, Nemuri was questioning every choice she had made. She had been called many things by critics, reporters, journalists, and even the villains she had faced. Yet nothing had cut as deeply as that one statement from the Commissioner.
His words echoed in her mind, a relentless torment that refused to be silenced. She had always been seen as a controversial figure, but those words—they had ripped open a wound she didn't know existed. She lifted the glass to her lips, taking a long, burning sip, hoping the liquor would dull the sharp edges of her thoughts, but the pain remained, raw and unyielding.
Nemuri drained the alcohol from her glass in one swift gulp, slamming it down onto the tea table with a force that echoed through the silent room. She released a heavy sigh, letting her head fall into her palms, her mind a whirlwind of regret and frustration. Who could have predicted that her choices would come back to bite her so harshly?
Lifting her head slightly, she stared into the distance, her eyes glazing over as she contemplated the what-ifs. If only she had been a different kind of heroine, perhaps the outcome of today would be different. Maybe she could have made a difference for Izuku. Maybe she could have persuaded him to come clean to the authorities, to tell them that he was being manipulated, and gotten him a more lenient punishment. Maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't have spiraled so far out of control.
The thought gnawed at her, a grim ache that refused to be soothed. She knew she couldn't change the past, but the weight of her mistakes was a heavy burden to bear. Her hand moved towards the empty glass, her grip on it tightening, her knuckles turning white as she tried to grasp the elusive answers that continued to evade her. With another sigh, she reached for the bottle, pouring herself another glass, hoping the numbing effects of the alcohol would ease the relentless turmoil inside her.
And now, Nemuri found herself in the dark, completely clueless about what was happening to Izuku. Every trace of Night Crawler had been meticulously erased within mere hours, as if he had never turned himself in, as if he never existed at all. No media outlet dared to report on it, and there were no statements from the judges or the jury. The only whispers of his name could be found on anonymous sites like 4chan and Heroddit, but even those had devolved into wild conspiracy theories. Some speculated that the government had silenced him permanently, but Nemuri refused to believe that. She was certain the government was involved in suppressing any news about Izuku, though their motives remained a mystery to her.
Despite the uncertainty, Nemuri felt a deep, almost primal conviction that Izuku was still alive out there. She suspected he was locked away in Juvenile prison, the inevitable destination for someone convicted at his age, but which Juvenile Prison she had no idea.
Even though she felt beaten down, she was far from defeated. There were still options, still paths she could take. And there was one person she knew could help Izuku at this point—Nezu.
That was when her eyes fell on the letter given to her by Aizawa. On its cover, it had the initials U.A. emboldened in gold. It sat neatly on the tea table, a stark contrast to the chaos around it. She had read the contents multiple times, each word etched into her memory. It contained a proposal that if she ever wanted to teach at U.A., the doors would be wide open for her. The proposition seemed almost surreal. However, for that she would have to change her rating from X to at least R. Apparently, U.A.'s shareholders had been persuaded to let R-Rated Heroes to work as faculty members, a drastic shift from the strictly PG-13 environment of the past.
The move was a part of an initiative to provide students with more exposure and to better integrate new heroes into professional work. She did not know if Aizawa was going to teach there as well. Did he know the contents of the letter? She knew that he was not teaching there, yet. But if U.A. was indeed allowing R-Rated heroes as faculty members, then there was a possibility that even Aizawa was allowed as a teacher.
Nemuri let out a slow breath, her mind racing with the implications. This could be a turning point, a chance to make a real difference. But first, she needed to figure out her next steps and how she could use this opportunity to help Izuku.
She had no qualms about teaching students and imparting her knowledge to them; that was the easy part. The problem lay with Nezu himself.
Unfortunately, their parting hadn't been on amicable terms. Nezu had been vehemently opposed to her choice of becoming an X-Rated Heroine, his protests driven by concerns about her reputation. And he wasn't wrong, Nemuri thought bitterly. Back then, she was young, hot-headed, and constantly horny. She hadn't given a damn about her reputation, as long as she could indulge in her fetishes while doing something she absolutely loved. But look where that had led her: alone and incapable of helping even one person, especially someone who had become quite special to her in such a short period of time.
Did she even have the right to call herself a Hero at this point? The question gnawed at her, a constant reminder of the choices she had made and the consequences they had wrought. She felt a deep sense of failure, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge. But perhaps there was still a chance, a tiny glimmer of hope that she could make things right, and that glimmer led straight back to Nezu.
