bread

BNHA:

Bloodwalker (BNHA Various x F!Reader) [ongoing]

Burning Loyalty (Todoroki Shoto x F!Reader) [ongoing]

Jujutsu Kaisen:

Fortune Favours the Bold (Gojo Satoru x F!Reader) [ongoing]

Tokyo Revengers:

Trigger Warning/s: none

Pre-chapter notes: Cherry has constructed this wonderful representation of MC with blue hair! I think it’s the first time we’ve had something like this! Thank you so much, Cherry!

Lava also decided to go wild with art and dropped their version of MC with dark purple hair, a hilarious comic featuring Inasa, the Silencer and the Undertaker posing together like true supervillains, and of course the man himself - Scarface! The villains are so gorgeously constructed and look wonderfully sinister. The curl of Scarface’s lip is perfect! Thank you for your dedication, Lava!

Camellias and Chrysanthemums are flowers often used at funerals and are not great choices as general-use flowers because of this reason.

Art: Samantha James on ArtStation! Somehow she is only a student but has absolutely fantastic command over her art skills. The one I have picked from her portfolio is a beautiful scene that overlooks a city behind a chain-link fence. I hope you will appreciate this piece as much as I do.

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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In a pleasant turn of events, Boss does not request your presence at the compound upon the conclusion of internships. You weren’t on the news, and other than a quick text he sends to check that you haven’t exposed yourself, all appears to be truly well and good. His third-in-command doesn’t seem to have notified him of your slip-up, for he would have surely called for you, but then again, maybe the woman didn’t think it was significant.

Scarface’s dealings with Overhaul seem to have kept him busy. Though the visages of him and his henchmen will never leave your mind, as a result of your extended absence from the headquarters, you’ve almost forgotten the scent of carbolic acid that would sting your senses inside the Undertaker’s lab, and it takes you a little longer to conjure up the hissing voice of the Silencer. That bodes well for you, for now. But you’re sure you’ll have to deal with the consequences of whatever firestorm is brewing between the two men eventually.

For now, you relish in the scene of your roistering classmates as you open the door to the classroom.

The first thing you see is… a very tidy Bakugo, with Hanta and Kirishima howling like two hyenas on the side. So of course, the only logical action is to walk up to the blonde and tell him exactly what you think about his new look.

“You look different.”

“Hah?!” Bakugo whips around from where he was previously hurling unsavoury curses at his two friends to level you with the leftovers of an incensed snarl. “What’s it to you?”

“Your hair is… flat. Smooth. Like Monoma-san’s hair.” Bakugo goes eerily silent, and so do the boys, though you do notice their faces turning increasingly red with silent laughter. “You are matching. I read on Poogle that sometimes best friends like to match with each other. Are you his best friend?”

There’s a crash and you look over to where Hanta is curled up on the floor, wheezing silently.

“Bakugo,” Kirishima has tears in his eyes, “best friends with Monoma?”

“Like hell!”

“Hey, someone get Monoma over here. I need a side-by-side comparison!”

At this scene, Midoriya feels an overwhelming sense of déjà vu and slinks away silently into the back corner of the classroom so as to avoid being a target. He doesn’t need danger sense to know what’s about to happen.

And you, completely oblivious to the chaos you’ve just caused, continue your rampage. “…I see. You do not like your new hair. In that case, I have a gift for you.” Probing the contents of your bag, you pull out something that reminds your green-haired classmate of something he would rather forget.

Another wig - made of leaves this time. It is regrettable that you didn’t have access to Shiozaki over the internships, so you had to go forage in the local park for materials the night before. It was a worthy distraction from the events you had endured.

Remarkably, the craftsmanship is even better than the last time you tried to make one. It’s a beautiful short wig that looks a bit like a bush, which just so happens to bear a resemblance to one of your classmates…

“I keep my promises.” You hold it out to him. “Here. You can look like Midoriya-san instead.”

Yep, Midoriya’s instincts are on point.

Kirishima’s grin seems to flare even brighter as he takes your work of art off your hands. “Don’t worry Chibana! I’ll do the manly thing and make sure Bakugo appreciates your hard work!”

“Stay the f*** away from me if you want to keep your head!”

“C’mon, don’t you want to try cosplaying at least once in your life?” snickers Hanta. “You’d make a very dashing Midoriya.”

“Like hell!”

Kirishima begins to chase Bakugo around the classroom, the latter whose footwork in avoiding the red-haired boy is so precise that it starts to mimic the movements required in Dance Dance Revolution. Midoriya himself has to tear his eyes from his classmate’s rapid pursuit and turn to the fellow classmates also seeking shelter from your chaotic touch (ironically, the very same individuals who fought off Stain with you).

“Does my hair really look like that?” He points at himself. “Like a bush, I mean?”

Iida and Todoroki nod solemnly.

At least they’re honest, Midoriya thinks sullenly. And when he looks back at the commotion, he realises that not even you’ve stuck around to witness the outcome of what will inevitably become a pile of bodies that Bakugo will use to wipe the floor. You’ve just done your damage and left them to deal with the consequences, instead heading over to where you’re being waved over by the girls discussing their internships.

You mutter a polite greeting, but if you’re honest, you’re about as focused as a litter of pups would be when seeing a butterfly for the first time, thinking about how you’ll answer the girls when they inevitably ask you what you did at your internship. What kind of expedient lie can you even conjure up to cover your tracks? It’s hard to concentrate on a solution when in the background, you hear Jirou vaguely say something about helping out with an evacuation during her internship, and Tsuyu mentioning something about smugglers. Ochako also looks strangely enlightened - a bear you would rather not poke.

At the very least, none of them seem to have had a turbulent experience, to which you feel an intense relief.

But your time to consider a response is cut short when Kaminari singles out the four of you who had gone to Hosu, and all at once, your classmates crowd around you with their questions and concerns. You want to hide under a desk. They’re simply worried - you know that - but to reassure and lie in the same breath is not a skill within your proficiency. Your breath comes out in short puffs that you try to hide when Todoroki sidles up to you with a reassuring look in his eye. It’s subtle, but you angle yourself away from him. You’re not ready to indulge in his fragile attempts to reconcile.

“I saw on the news that the Hero Killer was connected to the League of Villains,” Ojiro starts. “Imagining someone that scary coming to USJ freaks me out.”

Some of the girls eye you as you take in a sharp breath.

Stain was connected to the League of Villains? you think to yourself. My poor luck must be studied.

“You’re jumpy today,” Momo whispers from your right. “Are you okay?”

A nod doesn’t seem to satisfy her.

“He is scary, but did you see the video, Ojiro? You can see how he’s really single-minded, and, like, tenacious. Doesn’t it almost make you think he’s cool?”

If the blood inside your body could be visible now, you are sure that they would be sharpened into pinpricks. Cool? A man that almost made you bleed out was cool? A man that left Iida’s older brother permanently crippled was cool? Tenacious or not, you would never think the Hero Killer a justified man - not even by whatever villainous maxims he spoke of to substantiate his actions. After all, Iida’s vengeful gaze, the hurt in Midoriya’s expression and the taut lines of Todoroki’s were a product of the pain he caused.

But one day, these faces will be directed at you.

Will you be able to endure their expressions then? Is this what it means to be the enemy of heroes - to have your friends stare at you in hatred and disdain? By now, it is becoming impossible to deny the care you have for these people; despite how some may have wronged you - you know you would grieve.

Grief is a parasite that buries itself into parts of yourself that you thought tougher than concrete. It is a corrosive, settling thick as molasses in your gut. A fading scent. A starving dog, battering its paws against a chain-link fence. You study the barely concealed deathly pall in Iida’s face, and an uncontrollable empathy envelops you.

He still hurts. Even now, as he commands the class to sit down in preparation for Aizawa Sensei’s arrival. And later, when he opens his notebook to dutifully copy down whatever’s on the board, or when he takes the train home to his family apartment, or when he closes his eyes in bed to see nothing but black, he will still hurt.

It is worse knowing that one day you will be a part of that pain, aligning yourself with the same classifications that mar Stain’s name. You know that Boss will one day command you to take the lives of countless heroes, ending their worlds in a matter of a few seconds.

Dirty, conniving, heinous villain.

And to stand by Iida’s side as a hero in training when truthfully you are the very same as the one who had almost torn his family to pieces is a reality you are crushed by. You almost bled out because of Stain, but you’re still standing. Isn’t it ironic that you’ve taken a life by doing the very same?

Guilt.

Some may argue it is worse than grief. More insidious than sadness; more robust than anger. Guilt is a flood that scorches the blood that travels the veins in your body. Not even the tips of your fingers, which receive the least circulation, are safe. When it takes the reins of thought, word, and deed, all become perceived as injurious. And still, you so shamelessly want to make things right, as if any of your solutions would amount to any more than a band-aid on a bullet wound.

A gift might do, perhaps. You have learnt much about gifts, and for something so serious, the gift would need to be heartfelt. Yes, that will do nicely - you’ll send it to Iida’s brother, almost as if you are apologising for how he was hurt by someone of the same villainous background as you.

And to apologise for how you know you will hurt Iida much, much, more,

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All Might has all of you assembled at field Gamma for basic hero training, and the thought of being observed by your classmates for the first time in a while has your stomach in knots. Having Iida, Midoriya and Todoroki watch you in close quarters for a few days was enough. Now, you’ll have to grit your teeth as you do it all again, and with Todoroki knowing what he knows about you, you’ll need to take extra precautions as to how you perform today.

But now is not the time to become lily-livered over something you have been doing since the beginning of the school year. After all, everybody else is bristling with varying forms of eagerness and temerity, and so you try not to look so uncomfortable so as to blend in.

Mineta grins sleazily next to you. “I can’t wait to see the girls all sweaty afterwards!”

Your skin crawls. Tsuyu eyes you, makes a cutting rejoinder to him about how he looks like he’s growing a bush of hernias on his head, and then takes your hand and leads you away.

“Chiyo-chan, don’t listen to him. He’s saying nonsense,” she croaks, taking a closer look at you. “You look unwell,” she chides gently. “You went through a lot during internships, huh?”

You shake your head, pulling your hand from her grasp. “I am fine. Nothing happened.”

“You are lying, kero. You tug on your bandages when you are nervous.”

You look down, and sure enough, you’re doing exactly that. She had noticed - caught it, catalogued it, kept it.

“If you’re feeling under the weather, you should tell All Might-sensei,” she continues, giving you a knowing look.

And draw more attention to yourself? No way in hell. You shake your head.

“So stubborn,” she sighs.

Thankfully, before she can question your condition further, the first group; Iida, Ojiro, Midoriya, Mina, and Hanta; step up to the plate. Their job? Be the first in their group to find and reach All Might. There are already vague murmurs rising to the surface amongst your peers debating who will take first place, but you already have an answer on your tongue.

Hanta. It has to be him. Looking at the tangle of pipes and concrete, there is no better quirk suited to an environment like this. You know this because the way he uses his quirk is not unlike how you use yours. Ribbons of tape, ribbons of blood - two sides of the same coin. Midoriya will probably injure himself, Mina and Ojiro are not as fast as the others, and Iida will have trouble scaling concrete walls for long distances. But Hanta will move like water, stable and consistent.

Yet, if he wins, people will look to you to do the same. You don’t need that sort of attention on you. If you weren’t regretting taking Tsuyu’s advice earlier, you sure are now.

In the seconds you’ve spent ruminating on this, the first five have already taken off. As expected, Hanta glides beautifully over iron conduits and lifeless buildings; the rest cannot match the agility and maneuverability he possesses. Well, that’s what you think, anyway, except-

Midoriya leaps past Hanta in a flash of viridian, exhilaration on his face.

Well, this is a welcome surprise. If Midoriya can beat Hanta, less people will expect you to perform as well as the latter is currently. If you’ve taken away anything from crossing paths with him during the internships, one thing you’ve learnt is that Midoriya in action is excellent at drawing attention to himself. Even now, as he leaps and bounds, he calls out to the eyes of your classmates, moving in a way that bears a striking resemblance to Bakugo. You know you aren’t the only one who’s realised it when you watch Ochako murmur under her breath in wonder.

Is it wrong for you to wish for Midoriya’s victory over Hanta just so that you might once again avoid scrunity? Because Hanta has always been kind and gentle with you. You think back to when he first called himself your friend and the warmth you felt in your chest. You think of how he has always advocated for you quietly, especially against choice individuals such as Mineta. But what can you do when your survival may very well depend on it?

Either way, by now you’ve learned that fate loves to twist your leg, because when you are snapped out of your reverie, you realise Hanta has won. Even crueller are the next few words that are directed at you.

“That was so manly! Think you can replicate that, Chiyo-chan?” Kirishima comments. “You and Sero have pretty similar quirks in some ways, y’know.”

“…no. I was mildly injured at internships,” you quickly lie.

Thankfully, your gregarious classmate drops the subject, and the rest of the group races pass by in a blur until it reaches your turn.

“Since young Chibana hasn’t had a turn and this class has an odd number, we need four people to volunteer for a second time. Think of it as extra training!” All Might yells with an orotund voice and sends a jovial thumbs up to the class.

“I could use the extra practice,” Tokoyami declares.

Shoji steps forwards silently with a nod.

“Another opportunity to sparkle!” Aoyama exclaims.

Then, there’s Todoroki. You watch as he walks towards the front. You watch as his eyes drift over to you before tearing themselves away. “I want to try a second time, All Might Sensei,” he says firmly, voice leaving no room for negotiation.

Why is this happening to you? Why can’t he just leave you alone? There’s no reason for him to participate a second time, and although you know he doesn’t fully understand it, doing so puts you both in danger. He must have some other motive - you just can’t gather as to what.

“Excellent! We have our group! Now go and take your positions!”

You head towards the outskirts of the field, feeling the weight of many gazes bearing down on your back as you leave. Seconds later after you’ve settled away from the others, All Might’s distress signal flickers to life and you launch off from your spot like a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun. Look lively and eager, you think to yourself as you call on your blood ribbons to pull you across the terrain, but not too eager. I should slow down a bit.

It’s easy for you to return to the flow of obscuring the full extent of your abilities, and thanks to your consistency in regulating your quirk at school, people have been slow to catch on that you’ve never really followed the heroes’ precept of Plus Ultra. Plus Ultra for you would mean giving yourself away, after all.

In the distance, you can see Todoroki gaining ground towards the centre of the field, with Tokoyami not far behind. Distantly, you feel a fainter pulse which you think might be Shoji, and another one that seems to be right next to you.

Wait, right next to you?

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a glint of a silver costume, which you know belongs to a certain French classmate of yours. It’s almost as if he’s trying to be subtle. Truthfully, given his blindingly radiant, cataract-causing atrocity of a quirk, you think Aoyama is about as subtle as a circus of monkeys performing bagpipe solos while riding a herd of stampeding elephants, but nevertheless, you do your best to ignore him.

His movement is odd, you realise. He has cut into my path instead of taking the more direct route to All Might Sensei. Is he following me? What does he want?

The young boy answers that question very quickly. “I am fascinated by your quirk, dear Chibana!”

You use your ribbons to pull yourself a little further away from him, but he catches up. Frustratingly enough, you can’t use the full extent of your abilities here knowing that your class is watching you through the cameras, so you’ll have to endure his chatter.

“I would like to sparkle even brighter than I do now and I think training with you would be quite wonderful! What do you think?”

You can’t concentrate on regulating your quirk when he’s talking at you so persistently like this. Maybe the solution is to duck and weave in between the industrial buildings rather than finding a path above them. Aoyama can only push himself into a straight line, after all, and he probably wouldn’t risk beaming himself into any obstacles he couldn’t prepare himself for.

Or so you think. Turns out, Aoyama is actually quite good at controlling the duration of his beam and he joins you in the underbelly of the arena.

“I think we could be of great help to each other, my friend! Please consider my offer!”

More and more, you’re finding that he is as insistent at making noise as a colicky newborn. “Aoyama-san, I am sorry. I am preoccupied with the current task. Can we possibly talk after this is finished? Because I am finding it difficult to concentrate.”

You didn’t think it were possible, but the blonde beams even brighter. “It would be my pleasure, mon ami!”

“Um, okay.”

You make it to All Might without much fanfare, just behind Tokoyami who’s in second. This training session has gone perfectly for you - you weren’t fast enough to draw attention nor slow enough to warrant concern - but it doesn’t feel right to be satisfied with your performance when Todoroki, who made it to the hero before any of you did, is staring at you like you’ve suddenly decided to go naked. You suppose the scrutiny of some is harder to shake than the scrutiny of others.

A quick getaway is in order. You’re about to leave when a sonorous voice rings out and stops you.

“Young Chibana! Don’t leave so soon. Come over here and let’s have a chat.”

That’s… All Might’s voice.

He wants to talk to you alone.

So much for a successful performance.

“Hello, All Might Sensei,” you whisper, trembling slightly. You must have made him angry in some way if he wants to speak like this. As much as he grins, one cannot deny the imposing figure he presents - broad-shouldered and with sinewy muscles, altogether casting a shadow probably large enough to shelter a few children. But when you move to stand right in front of him, he lowers his voice, as if he knows you are afraid.

“I heard what happened to you. Make sure you get some rest tonight, young one, and come back better.”

You aren’t surprised that he knew about Hosu - the heroes at UA probably had to be informed of the realities of the incident since students were directly involved. What does surprise you is how soothed you feel. The gentle pity in his voice should sting you, but instead the words wash over you in waves of relief. He isn’t angry. He doesn’t blame you for performing at a mediocre level. He doesn’t think you’re suspicious or that you should be pulled aside for questioning. You are safe from any more unpleasant surprises.

That is, until All Might shoos you away and Todoroki takes his chances at making contact.

“Chibana,” he calls out, “wait, where are you going?”

“Away from you,” you mutter, not bothering to glance back at him.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me.” If you turn around now, you might cave in and indulge him with a conversation if you see the expression on his face, so you don’t. “I know that, but… you shouldn’t push yourself so much during training so soon,” he grinds his teeth in worry, “especially not after…”

“You do not know what it looks like when I am pushing myself.” Todoroki’s eyes widen at your clipped reply. He looks like he wants to say something else, but for both your sakes, you need to keep your distance from him. So you set your jaw, and tell him, “I don’t want to talk to you right now… please.”

“Okay,” he mutters, “…I understand. I’ll give you space. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore what happened. Even if you hate me for it.”

“You don’t care if I hate you?”

“I do… it’s just, at least you’d be here to hate me.”

The implications of his words crack like a gunshot and you hurry away from the field before any more of his words can lay their barbs into your skin.

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The end of school finds you anxiously waiting outside Class 1C’s room for a familiar purple-haired student to waltz into your vicinity with his usual impassive expression and quiet confidence. You’re going to make an important request, and you’re nervous - for good reason. After all, the last time he helped you with this particular issue, he had essentially caught you in the act of defacing public garden beds.

Shinsou walks out with his bag slung lazily over his shoulder. You barely have to signal for his attention before his eyes gravitate towards you and he’s moving towards you in strides, ignoring the curious stares of his classmates as they leave the room. When he reaches you, he doesn’t say anything - just tilts his head quietly, waiting for you to elaborate.

“Shinsou-san. I… need your help. Can you please help me?”

He huffs, not unkindly. “Alright. What is it?”

You wring your hands together. “Well… I need your help.”

“Uh huh. You’ve said that three times now. C’mon, get to the point.”

“…I need to buy some flowers,” you explain. When he raises a lazy eyebrow at you, the rest of your words come tumbling out. “I saved up some money this time. I promise not to destroy any more garden beds.” You fumble with the hem of your shirt. “So will you… will you come with me?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, and you worry he’s going to say no. He can tell. He’s tempted to tease you for a bit longer, to pretend like he’s busy or disinterested just to watch that adorable pout form on your face. It’s not often he gets to see you like this, but he ruins it when his face automatically splits into his usual wide grin.

“Alright,” he agrees in his usual syrupy drawl. “I’m with you.”

The way your eyes light up with subtle joy is worth it, anyway. He reaches a hand down to muss with your hair and you shut your eyes expecting an impact. But it’s like Shinsou knows to be gentle, and you find yourself leaning into it.

It’s… nice.

“Why’d you flinch?” he asks.

“Thought you were going to hit me,” you murmur.

“Hit you?” he repeats, with a note of incredulity. “Why would I hit you?”

“I do not know.” You quicky divert the subject. “Let’s go and pick… I mean, buy some flowers.”

He sighs. “Alright, you weirdo.”

The train ride to the city centre is rather uneventful other than the rocking of the carriage and Shinsou’s attempts to probe into whom the flowers will be for.

“Is it for family?”

“No.”

“A friend?”

“…not really.”

“Right. What’s your family like, anyway?”

There’s a pause. “I have a father,” you say, with a voice so vacant it almost sounds to him like you’re trying to convince yourself.

The young boy senses that you don’t really want to talk about it and probes no further.

It is not too long before you arrive at the city centre and quickly find a florist, displaying hundreds of colourful flowers in all shapes and sizes. You’ve never seen so many varieties in one place, and what’s more, the smell is delectable. Right then and there, you decide you like flowers very much, and find yourself wondering if they can be eaten.

The nearest bouquet is a bunch of camellias, and you hold them up to Shinsou questioningly.

He shakes his head. “Uh, bad idea.”

“Why? They smell nice.”

“Those are usually used at funerals.”

“That must mean it is a good choice. It is popular.”

“…Chibana, if I received a bouquet of camellias, it would be like someone wishing death upon me.”

“Oh. Okay. I understand. No camellias.” You put them back. You pick up a bundle of roses. “What about this?”

Shinsou’s jaw sets noticeably tight. “Are you in love with someone?”

“…I do not think so.”

“Those are given for romantic reasons. Put those back.”

“Okay. What about those chrysanthemums?”

“Another funeral flower. Absolutely not.” Shinsou wipes a bead of sweat off his brow and thinks that playing a game of minesweeper blind would be less stressful than this. “How about I choose one for you?”

“Okay.”

It is by some miracle that by the end of the ordeal, you’re holding a bouquet of non-offensive flowers, wrapped in waxed paper and secured with thick ribbons. You look enamoured with the colourful flowers, cradling them close just to take a sniff.

Then, bravely, you shuffle closer to him and tug on his sleeve to get his attention. “Thank you, Shinsou-san.”

He swallows. You look up at him like he’s just hung the stars in the sky. He wants to ask you, “what now?” but the words are caught in his throat.

Thankfully, you answer the question for him. “I need to go to the hospital now to deliver these flowers. And so… please come with me one more time. I don’t like the hospital.”

Hospital? **You had mentioned that it wasn’t for a family member or a friend. Why then, were you wanting to go to the hospital? Either way, you didn’t need to ask him for favours. Shinsou knew deep down he was going to follow you anyway. “If it’s for someone in hospital, don’t you want to write a note?” he asks.

“A note?”

“Yeah. Usually you write a nice message, like Get well soon or something.”

“Okay. How much is paper?”

The boy shakes his head. “Stay here.” He disappears into the nearest store, past the plexiglass doors that part upon his arrival, while you are left waiting outside like a dog awaiting its owner. You know he’s returned when you hear a pulse get louder and louder as it approaches you.

After picking up Iida’s cardiac signature, you’ve noticed it has become a lot easier to pick up that of others the more consistently you spend time with them. You haven’t fully grasped Shinsou’s signature yet - that needs a little more time - but the memory of how it makes you feel is ingrained into you. While Iida’s is steady and unfaltering, like resolute hoofbeats, Shinsou’s pulse reminds you of the way you’ve seen parents pat a baby to sleep. Perhaps that’s why things always feel so easy around him. No pressure, no expectations - just him ruffling your hair and calling you a weirdo. You know it is only a matter of time before your blood fully accepts his as a pulse you recognise.

“Here,” he presses two items into your hand. “Paper and a pen.”

“…thank you.”

You make quick work of them, scrawling in miniscule letters “Get well soon” as recommended by your friend. Before you can nestle it within the flowers, Shinsou picks it up and squints. Knowing you, it’s best to triple-check your handiwork before letting the public eye witness whatever monstrosity you’ve created. “You don’t want to write anything else?”

“No.”

“Not even sign your name?”

“No.”

“Why’s your handwriting so small?”

“It is a habit.”

She sure knows what she wants, Shinsou thinks to himself, exasperated. I am giving up on this conversation.

It’s another quiet train ride to the hospital that passes by too quickly for someone like you who trembles at the smell of ammonia and the squeal of underoiled gurney wheels. But when the two of you stand outside the building, you notice that it is much quieter than Hosu’s hospital, probably because it is almost certainly a private institution - a place reserved for the wealthy. You don’t know why you’re surprised. You already knew that the recipient of your flowers would be a rich man.

Your aloof friend nods towards the reception desk in encouragement, and with him in tow behind you, you approach the receptionist.

“Excuse me. Is a person by the last name of Iida here?”

The man smiles. “Yes - are you a friend or a relative? Unfortunately no visitors are allowed except direct family.”

“Oh. Um, not really. And I was not going up to see him anyway. Is it okay if someone could please deliver this to him?”

“Certainly.” The man takes the bouquet from you and looks down to scribble down a note. “And if I could just get your name, then-”

You’ve disappeared. The receptionist looks around in bewilderment and rubs his eyes. How… bizarre. Not even the purple-haired boy that was with you is around.

And that purple-haired boy’s current predicament is your fault. You had grabbed Shinsou’s hand so abruptly and ran so fast that he barely had time to react. He’s leaning against the outside wall of the hospital now, breathing so raggedly you would think he had been chased by a villain. It’s unfair because you don’t even look like you’ve broken a sweat.

“Why,” he fights to catch his breath. “are you giving flowers to somebody who doesn’t know who you are?”

“Iida-san is sad because his brother is injured. But if his brother receives a gift and becomes happier, maybe Iida-san will also become happier.”

“…interesting logic. And Iida doesn’t know you’re doing this?”

“…correct. I also don’t think I am supposed to know which hospital Iida-san’s brother was being kept at. The only reason I know is because I overheard him talking about this place on the phone.” You look a little guilty. “Don’t tell him.”

Shinsou laughs. Not a chuckle, but a full-blown cackle that turns a few heads your way and scares a flock of birds nearby. A guffaw so unlike him that his pulse beats harder, more restless, in a way that your own blood feels drawn to. The rhythm of his blood - you know it now. Instinctively, just like Iida’s, you know it’s a rhythm that will stay with you for as long as you live.

“You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” he chuckles finally, wiping away stray tears. “Please never change.”

You pout. “I am not weird.”

He just grins and pokes your cheek.

Together, you start walking back to the station, preparing to head your separate ways, but your blood won’t settle until you’ve said one more thing.

“Shinsou-san, thank you for helping me.”

Your friend raises an eyebrow.

“Because you are always doing something for me, I want to help you in return. So you should tell me if you- if you need help with things.”

“Well, there is something you can do in return…”

Your eyes light up. “What is it?”

“Call me Hitoshi.”

Your throat tightens. Is it really okay to become this much closer with him? Would you not be risking his safety by allowing him further into your life?

But Shinsou smiles - a soft, genuine one, and you weaken.

“We’ve known each other for almost a term. I feel like we should be on a first-name basis by now.”

“Does that mean you have to call me Chiyo?”

“…only if you want me to.”

“Okay, Hitoshi-san.”

“…formal as always, Chiyo-chan.”

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All Might: So I can see that your performance was sub-par today. I’m guessing that was probably because of your injuries from the internships?

Y/N: Actually, based on my empirical research, I have found the cause of my mediocrity. Aoyama-san opening his mouth is not conducive to my success.

Aoyama: Man, what did I do?

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Author’s notes:

Nothing to say here today except my back and knees hurt…

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: choking, descriptions of blood and injuries

Pre-chapter notes: Jinkx has once again provided us with this lovely visual of MC surrounded by papers full of her real name! It’s a fantastic shoutout to one of the previous chapters. She also decided to feed us more with this very cute and colourful artwork of Inasa and MC lying in the grass. Seeing the little shout to Anpanman on her shirt makes me very happy. Thank you Jinkx!

Amara blessed us with their digital artwork of MC with pink hair! It’s rare to see her drawn with unusual hair colours so this is such a novelty! Thank you Amara!

