#buncha ocs

You snarl then, a palm pressed into your eye socket. There are tears beneath your eyelids--but they never fall. You had cried them out about a year ago, and honestly, you had been working hard to heal yourself back to normal. But truth was an ugly thing, and that damned package exposed just how fragile you had been all along.

A trip outside. That's what you needed. The unfamiliar hotel room felt claustrophobic, even though it was your thoughts that suffocated the air. Even though you had been there a week.

It wasn't your domain, and while the 'outside' wasn't even comparable to your old apartment, it was better than a room, a cage, that wasn't yours.

🥀

"Thank you! He's a really big fan, it means the world to him."

"Of course!" Red Riot signs his hero name unto the notebook--a school one--for a little boy who sported a baseball cap with horns that mimicked the ones he gelled into his hair every morning. So cute.

The mother pats the boys back and leads him away afterwards, while Kirishima waves until they disappear into the crowded street.

"And here you say you don't have that many fans."

"Bakugou?--Er, Dynamite?"

"Tch, keep it down." His friend's not in his uniform (unusual) and has his hood up. Kirishima shoots him an apologetic look.

The fact Bakugou had to wear something to hide his features spoke volumes to his popularity on the Hero Board. Kirishima was jealous, but it was good to be jealous. His friend deserved his position among the Pro-Heroes--he worked harder than anyone to get it--and Kirishima looked up to him.

Even if he would always be looking up to him.

"C'mon, there's something we need to talk about." He says, walking past Kirishima's shoulder and towards a nearby coffee shop. Curious, and even a little bewildered, he follows.

🥀

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Kirishima asks, seating himself across from his friend at the one table in the back farthest from the others. Not suspicious at all... "I mean, I know we're friends but.. You're usually pretty tied up."

There's a flash of guilt in Bakugou's eyes, one that Kirishima feels only he would notice. It was no secret that Dynamite was a very.. Internalized hero. He focused on his work and not much else. Yet, if Kirishima didn't know any better, that look suggested a sad truth of regret.

Maybe even the great and powerful Dynamite could feel lonely sometimes.

"It's.." He shifts, elbows on the table. "You know that bomb that went off in your new sector?"

Interesting. Kirishima--the open book that he is--leans in, eyes widening. "Yeah? What about it?"

"How much of the building did it take out?"

"Just the one apartment really.." His eyes drift away as he recalls the report, "It was lower to the ground, so there was some damage to the support frames, but the blast radius was pretty isolated."

"Huh. And, the apartment, did it belong to someone related to a pro-hero?"

Oddly specific.

"No." Is the answer, but Bakugou's brow raises when Kirishima leans back and fidgets with what little fabric was a part of his costume.

"No?"

"Well," Kirishima bites his cheek. He knew he wasn't going to keep the secret from Bakugou--he was just thinking about how he wanted to put it. He knew his interest in the victim might upset his friend because of the problematic reputation..

But honesty is manly...

"The victim wasn't related to any Pro-heroes, but she's not a nobody either." He leans back in, voice hushed. "I went with Detective Gina for the interview and she was... well, she acted angry. So I asked him what it was about, and he says she was involved in a case years ago--she was going to be an investigator for the Hero Commission."

There's a vibrant ruby-spark in his friend's eyes at the mention of the Hero Commission. "An investigator? Like.. What Hawks was doing?"

"Not sure. He was kind of quiet about it. The words he used was 'secret service stuff'."

"What was the case about?"

There's a hesitation before Kirishima tells him the story, but he does. He had only held on to it for a week, but it felt wonderful to get the weight off. Even with the inevitable--

"You really shouldn't hang around her much." And there's a dangerous look to Bakugou's eyes as he says it, one of warning. It's well placed, and Kirishima knows that, so he shrinks into his chair a bit. It's guilt, even shame, but he's not going to agree either.

"I know what you're thinking Bakugou, but something doesn't feel right. The story doesn't make sense to me."

He can hear Bakugou's tongue click as he sits back in his seat, arms crossing over the expanse of his chest. A physical wall that he places between himself and others. "If her quirk really is something that strong, she's dangerous. Especially if she sides with Villains."

"There's nothing on her record--"

"Kirishima. Someone like that could bribe her way through anything. A lot of people have stuff they hide, things they don't want anyone to know about. Even me." He voice ends on a quiet note, and it pulls a softer look from his former classmate. "Someone could use that knowledge for blackmail. There's corrupt people everywhere. Hawks taught us that."

