[U.A. GATE — AFTERNOON]
Ti was late in the afternoon. The sky had already begun revealing orange hues as the vast majority of students had left about twenty minutes prior.
’They could have just sent an email though.’
Yuta stepped through the gates, bag slung over his shoulder, mind still processing everything.
’Hero Course. Officially.’ It still felt surreal. ’But what class though? ... He wasn’t exactly clear on which.’ 1A? Things would be a lot more complicated.
He swept his gaze around as he walked. Luckily, It seed Bakugo didn’t make it a personal mission to get an answer.
Walking down to the foot of U.A, he pulled out his phone, intending to text his mom that he was heading ho, when,
"Yuta!"
"Huh?"
He looked up. At the base of the steps, near the curb, was his mother’s wheelchair.
Aiko, blanket draped over her knees, and beside her, dressed in a red jacket and cute little sleeved blouse and adorable unicorn patterned shoes, was Eri.
Eri’s head was tilted up, looking at the massive school building with wide, curious eyes. The mont she saw Yuta, her small face lit up with joy.
"Yuta!" she exclaid, a rare, genuine spark of excitent in her voice.
Letting go of Aiko, she ran forward, hands half raised. Yuta dropped his bag and kneeled instantly, catching her in a gentle hug.
"Hey, snowball," he murmured, his voice soft. "What are you guys doing here?"
Eri didn’t respond for a while. "...I .. I missed you."
"She insisted," Aiko wheeled closer, her expression a careful mixture of pride and focused exasperation.
"She got very worried after watching the final match. I figured you’d get out late, and Eri hasn’t stopped asking about the big school where you go to so .. here we are."
She then fixed him with a stare that promised a very long, painful evening.
"And now, we are going ho, where you are going to explain exactly why you risked permanent injury after promising you were fine."
"I can .. Ow."
He barely had ti to defend himself before she grabbed him by the ear.
"What did I tell you before allowing you to participate in this event?"
"Don’t get injured. Don’t overexert yourself. One injury, and "you’ll be in big trouble". But seriously, how do I get injured and end up in trouble?"
"Then why not just quit if you know you couldn’t continue at full strength?"
"Um ... Plus ultra?"
"You are grounded for three weeks. And we are going to have a very long discussion about the difference between a sacrifice and self-destruction."
Yuta sighed, adjusting his grip on Eri, who giggled softly.
"Yes, Mam."
Aiko sighed. The grounding was practically just an empty threat at this point. After all, she couldn’t really ground her son for giving his best, could she?
’Sigh! I’m too old for this.’
’Well,’ Yuta thought, looking at the two people who represented his past trauma and his future responsibility. ’The break just started, and it’s already more intense than the finals.’
____
[LEAGUE HIDEOUT – NIGHT]
The bar was thick with the sll of cheap liquor and the heavy, rhythmic thud of a heavy bag being systematically demolished in the corner.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
In the distance sat a skinny looking man with pale skin, blue hair and dark clothing. His face covered by a gloved hand, with red eyes staring intently at a collection of profile cards spread before.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Headshots and basic information on Class 1-A students, compiled from publicly available Information Kurogiri could get his hands on. After all, his master hadn’t been generous to allow him access to his information network.
’It’s always a learning experience with him.’ Tomura thought, scratching his neck.
’I always have to do everything myself.’
Midoriya Izuku. Bakugo Katsuki. Todoroki Shoto. Kirishima Ejiro.
His red eyes scanned each face with a feral look, occasionally pausing to scratch harder.
On the TV screen, highlights from the festival played on loop. Explosions. Ice constructs. The mont Midoriya’s arm shattered from overuse.
’All Might’s students,’ The thought irritated him to no end.’
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The sound of Rappa’s fists against the sandbag echoed through the bar like a war drum.
Shigaraki’s eye twitched.
In the opposite corner, Deidoro Sakaki sat slumped on a crate, sake bottle dangling from one hand. His head lolled back and forth, eyes unfocused, a stupid grin plastered on his flushed face.