Celeste has returned with another wonderful sketch of MC in her uniform. I always love seeing her so neat and tidy. You are truly fantastic, Celeste!

Ari’s blessed our eyes with a realistic portrait of MC lying down, and I hope I will see this visual in my dreams when I go to bed. She looks so serious and traumatised. Simply divine. Thank you, Ari!

Art: John deVeer on ArtStation. He’s an incredible 3D modeller who is fantastic at sculpting manmade and natural environments, and he really brings life into his work! In the artwork I’ve chosen, he’s sculpted a very clean and quiet patient room, which is what I imagine MC would have wanted to stay in, away from the others. I hope you can support him!

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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Your stay at the hospital has been surprisingly pleasant - not exactly what you would’ve envisioned just 48 hours ago. Just one night at the hospital has you already moving with renewed vigour. The nurses are kind and gentle with you, cooing over your child-like mannerisms and rampant curiosity. As a bonus, they’ve fed you generously. Your three bewildered classmates have had the privilege of witnessing you eat ice-cream for the first time, and you’ve had more than you can count.

“How is it?” Midoriya had asked you.

“It is cold. I like it.”

“Cold? That’s it?”

Who would’ve thought good food would be all that was needed to temporarily evaporate your fear of hospitals?

You almost don’t want to leave.

Honestly, you might not be able to leave even if you wanted to.

Because the only downside of your stay would be the fact that your three wardmates have kept a keen and consistent eye on you. You feel yourself getting stronger every hour, so you don’t understand why they’re so insistent that you stay put and rest when your blood is telling you that you should be doing otherwise. And it’s not that they’re unpleasant to be around either, but looking at their bruised and battered selves makes you acutely aware of your failures.

Your classmates could have died. You could have been the one to kill them, if you had drawn blood out of their wounds more times than you had sealed them.

You can’t even look at Iida.

Worse still, he’s noticed. You can feel it in the way his gaze tracks you around the room whenever you leave your bed to stare out the window. His pulse quickens whenever you pass his bed, and then slows with disappointment when you don’t acknowledge him.

You’ve begun to recognise his cardiac signature. It’s a new development in your quirk since your battle with the Hero Killer, though you don’t tell anyone. If you strain yourself, you think you’d be able to recognise Todoroki’s and Midoriya’s as well. No doubt an invaluable skill. Not just to know that someone is coming - but who - before you even see them.

Iida’s hospital garb rustles, and you know he’s moving towards your bed before you can even turn around. Escape doesn’t cross your mind, because in your current state, it’d be pointless in trying to even outrun the boy. Todoroki and Midoriya aren’t here to distract him either, having been taken out of the room for mandatory checkups that you and Iida had done prior. So with only the two of you in the room, nothing can stop you from rubbing your forearms nervously, missing the protective comfort of your usual wrappings.

“You’re avoiding me. Why?”

You didn’t expect him to get straight to the point. How do you tell him that you can’t forgive yourself for usurping the authority of his own blood? How can you make him understand the gravity of your abilities - the way you could have drained the life force from him in seconds?

The way you did to your maste-

“…did I do something?” he asks quietly, gently sitting down next to you. Iida looks hurt. You feel worse.

“No,” you mutter, eyes dropping down and away. “But…”

The words wedge themselves deep into your throat, as if hacking coughs and gags would not be enough to release them. You say them anyway, no matter how much pain the truth causes you, only because Iida deserves to hear it. “I used your blood. I should not have.”

“This is what this is about?” His face contorts into a mix of exasperation and worry. “Don’t you understand? You saved my life, Chibana. I would have died falling from that height.”

“And I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t. And even then, risks need to be taken for victory,” he breathes, “and we won, right?”

“At a cost.” Your eyes drift up from the floor to his scarred arm.

“Chibana, if you didn’t fight the way you did, it would’ve costed more. We might as well have all been dead.” Iida touches your shoulders gently, turning you to face him.

Your breath hitches from the contact.

“Listen to me,” he mutters. “All our quirks have the potential to kill. It’s how you use it that really matters. You saved all of us with your quirk by being clever with it. Stop seeing your own ability as a curse.” A deep sigh leaves his lips. “That being said, you need to stop using too much of your own blood recklessly. The doctors said if it weren’t for your quirk being the way it is, you probably wouldn’t have made it.” His hands drop from your shoulders. “If you’re going to worry about how your quirk can end lives, please worry about how it can end yours first. Okay?”

Iida looks a different kind of weary - one not worn down by Bakugo’s constant shouting or Mineta’s depraved tendencies, but eroded by worry. All while he tells you to worry about yourself more than him.

“…I understand,” you whisper. You can’t help but think he must be very angry with you. “I am sorry.”

And it is almost as if he reads your mind. “You’re overthinking - I’m not upset with you. In fact, I should be thanking you.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you were feeling guilty over this. Don’t you know that we’re in this together? That I trust you with my life?”

Trust you? With something so precious? He shouldn’t. If he knew, he wouldn’t.

“He’s right, you know,” a voice chimes in. “We all put our trust in you in that fight, and I haven’t seen anyone regret it since.”

Your head whips upwards towards the door. You’ve become complacent - too comfortable feeling safe at the hospital, too comfortable listening to Iida’s reassurances - so much that you’ve forgotten to stay alert, forgotten to gauge the heartbeats around you and keep an eye on all possible escape routes and-

But it’s just Midoriya. Not the police or an intruder or a villain (not that you can talk, anyway). You notice that he’s no longer in a cast.

“Midoriya-san. Is your leg fixed?”

He smiles gently. “You should know that it healed very quickly thanks to you,” he mentions, as if his functioning limb hadn’t probably just been the product of a kiss by Recovery Girl.

“I do not understand. I did not do anything to your leg.”

Your classmate walks over and stands in front of where you and Iida are seated on your bed. “You helped me seal the wound during the fight, remember? You need to give yourself credit where it’s due. Anyway, how are you feeling?”

“…tired.” You look up, and see the two boys’ faces scrunch up in worry. “…better.”

Their expressions relax again.

Then, Midoriya’s heart rate picks up.

You don’t realise why until he leans forwards and lets his arms curl around you. Midoriya’s arms are still battered and bandaged, but they move as if they’re newly made. You give a sharp intake of breath, and he pulls back like he’s been burnt.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked first.”

“You… surprised me.” You quickly compose yourself, because you can tell Midoriya needs this hug; he’s still worried about you. “But it is okay… you can hug.”

“You’re not just saying that for my sake, right?”

Mirth flickers across his face. The guilty look on yours tells him everything, and small chuckle leaves his lips. “If you don’t want to, you can tell me, okay?”

Then he hugs you again, tighter this time, while Iida watches on with a quiet understanding.

“I should have said this earlier,” your green-haired classmate murmurs into your hair, “but I’m glad you’re alive. When that Nomu took you, I thought… I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you ever again.” When he lifts his head up again, he gazes at you with rheumy eyes. You feel his heartbeat relive the memory in thundering pulses. “The doctor says I’ll probably be discharged soon, so I won’t see you until internships are over. Just - don’t get yourself into any more trouble, okay?”

“I am not trying to,” you mutter.

He pulls back, laughing, and it’s warm and kind and everything you don’t deserve. It’s clear that you’ve distressed people - people who shouldn’t be concerned about you, especially since you’re not on their side. What expressions would lie on their faces upon uncovering your seamy underbelly? How disillusioned would they feel then, after knowing they had put their lives in your hands?

It’s all you can think about when Iida and Midoriya return to their respective beds to rest upon the head nurse’s orders.

Markedly different from the two boys’ behaviour to you is Todoroki’s, who upon re-entering the room levels you with a pointed stare.

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Todoroki knows exactly where to find you when you are missing from bedrest for the fourth time the next day. You’re stubborn, just like he is - which is why he dutifully trudges up the stairs to the rooftop since he’s cognizant of the fact that if he takes the elevator, the stairs will probably be your first escape route. Now that the other two boys have been discharged, it is almost as if it is even harder for you to be in the same room as him.

You’ve probably heard him by now - not by the echoes of his footsteps bouncing off the concrete walls, but by the pulse of his blood. This he knows because once, he had overheard Uraraka make an offhand comment that, as a feature of your quirk, you could feel them. A useful skill that he wondered why you yourself weren’t more open about.

And so as expected, when he crests the stairwell and pushes on the door, you’re already facing him, looking like you’re going to bolt.

You knew someone was coming - just not the fact that it’d be him.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Your eyes drop to the floor in shame. “Are you angry at me for not resting?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m not angry at you for anything. I came up here because I wanted to talk to you.”

Though he means to reassure you, you seem to shrink in on yourself even further.

“…about what?” you whisper fearfully.

A soft sigh leaves his lips. “You keep running away from me. Why?” You flinch and he notices - a confirmation of his suspicions. “Is it because of what we talked about that night?”

He means that night - the night you were almost taken by Kurogiri. The night you could’ve died.

Your silence must be a fraction too long, because Todoroki’s tone sharpens. “Don’t pretend nothing happened.” He narrows his eyes. “We need to talk about it. You’re in danger. Shigaraki even sent a Nomu to fetch you. They want you for some reason, and you know why, but you don’t want to say.”

Why must everyone in your class be so persistent?

He takes a step forward. You back away. “But… the danger is over,” you desperately try to explain. “And we already talked about it. So please… forget about it.” Your heart rate rises.

“We haven’t talked about it enough. Why does Shigaraki want to recruit you? What are you hiding?”

“…I can’t tell you!” Sweat begins to pour down your back, soaking your shirt. You need to escape.

“Why not?”

“Because then you might d-”

Your throat tightens, and not metaphorically; it squeezes and constricts like a python around your neck. You gasp for air. Your own hands fly up to grip your jugular, as if you could pry the choking force away from you. Of course, there’s nothing you can actually do, because there’s nothing actually there.

The Silencer. This is the work of the Silencer.

“Oi, Chibana! What’s wrong?”

You double over in pain, and now Todoroki’s by your side, trying to soothe your back. Nothing works. The sensation of static rips through your nerves. Light ebbs and flows in the corner of your vision. You can’t hear your classmate anymore. Your body meets the ground.

Life feels just like this. Like you’re deep underwater, calling for help. Nobody can hear you because the water muffles the sound. You can’t hear anybody else because they’re swimming at the surface. How many times does a builder repaint a wall to hide its cracks? How many authors have been rendered to sound sane by their editors? And when a wall is finally too old to stand, the paint isn’t stripped off in preparation for a new layer - the wall itself is demolished in a dramatic fanfare of rubble and dust; when an author becomes redundant, there is always a newer, fresher replacement waiting to usurp the crown.

Your class will survive even if you die now. You tell yourself that they have each other, and you couldn’t have been that important to them anyway. You’ll be free of Scarface and Overhaul too. Perhaps this is for the best.

A droplet lands on your cheek. Is it raining? Yet, you feel warm, even while laying still in a brief state of apnea. The seconds stretch.

And the Silencer’s quirk releases.

The first thing that comes back is the noise. The hum of the generators. The inquisitive chirps of birds. The wind rustling your clothes. Todoroki’s quiet sniffling.

Then, your breath.

You splutter and cough, rolling out of Todoroki’s arms. He was holding you - you realise that now. Sweet air floods your lungs, and you feel alive. You’re extremely lucky to not have finished whatever you were saying to him, because if you had, you are sure you would have ended up dead. But you know it was a warning. A warning to tread more carefully, to not let your guard down. You’re lucky you regained full consciousness before he called any of the hospital staff over to help.

“You’re back,” he croaks out. Then, more brokenly, he mutters, “Oi, say something, Chibana.”

He’s crying. You were terrified by him earlier, but now he just looks like a boy. As powerful as his quirk is, any high-schooler would be horrified to watch a classmate choke on air, collapse, and then cease to breathe right in front of them.

The strength to speak hasn’t returned to you yet. You remain sprawled on the ground, letting out ragged gasps that Todoroki flinches at every time the rhythm stutters.

He tries to talk to you one more time.

“…Chibana?” The tears have stopped falling now. “…what happened?”

And then he really looks at you. Not just at your hands around your throat that had been desperately scrabbling for air. But he looks at your deathly pallor. The terror on your face akin to a cornered animal. The dry scrape on your elbow that could have been avoided if he had caught you as you fell instead of being preoccupied with casting his own personal suspicions on you.

“…did you just come here just to get information from me?” you whimper.

He recognises the look you give him. It’s the same look he used to give his mother when his father would drag him away from the courtyard to train. Those very same lines would mar his face.

When did he become the person that would strike fear into people’s eyes? When did he have anger like his father?

A feeling so awful sutures itself into his skin.

“I…. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he mumbles, lips setting into a grim line. “I’m just worried about you.”

He looks away at the admission. Then, he reaches out his hand to you to help you stand, but you flinch away.

You choke on your breath. “W-Wait, no-”

He pulls back, looking pained. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Distrust bleeds into the silence, and it’s almost too much to swallow. Eventually you have the strength to pull yourself up. It takes Todoroki everything not to steady you by your elbow when you stagger.

“I… I am going to go back to the ward.”

“Hey, Chibana-”

“…please do not follow me.”

“At least let me apologise!”

You whip around. Todoroki faces you with a full bow, tears once again gathering at his lash line.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he tells you, keeping his voice soft and low. “I want to tell you I am sincerely sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, scaring you like that.” Not once does he dare lift his head towards you. “From now on, I promise I won’t push you to say anything anymore.”

“…Todoroki-san.”

“But you’re not safe… it worries me. And this today… it means you’re in even more danger than I had initially realised.” He looks up now, and he meets your eyes with an expression you never thought you would see on his face.

Concern.

“That wasn’t just a panic attack. You fully stopped breathing.” His voice comes out even quieter with the grave realisation. “…they used a quirk on you.”

He’s figured it out.

And he doesn’t realise it, but should anyone from the organisation catch wind that he knows something, he’ll be in about the same amount of danger that he thinks you’re in.

You drop to your knees in shock. This time, he’s there in time to stop you from tumbling to the floor like a ragdoll. This time, you don’t have the energy to squirm out of his grasp when he puts his hands on your shoulders.

“I know I don’t have the right to do anything for you after the distress I just caused you, but I want to do what I can to protect you from them… whoever they are.”

He doesn’t understand. He has no idea what he’s up against. What UA and all of hero society will be up against. He’s powerful - you know that already. But what will he do against your boss and his countless lackeys? What possible advantage could he have over the Undertaker’s syringes? How would fire and ice ever release your words from the clutches of the Silencer? What could he do against Overhaul and Shigaraki, both boasting power that even you aren’t totally familiar with, but can feel thrumming in their veins?

He cannot save you. At the very least, he should spare himself.

You must warn him, even if it risks your life to do so.

“N-No. Please listen.” Your voice barely crawls out as a whisper. “Forget everything you have seen and heard. Please… it is better that way.”

“You cannot ask me to forget that you nearly died in front of me today.”

You begin to shake in his hold. “Don’t do this... you can’t. Please. You do not understand what you are doing.”

“I won’t push you to say anything, but the heroes should at least know that you’re at risk,” he insists. “I know not all heroes are great… but there are good ones out there. Trust the heroes, Chibana.”

And yet he shouldn’t even be trusting you. If he didn’t, it would have made everything easier. He wouldn’t be up here, holding your limp form. He wouldn’t be questioning everything about you. You wouldn’t have nearly died from asphyxiation.

Still enervated, you squirm out of his grasp one more time. “Don’t… don’t touch me.”

“Chibana… you’re scared of me.” Todoroki’s hurt is woven through the vowels.

You nod meekly. “…are you angry?”

“No. I understand... I made you feel that way.”

You stand up from your spot on the ground. Even though you and Todoroki are only a few metres away from each other now, it feels as though the new rift forming between you has opened to miles and miles.

It’s safer that way, you try to tell yourself. But something heavy and leaden settles in your stomach like tar - a feeling you can’t entirely scrape away.

“Just remember - if you’re carrying something by yourself, I want to help.” Todoroki takes in a breath. “I want to make it up to you.”

But you think you’ll never go to him for help again - even at the cost of your own life.

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Todoroki: Yo, are you oka-

Y/N: Don’t touch me. You have germs.

Todoroki: I just washed my hands.

Y/N: You have cooties.

Todoroki: I don’t think those are real.

Y/N: I’m allergic to males.

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Author’s notes:

Thank you all for your never-ending patience with Bloodwalker.

As has been the trend with the past few chapters, my life has been a constant cycle of overtime, becoming ill, and recovering. Even so, I am still very happy, because I still love my job.

I hope you all are doing similarly well, and I apologise for not getting to comments. And for those of you wondering, Grandma is still alive and thriving, with multiple small branches and many more leaves!

Anyway, now we arrive at the conversational section of the author’s notes. In today’s section, I want to complain about rubber cleaning gloves.

Exceptionally difficult to get your hands into. Easy to rip. Not necessarily biodegradable. Can’t tell if dishes are still greasy or not. But still necessary if I don’t want to get a rash on my hands from washing up. Why?!

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: blood, slightly gruesome description of self-harm (not by MC!)

Pre-chapter notes: Jinkx has delivered to us this fantastic work of MC here, with pink hair, a fringe, and twin plaits. I am really starting to see that this hairstyle seems to be the dominant interpretation of her, and I don’t dislike it! She’s very cute - thank you, Jinkx!

Art: Dominic Sagona on ArtStation! He is a fantastic 3D artist who puts an incredible amount of detail into his work. The work of his I have chosen to show is one of parquetry (a decorative mosaic of wood pieces). From the scratches on the wood, to each tile’s individual texture, and even the way the light hits and scatters across the space is so beautifully represented. He’s wonderful at what he does and I hope he finds success wherever he goes!

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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It sweeps across vast swathes of crumbling infrastructure. From its distance from the ground, the lambent light of the razed city is barely visible. Yet, with its attuned senses, it can feel the grating of smoke in its lungs, and hear the panicked shouts of the people below. Its master would probably think they were simply gibbering idiots. It wouldn’t agree though, or more accurately, it wouldn’t be able to. Simply because it was not made with the ability to think.

It flies lower, and its vision broadens. It sees humans, fighting their way out from under the rubble, almost if crawling their way up precarious scree. Others spot its towering silhouette, screaming and pointing at it with knobbly, ash-covered fingers.

The creature doesn’t register the noises that leaves these peoples’ mouths. It doesn’t register the reason why they are afraid of it. And you might not either if you were reasonable enough to ignore the top half of the creature, because its bottom half might almost seem ordinary - threadbare jeans, circled around the waist with a frayed, leather belt.

Part man, part Nomu.

It searches for something, but it does not know for what. Not yet, at least. It awaits for the inevitable call from the one with blue hair - an inescapable din in its mind that would otherwise be considered harsh to its senses if it were not a body without an active consciousness.

And as it perches on the top of a building, the call from its master arrives.

Find the girl with the blood quirk. Find L/N Y/N.

Not unusual for a Nomu, its mind is not filled with the thought of how the wind is cold through its wings of membrane, or how the smoke is hindering its sight as it flies; nor does it provide a reaction to either obstacle. Only does it keep in mind its master’s goal. A one-track mind - would it be a blessing, or a curse? Nomus don’t deliberate on such things. It takes to the skies, scouring the city for any sign of the girl.

It knows who she is. It had been watching her when the other Nomu had pinned her down - whether she had realised it or not - until the broad-shouldered man with flames sent the other unfortunate creature pinwheeling to the side. But even with enhanced vision, it is challenging for the winged aberrant to pick out the girl his master wants amongst the skirmishes and the pandemonium down below. There are too many hidden beneath rubble, too many screaming, too many obscured by smoke and flame.

It turns its bull-necked form towards the outskirts of the commotion, and spots a small group of young humans hurrying through an alleyway. They look ordinary. It almost dismisses the group. Beyond basic cognitive observations, there is not much more the Nomu is capable of in terms of independent thinking.

But one member of the group is carrying a girl.

The girl isn’t moving. Perhaps that means she is dead. That doesn’t matter to the Nomu, because something in the hollow caverns of its judgement and reasoning clicks, and it knows who she is. It swoops down towards the girl as a gull hunts for fish, and grips its unconscious victim in a taloned claw.

There are shouts of protest and panic from the group, but the Nomu pays them no mind, even as one drops to his knees in frustrated exhaustion and screams. It will bring its catch back to its master the way a cormorant brings hers to a fisherman.

Soon, all sounds are swallowed up by distance, save for the creature’s rhythmic wingbeats and the unsteady breathing of its prey, still hanging limply from the talons girdled around her torso.

“…shou…” she murmurs deliriously.

Dreaming, apparently - not that the Nomu knows or understands what that is. Not when its mind is so solely focused on returning its spoils of war to the very man that commands it.

“…Shishou.”

The captive mutters it louder, more insistently this time.

Something stirs at the back of the Nomu’s dormant mind - an itch with which it doesn’t have the fingers to scratch.

It’s never experienced such discomfort before.

Then again, even if it did, it had never felt the urge to react.

It gurgles uneasily. Suddenly, it is acutely aware of the smell of your blood. It smells interesting and familiar.

Familiar?

A young child.

H/C hair.

Joy, and a comforting feeling.

Pain, blood.

A girl’s screams.

Memory.

The Nomu sends out a piercing cry. Its body contracts, wings folding in on itself mid-air. Without the sounds of insistent flapping, for a second the night is truly silent.

Then, an unwilling descent.

Born natural or unnatural, just like everything else, it is a slave to the forces of the Earth. Suddenly, it registers the wind in its face as an irritating cold. Suddenly, its gut stirs at the speed it plummets to the ground with.

Suddenly, it matters whether the girl in his claws is still breathing or not.

His.

It was once a he.

Instinctively, he knows she’s still bleeding. It remembers that she has bled before. On parquetry, on dirt floors, on dull concrete.

The rooftop of a building nears his vision and he braces for impact. It’s too late to avoid it, so he brings the girl in his claws up into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her.

A Nomu’s body is made with limits beyond human comprehension. Bioengineered dense muscle, damage resistance and regeneration, amongst many other abilities, allow a Nomu to shrug off an impact that would kill a person. Thus, the impact is nothing he cannot withstand.

But he will not risk the girl’s life. He doesn’t know why - only that his body and mind refuse the action.

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The Nomu’s master is nearby.

He knows this because he feels a faint pull in his mind, but chooses to ignore it in favour of tending to the one lying on his chest. Prodding her body with a clawed finger allows her eyelids to stir, until she meets his eyes with an unsteady gaze of her own.

He chitters as gently as possible. She responds with saccadic eyes, her breath coming out in short pants. Dully, the creature discerns the emotion as fear. He’s never been able to distinguish emotions before, and doesn’t understand why he can now.

Gingerly, he sits up and his arms pull the girl up into a sitting position, but it’s an inutile decision, because the girl tumbles back over on her side.

She’s immobile and the Nomu has no clue as to why.

No matter.

With his long, wiry fingers, he clumsily pokes and prods at the girl’s arms and legs, as if checking for broken bones. After a few minutes of fussing over his unwilling patient, he sits on his haunches and chitters again with uncertainty. He’s not sure what to do with her now. He doesn’t know how to stop her bleeding.

The pull in his mind is unremitting now, and the urge to deliver the girl into the hands of the one who commands him is almost unbearable. Yet somehow, deep down, he knows that the young teen doesn’t belong with his master.

She should not be caged, but free.

So he resists, gathering the girl into his arms and flying down into a busy street, gently laying her down in the middle where she’ll be easily found. Now, the pull is almost a harsh scream, almost censuring him for not following his master’s orders sooner. His claws twitch, almost betraying his heart. Almost obeying.

But he won’t.

His fingers fly up to his face and dig into his eye sockets. Two eyeballs meet the ground with a sickening squelch.

Then the Nomu flies away before he can reorient himself, crashing into the sides of buildings as he leaves. He must go before his eyes can regenerate.

Before his body disobeys him in favour of adhering to his master’s will.

Before he can hurt her.

It’s a worthy trade - her freedom for his eyes. His master will be irate - he knows this. But a Nomu is built to do, not to think, feel, know, or remember, and so not a morsel of guilt tugs at his heart.

Though, once upon a time, think and feel was all he did. And the urges to do so had returned when he had the girl tightly grasped in his talons.

Truly, he has no idea who the girl is - only that he wants to protect her.

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“With my leg like this, he probably could’ve killed us if he wanted to.”

“We were obviously left alive on purpose. Iida, you’re amazing to have been able to face him after all the murderous intent directed at you.”

“No, that’s not it. I- wait, Chibana’s waking up!”

There’s a vitals monitor next to your bed, the slow yet incessant beeping enough to make you groan. You catch the distinct smell of antiseptic when your head lolls to the side. That’s how you know you’re in one of the places you fear the most.

The hospital.

When your eyes peek open, you see Todoroki and Iida casting shadows over your form, anxious expressions lining their faces. Midoriya is not far behind, hobbling to your side with an injured leg, determined to see you.

“Chibana,” Iida swallows with guilt. “How do you feel?”

Truthfully, you feel like you’ve been trampled by a bison stampede, been disassembled and reassembled, had your head screwed on backwards and had your kneecaps replaced with coconut shells. But you can’t tell them that, because then they’ll tell the nurses, who will tell the doctors, who will then want you to stay at the hospital for longer. And you just want to go home as quickly as possible.

The boys’ concern is amplified when you stretch the seconds with your silence, the monitor being the only indication of time passing. Wordlessly frozen, they wait for you to deliver to them a sign that you are still yourself - to tell them that you’re okay.

“I thought I was going to die,” you finally say. You thought they might have died too. That scares you more than you’d like to admit.

“You almost did,” responds Todoroki, mouth set in a grim line. “The doctors said you lost a lot of blood.”

“Is that so?” you sit yourself up, breaths heaving. “I… feel fine now.”

Midoriya pales. “You look like you’re going to faint, Chibana - maybe you should lie back down.”

“He’s right,” agrees Iida with a deep sigh. “Your body needs to recover after that fight, and then with you getting carried off by the Nomu…”

Ignoring Midoriya and Iida’s request, your arms come up to tug at the sleeves of your costume absentmindedly - except, they’re not there. You’re in hospital garb, and the sleeves are not long enough to cover your bruises. With much relief, you realise the boys haven’t so much as commented on them. They probably think you sustained those injuries during the battle. “So it was not a dream.”

“You were conscious?” your green-haired classmate questions. “Do you remember much?”

You do, but you can’t tell them that. There was something strange about the Nomu’s behaviour that day, and if you told them, that might raise suspicion about you. After all, the creature had done plenty of harm to other civilians, but to you, it had treated you as gently as a baby. Why were you any different from its victims? Something like this would certainly raise questions. Not to mention, Todoroki already knows that a villain has already been sent to try and recruit you. So you need to maintain your silence.

You meet his eyes without meaning to, and he stares you down warily. Hesitantly, you shake your head. A glob of saliva slides down your throat uncomfortably.

Midoriya sighs at your response. “With the state that you were in, I’m not surprised. We’re lucky it let you go before anything happened to you!”

“It’s strange that it didn’t attack you,” Todoroki notes pointedly.

Before you can explain further, the door to the room slides open.

Three figures stand in the entranceway. You recognise two of them. First, there’s Pro Hero Manual - Iida’s mentor. He looks well. The next person your eyes rake over is your own mentor - Native. With much relief, you note the healthy colour on Native’s cheeks. His injuries must have healed well, and quickly, too, for him to be visiting others so soon. The man catches your eye and delivers a reassuring smile to you. You wouldn’t know, but truthfully, the man is relieved to see that you’re alive.

“Oh, are you wounded kids awake?”

The gruff voice comes from a third person that you don’t recognise. An ordinary civilian, upon first glance, would probably judge him to be an ornery old man, forehead wizened with age. But from the way his sprightly figure marches towards Midoriya with a mentor’s authority and criticism on his tongue, you know that he’s a hale and shrewd man, which to you, makes him a dangerous man.

You don’t hear the rest of the conversation because your eyes now scan the room for an escape route. The window panes seem thin enough for you to break through, but you’re not sure whether you can use your quirk so soon. Assuming you’re well enough to run, you could escape through the main door. However, it’s currently blocked by three heroes and you can feel the pulse of another guest waiting outside in the hallway, so that’s not an option either.