Kirishima feels kicked.

It slumps his shoulders, and his own red irises bore into the wood of the rounded café table.

Maybe this was the reason Bakugou was so far ahead of him. So careful and analytical about everything...

But he also isn't Bakugou. He does things his own way. He isn't a man if he just.. Follows along. Not that he's quick to turn away advice, but in this--he was sure there was more to it.

"...I'm sorry man." He says, brows set when he finds the bravery to reconnect gazes with his friend. "But, I'm not letting this go. I'll be careful, but I know there's more to it... if things get dicey, I'll get out of the way. I can talk to FatGum and move my patrol."

The blonde knows he can't move him. Ever since they graduated, Kirishima has only become more and more steadfast; an unmovable pillar. He admires that, even if it pisses him off. One could almost see steam when Bakugou let's out a long huff through flared nostrils.

"Fine." Here, Bakugou realizes he had lead the conversation unto a tangent. Instead of dealing with the awkward aftermath of their disagreement, he segways back to the original point immediately. "...Since you're pretty sure on this, then maybe there's something else you can look out for."

Also ecstatic at the idea of skipping an uncomfortable silence, Kirishima lights up. "Yeah?"

"I know this is your agency's deal, but there's been some activity that lines up on my end and I'm not likin' it." He pulls out a notepad, where Kirishima can already see that names had been listed out. "All of these random targets are... too random."

Kirishima gives him an intentionally dull glare. "The random attacks are... too random?"

Glowering, "Listen Dumbass, I'm just saying. Something's up. It's happening too frequently, and it's always people who don't have targets on their back." He motions a thumb forward, indicating Kirishima. "You're little Whistleblower is the only person with that interesting of a background. The only other thing I've got going is that they're indirectly related to Pro-Heroes; but, I'm not putting a bunch of stock into it. A lot of people are indirectly related to Pro-Heroes, if you go back far enough."

"Right.."

"Just keep an eye out. Maybe.. Maybe if you're really stupid enough to get to know this chick, there might be some conflict in her background we can go off of."

"...I'm not doing any espionage here," Kirishima throws a hand up, brows pinching in concern. "I just want to know if what they said is real. I'm not getting her whole life story or anything."

"Whatever then." In his typical style, Bakugou begins rising from his chair without any pleasant good-byes. "Contact me if anything comes up. The Police are settled on the idea these cases are all different individuals, and are staying reactionary. Not a good idea if you ask me."

"Got it. If I see anything, I'll let you know."

Bakugou nods, and leaves. He never drinks coffee this late, so he drops a few yen on a bottle of water before Kirishima watches him head out unto the street. Then, he heaves a sigh.

Nothing could ever be simple. After... well, their whole time at U.A. really, things had changed. Not to mention, a lot of Pro-Heroes were thinned out over the Liberation War and the conflicts that followed. While the number of really powerful villains had also depleted, there were a lot of changes to the system that made solving crimes and being proactive on villain movements a lot more difficult. Something that Kirishima knew was very much at the dismay of his comrades, especially Midoriya--who wanted nothing more than to make the world a safer place.

Though, Kirishima supposed, a world without All For One was a safer place.

Another heavy sigh, and he drapes his chin on a palm to watch the passerby through groggy lidded eyes. He should probably get back to patrol--

Time slows down, he swears, as you weave through the crowd outside the coffee shop window. You're dressed warm, hands in jacket pockets, eyes set forward.

At first, he almost thinks he's crazy. That's coincidental. That's.. Too coincidental, actually. Was it really you, or someone that looked like you?

Either way, Kirishima buys two coffees before he heads out into the street.

🥀

"Hey!"

If I just take out those last two sentences, I think I can make it happen... You muse while along for your walk, thoughts drifting back to your work.

"Hey, L/n?!"

No.. Then again, it's just too boring. I'll take the paragraph out, and place a proper transition. The main character needs a little more time in that moment before--

"Oh, sorry excuse me. Wait--hey L/n!"

Ugh, then again; if I spend too much time writing out the dream, readers might get bored with that too. Well, I guess I could--

"L/n?"

"WHAT?" You whirl around, almost causing yourself whiplash.

You should've recognized the voice. A shocked Red Riot, in his Hero costume, splits a sea of now quizzical passerby.

"Oh. It's you." You drone, not even excusing your behavior, a hand coming up to trace your temple.