"Y’know what’s great?" Deidoro slurred to no one in particular. "Sake. Sake’s great. And... and spinning. Love spinning."
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Shigaraki’s scratching intensified.
"Why," he muttered under his breath, "am I surrounded by idiots?"
The sandbag took another brutal hit, swinging violently on its chain.
Deidoro giggled and nearly fell off his crate.
Shigaraki’s hand slamd down on the table with four fingers only.
"ENOUGH!"
The thudding stopped.
Deidoro’s giggling cut off mid-sound.
Rappa lowered his fists, turning toward the table with a raised eyebrow. Sweat dripped from his bare shoulders. "What?"
"You." Shigaraki’s voice contained a hint of killing intent. "Stop. Hitting. Things."
"I’m training."
"You’re being loud."
Rappa shrugged. "You want ready to fight or not?"
"I want you to stop making that gods-forsaken noise while I’m trying to think."
"Then think quieter," Rappa shot back, folding his arms.
Shigaraki’s fingers twitched.
Before he could respond, Deidoro raised his bottle in a mock toast. "Hey, hey, boss... you want so sake? Helps with the thinking—"
"If you offer alcohol one more ti, I will dust that bottle while you’re still holding it."
Deidoro’s grin faltered. He lowered the bottle slowly. "...You’re no fun."
On the TV, the broadcast shifted to footage of the final match, Bakugo standing on the podium, restrained and furious, while the second-place winner stood unbothered.
Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed slightly at the image.
Then, without warning, the air beside the bar rippled.
Darkness pooled outward like spilled ink, edges warping and twisting as a portal tore open. From within the void stepped Kurogiri, his misty form solidifying as yellow eyes glead in the dim light.
"I have returned," Kurogiri announced calmly, straightening his vest.
Shigaraki didn’t look up from the cards. "Took you long enough."
"My apologies. The Hero Killer was... difficult to locate."
That got Shigaraki’s attention. He set down the card he’d been holding, Todoroki’s profile, and leaned back in his chair.
"How did it go?"
Kurogiri moved behind the bar with practiced ease, retrieving a glass and beginning to polish it out of habit. "He declined our invitation."
Silence.
Shigaraki’s scratching resud.
"Declined."
"Yes."
"As in, refused?"
"Correct."
Rappa grunted from the corner. "Stain, huh? Heard he’s a talker. Not my type of fight."
Deidoro swayed on his crate. "Stain... nas’re boring. Fighting’s boring. Everything’s... spinning..."
"Shut up, you drunk," Shigaraki hissed, scratching his neck. "Kurogiri, Giran’s latest ’investnts’ are already irritating . One only wants to punch things, and the other can’t even stand up straight."
"They have their uses, Tomura,"
Shigaraki scratched into harder, neck turning into red welts. "You’re telling you found the Hero Killer, made the offer, and he just... said no?"
"In essence, yes." Kurogiri set the glass down with a soft clink. "He was wary. Though I suspect his injuries played a role in his caution. He was wary of walking into what could have been a trap."
"Wary?" Shigaraki repeated flatly.
"He also expressed a strong preference for working alone." Kurogiri’s tone remained neutral. "He stated that if we wished to speak with him, we should co find him—implying he would not seek us out first."
Shigaraki’s fingers drumd against the table.
"So Giran was wrong."
"Giran provided his assessnt based on Stain’s known behavior patterns," Kurogiri said diplomatically. "The Hero Killer is... unpredictable."
"Unpredictable is just another word for useless." Shigaraki’s scratching intensified. "And here I thought he’d be a great addition with actual experience. Another wasted opportunity. Another dead end."
"Perhaps not entirely," Kurogiri offered. "The offer remains open. Should circumstances change—should Stain find himself in need of resources—we may yet establish contact."
"Or he gets himself killed and we wasted ti on nothing." Shigaraki shoved the profile cards aside, eyes flicking back to the TV screen. "What else?"
"There is one developnt, though not one I feel you would care for."
"Oh, and what’s that?"
Kurogiri placed the cup down.
"The vigilante who fought stain, should not exist."
___
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