Before you can deliberate on the logistics of crawling up into the ceiling, the mysterious guest you had detected enters the room - the towering figure of a… dog?

“Hosu’s chief of police, Tsuragamae Kenji,” the old hero states.

The police.

You must be in trouble. They must have discovered that Shigaraki had been trying to bring you to his side, or worse, they might have found out that you were part of a separate organisation altogether.

They’re going to take you away.

Iida and Todoroki stand up out of respect, but you and Midoriya struggle to climb out of your beds; the difficulty for you is partly due to your condition, and partly due to your fear. You are so caught up in your own emotions that you don’t realise that the police chief is looking onto you with kind eyes.

“You guys can just stay where you are, woof,” he says, with a sonorous voice.

And so you do, eyes still flitting around the room for any plausible escape routes.

The chief sees fit to continue speaking. “You must be the UA students who brought down the Hero Killer, right?”

Todoroki answers for the four of you, and you’re grateful that in this moment he’s taken on the role of spokesperson. It is at this moment that Hosu’s head of police launches into a lecture about the importance of following the standards applied to the profession of heroism, and how unlicensed heroes causing injury, even to villains, violates a code of conduct. The rest of you in the room listen on sombrely, and the man continues to outline the fact that even though Native was at the scene and technically had a supervisory role during the fight, he was incapacitated, not in a state to give commands, and also admitted to not doing so.

You watch as Midoriya’s expression morphs from a grim line into abject horror. Then, in your peripheral vision, you watch as Todoroki’s eyes narrow, his rising pulse ringing clear through your senses.

Rarely do you think positively, but at the very least it feels like you’re in the clear. Not completely, since you’re being reprimanded with the rest of your peers in the room for taking action without explicit instruction from a Pro - but at least the police aren’t here to just capture you and you alone for whatever involvement you have in the network of villainy.

“The four of you, and the Pro Heroes Endeavor, Manual, Native and Gran Torino must receive strict punishment.”

Todoroki’s blood flows like it’s boiling water now, and you see him cast a scalding look at the police chief.

“Wait a minute,” he begins with a low, incensed snarl. “If Iida hadn’t done anything, Native would have been killed. If Midoriya hadn’t come, the two of them would’ve been killed. Chibana saved my life and at some point, stopped all of us from bleeding out. No one realised that the Hero Killer had appeared.” He looks as if he’s about to march forwards but is quickly stopped by Midoriya. “Are you saying we should’ve followed the rules and watched people get killed?”

You’ve never seen Todoroki with so much as a frown on his face - sure, he keeps a solemn expression with him most of the time, but you’ve never seen him truly angry. His anger may not be outwardly explosive, but you can hear the level of rage in his trembling blood - enough to rival the rage of Bakugo.

It scares you a bit, but before you realise it, your heart also fills with warmth. Todoroki has incredible gall to defend all of you with a tongue this sharp - and from the police, no less. To think that he would believe in the goodness of everyone’s actions so strongly is jarring to you, considering that you believe everything you’ve ever done in life has either been wrong or not good enough.

Todoroki-san is scary. But he is also kind.

It is here that you learn that anger, when controlled and used to deliver logical and civil emotional arguments, can be used for good. Not when it is used to scatter bruises like confetti across your skin, or to steal the air from your lungs.

…or maybe not.

Because in seconds, the police chief delivers more scathing words to Todoroki, and his face morphs into something quite frightening. Suddenly, Midoriya’s soft pleas are not enough to hold him back from striding towards the imposing man, a snarl on his lips. “You dog!”

Fear flickers in your stomach like an uncovered flame. You want to stop him too, for you know that pushing against authority never ends up well, even if you haven’t actually ever attempted to defy anyone before.

Who are you more afraid of right now - the police chief, or your classmate? You’re not sure. You think that the pure, murderous fury on Todoroki’s face makes him look like his father.

“Hang on a minute. Hear him out until the end,” the small man called Gran Torino reasons.

Your classmate obeys, but looks as if he’s about to explode.

“That was the official opinion of the police,” continues the police chief, not unkindly. “And the punishment and such would only happen if this were all made public, woof. If this were made public, you would probably be applauded by the public, but you would not be able to escape punishment.”

You definitely do not want to be applauded by the public or anyone.

“On the other hand, this is a bit underhanded, but if it is not made public, the burn scars would support Endeavor being the hero who saved the day and it would end there, woof. Thankfully, there were very few witnesses.”

Nothing lifts your spirits more than knowing that most people did not witness you using your quirk in the ways you did during that battle.

“This violation could be crushed here, woof. But this would also mean no-one would know about your good judgement or achievements. Which do you prefer?”

The answer lies on your tongue - let nobody know about what you’ve done, so you can continue living your life unacknowledged. You can only hope that Iida, Midoriya and Todoroki agree with you. Because if your work can be played off as the actions of another hero, you can continue fulfilling Boss’s purpose. You can stay hidden for a little longer, creep a little closer to his goal.

Then, the police chief smiles - as best as a dog mutant can with his tongue lolling out, anyway, and gives you all a thumbs up. “Personally, I don’t want to be the one to find fault with promising young ones because of one big mistake, woof.” He looks so friendly that you want to pat him, but then you remember that such an action probably wouldn’t be appropriate for someone as highly-ranking as he is.

So he’s not here to apprehend you or your classmates. Your shoulders drop with a relieved sigh, and you catch Native grinning widely.

One by one, you and your classmates bow to the four adults in the room, apologising for causing trouble. There’s a general consensus that the best course of action is to let Endeavor take all the credit for your work, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Todoroki grumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you feel the angry roil of his blood begin to subside.

Finally, the chief does something unexpected.

Suddenly, he’s the one bowing deeply to you, as if he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes lecturing all of you on the hero code of conduct. “Because of the unfairness of adults, you will not be able to receive the praise you would probably have gotten, but at least, as someone who also protects the peace, I can say thank you.”

You’re stunned. You’ve never received respect like this before - much less from somebody this important. Usually, the unfairness of adults leaves you battered and bruised on the ground. Today, it has saved you.

“Thank you for keeping our secret,” you murmur quietly, and you think he doesn’t hear you until he looks up from his bow and winks at you.

A dog mutant has a dog’s hearing. Of course.

When the four adults finally leave, you and your classmates sit in silence. There’s no sound other than the beeping of your vitals monitor and the shuffling of sheets.

But you feel lighter. Calmer. Something you never thought you’d ever feel at a hospital, of all places.

And now, you can really focus on recovering.

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Gran Torino: This is Hosu’s chief of police, Tsuragamae Kenji.

Tsuragamae Kenji: Woof.

Y/N: This dog has a job. I knew those cats at the cat café were slacking off.

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Author’s notes:

Hello everyone!

Thank you for your continued patience with Bloodwalker and apologise to all of you whom I know I have left waiting.

I am now going to explain my prolonged absence.

At the beginning of this year, I was blessed enough to finally begin working full time at a job. This job is extremely busy, and I find myself often working overtime and getting sick. Thus, these past 6 months have been a constant cycle of being too busy and getting sick, and then recovering and then being busy again. Nevertheless, it is a job that I enjoy and love and I am very grateful to have it.

I still enjoy writing and look forward to getting back into it properly!

In other news, Auntie is uh… not alive. I wanted to spoil her and ended up overwatering her. And then… you know the rest. I think I am not made to look after plants. These are the harsh consequences of spoiling your kids…

But before you get angry, Grandma is still thriving!

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Elizabeth!

Thank you for asking! I'm doing well now!

I'm actually just about to release the next chapter of Bloodwalker, which at the end will explain where I've been for so long.

Thank you!! Also I just wanna say that you’re such a good writer and I always look forward to reading your stuff!! :D

Hi, I am so sorry I took so long to get back to you but I am happy to know that people are reading Bloodwalker on here :D

Don't worry, you haven't missed anything! As of now we don't know what happened to them but we will find out!

Trigger Warning/s: blood, knives, violence, vivid description of injury, wounds

Pre-chapter notes: Your wifi password drew us this lovely visual of MC, clasping her hands together and looking very scared and anxious! I think it is the perfect portrayal of her. Also am a big fan of the details, such as the plasters on her cheek, neck, and hands, as well as bandage wrap around her forearms. A lot of artists seem to like drawing MC with twin braids! It is very cute! Thank you, wifi password!

Raccoon has swooped in and delivered to us this very scandalous fanart of Scarface slipping on a collared shirt… readers, I promise you that MC’s boss is NOT this young. Do not fall for the propaganda. Please stay strong… don’t be swayed… (thank you for your art, Raccoon!).

Ari has once again trialled a different art style and come in with this very deadpan version of MC. She looks just like an Omori character! It’s very cute!

Finally, Celeste fired an incredible animatic into my face on discord that it melted my face off from how good it was. Unfortunately, I can only attach stills, so here they are: this full-body shot of MC, this one of her with the bandages around her forearms beginning to loosen, this high-angle shot of MC in a state of despair, and this still of MC curling up in the midst of what appears to be a tornado of bandages. Thank you for your wonderful work, Celeste!

Also, I swear this story has a happy ending, everyone. Why do none of you believe me?

Reminder on blood types applicable to MC’s quirk, since they will apply in this chapter:

Blood Type A: high integrity creation of robust, solid matter (e.g. solid weapons like knives, or items like bricks or crowbars)

Blood Type B: high integrity creation of flexible and malleable objects (e.g. string, ribbons, webs, wire)

Blood Type O: high integrity creation of impact absorption matter (e.g. armour, shields)

Blood Type AB: unpredictable and unknown

Art: Tobias Kuberka on ArtStation! It is truly baffling to me that this man only has around 700 followers, given the incredible detail he puts into his work. I have chosen his work of a 3D-modelled katana, mainly focused on its tsuba (the handguard) and sword hilt. The elegant dragons that line the handguard, the shadows and the surface textures… all are magnificent! It is clear that he worked very hard to achieve this result. Please support him!

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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The katana descends.

The other three boys shout in protest.

Stain’s grin seems to widen, deepening the furrows on his face and revealing a ferocious set of teeth. Why have mercy? Why spare you the way you had spared him, even if you had done so unintentionally? It would be disrespectful, after all, to you who had shown him true respect as an opponent; you had not fought him out of your own desire to do so, but for the sake of your friends. Better to end it quickly rather than draw out the affair and let you suffer, he thinks; there is no point in immobilising you with his quirk when you’re barely moving - still recovering from your fall. He’ll do it - press the end of his blade until it pierces through skin, flesh and bone. You will only know pain for a second, and in that same second, you will forget your friends, your family, and your life. You will forget how to breathe.

Midoriya feels his fingers twitch to life.

But seething flames reach the Hero Killer quicker than a punch from him would in his state, and Stain receives its message loud and clear.

“Don’t touch her,” Todoroki hisses through gritted teeth, taking a defensive stance in front of you.

The villain only seems more entertained. “My, aren’t you all so protective of each other,” he sneers, leading upwards with his katana held up high. “You should be more worried about yourselves!”

“I wonder about that,” your classmate retaliates, before his left arm alights with flames again.

Not quickly enough. Two knives swiftly embed themselves into his forearm, and the boy grunts in pain.

Right as the Hero Killer’s blade swings down, down, until-

Midoriya leaps at him and pushes him out of the way.

“Midoriya!” Todoroki shouts.

“I can move normally for some reason now!” the green-haired boy shouts back.

“A time limit?” the boy standing in front of you wonders, clutching his arm tightly.

“No, that kid should’ve been the last one he got,” groans out Native.

You barely register the words being said. But your head throbs a little less.

Some wake up to alarms, and others to close calls.

Forcing your eyes open, you pull yourself up, staggering slightly. Out of his peripheral vision, Todoroki watches you with brief concern before tearing his eyes away from you. But instantly, they flick back to you the moment you groan his name.

“Pull the knives out,” you force yourself to say, stumbling forwards. “Quickly. I will clot the wound for you.”

Without question, Todoroki does as you say, pulling out the blades with a grunt, and you seal his wound almost instantaneously. On the other side of the alleyway, Midoriya and the Hero Killer make landfall, each tumbling to the ground at various speeds. Freshly repaired, Todoroki sends out a wave of ice at the villain just as Midoriya leaps out of the way.

The freckled boy is tense - shoulders tight and braced for an impact.

“He takes in a person’s blood to keep them from moving. Since I got free first, I can think of a few possible reasons,” he breathes anxiously. “It could be less effective with more people, the amount ingested could affect how long it works for, or-”

“It might be the blood type,” you interject, words slightly slurred, “…because my quirk works that way as well.” You say the last part rather unwillingly.

Thankfully, nobody questions you further.

Native groans out that he’s blood type B, and Iida follows suit, revealing that his blood is type A.

Stain smirks at the discussion, leering at the three of you from afar. “Blood type?” A puff of air leaves his nostrils. “That’s correct.”

Then Midoriya whips his head around to study your unmoored form, clearly torn between keeping a close eye on the villain and checking you for any major injuries. “Chibana, you took a bad fall - can you still fight?”

Todoroki watches on with similar concern when you don’t respond right away. You definitely have a concussion, and your classmates have probably realised this as well. But even still…

“I am fine,” your voice grinds out, against the strain of a crushing headache. It is your rightful punishment - meted out to you for your hesitance - so you must bear it alone. And the others can do nothing but accept your answer, even if they themselves cannot bring themselves to believe it.

“It’s too risky to evacuate the other two,” notes Todoroki, nodding his head towards Iida and Native, “not when he’s this fast. I think our best option is to hold on by avoiding close combat until the pros get here.”

You’re all in agreement for that. The beginnings of a plan start to take form - Midoriya is to take the frontline, while Todoroki and you are to hinder Stain with ranged attacks. The villain takes a step forward, a hand moving to the haft of his katana. And in the seconds before abilities and people go flying, you cast one last, unsteady look behind you to your inert comrades.

“Iida-san, Native-san, everything will be okay. We will protect you.”

If you had stayed longer in that moment to look at Iida’s expression, you would have seen his face crumple with emotion.

Green streaks of quirk lightning fly forwards and Midoriya closes the distance between him and Stain in seconds. They dance in the air, aided by ice, flames, and blood. It is a horrifying sight - you blink once, and you half expect to see your classmate razed to the ground. But he’s still fighting up in the air, and so must you. Speed is your ally. You must keep up with the fight so that the next person you witness bleeding out is not Midoriya Izuku.

The Hero Killer’s blade eats into the young boy’s calf, and in the next breath, you seal the wound immediately, though not without great effort. You call on your blood to form ribbons again, which lunge hungrily at the man and his weapons, but the haze in your mind from your earlier fall is persistent and yet to lift. So you miss, and in equal turn, he leaps away in manic glee, rubescent pupils glowing in delight.

The pulses around you are going crazy. Todoroki’s screaming something - you know because in your peripheral vision, his mouth is moving. Iida seems to be saying something back to him, which you realise when you cast a quick look behind you. But an incessant ringing in your ears bars your senses from participating, and all you can rely on are your eyes.

Your eyes…

How reliable are they in your current state?

Are they deceiving you, or has a drop of Midoriya’s own red trickled down Stain’s throat?

The boy slumps to the ground, a pained look on his face as he shouts something that you can barely hear and have no time to decipher. Your heart picks up into a drumming beat, and you call on your blood ribbons to retrieve him.

Saline drops of exhaustion run down your temple, the sensation almost like rivers carving valleyed paths into your skin. It is taking all of your concentration to use such a simple function of your quirk. Midoriya is cradled gently and brought to the others, but when your blood finally sets him down, you almost collapse as well.

Now, you and Todoroki are the only pieces on the board.

Amongst a legion of your already-existing blood ribbons, you harden segments of your own blood into knives, mirroring Stain’s own, and send them rocketing at him like homing missiles. Yet, they’re clumsy, weak, and uncoordinated - the man truncates half of your ribbons with his blade and easily evades the rest of your constructs. By far, you’re not performing at your peak; even if your senses are slowly starting to clear, it’s not enough.

With the threat you pose to him largely dealt with, the Hero Killer turns his attention to your dual-quirked classmate, who sends flames and ice sprawling across the space in front of him. While less experienced villains might quail at the sight, he simply sneers at the attempt, agile and almost graceful as he ducks and weaves through deadly fractals.

“No one’s ever told you?” he jibes, rapidly approaching the boy. “You’re too focused on your quirk. You’re being careless!”

The comment wasn’t directed at you, but it rings through your ears all the same.

In your panic, you had forgotten all that you had learnt under the Adjudicator - hand-to-hand combat and traditional weapon training. You had forgotten Native’s advice to be flexible - to use your quirk alongside physical combat methods. Ashamed, you remember that you do have physical weapons at your disposal. How could you have neglected them so easily?

Your eyes follow the movement of the Hero Killer, edging nearer and nearer to Todoroki. Stain is a living example of what it means to combine quirked combat with quirkless combat.

Deadly.

You are facing a real villain now. There are real, irreversible consequences if you fail.

You have to adapt.

Your kusarigama jingles as you remove it from your belt. The chain and leaden weight whir around your head as you silently move to a better position and take aim.

If I miss, Todoroki-san will…

No time to think about the possibilities. Stain’s katana is centimetres away from fatally ending the life of your classmate.

But the chain feels perfect in your hand. The sickle is perfectly balanced. Your blood ribbons wrap around the sickle’s handle so that it might not fly out of your grasp.

You throw.

The weight arcs and curves through the air. The chain follows.

It wraps itself around Stain’s katana, constricting like a python, and at that moment you tighten your grip on the sickle and pull.

The Hero Killer’s grip on the haft is strong, but you’ve caught him by surprise. His blade is yanked out of his hands into the air, and Todoroki is saved from another injury.

All is not well yet.

Stain is on the attack like lightning, pulling out a shorter blade from his arsenal of weapons and darting away from your classmate’s attempt at a counterattack. You’re still vulnerable, hands occupied with the capture of his main weapon, and he pivots and dashes towards you.

You think you hear Todoroki yelling again, lips forming the syllables of your name. The sounds fade in and out. Concussions are quite inconvenient, because one moment you can hear the flames - then you don’t.

The tip of a knife grazes your cheek, drawing flecks of red. You backpedal. The man grins and pulls the blade up to his waiting mouth. You pull the droplets away before they land on his tongue. You’re unsteady on your feet still. He notices. You trip, and your kusarigama clatters to the ground. He swings an arm-

“Recipro Burst!”

An armoured leg jams itself between the down-swinging blade and your neck, as the sound of engine blasts make their way towards your ears. You hear them now, and by its side, you feel Iida’s urgency in the harried flow of his blood.

He’s finally free.

“Todoroki, Midoriya, Chibana - this has nothing to do with the three of you, and I apologise.” Iida turns his face away from the three of you, but not before you glimpse his anguished expression, deep furrows marring his skin. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this distraught - not even on his first day back at school after visiting his brother in hospital. “That’s why I can’t allow you two to bleed more than this!”

A rebuke spews from Stain’s lips that you only catch segments of - that the boy is selfish, a cancer amongst the name heroes bear. But in your eyes, you don’t think Iida has ever been selfish. Iida has always looked after you.

When you look back, the Hero Killer has disappeared. Panic is insidious - it sets in like lard in your stomach, a deep discomfort burrowing itself into your skin. Flames rocket out of Todoroki’s palm, lighting the lane with dancing oranges and yellows, but you don’t spot the villain’s shadow. Only the whistling of approaching knives can alert you to his presence…

Knives, aimed at your classmates.

Almost instinctively, you burst all the packets of blood you have stored within your costume and solidify them into a defensive, albeit thin wall, stopping knives from eating their way into their skin. It falls almost as quickly as you put it up. Combining all blood types into one formation is never ideal, but you do not have enough Type O blood, nor do you have any choice anyway when Stain’s range of attack is so extensive.

Quickly, you’re on the attack again, calling on the Type A blood at your disposal to shape themselves into small knives in hopes of pinning the villain down. These ones would be sturdier than the last ones you had created. You pull out your *tonfa-*like crowbars from where they are strapped to your back and, not trusting your own grip strength, call on ribbons of Type O to wrap themselves around where your fingers clasp the cold, steel ends.

And then you see him - Stain, leaping up the side of one of the walls - and blood ribbons pull you forwards and up towards him. With your arm burdened by your weapons, you swing.

The man parries your blow with his own serrated blade, and the surfaces grind against each other with an ugly cry, biting into each other like dogs sinking their teeth into each other’s hinds. With his strength, he pushes you back, but you send your blood knives to pin him by his ragged clothes to the nearest wall, delaying his advance. Driven by a sense of urgency, you call on the rest of the blood you have available to you - the spare blood you had drawn from your blood bags, and also that of your own body, pushing the very boundary of your limits. They shape into ribbons and wrap around Stain, almost mummifying the man and holding him in place. Save for his face, there is almost nothing that is covered. It’s an incredibly daunting risk to use that much blood - a risk that you hope will pay off.

Midoriya can move again, and he is quick to act, launching himself forwards with a punch aimed at the villain’s gaunt cheeks. Iida leaps forwards as well, keen to deliver a swift kick to his head.

“You’re bleeding, Chibana!” screams Midoriya, just as his fist makes landfall.

Bleeding? Where?

It emerges from your nostril - not in it’s usual, airborne fashion - but as a normal person would experience, dripping down to your lips until you have the taste that Stain seeks on his tongue. You stumble backwards before the man can catch any stray droplets.

A normal nosebleed - for you, a standard sign of overexertion. You fall onto your knees, releasing your blood’s bind on the villain, and recall what blood you can. After all, Stain lies pummelled at the end of the alleyway.

Still, his tongue seeks leverage - a reprieve from his losing odds, and darts out to collect a droplet of blood on the ground.

Five percent. Five percent of the blood that leaves your body cannot be recalled. Your quirk has disadvantages. You know this. But to be so terribly outclassed by another blood quirk, especially one you were supposed to eliminate, fills you with terror.

That blood is yours.

Or is it now? Would it be more accurate to say that it is now his?

It slides down his throat.

And suddenly, your muscles are no longer yours - they belong to the earth, to the crunch of loose gravel beneath your buckling legs. For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.

Seemingly invigorated, Stain springs to life again to the surprise of the boys, leaping high up in the air onto the walls of the alley. It’s a battle of attrition now, with everyone injured, tired, and in your case, incapacitated.

You try your quirk, but your own blood is not listening to you. Then, you try to call on the blood from the blood packets, that now lies puddled beneath the villain. It flickers to life, but though it obeys your call, you feel more of your own blood pouring out of your nose. Interesting - your quirk still works under the villain’s influence, but not with your own fluid.

Stain is weakened - you can feel the aching, tired flow of crimson through his veins. One more blow to him would do it. You need to help the others end it.

But normal blood ribbons will not do. In your training, Native had sliced through them easily, and Stain had shown he could do so as well. It is then you remember your hero mentor’s words of advice - about the nylon rope structure that he had insisted multiple times during your training that you try.

Your saliva feels like treacle as you swallow it out of distress - you were only able to attempt the new skill a few times, and it was still unstable.

But it would have to do.

With no energy to speak, you use what willpower you have left in your mind to weave the blood into a rudimentary rope. The blood obeys reluctantly, moving as if it’s dragging weights through mud. You curse yourself, wishing you had practiced it more when you were well and not injured. Yet, you keep going. Were Stain not currently occupied with the others, you would have no chance to even attempt this.

With the rope woven, you send one end of it to coagulate to the ground like an anchor, and send the other end to swat the Hero Killer out of his position on the walls. Stain matches it’s blow with another one of his many blades, but this time, the rope resists, only fraying slightly in the form of loose droplets spattering to the ground. With the man’s hands being occupied, Iida tries to land a kick to his stomach. You watch as Stain quickly repositions and evades the swing of the boy’s leg with a trade of his own, slicing through the armour on his forearm and garnering the droplets into his mouth.

And Iida, halfway up in the air from battling the villain, falls.

All you can do is watch, lying on your side on brittle ground.

You know he’s going to get hurt. Iida’s muscles can serve him no more. To add to your list of woes, falling from such a height without injury would be impossible, unless Todoroki could manage to shorten the distance of his fall with a bit of ice. But Stain is good at what he does, and both Todoroki and Midoriya can no longer afford to look away from the enemy in front of them.

The cry of fresh blood reaches your ears again as fresh crimson oozes out from the small cut on Iida’s arm.

“Chibana!” he screams, as he nears the concrete. “Use my blood! You can, can’t you?!”

Use… his blood?

You can’t. You can’t pull blood from another living being - not again. You could end up killing him; Iida could end up lifeless in a puddle of blood in front of your eyes, and you would have to live with the burden of another life taken upon your shoulders.

Your fight to stay involved is waning. It would be better for Iida to be injured rather than dead, you think. But your tumultuous thoughts are shattered by Midoriya’s piercing voice, who is still trading blows with the villain.

“Just do it!” he screams.

What would you rather hear?

The sickening crack of bones, or the silent thud of a lifeless body gently placed on the ground?

Before you realise, you’re call out the blood from Iida’s wound to take shape into a ribbon, congealing the end of it to the nearest wall. Your classmate vaguely registers a strange, cooling feeling washing over his body - most likely from the fluid’s departure. It almost puts him at ease.

Your ploy works. The boy dangles limply on the side of the building, and you elongate the ribbon to lower him gently to the floor before sending the blood back to his body.

“Chibana,” he croaks out. “Thank you.”

Those are the last few words you hear before you lose consciousness.

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“She’s… her body’s cold!”

It’s hard to recognise in your state, but you think that’s Midoriya’s panicked voice. Slowly, your eyes flutter open and refocus. The shapes are unclear, but Native appears to be carrying Iida, and Todoroki seems to be dragging Stain, who appears much like a trussed chicken underneath the rope bindings that hold him down. Everyone’s looking at you, including Midoriya, whose gentle pair of arms is holding you tightly. You don’t have the energy to panic about the physical contact.

“Chibana? Are you awake? Can you hear us?” Midoriya asks again, gripping you tighter. “Guys, she’s still bleeding!”

You stir at the sound. “Mm...?”

“Can you stop your bleeding with your quirk like you did for us? Chibana?” Todoroki’s voice grinds out urgently.

Your breaths are laboured. You force the words out as if they’re burning you. “…Stain… my quirk… my own blood doesn’t work.” Blood flows freely from your nostrils, and you cough when the fluid trickles into your mouth.

“S***,” curses Native softly, “she needs medical attention. Let’s get her out of here.”

They hurry out to the main street in search of other heroes.

“Chibana,” Midoriya begins shakily, “tell me a story.”

“…’bout what?” Your speech is slurring now, words tripping over each other worse than before. Your classmate somehow holds you even tighter, and his hands feel like they’re burning you.

“Anything. How was your internship?”

“…trained. Lots.”

“Training, huh? What kind?”

“Weapon training. And… and…” Your words trail off, and your eyes drag themselves up to look at the boy carrying you. “Sorry.” You cough again. “Forgot what you… you… asked.”

The boy’s heart drops as your eyelids droop again.

“I see people ahead,” breaks in Todoroki, “let’s go!”

“Hold on, Chibana,” whispers Midoriya, more of a wish than a promise. “You’ll be okay.”

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Iida: (immobile due to Stain’s quirk) I am not worthy of being a hero. I’ve dragged my friends into this mess and I took action by myself with no regard for others and-

Stain: Out of all muscles my quirk could refuse to work on, why’d it have to be your jaw muscles?

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Author’s notes:

Hello everybody. I hope you are all doing well.

From the comments underneath the previous chapter, I realise I’ve been vastly outclassed in my pillow-collecting - some of you just have so many! I’m happy to hear that you are sleeping very cosily.

I’ve recently been reflecting on life and how I feel robbed sometimes for not learning a skill when I was younger, and instead, just learning it now. There are thoughts that I’ve started learning things too late, but then I realise that one day I will be possibly 80 or 90 and wishing that I’d started when I am at the age I am at present. Thinking about that, I’m so grateful to have the opportunity to write for you all. Thank goodness MC is alive! Here’s to many more chapters!

(I also have no idea how Stain ran up the walls in the story/anime. It has absolutely nothing to do with his quirk, but I suppose I am not in a place to question it).