"Er... yeah, heh, uhm-- coffee?" He lifts an arm to reveal--indeed--a coffee, and you can see the fall leaves painted unto the paper cozy between his fingers. Steam was still pouring from the lid.

"No thanks." You say quickly, turning on a heel to start walking back into the crowd. Even more people were staring now; those not too busy with their commute. You wondered how many were dissing you for being so harsh to a Pro-Hero. Too bad they don't know what I know.

Sullen, his arm drops a fraction--but Red Riot is the Sturdy Hero! He wouldn't back down without a fight. He begins following you.

"Listen, I think we--" He has to move around someone to get closer to you. He has quite a large frame--"I think we got off on the wrong foot. Can we--Can I start over?"

"Start over? What's the point in that?" You ask over your shoulder, not even sure why you were entertaining this conversation.

"Well I--I'm a Pro-Hero, I have to, you know.. I'm supposed to make everyone feel safe..?" The way his statement ends in a query already shows just how confident he was. Or wasn't.

And, ERRRR. Wrong answer.

"If you want me to feel safe, do your job and leave me alone." You quip, "I appreciate your service, but whether we communicate really isn't necessary for your career."

Ouch. Kirishima literally winces. She's so smart--how am I going to get to her?

"Then--consider this a formal apology. For my colleague's behavior."

Why the hell is this guy so persistent? You look over your shoulder briefly; was he here to continue the Police's work? Were you now suspected of--of what--bombing yourself?Did the Police, or more likely the Hero Commission, secretly want you dead and sent the Unbreakable Man to finish the job?

Nah, you think to yourself with an audible chuckle. Too cliché for that. Might use it for my writing.

"Apology accepted." You say curtly, and despite being hopeful that it might cause him to give up--you're stopping at a cross walk while taxis and sports cars and hauling trucks drive by.

"Whew, that's good." He exhales, still holding the coffee out as he politely shoulders in next to you. "And I do mean it. I don't think it was very professional of him to act that way..."

You deadpan. He had interpreted your 'apology accepted' as an invitation, instead of a dismissal.

Looking down, you can clearly see the coffee in front of you--practically barring you off from the cross walk.

'Sometimes, it's nice to just receive things.'

The memory of it makes your lip curl. You refuse to take up the coffee.

"No offense, Mr. Red Riot, but I'm not partial to receiving drinks from unfamiliar men."

"O-oh.." He pulls it back in towards himself, looking even more kicked than earlier. "I guess I didn't think of it like that.. I'm seriously sorry."

Don't look at him, don't look at him, Don't you dare look at him.

And you don't. "I said apology accepted." You growl--a trick you learned early on in training was that men (particularly burly, testosterone-heavy, ego-inflated ones) despised being outwitted. "Thus, you have nothing left to discuss with me."

"...Well I mean..." He blinks, "I still think.. uh" He struggles, eventually staring down at the sidewalk.

Smug, you look over at him with the slightest raised eyebrow.

He sighs. "Look, I wanna be honest. I just want to talk to you. I uh.."

The crosswalk sign turns green, but an unforeseeable force keeps you in place. Gum, mucilage, curiosity, and the most disgusting glimmer of hope keeps your shoes glued to the concrete.

Kirishima accepts a feeling of silent victory as you remain while the others weave around and walk ahead. He swallows hard, hoping he couldn't possibly mess this up anymore than he already had.

"I just, don't think you're what they say you are."

And there, the cracks in the glass just shatter.

"Oh." You say, with a little nod.

Excited, he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. Finally, he was getting somewhere!

"I mean, I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything and--you totally don't have to like, tell me anything--"

"Nono, I get it." You say, hand up, feigning submission. "You just want to... weasel into my life. Find out how I work, get the deets on how I still manage to make money in this forsaken country, oh and--what, take samples of my DNA so the Hero Commission can make a carbon copy? A little me? I guess that would be useful."

Kirishima, Red Riot, blanches.

"W-what--no--"

"Tell your boss, or whatever council member that's paying you, that they can rest easy. I don't care about them, I don't care about the commission--I just want to be left alone." You give him a final, grave, drilling, stare. "There won't be any trouble out of me. I'm done." And then you're off, only seconds before the crosswalk light turns red again.

But in your wake, Kirishima doesn't even have the energy to chase after you. Suddenly, all the bones in his body are weighed down--pressurized by the guilt he'd accumulated while trying to talk to you.

You thought he was trying to get close to you, to spy on you. Similar to the way Bakugou had suggested and--god, remembering that conversation didn't make him feel any better, that's for sure.