"No point in being all depressed like that," Nemuri muttered to herself, her words slurring slightly from the alcohol coursing through her veins. She knew Nezu wanted to meet and talk to her again, but the thought of approaching him felt like a double-edged sword. Maybe she could tell him about Izuku and ask for his help, but would that make her seem greedy? The last thing she wanted was to give Nezu the impression that she was just using him for favors.
But then it hit her, would it really look that way if she was asking for his help to save a child? That question sparked a glimmer of hope within her, and her hollow eyes lit up with renewed determination. Nezu would never refuse to help a child; she was certain of that.
The only problem now was how she would convince Nezu that Izuku was worth saving. She needed a plan, something solid and compelling that would make Nezu see the potential in Izuku. She took another sip from her glass, her mind racing with ideas and strategies. This was her chance to make things right, to prove that she wasn't just a selfish, X-Rated Heroine but someone who genuinely cared about doing what was right. And if anyone could help her with this, it was Nezu.
Suddenly, the doorbell echoed through the house.
Detective Tsukauchi strode through the bustling halls of the Tokyo Police Station, his footsteps echoing with a sense of purpose. Summoned by the Commissioner for a confidential meeting, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The ordeal with Night Crawler had finally been resolved, and the city could breathe easier knowing one less vigilante roamed the streets, especially one as notorious as Night Crawler. The detective exhaled a long breath, a mixture of relief and reflection.
Night Crawler's nighttime excursions had been a significant thorn in the side of the Police Department, so much so that even Tsukauchi, who operated out of the Musutafu Police Station, had been called in to assist. But now, with Night Crawler out of the picture, they could all find some semblance of peace.
What truly gnawed at Tsukauchi, keeping him on edge, was the revelation that Night Crawler had been a child all along. It was something he could barely comprehend—a kid, cold-bloodedly murdering criminals. While the victims were far from innocent, it didn't make the situation any easier to stomach. This revelation only deepened the mystery surrounding Night Crawler's motives, leaving Tsukauchi with more questions than answers.
Why had Night Crawler embarked on this brutal crusade? What drove him to kill those criminals? What compelled him to become a vigilante? These questions swirled in Tsukauchi's mind, each one more perplexing than the last. Night Crawler had been frustratingly elusive during the interrogation, offering little clarity.
None of it made sense, and now Tsukauchi found himself with more questions than answers, a labyrinth of mysteries with no clear path.
As Detective Tsukauchi reached the Commissioner's office, he gave the door a firm knock. Hearing a muffled affirmation from within, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. He was taken aback to find the Commissioner pacing back and forth, a deep furrow of worry etched on his brow.
"Is everything alright, Commissioner?" Tsukauchi asked, his voice laced with concern.
The Commissioner halted his pacing and looked at Tsukauchi with a flicker of hope. "Tsukauchi," he muttered, his gaze briefly shifting to his desk before returning to the detective. "I was compiling the report on Night Crawler, and I realized something," he paused, his brow furrowing. "Do you recall his name? I seem to have forgotten it in the midst of today's chaos."
Tsukauchi's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration. "Of course, I remember his name," he began confidently. But as he spoke, his voice faltered, a look of worry spreading across his face. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as he desperately tried to recall the vigilante's real name. "It... It was..." he stammered, but his mind drew a blank. Worse still, he found that he could no longer conjure Night Crawler's face in his memory.
"You don't remember, do you?" the Commissioner asked, his voice finally betraying his anxiety.
Tsukauchi looked up, his eyes locking onto the Commissioner's, neither man blinking. "I...don't," he admitted, the realization settling in like a cold weight. He couldn't remember Night Crawler's real name or face, no matter how hard he tried. "W-What's going on?"
Nemuri blinked, hearing the calling bell. She wondered who could be visiting at this hour. Aizawa rarely dropped by unannounced, and few others ever came to see her. "Coming," she called out, alerting the mysterious visitor that she was on her way.
Nemuri hastily retreated to her bedroom, snatching the plush robe from its hanger and wrapping it around her naked form. The doorbell didn't ring again, deepening the mystery of who awaited her. She floated to the door and peeked through the peephole, but saw no one. Her brows knitted in confusion as she grasped the doorknob, slowly pulling the door open.
The moment she saw who stood on the other side, her eyes widened in shock, tears welling up.
"Izuku?"
CHAPTER END
Next Chapter: What is Izuku doing here? Find out next chapter...
Author's Comment:
I fucking hate it, man. This chapter had four different versions, FOUR! Three of which will never ever be published. I have rewritten this chapter so many times, because none of the versions would make me happy, until I decided to go with this. If I had not written so many versions of this and previous chapters, I would be writing the 23rd chapter right now, LOL.
Anyways, have a good day!
Bye bye.