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: blood, mentions of drowning, knives, violence

Pre-chapter notes: We have more fanart! Coming in with Ari, who decided to trial a different art style to her usual, drew this beautiful sketch of MC in her uniform, fluttering in the wind (presumably). I’ll always love your art, Ari. Thank you!

Art: Alexandr Savciuc on ArtStation! He has 3D-modelled this incredibly detailed hunting knife with a lovely leather sheath as well. I thought it was a fitting pick since you all know that Stain is going to be in this chapter and you all also know that Stain works with knives.

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You know nothing more than the surge of adrenaline sprinting through your veins, the racehorse galloping of blood in your heart, and the ardent flames on the ground that blind you with a sepia-coloured glow. At least, that is what you, Y/N, try to focus on, as your blood ribbons pluck pieces of debris out of the sky before they fall on innocent civilians.

Native is beyond your reach, leading a woman on a crutch to safety. On your right, there are a set of screams. It’s too loud. To prevent your own panic, you send a small fragment of your ribbons to plug your ears, reshaping them into earplugs. You’ll listen out for pulses instead - pulses of the trapped and wounded. Pulses that ring out from beneath piles of concrete, or cry out from inside buildings.

In the torrid heat, you make your way towards an already crumbled building, a thundering drumbeat of despair making itself distinct from the others.

Below me.

Your ribbons drag slabs of concrete aside, which grate against each other with strident protest. The pulse grows louder. If the person trapped is saying something, you can’t hear it. All noise around you reaches you as if you’re submerged in a body of water.

Finally, the last slab is moved aside, and then you glimpse movement.

A hand, and then a head of hair.

Out from below, a boy emerges with a cry.

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Patrol had, at first, begun quietly, but you couldn’t seem to keep still. If it wasn’t the way the wind susurrated through the gaps left between buildings, it was the hint of sulphur in the air that itched your airways. And if it wasn’t that, it was the fact that the streets were, in your mind, emptier than usual - even though they were just how they usually were at this time of day.

None of this you voiced to Native. The man carried on through patrol like nothing was wrong, and it seemed that he was unaware. The two of you fell into your normal route, watching civilians go about their quotidian routines. You felt the pulses of the people milling about.

And then you felt more.

Three more, to be precise.

These were not human pulses. Whatever entity they were, they were functioning, but their hearts didn’t beat to a rhythm that would indicate as such. It almost felt… static.

Like they were dead.

And you knew better than most that the dead could not move, much less have a heartbeat to their name.

Perhaps these entities were animals, you had reasoned with yourself, but you knew that wasn’t the case. You would know, having cruelly worked with packets of crimson ichor sourced from street dogs or slaughter cows. Blood carried unique signatures.

The thought of telling Native harried you again. Were your senses sharp, or were you paranoid? Would you reveal even more about yourself - reveal that you could hear the flowing and pumping essence of life - all to quell your worries on some irregular pulse-to-person visibility ratio? Because it was perfectly feasible if you considered people working in buildings or in the subway underground. And if anything, you were definitely more concerned about the types of heartbeats you were sensing, which could be worth bringing up.

Still, you hesitated. It was silly. You were supposed to be of mild aid to your hero mentor and return to UA shrouded in mediocrity, not cause more trouble than necessary. In that moment, you dismissed your worries.

Self-dismissal - a skill you had great aptitude for.

It was a moment you’d come to regret.

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The boy loops shaking arms around your neck as you carry him on your back, out of the building’s remains and back to Native. The young one’s briny tears drip down your nape, and you try to ignore the foreign contact of holding someone you don’t know.

You have no words in your throat to comfort him with, so instead, you settle with action - running a little faster, gripping him a little tighter. Blood runs down the boy’s temple, and you coagulate his wound with your quirk. Your hero mentor looks up with a grim expression as you stop in front of him with a solemn one of your own.

“Native-san. I have an injured boy. He was trapped underneath a building.”

He nods, taking the victim into his arms. “Good work, Chi. I’ll take him to where the wounded are being treated. Keep looking for people, but stay in the area if you can so I can find you.”

“Understoo-”

A flash of black.

It holds you down by the neck, pressing you down, down into the cracked ground beneath you. The wind leaves your lungs. The sharp flavour of blood attacks your tastebuds like mouthwash. The weight of it is familiar on your body.

The crushing weight of a Nomu.

But it’s not hurting you. Instead, it seems to be looking into your eyes with its own, chalky eyeballs - not a sliver of understanding behind them. You see another one land nearby, watching you, and there’s one more circling the sky.

And then you realise.

Shigaraki Tomura must have sent them to fetch you. He had one by his side at USJ, after all, and he was able to command it at will. He had asked you to join him then. You don’t remember ever giving him an answer.

Perhaps he’s lost his patience.

.

“Join me, I’ll make you into a stronger, better being. As strong as the one crushing you right now.”

.

The Nomu is crushing you right now.

It is then you understand that the strange pulses you heard during patrol were the Nomus’ pulses.

That’s when the panic sets in.

Your shaking hands rise to desperately claw at and pry off the Nomu’s fingers from around your throat. You writhe and whimper and send ribbons to desperately choke the abhorrent monster, but in your lack of focus, your blood formations wither. Your blood earplugs melt too, and sound comes rushing back like a tsunami. Screams, fire, and cries for help. Signs of Hosu’s fall into entropy.

Shigaraki Tomura is going to make me join him and I am going to die. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t-

An unstoppable force charges into the weight on top of you and sends the Nomu pinwheeling across the tarmac. When you look up, it’s a man of flames - flames that remind you of a certain classmate of yours…

“Endeavor’s here!”

“The Number 2 hero! We’re saved!”

In the moment of distraction, you get up and without a second thought you run. You barely have time to make the connection that the man that has just saved you is both the second-highest ranked hero in the country and Todoroki’s father.

Skidding around the corner to the back of a building shrouded in darkness, you lean on a wall to catch your breath and rationalise the events so far.

Hosu has been sent into pandemonium.

You were just hunted by Nomus.

And you were just saved by Todoroki’s father.

If anything, his presence here is the silver lining - hopefully, he’ll keep the creatures off your back for a little while longer. However, the fact that the incident here warrants the presence of Japan’s top heroes is concerning. That means that Hosu is in a very dangerous situation indeed.

And it means your identity is at greater risk of being discovered too.

Without a doubt in your mind, you know you need to leave. Nomus are not known for precision and order, and so if the Nomus start hunting you again instead of brazenly wreaking havoc through the streets, the heroes will almost certainly have questions.

But if the chaos is only happening because of the Nomus, and the Nomus are here to hunt you down… is Hosu’s fall your fault?

Weaving your way between shadowed buildings does not provide an escape from the nebulous, orange glow of flames on the main street, nor can you properly escape the cries of people. Blameless people - men, woman and children. You’ve screamed like that before, too. This, you realise, is the true villainy that Boss probably wishes for you to inflict on heroes - destruction and pain at the expense of the innocent.

This is what you were made for?

To eventually send buildings crashing down, to injure and wound indiscriminately, to permanently end a living pulse? You might as well be a Nomu yourself, with your mindless obedience and diligence. After all, you are too afraid to disobey. A nauseating thought.

You vomit on the side of the street.

While your stomach heaves and churns with unease, your mind swirls with more questions. What does Shigaraki want from you so badly that he needs you to join him? How did the Nomus know you would be here in Hosu, when only people from UA had that information?

In fact, some of the answers to your questions are behind you.

A wispy form to your back, giving you gentle taps as you hurl onto the ground, almost feels comforting, if not for who the hand belongs to. Half a look over your shoulder, and you know.

“…Kurogiri-san,” you mutter shakily. “Why… are you here?”

“It is good to see you… friend. My other friend has a proposition for you,” he declares, ignoring your question, “the one you met during the… incident at your school.”

When you speak, you try to speak with resolve, but what comes out is more a slurry of words than anything. “…Shigaraki Tomura.” Unfortunately, you remember that dreaded name. “What,” a fit of hacking coughs forces you to pause, “what does he want?”

“We do not intend any harm,” he tries to placate you, smoke-like tendrils retracting from your shoulder to neatly fold in front of him like always, “and none will come to you if you come with us.”

“What does he want me for?” you croak, staggering backwards to lean on a nearby wall. “I am a hero…” you choke again, “I c-cannot help.”

“Are you?” Something in Kurogiri’s tone suggests he knows more. “Hero society is crumbling. You should know this yourself. After all, you were failed by heroes too, were you not?” The fog-like villain inches closer. “There’s no need to pretend with me, anymore; after all, I’m showing my true self to you too, am I not? I think you at least owe me the honesty… Y/N-san.”

Your pulse quickens, as you find now often occurs when someone uses your real name. Why does he know so much about you? Failed by heroes? Why is he speaking as if he knows that you’re under the care of villains? Kurogiri isn’t taunting you - all the words leave his throat as if they’re objective facts. It is then that you realise he truly believes that joining Shigaraki is the better choice for you, and for that reason, you find his sincerity off-putting.

“Kurogiri-san, I am sorry, but you cannot call me by that name.”

“I have been instructed to use your birth name with you when people are not in the vicinity.”

“You can’t use it,” you plead. “You can’t.”

“Why do you hide, Y/N-san?” he asks, blatantly disregarding your request. “Shigaraki Tomura has promised to free you of whatever shackles hold you back from joining him. You will be beneficial in helping us reshape society into something where people like us will thrive…. and you may even find that you have more in common with Shigaraki Tomura than you think.”

Before you can process your actions, your head is already shaking. “I am sorry, Kurogiri-san. And please tell Shigaraki-san that I am sorry too. I cannot join you.”

And then you begin scanning for an escape.

Kurogiri-san has me almost cornered. I can escape left or right. If I use my quirk, I can escape upwards. Three routes. I need to move before he-

The smoky villain expands into a swirling mass, his purple fog enveloping almost every escape route. “I am sorry, Y/N-san.” Kurogiri almost sounds regretful. “Shigaraki Tomura has informed me that your refusal is not an optio-”

Blood rockets out from your palms and coagulates to the top ledge of a building, still attached to your hands. You jump and your blood flings you up, high and away from looming danger. Hoping that the flying Nomu you saw earlier doesn’t spot you, you call for more blood to emerge through your back, seeping through the porous Kevlar that forms part of your costume’s materials. At the same time, you hold the back of your cloak out of the way so that it can properly fan out. How impractical. If you make it out of here without being caught, you’ll probably think about removing the cloak from your costume.

In milliseconds, you have a pair of fully functional wings on your back and so you fly.

Native had expressed that speed was important, after all. He was clearly right. Because right now, enough speed would save your life.

Swiftly and silently, you whisk yourself away from the scene, not stopping to look back. You know that Kurogiri is not in close pursuit of you anymore even without looking, because of way his heartbeat gets fainter and fainter with distance. But, as you come to think of it, you realise that Kurogiri has the same, odd rhythmic pulse as the Nomus.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, but you ignore it, concentrating all your energy on escaping as quickly as possible. Then, you decide to land on the ground after a few minutes and recall as much of your blood as possible, as Kurogiri will probably now search for you in the skies. And it won’t do you any good to be predictable.

Safe.

For now.

You’re in a quieter part of the city now - still not far enough to escape being backgrounded by dancing hues of yellow and orange that outline the buildings with an almost phosphorescent glow, but enough where the night sky isn’t obscured by smoke.

You still can’t let your guard down, lest Kurogiri or someone else catches you by surprise-

Someone’s approaching.

Someone grabs your arm.

“Let me go-”

“Chibana?”

That voice.

And that pulse. It surprises you, but you recognise it.

People have a habit of sneaking up on you even when you know they’re there, don’t they?

Todoroki’s grip on your arm is firm, but not painful. His grip relaxes as soon as he sees your shoulders slump - as soon as he knows you’ve recognised him. “What’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing.”

Todoroki Shouto recognises that nothing. It’s the same nothing he would tell people who stared at his scar with examining eyes. A birthmark? A scar from an accident? A mark from a scuffle with a villain? Nothing happened. Nothing. And you use it masterfully. Not so much now, caught in the absence of your wits, but certainly at school on a habitual basis. The boy notices more than you think. You are the epitome of nothing. Nothing with a lot of something underneath.

“You’re shaking,” he states, not letting go of your arm. “You saw something.”

You ignore his statement. “Why are you here?”

“You look out of breath. You should breathe first,” your classmate insists, leading you to lean yourself against a wall. “I’m here because Midoriya sent everyone his location, and I’m going to him because I think he may be in trouble. Why are you so panicked?”

“I am not pani-”

Todoroki narrows his eyes. “Chibana, if you’re hiding something important, I’m going to tell Aizawa Sensei.”

His words bury their way into your gut like a gruelling punch. You shrink under his gaze. For a second, Todoroki feels like his father.

“…I won’t if you tell me,” he says, in an attempt to cajole you further.

“Then you have to promise,” you plead earnestly. “Promise you will not tell him, or anyone.”

“Fine,” agrees the boy, folding his arms. “What did you see?”

You don’t meet his eyes when the words leave your mouth.

“…I saw a villain.”

“And?” Todoroki doesn’t believe you’d be this easily frazzled by a villain. He’d heard of your strength against the villains during the USJ incident. And he’s seen and acknowledged your versatility in battle, as much as he thinks there’s more you’re not showing. And so therefore, there must be something else.

“The villain… was one of the villains from that time at USJ.”

Speaking of.

“So they’re here too?” he hisses in frustration, raking a hand through bi-coloured hair. “Working with the Hero Killer, maybe? Which one of them did you see?”

“…the teleporter one.”

“No wonder you look exhausted,” he mutters. “From memory, he was very difficult to get past. How did you manage?”

“He… he said that his leader wanted me to join them,” you shiver, and out of habit reach for the bandages on your arms only to realise that you're covered by the sleeves of your costume, “and he said that I was not allowed to say no and-”

His eyes widen a little in surprise - partly because of the bizarre details of your story, and partly because you, usually so taciturn and blunt, are now so jarringly talkative and afraid.

“Slow down, Chibana. You’re panicking again.”

“I am sorry. I, um, escaped while he was talking to me. I think I lost him, but…” your voice shakes, and you tug on your sleeve, “he might find me again.”

That makes sense now, Todoroki thinks. She was able to escape because the villain wasn’t actively chasing her.

But now, Todoroki finds your story even stranger. Why the villain would choose to first ask you to join them instead of simply forcing you is beyond him. But he takes one look at you, shaking like a wounded animal, and realises that he’s focusing on the wrong thing.

“I apologise,” the boy says, softening his voice slightly. “I should’ve asked first; are you hurt?”

You shake your head. “…I am fine.”

“Alright,” he pauses, not entirely convinced of your response, “then come with me to find Midoriya. It will be better if you’re not alone.”

“…okay.”

And so you obediently follow your classmate deeper into darker and quieter streets, until soon, the two of you are traversing corridors and alleyways framed by buildings that are free from being backlit with flames. All the while, Todoroki marvels at how quickly you’ve composed yourself, already back to your stoic, seemingly emotionless self.

You pick up the pace.

And then you hear Midoriya scream.

“Stop it!”

The two of you begin running faster, so fast until you round a corner and-

You gasp. Nearest to you is Native, leant against a wall with crimson oozing out of his arm and side. Midoriya is on the other end of the alleyway, brought to his knees and unmoving by some unknown force.

In the middle, however, is Iida, also immobile and notably bleeding from his arm.

A katana is pointed to his head.

And the man holding it?

Your eyes drag up to look the craggy face of the man about to commit a murder.

There he is.

The man you need to kill.

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It must be him. The Hero Killer.

Iida would not be looking at him with so much rage and bloodlust if it were not.

In the first few moments of action, you and Todoroki are perfectly in sync. The boy sends a blast of fire at the Hero Killer before he can impale your class president. Concurrently, your thoughts first go to your mentor, quickly controlling Native’s own blood to clot his wound before doing the same with Iida.

“T-Todoroki? Chibana? You guys too?” Iida manages to strain out.

“Why are you guys here…?” Midoriya manages.

While Todoroki quickly explains, you call on blood ribbons from your hands to gird themselves carefully around Midoriya and Iida, bringing them to your side. Before you can check them for other unaccounted-for injuries, your green-haired classmate bursts.

“You two, you can’t let this guy see your blood!” he tells you urgently. “I think he controls his opponents’ actions by ingesting their blood orally. That’s how he got all of us!”

Well, that’s awkward, considering that’s the whole point of your quirk. But maybe it wouldn’t count for you since your blood formations are technically objects and not fluid-

The Hero Killer lunges forwards and slices a small stripe across Todoroki’s cheek.

He’s too fast! you think.

“You have good friends, Ingenium!” the villain says as he leaps upwards and prepares to swing his blade again.

But this time, the two of you are prepared. With a blood ribbon, you rip the blade out of his hand, and the element-wielding boy generates a defensive block of ice in front of you both. It’s a three-way dance; the Hero Killer ducks in and out of your perimeter, trying to land a cut on either of you, and the two of you flourish with your own defensive counterattacks to keep him at bay.

“Why are you guys… why…” mutters Iida. “Please stop! I’ve inherited my brother’s name. I have to do it; that guy’s mine.”

You are wrong, you think to yourself, striking at the villain with your ribbons, I am the one that has to remove him.

“You inherited it? That’s strange,” muses Todoroki. “The Ingenium I saw before didn’t have that look on his face, though.” Then he pauses, with an empathetic expression on his face. “You’ve got a lot going on behind the scenes in your family too, huh?”

You realise that Iida must have suffered so much more than he let on.

So much more than you ever realised.

And then you think to the Hero Killer, who stands in front of you.

The Hero Killer, who grins with no remorse. Who is the cause of Iida’s vengeful gaze, Midoriya’s frightful eyes and Todoroki’s grim expression. Will those faces one day be directed at you, when it is your turn to face them as a villain?

This is what it means to be the enemy of heroes. To not stand with your classmates, but against them.

It’s a thought you can barely stomach.

I need to kill him. I need to stop him from hurting everyone.

Without warning, you send your ribbons to congeal to the sides of the building ahead of you, slingshotting yourself forwards and catching the man by surprise. Not eager to use more of your blood, you burst one of the type B blood packets kept within your costume, and create yet another ribbon with it that attaches to your right palm as well.

Still in the air, you use one of your ribbons to pull him airborne with you as well, whipping it away before he can truncate it with his knife. Then, all three of your ribbons reach out to him from different directions and latch onto his limbs before he can attack, and the two of you slam into a wall, still metres above the ground.

Your blood congeals and you hold him there.

You have the Hero Killer spreadeagled on the side of a building, off the ground and unable to retaliate. You could kill him right then and there, like you’ve been ordered to. The adrenaline of it all has you heaving in breaths.

And then you hesitate.

Could you kill him?

What right do you have, to take away the pulse of another?

Who would you become?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you finally whimper, though more to yourself than to him, and Stain’s grin widens.

“Ah, so you’re not one of them, then,” he smirks.

Then, with his one, unrestrained leg, he kicks your chest with his spiked boot hard, and voices scream out in protest as your ribbons deform and you feel your body slam into the concrete.

It feels like you’re underwater.

Not the kind of underwater that Scarface forces you to experience, with his hand threaded through your hair, pushing you deeper into a murky sink. Not the kind where you panic. But it’s the kind where you can’t hear or see, where you can’t think or feel. Blurry vision. Ringing ears. If you’re unlucky, you might have a concussion.

A vortex of dizzying sound seeps back into your ears. Shouts and screams. Flames and ice licking up the sides of buildings. Hurried footsteps. Voices - some that you recognise.

“Chibana!” Midoriya is hoarse - he must have been calling you for a while. “Please, wake up!”

Languidly, you roll your head to the side, but you can’t see him. Something is blocking your way - or rather, someone.

The Hero Killer looms over your body. Moonlight glints off his weapon teasingly, and your stomach lurches even though your mind can’t currently place the reason why.

“Move!” pleads Midoriya again. “You need to move, Chibana!”

Move… I need to move.

With tremendous effort you just manage to roll to the side.

It’s not enough.

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Kurogiri: So why did you apply for this job?

Y/N: But I didn’t? You’re the one that literally dragged me here.

Kurogiri: You’re hired. You start on Monday.

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Author’s notes:

Hello everybody!

I think Grandma’s main shoot is… officially gone… but as always, her smaller shoots are thriving though! I’ll make sure to take better care of them…

I have also finally understood the appeal of keeping many pillows in a bed. For years I have just slept with one pillow. Someone asked me if I was crazy. So I have tried adding more, and it feels wonderful. I feel like a bird coming home to a nest with eggs to incubate. Is this what it means to return to my primal roots? Strange analogy.

For Shigaraki asking MC to join him, see Chapter 22: Recognition.

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: mentions of death

Pre-chapter notes: Some more, lovely fanart has come in today! Ari has drawn this beautiful perspective shot of MC falling down into a pit, surrounded by columns. I think it reminds me a lot of the last chapter’s fight scene! You have a wonderful eye for proportion, Ari! Ari has also drawn us a realistic version of MC which is simply wonderful - I like the detail of the bags under her eyes. She’s certainly not getting a lot of sleep! And once again, here’s Ari trying to tempt readers into liking Scarface again, with this sketch of Boss… stay strong, readers. Finally, there’s this wonderful comic interaction of MC talking to some of the server members! The interactions are certainly… very interesting. Thank you, Ari!

Sam made these wonderful edits of what they imagined MC would look like in real life: [1], [2]. I think one of the ladies is Yeji from the group ITZY. Unfortunately, I am not sure who the other lady is, but the edits are fantastic and they are all very beautiful. I think black and white really suits MC! Thank you, Sam!

Art: shofik islam on ArtStation! Their 3D modelling projects range from very detailed pieces, such as this rope piece I have chosen for this chapter’s artwork, to cuter, more game-like modelling pieces (see their profile for more)! I hope you’ll be able to support this lovely artist!

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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A person in a hero suit that looks like Iida’s is just a few metres away from you, walking stiffly alongside another man. You can’t entirely verify that it’s him, with his face being obscured by his helmet, but you hear the faint accents of his telltale vocal boom, and so you think to yourself that if it looks like Iida, sounds like Iida, and walks like Iida… it’s probably Iida.

You hadn’t had expected to see him so soon.

Would it be weird to go and say hello?

Would you even be allowed to?

You look to Native to ask about it, but it seems he’s already beat you to it, striding towards the pair with a large grin on his face. Upon reaching them, he throws an arm around Manual, startling the poor man with the impact.

“Oh! Native! What are you doing here? Your patrol isn’t usually this early, is it?”

Native delivers a hearty laugh, releasing the fish-like man. “Good to see you around, Manual. You’re right; it’s not common for our paths to overlap during patrol. But, the Commission recently assigned me an earlier patrol,” he explains, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Probably something to do with the Hero Killer.”

You feel Iida’s pulse increase. Yours perks up at the mention of the villain as well.

“Right,” muses Iida’s mentor, “I did hear about them increasing hero presence around here, but I didn’t know it would happen so soon…”

Native scoffs. “Huh. Trust the Commission to be quick to act only when it concerns themselves.”

It had only just been days since you had heard about the Hero Killer. You realise that the Hero Commission is scarily efficient when they want to be.

Before you can listen in on the two adults’ conversations any further, Iida steps forwards to address you.

“I did not expect to see you so soon, Chibana!” You can hear the smile underneath his mask. “What have you been up to so far?”

“Hello, Iida-san,” you answer quietly. “Native-san showed me his building. Then, I sparred with him. Now we are here. That is all. What about you?”

“Mostly the same, except we were already patrolling for a while before you came.”

“Oh.”

The two of you look back to the two adults, who are now laughing and slapping each other on the back. Clearly, they’re close. Iida has the thought that this moment feels exactly like moments when he was younger, where his mother would stop to talk to a friend she had spotted across the shopping centre for half an hour while he would endure the painstaking wait.

“Why are they hitting each other? Are they fighting?” you ask. “Should we stop them?”

Iida sweatdrops. “It’s just their way of showing each other that they’re friends… I think they’ll be fine.”

“Then should I hit my friends too?”

He fixes you with a look that you can feel but can’t see due to his costume. “Kindly refrain.”

The two of you fall into silence, half hoping for your mentors to finish their conversations and half hoping that the other might say something to slice through the awkwardness of this encounter, and so you take to focusing on the tempo of your class president’s unabated pulse.

Unabated ever since the Hero Killer was mentioned.

Of course. He must still very affected by what happened to his brother, you think. You should probably broach the topic, if it’s important to him.

Gently, of course.

“Iida-san… are you angry with the Hero Killer?”

In an instant, he’s sent back into the doldrums of his grief, and though unseen to the world thanks to his costume, water prickles behind his eyes. Iida Tenya has a visual image of his brother being wheeled away on a gurney, face blurred by the news outlets on TV. He remembers Tensei telling him that Ingenium is no more.

Iida doesn’t say all this.

Instead, he grits his teeth, and churns out words like the slop of concrete. “Why are you asking such a question?” He shakes his head dismissively. “I’m fine, Chibana.”

He’s not, but you don’t push him any further - there’s something in his tone that tells you it’d be a dangerous thing to do.

Tone. You’ve become better at understanding that these days, you think. Spending more time with the comparatively muted personalities in your class has helped a lot. Suddenly, you feel a wave of longing for the routine and warmth UA has provided you. Your classmates. You miss them. That can never be a good thing.

“It will be okay,” you say after a while, giving Iida an attentive pat on the shoulder, careful not to have your hand linger for too long even though you’re really only touching cold metal.

It takes a few moments before Iida can look you in the eye. “You can’t be certain,” he mutters in response.

Oh, but you are. He doesn’t need to know why, though.

Because Iida is innocent. An innocent, aspiring hero. He shouldn’t have to get his hands dirty with anything. Not when yours already are.

In your heart, you’ve already decided. Not just for Boss, but for Iida, and for everyone else, too…

You will kill the Hero Killer.

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For a hero that you’ve previously never heard of prior to internships, Native is surprisingly difficult as an opponent. Though that’s quite the unreliable benchmark (after all, you came into UA not knowing who All Might was), there’s no denying that the man is faster, physically stronger, and far more cunning than you. Even if you haven’t used your full strength against him yet.

Not that you plan to.

From the morning until noon, you train hand-to-hand combat with him, as Native had stated that it wasn’t good for a hero to rely on their quirk too much. You had agreed. It was part of the reason why you kept the Adjudicator’s weapons as a part of your costume. In fact, you would have been happy to not have been born with a quirk at all, and to just remain an ordinary citizen that would only be able to rely on traditional methods for self-defence. Instead, you’re here now, parrying Native’s kicks and punches, and then pretending to struggle with swivelling your hip for a kick of your own, when it’s a move you mastered long ago in the years you spent sparring with your late mentor.

Still, you recognise that there are valuable lessons to learn from Native. In your time spent with the Adjudicator, you eventually were able to best him with your quirk, but without it, he was always physically stronger than you in quirkless combat.

Much like Native right now.

Native delivers a right straight that you think almost contacts your jaw, and you draw up your guard only to find that his fist is no longer there.

A feint. The man switches to a left hook, and you stumble backwards as you feel the wind his swing leaves behind caress your skin.

A mistake. It might have been better to take the punch, as terrified as you are of them, for your dodge costs you your balance. The hero is quick to take advantage of this, lurching forwards and pinning you face-down to the floor in a hold. The back of your neck prickles with abject horror, but thankfully, the man releases you before your mind goes haywire from the panic of it all.

“Hmm,” he muses, unaware of your plight, “you’re holding up well, but there’s some areas that could use some improvement.” Scanning over your enervated form on the floor, he rubs his temples and comes to a conclusion. “Listen, Chi - if someone is physically stronger than you, they will always overpower you with brute strength. In that case, your allies are your technique, and your speed. You mostly seem to have technique down, but you could work on your speed a little more.”

“…my speed?” you ask.

He nods. “Precisely. In fact, I’m fast in my camouflaged form, but I think you have the potential to be faster. And if you can be faster than me, you’ll be faster than about 60-70% of villains,” he explains. “Anything after that, though,” Native winks, “and you’ll have to use your imagination.”

You wonder if you really can be faster than Native. It might be possible if you work at full power and use your blood ribbons efficiently enough to slingshot you across space. To test that, though, would mean revealing all your cards to the man, and that’s not something you’re supposed to do. Still, there’s no harm in taking his advice and training by yourself in secret so that he doesn’t see how quick your progress actually is.

Native checks the ivory-coloured clock in the corner of the room and huffs. “Alright, let’s go and have lunch, and then we’ll switch to quirk training.”

You do just that, scarfing down a quick meal in this cafeteria that you think is simply divine. Naturally, you pick something with a lot of meat - you need the iron for your quirk, after all. The man just chuckles and compliments your appetite before the two of you return to the third floor where the training room is. All the while, all you can do is marvel at how energised a good meal can make you feel after such intense training.

“Alright, how do you usually train with your quirk?”

Reluctantly, you tell your hero mentor about how you practise creating relatively complex shapes with accuracy and speed, and in increasingly greater quantities. You tell him how you practise manipulating them and using them to your benefit, until it comes to you like breathing, and how you work to come up with creative ways to use your quirk - though you’re sparse on the details of that.

You don’t tell him how your training sessions back at the compound force you to push yourself to your limits and beyond - to use so much of your own blood until you pass out.

You don’t tell him that sometimes, you’re forced to use blood that isn’t yours. Not blood donated willingly, but blood sourced from unconsenting participants. From participants that aren’t breathing anymore.

“Very interesting. I’ve had an epiphany,” begins the cloaked man, grinning at you. “Can you show me your blood… strand things?”

You don’t bother to correct him on his word choice. Silently, you call on a stream of blood to emerge, one from each palm, and hover vertically in the air. Native leans in, marvelling at their composition.

“These are pretty versatile,” he hums, “but the first time we sparred, I sliced through one of these pretty easily. Is there any way to increase its overall strength?”

A valid question - one he needs to know the answer to in order to help you become stronger. That doesn’t mean you want to give him the information, but really, what choice do you have?

“This particular structure is based off of ribbons. The shape is easy and, as you said, it is a very versatile material.”

“You can’t make it more durable?”

“My quirk does not really work like that,” you pause, reluctant to give out more information. “My particular blood type is… best for flexible objects. Most objects I create with my blood type will be of that strength.”

Native pauses and hums, but doesn’t ask about your quirk’s capabilities with other blood types. You’re thankful that you chose him. A more well-known hero, having more at stake given their ranking, might have pressed you for more details.

“Remember what I said last time about changing the structure?” hums the pro, still deep in thought. His eyes drag towards you, and then away, as if cogs are whirring about in his head as he contemplates the possibilities.

“Yes…?” you respond with uncertainty.

“You could try shaping your existing blood creations into a stronger shape to reinforce the structure, like in the form of nylon ropes, for example.”

You begin to try explaining to Native that that might be too complex - that you’ve tried doing something similar before with feathers which simply puts too much of a strain on your body and mind.

But Native persists, and it is good that he does, because you can never underestimate the eyes of a professional.

“Nylon ropes aren’t as complex as feathers in shape, though,” he reasons with a thoughtful look in his eye. “They’re just many thin versions of your blood ribbons twisted together. That’s something you can work up to, right?”

And again you realise that he’s right.

Theoretically, it shouldn’t be so difficult, given how much you’ve trained - especially not when compared to the feathers. You would just need to figure out the weaving pattern.

That’s something you’ll be working on for the foreseeable future, then.

In pursuit of your improvement, Native is quick to diverge from the topic of your blood ribbons and focus on other possibilities. “Do you fight in other ways other than using blood ribbons?” he asks. “Have you tried reinforcing your fist with blood, for example?”

“The material will be soft because of my blood type. I’m not sure that will work.”

“But it’ll absorb the impact on your fist from any punches you make, like a boxing glove. Try it - it can’t be so bad.”

“Okay, Native-san,” you agree. “I will give it a try.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing,” he adds, “have you considered using other people’s blood?”

Your shoulders tense up. Internally, it’s as if your world has been sent pinwheeling into the depths of your misery. Nails rake over your arms aggressively, and if it weren’t for your bandages, you would be sure to see red trails on your skin in their wake.

Much to his credit, your mentor notices your discomfort and waves his hands disarmingly in the air. “Not in a bad way, of course! I mean, during combat. Maybe an ally lets you use their blood, or something like that.”

The thought of doing so has you wishing to chunder the contents of your stomach.

How could you use the blood of your comrades, when you don’t even want to use the blood of your enemies? How could you treat them like animals, or like containers of living ichor? You would much rather be removed from the world yourself. The thought slithers into your mind and roots itself there with a vice grip.

To use others like a tool?

Never.

Yet, you’ve done it before.

No.

Never again.

“I am sorry, Native-san,” you bow, trembling, “but I am not open to the idea.”

The man smiles knowingly, surprisingly tolerant of your refusal. “Not a problem. You have a lot of other things you could work on anyway.” The man flexes his fingers and readies his stance. “Now, let’s do some more hand-to-hand again, but this time, try to sneak in your quirk as well.”

Then the man uses his quirk and rushes towards you.

Instantly, it’s more difficult to pick his figure out amongst the structures in the hall - the same one where the two of you had initially sparred on your first day here. Though, very faintly, you hear him.

The barely perceptible puff of his breath.

The faint flutter of his cloak.

You need to finish him off in close quarters.

When you turn around, he isn’t there. Native is looking to ambush you and overwhelm you all in one move.

Blood, come.

And it does - quietly at first. Your fluid coats your hands and coagulates into firm gloves - just like Native had suggested.

Then, your blood moves quicker. You call on more to form ordinary ribbons - just for mobility purposes, though. You won’t let Native destroy them with his knife again.

Finally, you listen.

Not for his breathing or his footfalls, but for the tiniest hint of his pulse.

To your left.

You turn and your ribbons instantly reach forwards and attach themselves to two adjacent pillars, slingshotting you forwards for a few metres. The pulse gets louder. It may just be your own bias, but you feel as though you can almost smell the musk of his costume…

And then you see him. Crawling along the base of a pillar, waiting for you to let your guard down. But this time, you’ve found him first, and you deliver a square punch to his jaw, though you make sure to scale back the power.

The man grunts, delivering a kick of his own to your rib. You parry with a blood ribbon, quickly whipping it away when you see the glint of the man’s knife.

“Very good!” he pants, still dodging your attacks. “I’m impressed at how quickly you’ve picked that up. A lot of the time, villains will be caught off-guard by a simple punch, especially when they’re expecting something crazy from someone’s quirk to come at them,” the cloaked man explains. “Some of the best fighting techniques I’ve seen combine traditional methods with quirked methods.” Native sends another kick your way, but you quickly dart away before it can clip you on the shoulder.

This fight is going nowhere. Native is too well-matched for your scaled-back abilities and you refuse to show him any more of your tricks. But you need to finish this fight, because you need him to think you are capable - capable enough to take out with him on future patrols. Capable enough to deal with the Hero Killer if he appears in the area.

A sharp jingle on your waist reminds you of something you’ve been neglecting.

Your kusarigama.

You still have your tonfa strapped to your back too.

Would it be cheating to use them?

But Native told you to use traditional fighting methods too, right? So what do you have to lose?

You quickly unhook your kusarigama from your belt, and with great accuracy, you throw the end of the chain held down by the leaden weight around the Pro Hero’s leg. Aided by momentum, it wraps itself around the limb like a python constricts its prey, and when you tug on the sickle attached on the other side, Native loses balance and falls to the ground.

“Did I win, Native-san?” you ask politely, still holding the sickle end of your weapon while he stays splayed on the floor.

He sighs, hands held up in surrender. “Yes. You could’ve easily ended me there.”

In minutes, you release him. The man dusts himself off and stops using his quirk. Finally, you can see him again - properly.

Native leans in curiously to inspect the weapon in your hands. “Very interesting weapon choice. Can you show me?”

You hold it out for him to view, but not close enough so that he can touch it. He also notices the pair of tonfa on your back, and glances at them with interest.

“Wonderful. What made you choose these?”

“I did not choose them. They were… gifts.”

“Well, whoever chose them has some great taste!”

“…you like them?”

“I’ve always been a little bit interested in traditional Japanese weapons,” he explains. “Unfortunately I’m not familiar with fighting with these ones so I can’t really teach you, but… please continue using them when sparring with me. As weapons, they might be a little outdated, but they still have merit,” he reassures. “I’m sure they’ll come in handy one day.”

You hope so. With any luck, you’ll only need your own blood, your own skills, and your own weapons to hold your own. To deal with villains. To deal with the Hero Killer.

You’ll never use the blood of another human again.

Oh, but how wrong you’ll be.

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Iida: So, what have you learned so far on your internship?

Y/N: This. (delivers the most earth-shattering, ground quaking, tectonic, volcanic slap to Iida’s back).

Also Y/N: This means we are friends.

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Author’s notes:

Hello everyone, it’s been a while.

I’ve finally gathered my bearings now, but will continue to be gathering my bearings! These few weeks will be a little inconsistent in terms of upload, but I hope to get back into a routine soon so that I can say hello to you all frequently and properly.

In other news, Grandma’s main shoot that I thought had passed away seems to have a green shoot hidden within the dead leaves… I don’t want to get my hopes up but! She! May! Be! Alive!

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: none

Pre-chapter notes: none

Art: Ann-Katrin Jaeckel on ArtStation! A phenomenal 3D artist whose VRX city series is something I am particularly liking a lot. Their environmental sculpting is genuinely so pleasing to the eye. I hope you will enjoy their portfolio as much as I do!

FFB MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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Your presence within Jujutsu International has you beginning to question your use of money. If the opulence of their materials can be used as indication, your colleagues seem to make good use of their salaries, spending substantial amounts on exquisite suits, colognes, and briefcases.

Money. Of course, being a spy comes with a great amount of it. You do dirty work, after all, as much as the agency may attempt to mask your job as a moral cleansing of society. Murder is still murder, even if it is listed on the agenda as an elimination. And a kidnapping is a kidnapping, even if the agency tells you it’s an extraction.

That is the nature of an agent. You reach your hands into places where clients do not wish to touch. You sully your fingernails in ways unspeakable to the average person. Through it all, you see visions of horror that the ordinary citizen would only ever experience projected on a screen in a darkened room. Therefore, you have money. Plenty of it. Certainly, nowhere near as much to rival Gojo Satoru or any of his associates, but most likely enough to live on comfortably for much of the remaining years of your life.

But means to use it?

None.

It sits in your account the way corpulent politicians sit on their hands, good for nothing else but piling up in weight through the work of others. Would you call yourself wealthy? Perhaps, but your heart wishes to say no. As a spy, you have one luxury afforded to you and another ripped away. Societal contribution at the cost of your innocence. Monetary stability at the cost of your identity. It is almost laughable to think you might have time to enjoy your money - to take a vacation or to cherish delicious foods or to even invest in aesthetically-pleasing furniture. No - not when you must constantly remould yourself into a new identity and slip from one place to another.

It is an unsung rule that the strong must protect the weak, just as parents must protect their children and teachers are paid to lead classrooms. You think it is almost a privilege to be weak. To be weak is to be led. To be led is to be free. Though, long gone are the days where you wish to join their ranks; you are already one with the motions of your work, no matter how gruelling it may be. Freedom is your trade. To protect society, they say.

Who are you really protecting?

You are protecting innocent, working-class citizens with your work, and by the same vein there are times where you also serve tycoons like Gojo Satoru, working in their interests as well. Do people like Gojo Satoru really need protection? You would think that his infinite veil of money would be enough of a shield from the, as you would say it, slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Bribery, fraud, and nepotism. There are always loopholes in the system, like leaks in a ship, for spies like you to discover and plug.

Either way, you have no time for asinine thoughts such as these; it is not a matter within your purview. You will do your work, and he will do his, and in the end, you will go your own separate ways after the mission is complete. As usual, you will become inconsequential again, swapping identities like business cards; that is your almost inexorable fate. As for Jujutsu International’s CEO, you will only know his fortune after your objective is complete, though you know that whatever consequences he may be subject to as a result of your investigation will likely be nullified by his affluence.

Money is power, or is it? Only for some. You have plenty of it, yet you are still subject to the throes of exigent toil. There is no joy in your work. Many might be surprised, but solving the problems of the world affords you surprisingly little satisfaction.

So as you are inconsequential, so is your money. It might be better used if you had donated it all to a charity or sponsored a child with your funds. You would have, if you had the time.

As some may say, what is money if it can’t be enjoyed?

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Gojo Satoru knows how to enjoy his money.

That is your first thought as you enter his office, trailing meekly behind Secretary Utahime who mutters obscenities under her breath just like she had the first time you had glimpsed her. CEO Gojo’s office is furnished almost as if he lives there, adorned with a private kitchen, bathroom, and sleeping quarter that is nothing short of ostentatious. The view of the office itself is stunning. In fact, much of the office walls are not actually walls - they’re windows, providing you with a wonderful city vista. You think you’ll never grow tired of seeing the city trapped behind a pane of glass, as if kept in a vivarium.

The secretary exhales a string of expletives again. The haphazardly arranged piles of documents on a desk which you presume to be where the woman is to complete her secretarial duties, offers a sufficient explanation for why she already looks unbearably stressed at eight in the morning.

It was indeed that morning where you were formally introduced to Secretary Utahime, and unlike your first impression of her as a brash, incredibly direct woman, you were pleasantly surprised to discover that she was quite the amiable colleague. True to your fabricated character, you had profusely apologised for becoming her newest liability, and she in tandem had apologised to you for the fact that such a large responsibility had been foisted upon you within your first few weeks at the company.

“I’m going to kill that bastard,” the seemingly irate woman had threatened, grinding her teeth, though you knew her tone held no real threat. And then, she had put you to work, tasking you with mundane filing - work that would be typical of an intern.

“Here,” she had said, handing you a pile. “This is all the documentation related to all the hotels the company manages. Please file them according to their location.”

From your work, you had learned that Gojo Satoru had hotels not only all throughout Japan, but all over the world, too.

Osaka, Shanghai, Taipei, Busan, Copenhagen… this man has tremendous reach.

There was no doubt that Secretary Utahime would be handling the more sensitive papers. You had wondered if you’d be able to chance a glimpse at any of the information it would contain.

At present, the pile of papers does not seem to grow any smaller. Acting the part of the eager, naïve intern again, you hunt opportunities for small talk - to glean what knowledge you can. “

Um, Secretary Utahime, does he-” you faux stutter, making a show of almost biting your nails, then thinking better of it, “does he come here sometimes? Mr. Gojo, I mean…”

“Unfortunately, yes,” sighs Utahime, smiling softly at you, who appears exasperated from just mentioning the man. “But you don’t need to worry about it. He usually just comes here to drop off work for me or rest after conferences. Otherwise he’s usually out and about meeting important people or working on other projects.”

You let your shoulders sag in relief, as the woman chuckles and turns around. You subtly eye the surveillance cameras in the corner of the room, trained on Gojo’s desk and various other, highly-sensitive areas of the office.

You’re in a blind spot.

Then you move.

Fingers caressing the back of the digital clock on the shelf. An innocent touch behind the water cooler. Later, a gentle stroke underneath the handle of the kettle. Listening bugs on all - your tiny soldiers sent to the frontline. Hidden in plain sight, much like you. The best tools always are.

And then you hear it.

Someone’s coming.

While the secretary and you are sifting through paper at a frenetic pace, you listen out and count the time in between leathered soles clacking against the corridor tiles just outside the office. Judging by the seconds, this person takes either long, or slow, languid strides. Somebody tall, and somebody laid-back, and it can be none other than-

“Training the new rookie well I see!” a voice teases, moving towards the other woman.

You’re alert, but you try not to look the part. Instead, appearing frazzled, you whip around from where you’re working and bow frantically to the new presence.

It is none other than Gojo Satoru.

“Yeah.” Secretary Utahime says dryly, not even turning around. “Training her to be my replacement.”

The CEO coos and throws an arm around the woman - a strange action for you to observe from such a high-profile member of society. “Aw, don’t be like that… I know you love working here, Utahime.”

Is this workplace harassment? you think to yourself. Does this count as evidence?

“And you,” he turns to you with a blinding grin, “Miss Okane - my lovely secretary isn’t working you too hard, is she?”

“N-not at all, Mr. Gojo!” you squeak, clutching your hands to your chest. “In fact, it’s an honour to watch a professional at work…”

A deep-throated chuckle emerges from his throat, diffusing into the air. “Glad to hear it. Actually, Utahime, can I speak to you for a second? Privately.”

“Let me put away the documents first.”

“Ah, leave them. They’re not that important anyway,” he lilts.

The annoyed woman steps out of the office with him, but not without one more anxious glance at the papers.

You’re left alone in the room.

Now, with little to no effort, you could extract what details you need from the sensitive documents only meant for the eyes of the exalted CEO and his overworked secretary. You also notice that the woman has placed the documents in a surveillance camera blind spot. Awfully convenient.

Experience tells you that it could be a trap. Opportunities dangled in front of the nose like this often are. In a company that must often deal with malicious attacks, they would not make such a rudimentary mistake if not for an ulterior motive.

But you know how to engage in battles of attrition. You can play the long game, because you know where these documents are stored now. This is a true opportunity in the making. You can come back at a later date and retrieve what you need, and not risk your life now to gain potentially meaningless information, in a place where the two may come back at any time.

For now, you remain hard at work, drowning yourself in the papers the way a tiger hides in the grasses before it strikes.

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After a few more friendly conversations that you have with Yuuji, you find that you and Yuuji couldn’t be more different. Yuuji wears his heart on his sleeve, and you lie like you’re breathing. With the way the man prattles on about his life at work, his admiration for Mr. Gojo, and his family life at home, you find that he is your greatest source of information. If you weren’t constantly on edge, you think you might enjoy his company.

Because you, who were raised by dogs, learned to eat scraps off the street.

You, who were raised by dogs, learned to go for the jugular.

Fortunately enough, Yuuji isn’t so daft as to maintain a one-sided conversation, and you find yourself facing eyes spangled with curiosity when he leans in to ask about your experiences under Secretary Utahime thus far.

“She’s very meticulous,” you reply, pouring notes of admiration into your voice, “I can see why she’s good at her job.” Pressing an innocent finger to your lips, you muse, “I wonder if I’ll be that good someday…?”

“For sure!” grins Yuuji earnestly, eager to encourage you. “If you’ve caught the eye of Mr. Gojo already, it means you probably have heaps of potential!”

It would be an innocuous statement to anybody else.

Not to you.

“Caught his eye?” inquire innocently. “What do you mean?”

You barely have to pry the words from his mouth.

“I mean, you’re shadowing his personal secretary! Not every intern gets that far! If they’re lucky, they get to see Mr. Okkotsu work - otherwise, most just work on lower-level projects.”

For it to be confirmed that you have indeed caught the eye of the CEO spells both welcome and unwelcome news.

Working closely with the secretary means you’ll naturally be privier to internal affairs. You will most certainly have better access to Gojo as well, and will have opportunities to further investigate his personal office.

However, this means that the man of sapphire-coloured eyes will be and has been watching you closely. With that comes a certain level of risk. But for you, a seasoned agent with years of experience under your belt, a little risk is nothing to you.

Talent is forged in the crucible of risk.

What is an agent without it?

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Author’s notes:

I have highly underestimated the benefits of arch support in shoes and have now strained my MTP joints… let it be said that the purchasing of good shoes and foot care are highly important practices!

Trigger Warning/s: mentions of blood

Pre-chapter notes: Flinnt has blessed us with this beautiful version of MC holding a flower. I presume that this is the flower that she gave to Iida before they both headed to Hosu together! She’s wonderful. I want to adopt her. What have you done to me? Thank you very much for your hard work, Flinnt!

Art: Rudolf Burda on ArtStation! He’s 3D modelled these very wonderful, concrete pillars. You’ll understand why they’re relevant to the chapter when you read further. The mesh is a wonderful detail and I really love the work he’s put into this piece!

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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To his great dissatisfaction, Iida does not learn much about you on your mutual journey to Hosu. You’re about as tight-lipped as an airtight container, and the most he’s able to get out of you is that you live with your father, as well as a very lacklustre response to his inquiries about your motivations in becoming a hero.

“My father says I should help people,” is the only answer you afford him when he asks.

“Really?” Iida asks, with a note of intrigue. “You must be very inspired by your father, then.”

The look you give him isn’t very inspired at all.

“I suppose so.”

There’s a story behind that look that Iida, in an ideal world, would love to unpack, but he resolves to not push any further, since you clearly aren’t interested in revealing anything more about yourself.

When the train screeches to a stop, the two of you silently climb out of the station and turn to each other to say your goodbyes.

“See you when we’re back at school, Chibana,” he asserts.

You nod. “See you.”

The two of you part ways peacefully, unaware that you’ll be encountering each other again much sooner than originally anticipated.

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Native’s agency is located inside a reasonably sized office building in Hosu city - modern, but modest and not intimidating. In fact, if you’re talking about sheer size and scale, you’d say Overhaul’s base is far more frightening, and so the thought of interning here gives you a bit of comfort.

He’s waiting for you in the lobby as you enter, and although you’ve never personally met the man, you recognise him instantly from the photos you’ve seen of him. After all, a good assassin is never without research.

Shoulder-length, dusky brown tresses brushing against the cowl cordoning off his neck. A striped headband sporting a single ivory-hued feather from the side. He’s not hard to miss. Who could ignore all of that, as well as the thick, feathered coat mantling his shoulders?

It must be hard to move in that costume, you think, but then you are reminded of your own costume with a cloak of its own. Shaking your head, you dismiss the thought. That’s different. My cloak is not bulky like his.

Native stands up from the chaise lounge decorating the foyer and sends you a bright grin. “Chibana-san! Or should I say Chi? Welcome to my agency.”

You bow deeply, hands clutching your costume briefcase tightly. “Thank you for this opportunity, Native-san. I will work hard to learn under you.”

The man releases a deep chuckle. “No need to be so formal! Come on then - let me show you around.”

After encountering a number of strange and scary heroes like the man with the blue flames, you find that Native is a lot friendlier than you would expect a hero from the outside world to be. He shows you the bathrooms, the locker room, and the infirmary - all essential spaces. Then, he shows you everything from the kitchens to his personal office on the top floor. All throughout the tour, your eyes dart around. Native’s agency has many windows. It also has many exits.

That’s good news.

After you’ve more or less memorised the general layout of the place, Native then shows you a map of his patrol route, of which you’ll accompany him on whenever he’s scheduled. Everything seems simple enough.

It’s about noon when Native takes you back to the third floor of the building where the training facility is, telling you to change into your costume. When you come out properly dressed, he sends an appreciative look at your mottled cloak before his grey hues pin you in your spot.

“Chi, I’ve watched your clips from the Sports Festival and I know what your quirk is, but I’d like to get a better understanding of what you can do. Do you think we could do a demonstration?”

“…yes. How should I do it?”

Native muses for a few seconds, before an idea blooms in his mind. “How about you duel me?”

“…duel?” you ask, unsure.

You’re going to have to fight a Pro Hero?

Will he know if you try and temper your quirk?

You don’t have a choice, anyway. You can’t risk any praises reaching Aizawa’s ears, or anybody’s, for that matter, so if Native suspects something, you’re just going to have to lie your way through it.

He nods. “Pretend I’m a villain terrorising the city - probably stealing or something. It doesn’t matter too much - just do anything you can to nullify or disarm me - apprehend me as you would a normal criminal.”

“So that means, I should not hurt you.”

“Ideally, no. But most of the time, that’s difficult because villains like to resist and end up taking collateral damage anyway, so don’t be afraid to use force. I can take a few hits,” he chuckles.

So the man leads you inside a large hall, reinforced with concrete walls, and filled with concrete pillars scattered at varying heights around the room to provide avenues for hiding and dodging. The concrete pillars are rough-hewn, marred with notches and crevices presumably for climbing.

The hard part will be pretending to struggle, because you know that an environment like this is favourable to your abilities. Terrain traversal and mobility is your strength, and Native had already mentioned that he had seen your performance at the Sports Festival so he would most certainly be aware of that fact.

“Give me ten seconds to hide, and then come and apprehend me, okay? You have a time limit of ten minutes!” he grins, before dashing off out of your sight.

In the ten seconds where you’re stood in place, you can’t help but be reminded of your training session with Bakugo in Gym Gamma.

Hopefully things won’t turn out as violent as they almost did back then.

“Native-san, I have counted for ten seconds. I am coming to look for you now,” you announce, and your voice echoes through the chamber.

No response.

Well, here goes.

Blood emerges from your right palm in an elongated trail, coagulating into a ribbon. It feels like it’s been so long since you’ve properly used your quirk for something other than escaping the clutches of other villains, and you appreciate the warm, familiar hum that slithers through your veins.

The other end of your ribbon attaches itself to the top of the nearest concrete pillar and contracts, pulling you up high. You’re able to run up the side of the pillar as you ascend, like you’re abseiling in reverse. When you reach the top, you scan the environment for any signs of Native.

There are none.

None but the faintest flicker of a pulse.

Where is it? you think, but you can’t see him. You could probably track him just by the sound of it if you gauge the intensity of his heartbeat relative to your position, but you don’t exactly want him to know that you have that ability within you.

So instead, you decide to leap off your platform and swing from pillar to pillar, to appear as if you’re aimlessly scouring the ground for his presence when in reality you could probably pinpoint his location in a few minutes.

Probably. Maybe if his heartbeat wasn’t so damn quiet, it’d be easier. The sound had almost been masked by the susurration of the wind rushing past your ears as you swung.

Why was it so quiet, anyway? With all the terrain you’ve covered, it should have gotten louder at some point or another. Straining your ears, you listen for the pinprick of noise, for dull thuds that could be overshadowed if you even breathe too hard.

Where is he?

And then words that the Adjudicator had given you during your training enter your mind - a modicum of wisdom.

“When hunting well-hidden figures, don’t look for shapes. Look for movement,” he had advised.

You hang off the side of a pillar and refocus your eyes, doing just that.

Then, you spot him - just barely.

He’s… camouflaged. Whole body and costume patterned with mottled grey and black, his silhouette is broken up well amongst the rough terrain and columns. In this form, you notice that he’s quieter and faster too. You admire his rock-climbing abilities as he scurries up a pillar like a monkey scaling a tree.

Ah.

So the near non-existent sound of his heartbeat must be a side effect of his quirk.

To evade detection, perhaps?

Well, it’s certainly working.

Not well enough, though. Because you’ve seen him, but he hasn’t seen you.

Or so you think.

You send a blood ribbon rocketing down from your position above, ready to coil itself around his leg. However, you pause, to give him time to react and move away. To make him believe you’re struggling more than you actually are.

As expected, he reacts instantly, leaping higher onto the pillar and then launching himself off the side, latching onto a new one and climbing around its circumference until he’s out of your sight. You give chase, your blood attaching itself to another column ahead of you and pulling you forwards so you can whirl around and see where the man has scurried off to.

You do just that.

Only to find that he’s not there.

Look for movement. Not shapes, you remind yourself.

Movement. You see it in the corner of your eye and you whip around, sending your blood ribbon in its direction without hesitation. Native tries the same escape route, but this time you change your trajectory and pull yourself high instead of forwards. He can’t hide if you can see every nook and cranny within his vicinity.

How long has it been now? Five minutes?

To be safe, you should probably capture him around the nine-minute mark.

Another blood ribbon emerges, this time from your left palm. Controlling two is more troublesome than one, but necessary if you want to move faster. Nothing you can’t handle. Training at the compound has, at the very least, taught you to endure this much almost effortlessly.

A glimpse of motion. Your ribbons attach and pull taut to two pillars in front of you, slingshotting you forwards. Your calculated momentum takes you over to his position, and then you plummet at gravity’s behest, cape fluttering behind you.

Instead of slowing your fall, you send your left ribbon to snake its way around his leg. The ground hurtles towards your vision faster and faster, but you don’t want to even give Native a second to escape while you’re preoccupied with your own safety.

Something glints in the Pro Hero’s right hand - a small knife, and with a broad sweep of his arm, he slices his leg free.

And then he’s gone again, hiding amongst the shadows.

You didn’t know your ribbons were that weak - weak enough to be sliced by something akin to a kitchen knife, no less.

The integrity of your blood coagulations is something you’ll definitely need to work on, then.

Pulling yourself high and forwards with your blood again, you head in the direction of where you had last seen the hero. You’ll need to disable his hands this time when you catch him, or at the very least, remove his weapon.

You know his tricks now, and Native doesn’t get far before he’s in your sights again. This time, your blood slithers down to his arms, and makes a grab at the blade in his hand. It works, and the weapon clatters to the ground before one of your blood ribbons picks it up and tosses it to the side.

By now, you’ve learned that fighting ranged with Native is a lot more trouble than it seems.

To capture him, you’ll have to get in close.

The thought sends shivers through your body.

You drop to the ground and he faces you; now you’re fighting on equal footing.

“Good! You’re fast,” he pants, smiling cheekily, “but not fast enough.”

Within seconds, Native is in front of you, aided by the speed his camouflaged form affords him, and pins you to the ground in a wrestling hold.

Before you can call on your quirk again to help you, he announces, “Alright, ten minutes is up!”

This time, fear does not hit you like a bullet to your chest like it would were you at Overhaul’s or Boss’s compound - here, it slithers up your throat slowly, like a vine choking out a tree.

You failed.

What are your consequences now?

Your terror must register on your face, because Native is quick to release you and add, “It’s okay, I wasn’t actually expecting you to be able to capture me. It just means you have things to improve on! That’s not a bad thing.” As you stand up and dust yourself off, he continues. “As you can probably guess, I specialise in stealth and hand-to-hand combat - things like ambushes and the like. It seems your strengths lie in range and versatility, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have some overlap.”

“…I see. Thank you, Native-san.”

“Please, just Native is fine,” he smiles, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Come on, let’s go to another room for a debrief.”

Obediently, you follow him to a small office outside of the hall, and he seats you down in a swivel chair that reminds you of the ones in your classroom. It’s jarring - just a few minutes ago, he had you in a pin.

“Like I said earlier, your range is your strength, so it’s good that you use that to your advantage. However, in the off-chance that you need to fight in close-quarters, it’s good to know some level of hand-to-hand combat. It’s unfortunate, but sometimes, fighting ranged isn’t an option, especially when you’ve got opponents who have ways of nullifying your range.”

You do know some hand-to-hand - clearly not enough though, since Native was able to best you in mere seconds.

“Will we train hand-to-hand then?” you ask.

He seems pleased at your question. “Sometimes, yes. There’s another area that I think that would be beneficial for you to focus on, and that’s stealth. Remember back to our duel - was it difficult to apprehend me?”

Contemplating your answer, you fiddle with the hem of your cloak. Even if you weren’t hunting him at full capacity, it was hard to catch him. “…yes.”

“And it was because of my stealth, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, as strange as it sounds, stealth counters stealth. If you were stealthier than me, you could have taken me by surprise. That’s how many stealth operators get taken down in the hero world. Think about it this way - even without using a quirk, an ordinary citizen could ambush a hero with the right techniques. In your case, I knew where you were almost every time, and so I was able to evade you.”

That’s not right. You’re supposed to be an assassin. Stealth should be your whole trade. To hear that you’re not good at it makes you doubt if you’ll even be able to complete Scarface’s mission successfully.

Though, even if you are lacking in your stealth skills, it’s true that there are other facets that make up a good assassin.

Such as deception.

And undoubtedly, you’ve thrived in that respect. You’ve mingled well with your classmates - maybe a little too well.

They say that too much of a good thing is a bad thing.

Undeterred by your silence, Native continues with his feedback. “You did do a good thing by changing your approach, though. You went high to get a bird's-eye view, right? I lost track of you for a second.” For a moment, he leans back in his chair, as if evaluating his next words. “Your current stealth abilities are good enough to take on lower-level villains that aren’t familiar with navigating those kinds of approaches. However, higher-level villains will not be fooled so easily. We’re going to work on that.”

So he’s going to train you in stealth. Okay. Judging by his abilities, Native will be a good person to learn from.

Maybe the internships won’t be so bad for you after all.

“Now, I’ve got another question for you,” he begins. “Your blood formations… how do they work?”

You freeze.

That’s not a question you should answer in great detail… right? You’d just be giving information to the enemy.

But he’s trying to help you.

And won’t he be suspicious if you withhold information? After all, what sane student from UA would squander an opportunity to learn like this? It won’t be good to hide things about yourself here, not when Native is asking you so directly.

…it should be fine, right?

“I can use blood to make simple structures and shapes. So, nothing mechanical. I need to concentrate to do it. And, um, different blood types are better used for making different things. For example, type B blood is better for creating flexible and malleable objects.”

“I’ll hear about the other blood types another time. And your blood type is?”

“…B.”

He hums. “Right, so me being able to cut through your ribbon… it wasn’t an issue with the blood type. And the blood object you create usually follows the structural integrity of the original object you base it off, yes?”

“Yes. I try to make it that way because it gives me less to think about.”

“Then, how about trying to base your coagulations off a tougher structure?”

“I try not to experiment with structures too much because it strains my body. But I will consider it.”

He smiles. “I appreciate your tenacity. Anyway, if it doesn’t work, we can just think of other solutions.” Speaking of other solutions,” he pauses, “I’d like to see you use your quirk in a more versatile way.”

You cock your head to the side, silently asking for further elaboration.

“I mean, there’s a lot of simple shapes you could create. Once we get hand-to-hand combat down, it would be good if you could incorporate your quirk with your non-quirk abilities - like reinforcing your fist with blood, for example. There’s a lot of possibilities. After all, it’s not good to rely too much on our quirks, yes?”

Native-san is giving some… very good ideas. I am lucky I chose to intern under him.

“Yes, Native-san.”

A resigned sigh leaves his lips. “Still won’t drop the honorifics?”

“But it is impolite.”

“It’s not if I’m asking- you know what, never mind.” Standing up and motioning for you to follow, he leads you out of the room. “I can send one of my assistants to ethically source blood for you to practice with, and we’ll work on those skills in the coming days.” Native tries not to think about how that conversation will go. It’s not like he can just say, “Hey, can you go to the blood bank and ask for a litre of Type A blood? Tell them it’s for a good cause.”.

Meanwhile, you’re just relieved that the blood won’t come from live animals or… other heinous sources. “Thank you, Native-san.”

The Pro Hero checks his watch, and his eyes widen, suddenly aware of the time. Then he turns to you.

“Oh, it’s two o’clock. Shall we go on patrol?”

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Native’s patrol route is simple - walk through a few streets around the area, say hello to the locals, eavesdrop on a few conversations, circle back around each block, and repeat in a nearby area. You pull your hood up, not wanting to be seen so explicitly by strangers as a hero. It’s worse because the people seem to be familiar with your mentor, and so they stare curiously at you, the strange figure trailing their local hero, as Native sends them smiles and waves.

At the very least, when it gets quiet, the man explains his patrol process to you. He tells you that it’s good to maintain general friendliness with people, since they’re more likely to surrender useful information whether willingly or unwillingly (How different is that to what you’re doing at UA, where you’re infiltrating and becoming friends with the enemy?). Then, he tells you other things about himself - his life, his family, and why he became a hero. You file away the information for later out of habit. It might become useful.

As the two of you round the block of the current street you’re surveying, you see a very familiar set of turbo engines and white armoured suit standing next to a man that is dressed uncannily like a fish.

Hang on a second.

Is that Iida?

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Y/N: So what’s your quirk?

Native: Cultural appropriation.

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Author’s notes:

Grandma’s (my plant!) main shoot has… unfortunately passed away. I am full of regret and sorrow for it.

BUT!

Before you destroy me!

The other plants that make up Grandma are thriving! I suppose she’s become fertiliser for herself…

Since the series never mentions what Native’s quirk is (to my knowledge), I’ve taken the liberties of giving Native an appropriate one. As you’ve hopefully just read, he has a camouflage quirk that allows him greater speed and significantly reduced sound production in this form. If that’s hard to remember, think of him as a little gecko on the wall. Those things run and climb pretty fast, blend in well, and are very quiet!

For a reminder on what happened during Bakugo’s sparring session with MC, see Chapter 25: The Hunt.

Bloodwalker is on break this week!

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: mentions of blood, wounds, bodies and knives

Pre-chapter notes: none

Art: Fran Vergara on ArtStation! This man’s work is phenomenal - his portfolio has the most beautiful, vibrant illustrations that look perfect for a videogame, visual novel, or animation. The colours are just so attractive! This particular one I have chosen is one he did of a subway station in Tokyo. I think it is particularly fitting, given what the characters will do in this chapter. 😄

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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You had a home, once.

It was probably filled with the scent of freshly baked cookies, or warm loaves of bread. You’d probably have scribbled erratically on sheets of coloured paper Father had brought back from the office, while the television garbled distorted noises and spat out colours in the corner of the room. If Mother had seen your crayoned creations, she probably would have held them up in pride, pinioning them to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a daisy.

“My little girl is so good at drawing, isn’t she?” Mother might have cooed at you. “Going to grow up to be a master artist someday?”

You might have nodded. Then Mother might have picked you up and let you have a bite of one of the cookies. Chocolate chip, or maybe something else. You’re not entirely sure. After all, normal children don’t daydream about having a family.

In your home, you would’ve probably had a room to yourself, though more often than not, you most likely would have just found your way to your parents’ instead. To avoid this, at night, Father probably would have pressed your duvet into you and delivered a kiss to your forehead to encourage you to sleep by yourself. Perhaps, seeing you still so restless, he might have held your hand while telling you a story.

You remember asking the Adjudicator to do that.

There’s none of that left for you anymore. You have your own space now. Even if you wouldn’t call it home.

Against Inasa’s will, you’re in a new apartment by the time it’s the day of internships, courtesy of Overhaul’s generous contribution to your living situation. Admittedly, the place is far more liveable than your last - it’s nothing like your friend’s sumptuous arrangements, but you’d even go as far as to say it’s opulent for your standards. Though, that’s not necessarily a good thing, because you know that the Shie Hassaikai’s head will just hold that above your head as leverage.

The place is spacious - with no doubt, far more than the last. Because of that, in a way, the new place feels lonelier. Your possessions still scarcely fill a backpack, so even when you’ve settled in, your new apartment appears to be borderline uninhabited. Your previous living space was one connected area, save for the bathroom, but here, there’s even separate rooms - rooms you cannot do justice with what little you own. That’s it. Borderline uninhabited.

Contributing to that fact is the state of the flat itself, being incredibly pristine. Unlike the old place, there are no cracks in the tiled floors - unforeseen invitations for mice and rodents - or paint peeling off walls that almost makes them appear as if they’re crying. No, this place is clean. Too clean, and almost too perfect. It’s unsettling, but on brand for Overhaul, given the number of times you’ve seen him wrinkle his forehead at whatever perceived grime he’s come across. The yakuza head had also generously ensured that your pantry had been stocked, and promised to continue supplying for your needs given that you, in his words, could “Earn your keep”. But you’re not sure you can put the ingredients he’s given you to justice anyway; you don’t know what to do with them.

In another room, there’s even a bed - one you don’t dare to try, not when you’ve been well-acquainted with the floor your whole life. Being allowed to live here is far beyond your place in the organisation. But there is only one reason your benefactor would go this far for a dogsbody like you.

Overhaul is an exceptionally dangerous man to be indebted to. Conniving, wholly malevolent, and a dearth of any clear weaknesses makes him the kind of villain Boss expects you to be, and of which expectations you fail to live up to. How you’ll have to repay the masked man is something you’d rather not consider. Hopefully the list doesn’t get any longer. He’s already saved you troubling the Yoarashi family more than you should, from the throes of malnutrition, and from the imminent homelessness that would have been sure to follow after the attack on your flat. Though he might consider what he’s given you as freedom, he is wrong - the arrears of this perceived freedom cost more than they are worth. And to you, debt is the same as slavery.

A master you might serve forever.

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It’s an arduous task that morning to convince Inasa to not chauffeur you to school on the first day of your internship with the Pro Hero Native. In doing so, it takes a string of back-and-forth messages and a voice message from you (which you had to struggle to figure out) until he finally relents, though you can almost feel the pout on his face forming as his messages rocket through.

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Inasa-san, I have already said many times that I will be okay. You need to go to school too.

But!!!

I am leaving for school now. If you are worried about me, you do not need to be. I will update you if anything major happens.

Fine… good luck today, Chiyo-chan! I know you’ll do so well! Plus Ultra!

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Relief cools your raging heart the way water quenches flames. If Inasa were to escort you to the station now, you think he’d be able to sense your burgeoning apprehension. All because the next phase of Boss’s mission begins now, with proper contact and collaboration with heroes outside of UA. If you’re caught, you’re dead, either by Scarface or the pros.

You might have escaped Inasa’s scrutiny, but there are other layers of watchful eyes you must pass through, especially since Iida had mentioned to you some days ago that he’d be heading to Hosu as well, and that the two of you would probably be taking the train together. You’ll need to hide your exhaustion - appear put-together, lightly veneered with an air of indifference.

It won’t just be you that needs to pretend though.

Iida will have to as well, in light of the recent events with his brother. Not that it’ll work with you, though - you’ll feel his heartbeat, and you’ll know.

As you’re walking, you spot a lone wild flower, pleasantly growing through a crack in the sidewalk. Thinking that it might lift your class president’s spirits, you take it with you, storing it carefully in your backpack.

I will bring this as a gift for Iida-san.

Then, clutching the briefcase containing your hero costume tightly (it had been sent to Inasa’s place before you had moved), you make your way to your nearest train station (which you’ll need to take to reach the other station your class is supposed to meet at before splitting off). You also remember that you’ll have to update your new address with the school again, but you’ll worry about that later.

Ah, so many things to think about.

The next few minutes go by quickly. You make it to your station. Like clockwork, you board the train, and ignore the way your carriage jostles the people around you every time it judders and shakes. You reach your destination and disembark, walking to where the meeting point is supposed to be.

Most of your classmates are already there.

You spot a floating uniform waving you over. “Chiyo-chan!”

It’s Tooru.

“Hello, Tooru-san.”

“Are you excited for internships?!”

“…not really,” you reply.

Somewhere off to the side, Momo giggles at your response.

Then someone behind you gently touches your shoulder. You feel the thump of their heart. It’s biometric modality - a rhythm you recognise, and it instantly calms you.

It’s Ochako, who slowly loops her arms around you, giving you a chance to shrug her off if you don’t like the contact. “Chiyo-chan! You made it!”

She’s warm. You grasp at her arms and she takes it as a sign to hug you tighter.

“Hello, Ochako-chan.” You almost feel guilty for accepting the affection. It has only been a short time in UA and you’ve already grown complacent in keeping your distance. Boss had ordered you to become friendly with the heroes-in-training, not actually become their friends.

“No fair! I want a hug too!” Tooru exclaims.

“But I cannot see your arms,” you state. “How will I hug you?”

“You can see my sleeves! Isn’t that enough?!”

Aizawa clears his throat, rescuing you from Tooru who jitters on the spot like she’s seconds away from pouncing on you. His voice crawls out from his throat, slow and tired. “Everyone here?”

“Yes, Sensei!” most of your classmates exclaim.

Your homeroom teacher gives out some last-minute instructions while you look around.

Surrounded by a choir of thundering heartbeats.

What’s happening?

Why is everyone’s pulse so fast?

You’re drawn from your pondering by a pointed look directed at you from Aizawa.

You flinch.

He narrows his eyes and approaches you. “You don’t happen to be injured this time, do you?”

“No, Shish- Sensei.”

The underground hero lets out a resigned sigh. “Don’t get into any more trouble, got it?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“Make sure you’re careful out there.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“Problem child,” he mutters, turning away. There’s not much he can do to keep his obstreperous class under control, much less students that get into all sorts of trouble like you.

You rejoin Ochako and Tooru, who now have Mina, Tsuyu, Momo and Jirou by their sides as well. And you can hear their heartbeats even clearer now - heavy, like the strides of an elephant, and fast, like galloping hooves on dirt.

Is something wrong?

If there is, you know the best person to ask.

You tug on Momo’s sleeve gently and she turns to you. “Chiyo-chan? What’s wrong?”

“I have a question.” You chew your bottom lip, as the girls cease their conversations and patiently listen to what you have to say. “I can hear everybody’s heart beating fast. Why?”

“You can hear that?!” yelps Mina.

…maybe you shouldn’t have revealed that.

“If I concentrate. Or if there are many strong heartbeats around,” you admit.

“I think I might know why that is, then,” Momo chimes in with a smile. “That would be because most of us are both quite excited and nervous about the internships.”

“Oh. I see. Can I fix it?”

“Fix it? How?” she inquires curiously.

“…hugging cures tachycardia. Ochako-chan taught me.”

Ochako shrinks when all the girls’ eyes zero in on her questioningly.

“Is Chiyo-chan misinformed?” Mina whispers to Tooru a little too loudly. “Or is that actually a thing?”

Tooru elbows the girl back. “Shh! I wanna see how this plays out!”

Ochako sweatdrops, waving her hands in the air. “U-Um, long story, but…”

You don’t hear her. “Momo-san, if I am allowed to, I will fix it for you so that you can enjoy your internship.”

“You can certainly… give it a try?”

Momo stands completely still, as not to startle you. You gently loop your arms around her midsection, and her hands descend on your back slowly, releasing you when you quickly pull away.

“Okay. I am finished. You will be fixed now. Tooru-san, I will give you one next. Even though I cannot see your arms.”

“Yay!”

Tooru, as expected, receives her “remedy” with open arms, giggling as you gingerly encircle her. Similarly, Mina is all smiles as you lean in to give her hers. Ochako gets one too; she clings on a little longer than everyone else before her before letting go.

Tsuyu remains calm as you give her one, before commenting: “You haven’t given many hugs before, have you?”

“Am I doing it wrong?”

“No, you just hug like you’re unsure.”

“I don’t understand. How do I hug like I am sure?”

Overhearing the conversation, Kaminari pops his head into the group. “I can teach you,” he winks.

“The only thing you could possibly teach is how to vacate a room full of girls,” Jirou shoots back.

A couple metres away, muttered curses can be heard leaving Mineta’s lips. “Kaminari… you sly dog…”

“Kaminari-san, I am sorry,” you reply, shaking your head solemnly. “I cannot hug you this time. You… move too much. Maybe I will learn from you another day.”

“You gotta be less hyper to get one of Chibana’s esteemed hugs!” snarks your purple-haired classmate, joining all of you suddenly. “Take it from me! I’m a pro!”

“Mineta-san, I will not give you a hug.”

“Aww, why?!”

While Tsuyu confiscates Mineta’s freedom with her tongue, you turn to Jirou who looks away from you shyly.

She can’t tell you, but she secretly wants one, though she doesn’t have the strength to ask. But Jirou is a girl that has never asked you for anything for all the time you’ve known her.

It’s only fair you help her too, since you’ve done it for all the other girls.

“Jirou-san. I did not forget about you. Can I fix your heartbeat for you as well?”

She looks up in surprise, and her cheeks appear rouged.

“Sure,” she mutters, smiling sheepishly.

Carefully, you place your arms around her, and though it’s quite an awkward embrace, when you pull away, the girl is noticeably flushed.

You take a step back to look at your friends.

Momo has the brightest beam on her face. Comically enough, Tooru is holding hands with Mina, and the two of them are cavorting around together some metres away. Vaguely, you hear them cheering “Yay! Yay!” over and over, though you’re not sure why they’re so excited.

Tsuyu looks to be pleasantly in thought, while, much like Jirou, Ochako is coloured faintly with pink.

Your face does not match theirs, because you’re disappointed.

“It is not working. Your hearts are beating faster,” you hang your head, giving the floor a forlorn look.

Ochako panics. “D-Don’t look so sad! It takes a while to work sometimes!”

“Guys, we shouldn’t lie to her,” Tsuyu interjects with a mild reproof, after having discarded Mineta somewhere so she would be free to use her tongue. “Chiyo-chan, you’re misunderstanding something. Heartbeats will go down by themselves. Hugs aren’t needed to fix them.”

You deflate with shoulders slumped. “…oh.”

“But,” your amphibious classmate adds, “you made everyone very happy with them.”

With great amusement, the girls watch you perk up instantly.

“…I made everyone happy?”

“Very,” Momo steps closer to you and hits you with a blinding smile.

Warmth stirs in you, though you try not to show it. “…that is good. Good luck with your internships. I am going to say goodbye to everyone else now. Goodbye.”

And with that, you leave the group abruptly.

“She just did her damage and left,” mutters Mineta discontentedly, who has somehow managed to crawl his way back to the group.

Now, you scan your classmates to see who you should ambush next. Vaguely, you are aware of a pair of carmine eyes on you, so you head towards them to bid them your farewell.

“Hello, Bakugo-san. Good luck at your internship.”

Bakugo just grunts at you, scowling.

“Oi Bakugo, that’s not very manly!” Kirishima chides gently. “Yo, Chibana!”

“Hell if I care!” the irascible blonde screams back.

Flinching a little, you choose to ignore Bakugo’s outburst in favour of greeting his calmer, more polite friend. “Hello, Kirishima-san. Good luck to you too. Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Fourth Kind!” he grins. “And you?”

“Native.”

“Cool! I’m sure you’ll do great!”

An arm lands around Kirishima’s shoulders, and you turn to face the new entrant.

Hanta.

“Chiyo-chan,” he lilts smoothly. “Nice to see you again, and good luck with your internships - I heard you’ll be travelling with Iida?”

“Hello, Hanta-san,” you reply shyly, feeling instantly calm. Something about Hanta’s presence has always been soothing, though you could never figure out why. Then again, there are quite a few people whose presences you think are calming. More people than you should allow yourself. “Yes, I will be with Iida-san. And good luck to you too.”

Kirishima’s grin turns shark-like. “Have you been saying goodbye to everyone, Chibana? Man, you’re way manlier than me! Even though you’re a girl!”

“Very polite,” agrees Hanta.

“You can say goodbye to everyone and be very manly too,” you tell Kirishima. “How about starting with Bakugo-san?”

Bakugo sends you a withering glare, that, to his misfortune, you don’t see.

“Great idea!” grins the red-haired boy, turning around and slapping Bakugo on the back. “Then good luck with your internship, bro!”

“Hah?! I don’t need luck!”

Oops. You’ve incited chaos. Chaos you don’t really want to be a part of.

Backing away from the scene (the scene being Bakugo yelling insults at a very cheery Kirishima), you bump into Todoroki.

Perfect. You need to say goodbye to him too.

“Todoroki-san,” you say, tapping on his shoulder. “Good luck at your internship. And goodbye.”

The boy doesn’t clock the awkwardness of the interaction and responds in kind. “Thank you, Chibana; you too. Where are you going?”

“To Native, in Hosu. What about you?”

“I’m going to Endeavor.”

You remember that name - he had mentioned it at the Sports Festival. “You are interning with… your father?”

“Yes. It was my choice.”

“Okay. I hope he doesn’t… make you sad at your internship.”

He huffs, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face before it melts away like snow. “Thank you for your concern. I’ll see you after the internships are over.”

After that, you say goodbye to the rest of your class too. Notable reactions include Midoriya flinching away when you approach him (clearly still uneasy around you after your peculiar interactions with him), Ojiro letting you play with the hair on the end of his tail as a parting gift, Tokoyami once again bringing out a very clingy Dark Shadow, and Shoji allowing you to study the webbing of his arms closely like you had once done.

And then too soon, Iida and you are leaving for your train, and the further you walk away from the gathering spot, the less of your classmates’ faces you see. It has you feeling melancholy. Sad, even.

Until you receive a ping on your phone.

Ochako’s sent you a voice message.

“Hello, Chiyo-chan! I know I just already said it just before, but I just wanted to tell you good luck for the internships today! And, uh, I also wanted to say, I’ll be rooting for you! And I’ll message often!” She takes a pause just as, much like the soft strokes of a dulcimer, laughter tinkles out of her throat. “So… yeah! See you!”

It takes you a bit of fiddling with your phone, but eventually you remember how to send one back (you had done so to Inasa earlier, anyway), though you hold the phone a bit too close to your mouth when you speak. Ochako had mentioned to you the pro hero which she would be interning with, some days prior. You just need to remember…

“Thank you, Ochako-chan. Good luck to you too while you intern under… Gunhead.”

There are other messages from your classmates as you depart - Mina, who chimes in with another cheery “Good luck!” and the rest of the girls who send their respective wishes to you as well; Shinsou, who tells you he wants to hear about it when you’re back; and Hanta too, who sends you a cute emoji (to which you reply with a thumbs-up of your own). They’re so friendly despite you all seeing each other just minutes ago. And there’s yet another message from someone you don’t expect.

.

Don’t f***ing get yourself into any more villain s***.

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A message from… Bakugo.

It’s strange that he’s taking initiative to reach you like this. To tell you to stay out of trouble. It’s strange that he’s being…

Nice.

Kind, even.

Perhaps there’s some ulterior motive?

Is he trying to gain your trust?

Either way, it’s not going to work. You can’t trust anybody in UA. You won’t, and you shouldn’t. Because one way or another, you’ll either betray the school, or the school will betray you.

You’ll either be the wound or the knife.

Maybe in this life, you’re both.

Because you say you don’t trust anybody, and that you’ll keep everyone at arm’s length, but you’ve already reneged on that promise by fraternising with the enemy.

Whether you’ve realised it yet or not.

After sending quick replies to your classmates - or, as quick as you possibly can be (you’re still getting used to the motions of typing on your phone) - you put your device away and board the train with Iida, the two of you hunting down empty seats to occupy. Once found, the two of you are quiet for a minute. The station leaves your view as the carriage moves.

Then Iida turns to you in his seat. You swear his glasses flash as he sits up impossibly straighter to analyse you. Instantly, you’re self-conscious, wondering if you’ve tied your tie wrong or if you’re missing a piece of uniform.

“I notice that you look quite tired, Chibana,” he declares, hand chopping up and down. “Did you not sleep well the night before? It is important to take care of yourself before important events like these. If you remember, Aizawa Sensei instructed us to do so in class.”

“I did. I am fine,” you say, voice gravid with lies. Eager to divert the subject, you begin unzipping your backpack, reaching inside. “Iida-san, actually… I have a present for you.”

The boy puts his hands up apprehensively, in fear of what you’ll produce this time. “Chibana! I appreciate your generosity, but there is no need to-”

You pull out the flower out from your bag shyly. “This is for you. So you don’t feel sad.”

Iida turns beet red. “On second thought, I will accept your gift,” he announces stiffly, “even though I am not sad!” He coughs into his elbow before gently taking the flower from you with a genuine smile. “Still, thank you very much.”

“Okay.”

Flustered, Iida squirrels away the gift into his own bag.

In his short time as class president, Iida Tenya has learned a lot of things, like Midoriya’s favourite All Might hero costume, how Uraraka likes her mochi, and how thorough Yaoyorozu is at her job as vice president. The one thing he hasn’t learnt much about is you - which is unusual, given that you spend a decent amount of time around his friends (mostly orchestrated by Uraraka who often begs you to sit with them for lunch for once, even though she spends plenty of lunchtimes with you at the 1A girls’ table anyway).

That can’t do.

As class president, he needs to know all his classmates well. And although he’s sure it’s a given that he’ll learn more with time, something tells him that with you it won’t be easy.

This train ride will be a good opportunity to get to know you better. To hear about your life and your family, your motivations for becoming a hero, and everything in between.

He is particularly curious… what did make you yearn for heroics?

Because Iida wouldn’t go as far as to say you’re unqualified to be a hero, but more so that you’re… unfit.

Being a hero isn’t a glamorous job. He, of all people, knows that now, after what happened to Tensei. He wonders how someone so innocent will be able to face the horrors of heroism. The reality, which is filled with deception, blood, bodies, and tears.

So how would you - something so naïve - be able to survive in such an environment? At first glance, it would surely devour a person like you, because for some who go into the profession, heroism is a filter for sanity until nothing but bitterness is left.

But then again, there’s something about you that tells him that you’re tougher than you let on.

He thinks back to the Battle Trials. To USJ. To you and the Nomu. Even the Sports Festival. You are certainly formidable, and could be even more so.

And yet you are so ignorant of the ways of the world. You lack fundamental knowledge about society, and Iida thinks back to the time when he had to teach you what a handshake meant - as if it was your first time interacting with people.

He thinks of all your subtle expressions, that of anxiety, of disappointment, of bewilderment, and most common of all, your blank, thousand-yard stare. He’s seen them all, whether from up close or at a distance, but he’s never seen you smile once. And even then after seeing your expressions, nobody can really tell what you’re thinking, even if they can occasionally tell what you’re feeling.

He wonders why that is.

Iida refuses to dismiss your behaviour as a personal eccentricity, either. The incongruencies of your personality and abilities are too strange. After all, how are you able to solve algebraic equations in your book flawlessly while simultaneously being unsure of whether worms are edible or not? He’s almost certain he’s not the only person that’s wondered this.

If you have something to hide, though… Iida wouldn’t blame you. Everybody has things they want to hide after all, and he has his fair share. Like his motivations for taking an internship in Hosu.

Well, as class president, and hopefully as a friend one day, he’ll support you no matter what it is.

So you two liars take the train together.

You, to Native, and him, to Manual.

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Iida: Damn, Chibana. You got some eyebags going on there. What’s wrong? Didn’t sleep enough last night?

Y/N: Okay Iida then tell me why your eyebrows look like two stick insects gearing up for a fight and why your mouth is the same shape as your glasses lens when you scold someone and why you look like an overworked salaryman who tries to convince people he’s got a good work-life balance.

Iida: …

Y/N: Not so nice when I comment about your appearance, is it?

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Author’s notes:

By the grace of my kind and good friend, I’ve received another plant. In the interests of maintaining the theme of family members, this plant will be called Auntie. Auntie is an orchid. A very nice one, I’ll add. I hope to take good care of her.

Grandma will always be the top dog in the place, though… I do have some news for you all. To all of you reading this, please do not harm me, but Grandma is… suffering slightly, as of late. I believe she’s been receiving too much sunlight, so I’ve decided to withdraw her from the windowsill for now. I’m trying. Please. Spare my family. Or spare me, rather. She has a new shoot growing, so I will monitor this one closely for any improvements.

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

reader finger guns a some one, and they think its all fine, but then she starts shooting blood bullets :>

Hello dear friend Psychicluminarybouquet, thank you for sending in an ask 😊 It is such a novelty for me to hear people's thoughts here!

Trigger Warning/s: mentions of needles, mentions of drowning

Pre-chapter notes: It seems that last chapter spawned a lot of art! First of all, Reine produced this beautiful portrait of MC sitting in front of a painting, where there is a hand in the painting reaching out towards her. Whose hand do you think it is? I know I have a few names on my mind. I think all the eyes in the painting are also wonderfully poetic and eerie; really telling of her situation. Reine also drew this beautiful visual of MC hiding behind Dabi and I think the way that they have illustrated his flames is just beautiful. Thank you, Reine!

Ari produced this wonderful piece of MC hiding behind Dabi and it’s very cute! I can just see MC trembling behind him and it is strangely endearing. She also drew MC in different art styles such as in manhwa style and Omori style - here. She also drew this one of MC lying in a pool of blood. So wonderfully tragic. It also seems that Ari has not lost her fixation on Scarface, because she drew this visual of him stretching at work. He’s got quite nice long hair! Finally, she produced this beautiful work - a side-by-side of MC in Bloodwalker in black-and-white (left), and a happier MC from another universe in colour (right). She explained that the right-hand side was intentionally designed to portray the complete opposite of the MC in Bloodwalker - that is, happy, carefree, rebellious, maniacal, and notably enough, not afraid to use her quirk. Thank you for this beautiful portrayal of MC, Ari!

Celeste has also drawn her take on MC hiding behind Dabi here, and I think it is wonderful. I do like how nonchalant Dabi is while MC peeks out from behind him. It’s very cute. The folds on his clothing are also impeccable! Thank you, Celeste!

Finally, maggot drew this extremely cute artwork of MC with the most edible-looking braids. I can’t explain it but it looks like Bueno chocolate. This art makes me want to turn her into my own daughter. They also drew this version of MC, which was their initial interpretation of MC! Both are very cute! Thank you, maggot!

Art: Alex Bitsadze on ArtStation! He’s illustrated this wonderful visual of a black and yellow spider in its web! I think the lighting is wonderful in this image, and it makes it look strangely serene. Also, the dew drops on the spider’s legs are a very nice touch. The spider has also been animated on his portfolio if any of you are interested in seeing it - it’s very smooth!

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Inasa’s mother envelops you in another hug as soon as you enter through the door - almost as if she has been waiting for you.

She greets you with the most affection you’ve received from an adult in a while, but when she mumbles a soft, “Welcome back,” into your ear, gently stroking the back of your head, it feels so natural. Like you’re a part of the family.

“Inasa isn’t back yet, but he will be soon,” Auntie Yoarashi explains, loosening her hold on you. “I asked him to pick up some things from the store from you - and I hope you don’t mind, but I organised your belongings. I also placed a futon in Inasa’s room, because I thought you might be more comfortable not being alone at night, and…”

She trails off, realising that she had been rambling in her haste to make you feel comfortable. You reassure her with a light, momentary hug of your own, though you’re quick to let go.

“Thank you, Auntie Yoarashi.”

“Would you like something to eat?” she inquires.

“Thank you… but I think I am not hungry. Am I allowed to go to Inasa-san’s room and rest?”

A huff of amusement leaves her nostrils. “You don’t need to ask permission to do that, Chibana-chan. You must be tired after today.” She shoos you away promptly with promises of a warm dinner later tonight, and normally you’d be elated. Instead, you tread up the stairs as if you’re dragging your legs through molasses, and move to where you remember your friend’s room to be.

As is by fate’s design, your belongings indeed have been arranged. You have so little possessions that they all fit within a small section on Inasa’s shelf; the daruma gifted to you by Kaminari, eyes still uncoloured, sits cradled on an orderly pile of your only clothing. Your brown scarf, bought during your outing with Mina, is demurely folded to the side, shielded by loose papers that you vaguely recognise as Midoriya’s sketch of you and Kendo’s list of one-liners she had written up for you to use in defence against Monoma.

All that is yours is that, the belongings in your schoolbag, and the uniform sitting on your skin.

It’s all you were able to bring.

By contrast, the boy’s room is littered with trinkets, posters, and other paraphernalia - all signs of a well-cared-for child. Is this what it means to be loved? Warm meals, things that remind you of others, and a place to sleep? You feel like it is. Even though you are in the home of another, you feel like you have more privacy here behind and between the ancillary walls alone than in your own apartment where Boss had had his eyes and ears on you. However, you can’t indulge in such things excessively; it’s a bad idea for you to be attached to your own existence.

Content to wait for Inasa’s return, you take your place on the futon that lies on the floor, grateful that his mother had not chosen a bed for you to lie in. You don’t know how to sleep in a bed and you refuse to try - some foolish path dependence of yours, perhaps - but at least that is one less thing that needs to be aired out to the family hosting you since you’re not being forced to anyway.

What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

Even though you know that it can and it will.

Ballasted by apathetic torpor, you lie inert on your comforter. You know that exhaustion always catches up. A race you can never win. Fatigue runs a marathon inside you, reaching its zenith at your eyes which begin to flutter shut.

You don’t want to go to sleep. Inasa will return soon and he’ll know you’re in good condition and cease his worrying, and things will remain the same and-

And?

And sleep takes you.

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.

.

In your repose, Inasa thinks you look rather distressed. He doesn’t have the kind of keen observation or prescience that allows him to know if this is a common occurrence for you, because the first time you had stayed over, he wasn’t able to observe you; you had fallen asleep after him and had awoken before him. He’s a heavy sleeper, too, so he didn’t remember anything from the night.

He hears you whimper, and the sound alone has him reaching out to soothe away the incessant incantations that leave your lips - spouting a language he can’t understand.

You writhe at the contact and he pulls his hand away.

Mother had asked him to purchase some clothing for you, along with other necessities, so he busies himself with organising them into their rightful places, your audible discomfort background noise for his work. He worries for you - he truly does - but if you’re not awake by the time he’s done, he’ll wake you up.

It is strange, he thinks, to not have to answer your frequent questions - to work to quell your unabating curiosity of the world.

Strange, not to feel your eyes on him, when you are in the same room as one other.

You don’t think he notices, but he does. You don’t gaze at him the way people gaze at stars, full of wonder and awe. You watch him with the vigilance of a prisoner, and even when you don’t, he knows you are still hyperaware of his movements - his every position.

Inasa finishes his work, and leans down towards your sleeping form. His request comes out in a low baritone, in hopes that it will stir you from whatever ordeal you’re enduring now.

“Wake up, Chiyo-chan. You’re having a nightmare.”

You curl in on yourself. A bead of sweat trails down your neck.

“Chiyo-chan?”

It doesn’t work. Instead, you seem to writhe even more, limbs splayed and scattered like dice on the futon. He doesn’t mean to add to your distress, but it’s difficult not to when he doesn’t know what sets you off.

He’s going to try something else.

He swallows the way he does when he knows he’s about to cross a line, to entangle himself into something he knows little about. You might hate him for it. But if it’s to end your current afflictions, he doesn’t think he’ll regret it.

“Y/N-chan?”

You stir. “Mm… Inasa-san…?”

Then realising your surroundings, you bolt upright.

“I am sorry, Inasa-san; I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you mutter apologetically. You continue as if you never heard him use your real - and rather forbidden - name, still lost in the haze of your nap. “Was it difficult to wake me? Usually I am a light sleeper.”

“You must’ve needed it, then,” he remarks, unsure if you’ll be upset with him for going against your wishes. If you were more socially adept, you would’ve realised he was trying to say, “You don’t sleep a lot, do you?”, but of course you are none the wiser. “You were having a nightmare.”

“…yes.”

“Want to talk about it?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. In another world where nothing was at stake, you might’ve told him - that you dream of roiling waters and suffocation and needles piercing your epidermis. But doing so would make him curious, and curiosity is a risk to him. To the both of you.

“…no,” you whisper, and Inasa can tell you have more to say, so he waits with bated breath. He’s spent enough time with you to know that there is no use pushing you for an answer when you are this cagey. “Inasa-san, I think…”

He watches you fiddle with the hem of your uniform - you must have truly been exhausted if you hadn’t had changed before succumbing to your slumber. His sharp eyes meet your bleary-eyed ones, never wavering.

“I think I should not stay with you and your family for very long.”

Yoarashi Inasa’s heart drops.

Is it the food? Is it not to your liking? Or do you not feel comfortable in his home? Worse still, is it because of him? Maybe he shouldn’t be so pessimistic. Maybe you’ve found a new place to stay, though the thought of you being all alone again makes his heart twist something sour.

“Can I know why?” he asks, moving to kneel properly in front of your futon. “Is something wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing is wrong,” you mutter. “Your family is very kind. Everything is good. It’s just that…”

His silence cajoles you further.

“I don’t want to cause you trouble,” you finish, tugging on the bandages on your forearms, sinking your fingers into skin and flesh.

Then finally, you look up at him.

Inasa’s posture is rigid like steel, face frozen in a displeased rictus. “Do you have somewhere else to stay?”

“…not yet. But-”

“Then it’s not safe for you, and it’s better that you stay with us.”

You scramble for an excuse. “…my father will keep me safe.”

“You’re father’s never there!” He doesn’t mean to raise his voice at you, but it happens anyway, in a last-ditch attempt to convince you. “Why won’t you let us keep you safe? Let me? Why won’t you let me help you?”

You flinch at his volume, and regret instantly fills his features. He finds solace in the fact that you don’t move away, and he can tell by your eyes that you’re deliberating on a response.

At last, you level him with the blank stare that Inasa’s learned is your default whenever you want to hide something. “…my burdens are not for sharing,” you insist quietly.

“They’re not burdens,” he perseveres, taking your hands away from martyring your forearm wraps. “You’re not a burden.” He brings your palms to his lap. “And whatever you’re not telling me, Chiyo-chan,” he breathes, “it scares me. I’m scared…. scared for you.”

His admission sends you reeling - raw emotion evident in his voice. It is not your desire to have him entangled in your matters, or to be caught in your web of lies and deceit. Now it seems that it is too late.

Your hands are almost drawn back to your bandages like a magnet but Inasa tightens his hold on them, giving you a gentle look of reproach. To the side, your eyes sweep over a bag of items that his mother must’ve asked him to buy, and you continue to look away from him as you speak. “What happened last night… you don’t need to worry. I found out that one of the people there was actually a hero. I met him today and he saved me from someone.”

“…saved you? Just what on earth happened last night and today-”

“UA knows about it and extra heroes are being sent to the area,” you cut him off. “I am safe. You do not need to worry anymore.”

“It’s not going to stop me,” he grumbles, and you almost see a faint pout forming on his lips. He squeezes your hands gently once again and leans in to really study your face, as if to analyse your every expression. As if to ensure you’re really as well as you say you are. His voice comes out as a faint whisper. “Can… can I hug you?”

You’ve never heard him sound so timid.

“…okay.”

The boy releases your hands pulls you in for an all-consuming hug, pressing his cheek against your head so tightly as if he’s going to lose you. “Sorry for yelling at you,” he mumbles into your hair. “Did I scare you? Be honest with me for this, at least.”

You’re still a juvenile when it comes to hugs. Your body twitches like it wants to run, spine tingling. “…yes,” you admit, “but I know you are just worried.” You never know quite where to put your hands, and in the end you settle with just gripping the front of his uniform. “I’m… sorry for scaring you and making you worry about me.”

“I’m not angry with you,” he clarifies quickly, “but I don’t like how you have so much… strange stuff to deal with. Things that you won’t tell me.”

Reticent as always, you dismiss the notion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sighs resignedly. “I’ll drop it for now. You’re telling me about your day properly afterwards, though. I need to hear about what this hero saved you from. And,” he pauses, “don’t worry about finding another place so soon. Just stay.”

“Mm,” is all you reply with as you bury yourself deeper into his arms, basking in his warmth. The two of you remain that way, and you find your eyes drifting closed again.

Inasa feels the soft thud of your head against his chest, and he freezes where he sits. Sure, you’ve hugged before, but this is something… new.

With painstaking caution, he looks down to confirm what he already knows. Your eyes sealed shut, soft, shallow breaths barely tickling the divots on his neck. He swallows as he observes you - the way you rest on him. The way your usual, vacant expression peeled back from your face. The rise and fall of your shoulders. Inasa thinks that he’s never seen you so at peace.

He doesn’t want to wake you - earlier you did mention that you were a light sleeper, and he can see that now with the way your eyes flicker when he shifts to sit more comfortably. You lie entirely open - unguarded - and his heart squeezes at the sheer trust that must have taken you. Someone who did everything to keep him at arm’s length when the two of you had first met.

You trust him. The thought sends his mind into a flurry. You trust him, despite the fact that he’s just yelled at you. You trust him, despite whatever your past experiences have been, and despite how shuttered and closed-off you are.

Inasa holds you a little closer. Wraps his arms around you a little tighter. You mumble and twitch but don’t stir.

He revels in the fact that you’re warm too.

She trusts me.

You don’t know it yet, but you do.

It is nothing but the highest of compliments.

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At night after dinner, you set out to the compound after convincing Inasa and his family that you need to run an urgent errand. Inasa had made you promise to return, but you had only sent him a woeful look before disappearing from sight, because in your line of work, nothing is promised.

However, you find yourself longing for the warmth of the Yoarashi residence the further you travel away from it, and perhaps it is because you are now going to a place so cold and devoid of life - a place that chewed you up and spat you out like you were pigswill and gruel. Still, it is a necessary journey you must make - to the compound, that is. Scarface will need a proper report from you, after all, and for an incident as severe as you losing your place of residence, a text will not suffice.

It is a horrifying realisation to make.

Horrifying to realise, that you’re getting attached. That your mind, more often than not, drifts to the warm smiles and gentle touches of the people around you. Whether in Inasa’s home, or in Aizawa’s classroom, the roiling pit of emotions that threaten to surface is something you’d rather not deal with.

But they will only distract you.

And they themselves will become your own enemies one day.

“Explain yourself,” Scarface snarls, barely giving you a chance to adjust to the dimly illuminated room when you step into the compound, one that weak fluorescent bulbs barely seem to rectify. “Your one condition for the mission being successful is to stay out of trouble. Don’t tell me you’re so daft that you can’t even manage that.”

And from his words you know that Boss already knows the news about your place. You’re not sure you’ll leave unscathed.

Your eyes adjust, and view the faint outline of Overhaul as well. Perspiration, wet and cold, prickles like thorns at the back of your neck. And then your body folds to the ground, pressed to the floor to grovel at Boss’s Oxford shoes. To beg for your life. You are so close to them that you can observe the decorations of brogue lining the vamp of his footwear, and the perforated leather reminds you of the way Overhaul had roughly punctured your skin the first time he had met you.

“Boss, please spare me,” you beg, tremors in your voice. “It’s true two people tried to come into my apartment last night. I don’t know who they are. B-But I will do better at staying out of sight-”

“Shut your mouth,” he hisses, his foot moving to press down on your skull. “You’re an incompetent fool, attracting the eyes of all these other villains-”

He’s interrupted by a faint scoff, and he turns to the source of the sound, vexed.

“How controversial,” interjects Overhaul with a bored drawl, “have you ever considered that the place you gave her simply wasn’t secure enough?” He levels Scarface with a stare that makes the man’s blood fill with bile. “I can arrange something for her. The Shie Hassaikai has more than enough funds to spare.”

Boss grits his teeth at the man’s crass insinuation, but can’t find it in himself to refute the argument. It was true that he had found the cheapest place for you to stay in. After all, he was determined that you would get no better than you deserved.

But now how can he directly oppose Overhaul’s offer, when his own organisation is now merely a subsidiary flue for the Shie Hassaikai’s fumes? One look at the man’s eyes tells him it’s not up for debate. You are supposed to be nothing but his thrall. How is it, now, that after all his work, you will end up under the care of another villain?

That f***er’s planning something, he thinks. He had more or less predicted that this day would come sooner or later, after the germaphobe had shown the slightest morsel of interest in you. He had only tried to delay it - by keeping you in his grasp for as long as possible. To no avail.

But he knows your loyalties lie with him. He’s sure of it.

“How about it, Chiyo?” prods the Yakuza leader. “A new place to stay - when would you like it?”

It’s a trap.

You know it is.

Even with your face pressed into the ground and Boss’s heel grinding into your head, you grit your teeth and stay silent.

Why would a villain ask for your opinion as if to accommodate your preferences, if not for plotting some nefarious deed? Why should the man seek to willingly provide you with superficial comfort? Every passing second has your lungs coming short of breath. Your blood prickles with panic you try to quell, but you fear it is going to drown you.

If you speak, it would be the same thing as asserting loyalty to Overhaul. You think that Boss might kill you then and there. Yet, if you don’t, Overhaul might be the one to put you in your place.

You don’t know who you should listen to. Everything is so confusing.

In your disquietude, you fail to notice the pressure on your skull being released, until you are yanked upwards into a kneeling position by your hair.

The voice of the Shie Hassakai’s head, one that you dread hearing so much, is whispered into the shell of your ear.

“Answer me, girl.”

Shuddering, you lift your neck to send one hesitant glance to Scarface. To see if he’ll let you. To gauge your odds of survival.

“Go on. Answer him,” Boss gruffly relents, secretly pleased that you had still chosen to look for his permission.

Living through the support of Overhaul is a terrifying thought.

But living with Inasa and having him be in danger because of you is scarier.

“As soon as possible… please,” you whisper, trembling in his hold.

Satisfied, Overhaul releases your hair, and you fall forwards onto your hands, throat seizing up with dread. He chuckles and it’s the first time you hear it - a dry, humourless sound echoing in his throat. “Good. I can arrange that.”

Nobody’s holding you in place anymore, but you can’t even move. You have the terrifying feeling that something horrible is going to come out of his mouth.

“One more thing I’ll say,” the Yakuza head says, grunting as he stands up, “for your… test sessions with The Undertaker. You don’t need to do them anymore.”

There’s always a catch. Your blood turns frigid.

With the slightest hint of chilling satisfaction in his voice, the words slip out. “You’ll be living closer to my compound, so you’ll come to me instead.”

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Y/N: I’m fine, well, and happy.

Inasa: Your place got burned down last night and you’re telling me one of your attackers from then happens to be a hero that also saved you from another incident today and you’re telling me you’re fine? Gang, you are one french fry short of a depressed meal.

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Author’s notes:

A lot of you have recently finished tests, midterms and finals. Congratulations to everyone who has finished, Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and well done for prioritising your education!

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: none

Pre-chapter notes: Ari has once again shown her love for destroying MC’s mental with these two pieces of art: [1], [2]. I don’t know how to describe these images except they are very beautiful and also make me fear Ari more every day. Ari has also not stopped her fangirling over MC’s Boss, delivering this piece of Scarface bending over to get a closer look at her, and this one of him with a disgusted expression on his face while Ari continues to fangirl on the side. I like that he has long hair - I’ve never seen anyone interpret him that way! Thank you Ari! I am so scared of you!

Art: Monesh on ArtStation. He’s not only a 3D and texturing artist, but he has also worked on creating visual styles for films! I think that’s amazing. On his portfolio, you’ll find that he has 3D modelled many weapons. I particularly like the one I have selected for this chapter - a bear trap - because I think it looks particularly realistic. I hope you can support him!

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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It’s a good thing you and Bakugo had entered the classroom when you did, because not long after, Aizawa strolls in to begin class.

After last night, you don’t feel ready to hold a pencil again. You only feel ready to hold a weapon - to have a knife between your fingers. As much as you hate it, sometimes, you think fighting for your life is easier than breathing. It has become engrained into your memory like words chiseled into hard stone. First and foremost, you are assembled a weapon, before you are born a human.

Now paranoia leaden with iron sinks and anchors itself deeper into your gut, so much that when Jirou taps you on the shoulder at recess, you snap at her.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, sounding more afraid than angry.

The look of hurt on her face quickly morphs into concern. “Chiyo-chan… are you okay?”

Your face falls. “Jirou-san, I am sorry. I don’t know what happened. I did not mean to be rude to you.”

Your other classmates watch on in silent concern.

After lunch is when everything seems to come crashing down, as the door to your classroom opens abruptly mid-lesson.

“Principal!” everyone exclaims.

Nezu waddles in with his paws behind his back, and your classmates strain their necks to catch a glimpse of his short stature. “Pardon the interruption, students,” he utters, “I’m just going to take Chibana-san from you for a few minutes.”

And for some reason, you feel like you’re about to die.

Because if the principal is coming to personally escort you from class, that can’t mean anything good, can it?

He seems to read your anxieties, sending you a few soothing words that you find do not help at all.

“You’re not in trouble. They just want to ask you a few questions about the fire in your building yesterday,” he chirps, far too happily for the situation at hand.

“Yes, Principal,” you reply shakily.

Too quickly, you’re in his office.

Too quickly, you’re seated in front of a policewoman with a clipboard, Nezu seated next to you.

“Chibana Chiyo-san,” reads the police officer, “fifteen years old correct?”

“Yes.”

The woman peruses the report compiled by the fire investigation unit before meeting your eyes again. “It’s good to see you’re unharmed.” Pushing up her glasses before they can slide down the bridge of her nose, she smiles kindly at you. Her affability almost puts you at ease before you remember that she is a police officer, and that police officers are never on your side.

“I am very lucky to have escaped in time,” you reply as impassively as possible.

“About that. We’d like to know what happened from your perspective. You see, none of the residents saw you leave the building, and nobody could find you after the blaze had died down.”

You know that there are well-hidden surveillance cameras in the area; whenever you use your quirk, you’re always careful to be out of their vision. So you deduce that it’s impossible that you’re a suspect, since the cameras would have caught you running away from the two villains. Still, your heart palpitates irrationally - could you be seen as their accomplice?

Either way, lying about the two villains’ presence won’t be very useful here. Though, that could be a good thing for you, because you’re a terrible liar anyway.

“I wanted to go to the convenience store but I forgot my wallet.” You can lie about that, since you know you had left the camera range at some point. “When I came back, my door was open, so I went inside and took my things because I thought someone was robbing me. Then these strange people tried to attack me and I ran away.”

“That must have been very scary for you,” the woman nods sympathetically. “How many people were there?”

Why does she keep asking me? She definitely should have the surveillance footage. She must be testing me.

Remembering what happened last night sends a wave of nausea over your head.

“I only saw two people,” you choke. “It was dark, but I think it was a girl and a man.”

The woman’s shoulders straighten. “And did you know them?”

You swallow a bolus of spit that has slowly been climbing up your throat.

“No,” you lie.

The lady in uniform sighs and leans back into the plush sofa. “Alright,” she responds. You think she almost sounds disappointed at the fact that she’s been unable to learn new information from you. “We also found some blood at the scene, and based on our records, you have a blood-based quirk. Do you know anything about this?”

Your stomach twists. There was no doubt that the police had seen you use your quirk unlawfully when you had coated yourself with crimson fluid and barged your way out of the door. It’ll be over for you now then. You’re either a dead girl or a jailed girl.

You’ll pray for the latter.

“…it is probably mine,” you tell her quietly. “I… used my quirk to escape. I am very sorry for breaking the law, but please don’t send me to jail, becau-”

The woman laughs, not daintily, but wholly with her stomach. The sound is enough to make you wince, but Nezu, who has remained quiet throughout your questioning, doesn’t budge. “Jail? Oh, you innocent girl. What you did is called self-defence, Chibana-san! You won’t get in trouble for that sort of thing,” she tells you, not unkindly. Shoulders still shaking, she tries to school her features and fails.

I won’t?

“If you hadn’t had used your quirk, you might’ve been caught in the flames,” the lady continues, “so you did a good job at protecting yourself, young one.”

You can only muster one sound. “…oh.”

So I am allowed to use my quirk for “self-defence”.

“Well, all you said aligns with what we saw on the security footage.” The police officer’s laughter is reduced to a chuckle, wiping tears from her eyes. “Thank you for your help, Chibana-san. Hero patrols are being increased around the area, so you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

She might think so, but you know that your problems aren’t over. Other villains are bad enough, but you can deal with them because they operate under the same conditions as you. Heroes, however, are the very people you’re supposed to avoid. And now they’re swarming in your area, meaning it’s no longer a convenient place for you to live, especially if you want to go out at night and train.

And in the end, you’ll have to tell Boss, if he doesn’t already know from the news. That’s highly unlikely, given he probably has his underlings on constant surveillance.

“Now,” the officer scribbles a few notes down from your interaction, “would I be correct in assuming you’re staying with someone?”

Nezu shifts on the settee and you turn to find that he’s now watching you expectantly.

“Go on, Chibana-san,” he says reassuringly, as if he knows what you’re thinking, “you can trust them.” A paw pats your folded hands for comfort, and you’re not sure how you feel about the contact. After a few seconds, you suppose it feels alright, since he isn’t technically human.

You swallow. “I am now staying with my friend.”

Nezu’s paw lifts, and he nods with approval.

“Excellent. We’ll need your address. The police might come to ask some follow-up questions, but it won’t be anything major.”

This is bad. Now Inasa’s well and truly ensnared in the fine web of your troubles, whether you like it or not. It’s the last thing you would’ve wanted, but can you really deny the request of the authorities?

But what if something happens to him? He’s looked after you all this time. You might be a villain, but who said villains couldn’t return the favour sometimes?

“I don’t… I don’t think I should give my friend’s address away. I don’t know if I am allowed.” You wring your hands, anxious at what the woman’s reaction might be. But it can’t be denied that her earlier calm demeanour has proved to soothe your worries, as well as the interaction between the two of you occurring more peacefully than you had anticipated. You curse yourself for letting your guard down so easily, but you have hope that things might be okay for you here.

“I understand your worries, Chibana-san,” the lady reassures you once again, “but if the police know your friend’s address, we can help to keep them safe too.”

“UA needs to know as well, so we can send you school letters,” Nezu adds.

You are uncomfortable with the decision - this you know because your blood is agitated and roiling. Yet you can feel yourself caving to their persuasion. The promise of safety is hard to resist, even if you know that it can’t and won’t apply to you.

“Um… promise to keep my friend safe?”

The woman grins. “Of course - that’s our job, after all!”

Ultimately, Inasa’s address is filed into the school system as your new, temporary place of residence, and the policewoman takes the information and makes her way out of the school.

You stand up, preparing to return to class as well when Nezu clears his throat.

“You don’t need to worry about anything, Chibana-san. The police and heroes that have been sent to your area are very capable people,” he chirps. “You can go back to your class, now.”

“Thank you, Principal.” You bow and hurry off.

You can only hope that you don’t discover who these “very capable people” are anytime soon.

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Scratch that.

You could really use one of those capable people right now.

Despair is budding. Nascent. A light sheen of perspiration coats your skin and in a nation inching towards summer, it’s a near-unbearable state to be in. You wade against a tide of people in waistcoats and dress shirts and high visibility clothing to crawl your way out of the station in your neighbourhood, like you’re desperately trying to stay afloat in turbulent waters.

That’s right.

Something, or rather, somebody is chasing you.

Again.

It shouldn’t be one of Boss’s underlings or any one of Overhaul’s lackeys - Boss would’ve informed you if you needed to return to the compound, and you would have. The best-case scenario here would just be a random low-level villain looking to steal some loose change or something or other. If that’s the case, then they’ve picked a horrible target - you, as usual, have no money. And you could beat them to a pulp if you really wanted to.

But when you think of the worst-case scenario, things look far bleaker for you. You haven’t forgotten about Shigaraki’s vested interest in you, as misplaced as you think it may be. He could easily have sent one of his underlings to hunt you down, and you wouldn’t know how to pick them apart from the crowd. Then again, you think that someone sent by Shigaraki would probably be a bit more subtle, and not like the bumbling fool that’s following after you right now.

That gives you a bit of confidence. You could probably end things quickly - deal a swift, blunt force blow to a non-lethal pressure point with your quirk and be on your way.

But you won’t. In your mind, you can’t.

Because one - you’re in public, and even though the lovely police lady said it would be okay for you to use your quirk in self-defence, you really don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself than necessary. If you can escape without using your abilities, that would be the ideal situation.

Two - you don’t know exactly what the person looks like. You can only feel their heartbeat speed up when you temporarily leave their sight. You can feel it consistently beating stronger, stronger than all the ones they’re hidden amongst.

It means they’re getting closer.

And three - they’ve somehow used their quirk on you. You could tell when all of a sudden, your yellow mechanical pencil had begun to glow in your bag like phosphor, so brightly that the gleam had leaked through the cheap polyester of your backpack. Of course, this had all happened earlier with no viable explanation. You don’t know what this person wants from you or what you’ve potentially done to aggravate them.

Maybe it’s a tracking quirk? But why me?

All you know is that you need to get as far away as possible.

Why does this keep happening to you?

Out of the station, you duck and weave through streets where you know there aren’t any surveillance cameras, until you spot an alleyway. For many people, dark alleyways like these are a place of terror, but on many occasions, they have served as safe havens for you.

You reach it, and enter.

It’s quiet here.

Perhaps you’ve lost him.

But when you chance a look behind you, you finally glimpse your pursuer. And an old, bumbling, corpulent fool he is, somehow speeding up in his desperate chase. Must be some side effect of his quirk. At this point, you might need to use your quirk to escape after all. Better to do it here where no-one’s around.

You’re still looking at him and running deeper into an alleyway when you bump into another figure - hard.

Unceremoniously, you tumble to the ground.

You’ve bumped into another man.

A grumpy-looking one, at that. Upon closer inspection, you see that his skin is badly burnt, held together crudely by staples and rough stitching. Serrated, ebony hair and a chilling stare. But he doesn’t look like he’s going to hurt you.

You feel intense relief wash over you.

The man in front of you scowls. “You got a death wish, kid?” He takes a closer look at you, and his expression becomes amused. You take no notice of the way he’s looking at you.

Finally! you think. A hero! You’ve never thought you’d ever say this, but thank goodness.

“Please help me, Mister Hero,” you plead, pointing behind you. “A strange man is chasing me.”

“Hero?” the man scoffs. “What, are you f***ing blind-”

Your pursuer comes to a quick, skidding stop, eyeing the two of you with uncertainty. Then, feigning bravery, he points an accusing finger at your mysterious “hero”, though he makes no move to come closer. “Move the f*** out of the way, you patchwork quilt!” he yells. “I’ve got business with that girl!”

You scurry behind the black-haired man, who turns his head to meet the newcomer. “You’re too loud. The hell do you want?” he drawls. Eyeing the older man like prey, he sneers. “Rare to find a low-level crook like you in these streets. Aren’t you scared of running into a hero?”

Something about your current saviour’s voice seems familiar. It’s an itch you can’t seem to scratch.

“Hah?” snarls the culprit, showing blackened teeth. “What’s it to you? You don’t look like a hero to me. Just hand me the girl and I’ll let you off easy.” He tries to crane his neck to meet your eyes from where you stand, shielded by the younger man’s back. “Gimme that glowing object in your bag, girl,” he sneers. “’s yer most valuable item, isn’t it?”

The mechanical pencil in your bag seems to glow even brighter now, and you unzip your bag to look at it. Momentarily forgetting the potential danger you’re in, you peek at the crook from behind your mysterious “hero’s” back.

“Oh, so that is your quirk. You highlight people’s most important items to them.” You squint at the gleam being emitted from your now open backpack. There is no way you’ll give up Monoma’s gift to you. “…I am very sorry, but the item that is glowing is very important to me.” You bow apologetically. “You cannot have it… sorry.”

The “hero” in front of you turns around and reaches into your bag, pulling out your mechanical pencil and twirling it around his finger before you can react. “Hate to disappoint you,” he grins at your pursuer, “but I don’t think you’ll find much value in this,” he smirks, tossing it back into your bag after.

The man with poor dental hygiene shifts his gaze to your human shield. “Then I’ll just take whatever you-”

Blue flames erupt in the alleyway before the man can take another step forward.

Wait-

Blue flames.

From last night.

That’s why he seems so familiar.

The villain darts out of the alleyway without another word, and you see him escape within an inch of his life, the fire singing the edge of his pants. The man scoffs again and turns to you.

“Recognise me now?” he smirks.

For a second, fear curdles in your blood, crawling thickly around your body and up your throat. You feel a blood vessel about to burst in your nose. You’re going to have a nosebleed right in front of the man that broke into your place last night.

But wait a second.

He had just saved you from that other villain just now.

And the policewoman said that there would be more heroes patrolling your neighbourhood. So technically, he could be one of them. But then, with that logic, he’s the very reason hero presence has increased in your area, because he basically sent your flat up in flames. On top of that, he tried to attack you and stop you from leaving.

Why would he save you now?

Is he actually a hero? Or a villain?

Everything is confusing. Nothing makes sense.

Well, it never hurts to ask, right?

While your addled brain attempts to process the events transpiring, the man watches you smugly with his arms folded, waiting for your answer.

What comes out of your mouth next is the least intelligent thing he could’ve expected from you.

“Are you a hero?”

His mouth spreads into a wide grin that reminds you of Shinsou’s Cheshire cat smile, and takes a step towards you. He hates heroes. Hates them. But it couldn’t hurt, teasing you a little, right? Of course, he doesn’t think you’ll actually believe him.

“That’s right. I am,” he snickers, bending to your height with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Best one you’ll ever see.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you, Mister Hero.”

The man has to take extra care to ensure that his shock does not register on his face. The f*** is this kid’s deal? he thinks. She actually believed me. The hell?

But this could be interesting.

Maybe he’ll play it up a little. His grin widens into something more menacing.

“Not scared of the way I look?” he sneers.

“I know scarier people.” Before he can inquire more, you whisper, “It’s a secret. Thank you. Goodbye.”

You hurry away before the mysterious man can ask you any more questions. You need to get to Inasa’s house quickly or he might worry. Though, you feel like you’ve forgotten to do something.

What could it be?

Oops.

You forgot to ask for his name.

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Just outside Inasa’s house, you run into another hero - one who just so happens to be waiting for you. One you didn’t expect to see so soon.

Hawks.

And he doesn’t seem too happy either, with his arms folded and mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Hello, Hawks-san,” you bow, nearing Inasa’s front door. “Are you here as part of the increased hero patrols around this area?”

He nods, uncrossing his arm and walking over to you. “That’s right. And I have something else I need to speak with you about. Because Chiyo-chan, your building was on fire right before we met.”

Hearing your fake name leave his mouth has you sagging in relief. Hawks had remembered his promise from yesterday.

“…you are correct.”

Hawks sighs. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“…I forgot.”

“You could’ve called me!” he exclaims, exasperatedly raking a hand through his hair. He doesn’t even want to consider how you could have possibly “forgotten” such a traumatic event. “I literally gave you my work number.”

“Oh. But you looked busy.”

“Busy?! Chiyo-chan, I’m a hero. Looking after citizens is my job!”

Truthfully, you couldn’t have called him even if you wanted to. Your phone’s tapped, after all, and Boss would go crazy if he knew you were in direct contact with someone like him. Someone that could take you away.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, cradling your bag closer to your chest.

The winged hero sighs, patting your head gently as not to startle you. You don’t flinch like you did the night before. “Pass me your phone, please. Unlocked.”

Obediently, you do as he says without question. Hawks begins typing something into your burner, and soon, his own phone begins to vibrate.

He has your number now.

“Right. I’ll check in with you if I think something’s up.” He pats you on the head once more before smiling gently. “You weren’t injured from last night, were you? I saw the security footage. It must have been scary.”

You shake your head. “I’m not hurt. But I think one of the people that tried to rob me might have been a hero.”

Hawks raises a sceptical eyebrow. “A hero?”

“Yes. One with blue flames. I think he was trying to stop the other person from robbing me.”

“A hero with blue flames…” muses Hawks, “can’t say I know anybody off the top of my head.”

And he’d be right not to.

You just don’t know that yet.

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Hawks: Why didn’t you tell me your place got burned down?

MC: Um… I forgot?

Hawks: You became homeless and you’re telling me you forgot?

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Author’s notes:

Hello everybody.

You have showered me with a lot of support and appreciation ever since I have returned. Thank you all. I really feel the love! I also want to say that I have been receiving many, many kind comments from everyone, and I have been taking longer and longer to respond to them. Recently, there have been more of you commenting, so it might take me a bit longer to say hello, but I ensure you that I will. Thank you for your patience!

I conversation with a friend of mine who told me that whenever they needed confidence for tasks such as public speaking, they would imagine themselves in the shoes of someone that they thought embodied that emotion. Isn’t that an exciting way to look at building confidence? Another person I know told me that their confidence came because they simply did not have respect for the opinions of anybody in the room they were walking into. That one made me laugh, and I understand it quite well - confidence, more often than not, seems to come from apathy.

Of course, there is always the age-old method of imagining everybody in their underwear, but I personally think that doing that takes more effort than it’s worth! Though I suppose, if it works, it works! Isn’t it interesting, how confidence can be drawn from so many different places? I hope you can all be confident in your lives right now.

Anyway, here is a rare moment where I will talk about the story in the author’s notes. We have MC hiding behind Dabi. I wonder, do any of you remember MC hiding behind Shoto during the first years’ declaration of war before the sports festival? I just thought it would be a fun callback :)

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: none

Pre-chapter notes: none

Art: Eva Muzza on ArtStation! She is a wonderful traditional artist that uses mediums such as oil, but also does digital art too! She has a very comforting and homely art style that I would love to see in picture books (by the looks of it, she already does illustrations for books, which is wonderful) or in videogame concept art. In fact, some of her art reminds me a little of the NPCs in the videogame Hollow Knight. I hope you can support her!

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Dabi thinks Shigaraki has officially lost it.

To be fair, the blue-haired man was already quite off-the-rails when he had first met him.

A stakeout, outside Toga’s hypothetical friend’s place, no less - that is the objective he’s been tasked with carrying out. To him, it feels more like he’s being asked to babysit Toga - to ensure she doesn’t go haywire upon seeing you. Is it a wise decision by the League’s leader? Dabi doesn’t think so. Is it rash? Very.

A drag. All of it is a drag to him. He’s already been briefed of your apparent value to the League, so if anything, at least this field trip to the outside world will serve to satiate his minute curiosity about you. Though from the documents that Shigaraki had been obsessively reading through earlier in the day, you didn’t seem to be anything particularly special.

The scarred villain dons his signature black overcoat and prepares to exit the building, not caring to walk alongside the boisterous girl who skips and hums joyfully ahead of him.

Inconspicuously, the two make their way to where your apartment block is supposed to be, guided only by Toga’s memory and the uncertainty of how Shigaraki will react if they come back empty-handed.

And then they arrive.

It is a dreary, miserable apartment block that you live in. It looks like it’s crumbling away at the corners. Graffiti and yellowing patches of grass are the only spots of colour in the area.

Dabi and Toga hide away in a nearby alleyway and observe the place. Ideally, they will break in and take you with them afterwards.

Which is the plan.

Unfortunately, Toga has problems following plans.

“I’m tired of waiting. Let’s break in now!”

“Don’t,” he warns, “Shigaraki already told us to watch for a bit-”

Toga’s already climbing up the steps and over to your front door, and if Dabi’s hair wasn’t already naturally white, he’s sure it’d be greying by now.

“Dabi! Melt this door handle!” she giggles, prancing from foot to foot.

The man swears under his breath but still complies.

And your door swings open.

The first thing Dabi notices is that your place is almost barren. UA, the school you supposedly attend, is a prestigious school. It is rare that the children who are enrolled into the establishment aren’t supported by a foundation made from years of generational wealth. Perhaps you’re on some kind of scholarship.

The second thing he notices is the smell of residual smoke. And not from his own body, but rather, coming from your tiny kitchen.

“You sure this is the right place?” he asks lazily. “Oi, looks like nobody’s here.”

“It definitely is!” the girl squeals with glee. “I sat right here on this chair! And she fed me her blood right here! Oh, oh, and this is where I woke up after she fed me something nasty.”

Nasty? he thinks. That explains the smell.

While Dabi isn’t particularly interested in what little belongings you have, Toga begins rummaging through your drawers and closet with no care in the world other than discovering more about you.

“There’s nothing interesting here,” she bemoans, but her disappointment quickly changes when she spots your uniform hanging in a small closet and snatches it, holding it up against her body. “Ooh, her uniform is so cute! How do I look?”

Dabi rolls his eyes. “You ask me like I give a s***.”

“You’re no fun, Dabi,” she whines, pouting.

“I don’t care. This is stupid,” he shoots back, rolling his eyes. “Let’s wait outside like we were told to. She’s not here, but she’ll have to come back at some point.”

Eventually, his blonde companion relents, retreating with him to a dark alleyway that affords an excellent vantage point of your flat.

Just in time, too.

They watch as you suddenly appear in view, jogging to your apartment. They register the shock on your face when you realise your door handle has been destroyed.

“Wonder what she’s doing out so late at night,” giggles Toga.

Dabi hisses at her to be quiet. “Shut up. Wait for her to go inside first.”

Tentatively, you enter.

And immediately, the two villains move, scrambling out from their hiding place in their attempt to make sure you’re cornered. In just a few seconds they’re blocking your only escape, casting long silhouettes on your floor.

Dabi huffs in amusement. There you are, shoving the remainder of your belongings into your bag, ignorant of his presence. You are a mouse that doesn’t know it is cornered yet.

“Nice to see you’re packed already,” he taunts you, revelling in the way your shoulders stiffen in terror. “You’ll be coming back with us tonight.”

Toga, always needy to get a word in, moves in front of him and begins to talk to you. Dabi scoffs under his breath and zones out of the conversation, scanning your place once more instead.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness of your flat, he notices that, though mostly empty, small, miserable, and dingy, there are still some belongings of yours that furnish the room. Curiously, he gazes upon the singular futon in the corner, internally noting down your unusual state of solitary living. Interesting behaviour for a high-schooler, he thinks, and probably not entirely legal.

He zones back in just in time to hear Toga tell you: “We’re taking you back to meet our friends! You can live with us forever!”

“Friend?” Absolutely not. Dabi is a rugged villain, hardened by years of pain and abandonment. He is not anybody’s comrade. “I’m not your friend,” he hisses towards his villain counterpart.

His churlish remarks are not sentiments that either Toga or you seem to hear. Rather, he hears you deny her “request” to accompany the two of you back to the League’s base, and he watches as the blonde villain frowns and clenches her fists.

She’s about to throw a tantrum, isn’t she?

As expected, Toga always goes for the jugular, hands reaching to claw at you. You move just as quickly, which surprises Dabi. He observes your eyes as they flicker towards him and then beyond him, through the doorway he is supposedly guarding.

That’s where he comes in, he realises. Blue flames coat his palm, a silent threat, and he revels in the way you reel away from the light momentarily. Dabi does not feel the pain of his quirk in this moment - the nerves in his hand are long burnt. He is one that has conquered pain and continues to conquer it, while you quail at the sight of fire. He was right. You were truly nothing special-

It happens in a second.

You’re in front of him, trembling.

Then you’re covered in blood.

Then he’s pushed to the side as you shove yourself through an unguarded gap in his defence of the doorway.

In seconds, Toga’s leapt outside, not far behind you. Dabi’s flames flicker to life, not only sending cobalt blue barrelling through your apartment, but also following your trail.

It doesn’t get far.

He watches on as blood emerges from your back, peeking through ready-made holes in your torn t-shirt, and spreads out to form wings.

What the f***?

Before either him or Toga can do anything about it, you’ve already flown off, your wingbeats snuffing out some of the man’s flames behind you.

“God, she can fly too?” hisses Dabi, turning to his partner. “You couldn’t have mentioned this any earlier?!”

“I didn’t know!” whines Toga, mildly frustrated that you’ve slipped out of her grasp once again.

Dabi curses. “Well we can’t go after her now! You’re f***ing telling Shigaraki that we lost her.”

“What?! Why?” bickers back the girl.

The man glowers at her and storms off back in the direction of the League’s base, the other villain following behind him.

Frustratingly enough, babysitting was his only real accomplishment this mission.

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It is around 7am in the morning when Inasa calls.

“Chiyo-chan! Are you okay?!” he asks urgently. “Please tell me why the first thing I heard about on the news this morning was that your apartment block was almost burnt down!”

Ah, Inasa. Ever the mother hen. Pleasantly, you’ve found that he’s been fussing over you more lately, ever since the last time you had been over to his place for dinner. It’s nice, knowing he won’t forget about you, even though you don’t see each other as much anymore.

This news report risks drawing more attention to yourself. It is problematic that Inasa knows about your situation without your telling him, and so soon too. That means your classmates probably will have heard about it as well. At least there’s consolation in the fact your classmates don’t know where you live.

“Hello, Inasa-san. Yes, I am unharmed. I am not sure what happened, but I got out in time with all my important things.” You can’t tell him that you know why there were flames at your building. That would only invite more trouble.

Inasa doesn’t sound convinced. “People are saying the flames were blue. That’s not natural… that’s a villain’s work. The news report was saying everybody got out unharmed, but… are you sure you’re alright? Actually, where are you staying?”

“Maybe the villains were trying to rob the apartment block,” you suggest. “And I’m… not staying anywhere.”

“What, have you just been on the street then?!”

“Please don’t be angry,” you say. Pausing, you take a deep breath. “Yes.”

There’s a resigned sigh on the other end of the line. It reminds you of Aizawa’s, and if it were him on the other end of the line instead of your friend, he’d probably be pinching his brow and carving deep furrows into his forehead with a chilling glare that could probably freeze over a desert. “Chiyo-chan, next time if you’re in trouble, just call me,” he says wearily, “even if it’s at 2am in the morning. I promise you that my family and I will always be happy to help you. Where are you right now? I’ll come and get you.”

You’re not entirely sure where you are, but you drop down from the rooftop (where you had spent much of the night) using your blood, and check your surroundings to ascertain your exact location. Not long after from when you send it to Inasa does he arrive in front of you, pedalling a bike.

The two-wheeled vehicle screeches to a stop and the boy quickly dismounts, hurrying over to place his hands on your shoulders and give you a once-over for any injuries. “Chiyo-chan! Thank goodness you’re okay! I’m taking you home, alright? Hop on behind me!”

“But I don’t know how to.”

“Just sit behind me and hold onto my waist tightly!”

You do exactly that.

The feeling of the wind combing through your H/C hair feels like freedom. There is something liberating about being subjected to the elements and yet being able to ground yourself as you are pressed to the warm shield that is Inasa’s back. Especially when you’re not running away from anything, but going to a home.

His home.

And if that is freedom, then the stable trajectory of Inasa’s bicycle despite your added weight behind him feels like balance. On a precarious two wheels, Inasa never dithers, but he forges a path through the harsh sun and the oppressive winds. It is something you find yourself admiring about him - the ability to move without hesitation, in full confidence of his own abilities.

The bicycle turns a corner and Inasa shifts in front of you, shoulders tensing. The next words that leave his mouth sound a bit strained.

“Why wasn’t your father with you?”

There’s a shift in the air as your grip tightens on his navy jacket, deliberating on your response. If your friend notices, he doesn’t say anything. But what can you say to him? It must be strange for a child to be without their parent. And the stranger you look, the more you’ll stand out.

For how much longer can you lie to Inasa?

“He is away on business again,” you say, slightly muffled by the wind. “It is okay. He will send me some money.”

Though you cannot see it, the boy’s lips press into a thin line. “Okay. We’ll talk about this later.”

The two of you ride the remainder of the route to his home in silence. In fear, you wonder if he is angry at you for not calling him first, or if he thinks you should have done more to protect your building. All of your doubts are dispelled when the two of you dismount and Inasa gently leads you inside with a palm on your shoulder.

“Come on. You need to eat,” he murmurs softly.

Inasa’s parents are sitting at the dining table when you enter, and they abruptly stand up to greet you. His mother envelops you in a hug, and this time, you are ready for it, hugging her back gently. Your friend looks on approvingly.

“Chibana-chan, dear, we heard about your place,” she murmurs sympathetically, stroking your head, “and you are welcome to stay with us as long as you need to. Come, have breakfast with us.”

The future hero’s father grins and nods in affirmation, pulling out a chair for you. “Let’s eat!”

“But…,” you say uncertainly as you sit down, “this is your food.”

“And yours now, too.” Inasa’s mother spoons something into a bowl. “Come here and have some rice.”

In the blink of an eye, you have an entire assortment of dishes in front of you, which you wolf down without delay after giving the two adults in the room a quick sign of your gratitude. Pleased with your lack of initial restraint (contrary to your first few times there), Inasa and his family share smiles between each other before continuing on with their own breakfasts.

It would be a beautiful scene if not for the uncertainty churning your stomach, because you can’t stay with Inasa’s family forever, can you? Not only would it be impolite, but they would be in more danger than they already have been just by associating with you.

Toga and her “friends”, for whatever reason, are after you. So much that they’d willingly destroy infrastructure and have innocent civilians be caught in the crossfire. And Toga knows Inasa’s face. What would she do to him if she knew he was housing you? Thinking about it has you itching to chunder your breakfast, but you do your best to hold it because don’t want to make your friend’s parents angry.

You know that you can never tell them the truth about you.

Afterwards, you quickly change into your school uniform and turn to the broad-shouldered boy’s parents.

“Thank you for breakfast,” you bow, “I will go to school now.”

“Will you be alright?” smiles Mother Yoarashi. “Inasa can walk you there.”

“No need,” you tell her. “I don’t want him to be late.”

And with that, you walk out the door, leaving the Yoarashi family still sitting at the breakfast table.

“Awfully quiet this morning, she was,” points out the woman of the house. “To be fair, she did just lose her home to a fire.”

“I wonder where her father is,” muses Father Yoarashi.

“Yeah,” mutters Inasa. “I wonder that too.”

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You’re quiet and unresponsive.

Eerily so.

Shoji has been watching you curiously from his seat for the past ten minutes. You’ve always looked exhausted, to him at least, but today, there is something more intense about how weary you look. How unhappy you look. And class hasn’t even started yet.

Tokoyami, who, that morning, had stood next to his desk to idly chat with him, seems to have the same idea, bringing out Dark Shadow in hopes that you’ll respond to the latter’s presence. To draw out a reaction from you. Anything would be better at this point.

But you don’t.

You remain as if frozen in time, poised with a fixed stare directed down at your desk.

“What’s up with her?” snarks Mineta. “She’s brooding a little too hard, don’t you think?”

“Don’t make such asinine remarks!” scolds Iida, though he’s secretly concerned about you too.

You vaguely hear Mineta’s snide comment, and you don’t think he’s wrong. It would be wrong for you to not brood. After all, you’re in danger. Everybody’s in danger. All of it is your fault. But why do you care about other people? You’re supposed to be a villain anyway.

“ALL OF YOU SHUT THE F*** UP!”

Your eyes lift at the commotion, muscles tensed and ready to fight.

You find it strange that they relax slightly when you see that it is just Bakugo with his usual churlish remarks.

Just Bakugo? The same boy you were so afraid of, weeks prior?

Yes, the very same one.

Bakugo, standing up in his seat, glaring daggers at everyone else.

Bakugo, marching his way over to you.

“Oi,” he snarls, standing in front of your desk.

“Bakugo-san,” you murmur, staring dully at him. “You are upset.”

“Come the f*** outside,” he hisses, “everybody’s getting antsy because of you.”

Midoriya, also watching on, takes a step forward. “Kacchan, that’s not-”

You stand up from your seat. “Okay.”

Nineteen pairs of eyes follow your path out the classroom’s front door. Bakugo trudges behind you, hands stuffed in his pockets. His wintry glare never leaves his face. When the two of you are outside and away from prying eyes, the boy tugs you by the collar to a corner.

“What the f*** happened to your apartment?” he snaps, his tone ending up harsher than usual. “You homeless now?”

Your stomach sinks.

You had momentarily forgotten that Bakugo knows where you live.

How on earth are you supposed to reason your way out of this?

“People are saying it was a villain attack,” you say, avoiding a direct answer. You do not need him knowing about your circumstances right now.

The boy doesn’t seem to buy your response. “Yeah, so tell me why the news report said that it seemed to originate from your floor. Specifically your flat.”

Damn those fire investigators. They’re too good these days.

“Maybe they were trying to rob me or other people,” you say, giving the same excuse to him as you did Inasa.

“Bulls***. You ain’t got nothing to rob, stupid extra.” He narrows his eyes.

You hold your breath.

Does he think that you’re the cause of the flames? That you’re the villain who caused the flames last night? That’s not even possible - your quirk is nowhere near anything of the sort. But what if he hands you in to the police anyway and they arrest you and-

“Are people f***ing targeting you or something?”

Somehow, knowing that his assumption is accurate feels even worse.

For a while, you hang your head silently. You fear that you’ve given yourself away already. Bakugo waits for your answer, looking more enraged by the second.

In the end, you can only give him one response.

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t,” he retorts, crossing his arms grumpily.

“Let it go, Bakugo-san,” you murmur, “please. I’m tired.”

At that, his expression softens, though he still grouses under his breath at your avoidant nature. “Whatever. I don’t care anyway, you damn extra. Where are you staying?”

“I am staying at my friend Inasa-san’s place.”

The ornery boy averts his eyes. “Alright. Good.” He prepares himself to hurl another crass comment, but thinks better of it. “F***ing call somebody if you’re in trouble.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go inside.”

“Okay.”

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Y/N: So I’m a villain in disguise, I’m being hunted down by other villains, and there’s a third villain out there that really wants to control me. Also, I’m homeless.

Bakugo: Didn’t ask. Not my problem.

Y/N: You literally cornered me to ask me what was wrong???

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Author’s notes:

I am extremely hungry while writing this. Please recommend me your favourite dishes.

Thank you for all your comments and concerns over my water-drinking adventures. It is going well. However, in my quest for healthy water intake, I have neglected my quest for healthy sleep. But I simply must write. This is all being done with the willpower of a person who wants to go back to biweekly updates for a short period of time. Who knows if it can be done…

Taglist:@the-hangry-otter @kingexplosionmurda