Defeated, Red Riot slowly turns the opposite direction so he can head to the agency, revisiting the conversation over and over and over again. I'm so stupid.. He chastises, I should've..

But, there's nothing that comes to mind. He'd been honest and told you the truth. Even when offering an apology for Detective Gina's behavior--maybe it wasn't the original intention of the conversation, but he still meant it.

In some crazy way, the failure actually solidifies his resolve.

🥀

I have to fix it, I can't leave it like this. Kirishima thinks while slipping out of his hero gear at the agency. He'd already made arrangements to end his shift a little early, originally intending to get back in the gym. Except.. He didn't feel much like actually going. Not anymore.

I need to find a way to apologize. Then, I need to prove that I'm not there to hurt her or spy on her..

He groans, forehead knocking into his locker door. But who do I get help from..? Bakugou is the only one that knows, and he would definitely prefer that I was spying on her!

"C'mon Eijiro, think think think.." He chants, pulling away from the metal and palming his forehead. Should he talk to one of the girls? Which one? Mina had taken up working at an Agency on the other side of the country, Ururaka was helping Midoriya on a mission that even Bakugou didn't know the details of, Jirou was--

Tsu! His head pops up at the epiphany, and he begins digging into his bag. Of course it's Tsu! She's really good with these kinds of things!

He pauses when the phone is finally in his hand, realizing that in his reflection on the screen--he was still very naked.

...Should probably finish changing first.

Once appropriate, he dials Tsu's number on his phone. Per the last reunion at Midoriya's place, he knew for sure her number hadn't changed since U.A.

Brrrr

Brrrr

Brrrr

'Click'

Insurance for random villainy was pretty good nowadays. You had been set up with temporary living until the Apartment building had completed reconstruction. It was a nicer hotel room too--apparently the owners of the complex had spared no expense when it came to tragic circumstance reimbursement. Explains why rent was so high.

As much as you mourned your lost home, your items, your slippers and sweaters and plush bath towels from that one fancy place in the mall that had been on sale--you had barely wept a tear since leaving the hospital. There was a numbness that had followed since waking up in a gown, dressed in plugs and wires and tubes. One that permeated the sadness one ought to feel after such a crisis.

And... well, you knew why.

Knock knock knock.

It's dread on your face when you drag yourself to the door over unfamiliar carpet.

Through the peep hole, you can see a man outside. By the telltale trench coat and paper coffee cup--and the uniformed policeman beside him--you can tell who it is. Detective.

There's a shadow off to the left, too far away to see.

Your eyebrows pinch and you take a full second to motivate yourself into pulling the door open.

"...Miss L/n." The detective addresses you formally, taking a bow. "We're here to discuss the incident, if you have time. We're investigating a rash of activity in your area..."

Detective 's eyes wander across your face then, and it isn't hard to miss the look of familiarity that flickers across a well worn brow. He remembers you.

Great.

"Right. Come on in, make yourselves comfortable." You say, voice only just above monotone droning; and you definitely don't return his respectable bow. The door slides further open and you move to a sleek grey seating area, overlooking a more-than-decent view of Esuha City.

The City you wanted to work for. Well, had. Had wanted to work for.

The way Detective sits across from you is uncomfortable. Stiff. His movements are deliberate, as he sets the cooling cup on the hotel-ish coffee table and removes a notebook from an inner coat pocket--

It isn't until now that you glance upon his other accomplice. A miracle really--most of his notable features were of the starkest red you'd ever seen. Not even crimson or scarlet or muted maroon; just red. Especially his hair.

Red Riot, the Sturdy Hero, you realize. But why is he here?

"You had mentioned in the statement that the package came with an envelope?"

Oh, right. Investigation turned suspect interview, coming up.

"Yeah."

He looks at you expectantly, and while you would love to continue being a salty (rightfully salty) bitch, you knew the consequence wasn't worth the few minutes of endorphins. So you go ahead, and tell him everything you had encountered. The package, the last few months of nothing, the neighbor with an odd obsession of watching loud music videos at one in the morning. You talk it all out in that same disinterested tone, hands pressed hard in your lap and eyes glazed.

From your peripheral, you caught the Sturdy Hero--a very large and would-be daunting man if it weren't for this permanent respectful smile he won't get rid of--occasionally staring at your face. No doubt checking out the scar.

If he had been anyone other than a Pro-Hero, you might have felt self-conscious.

The sound of Detective's pen scribbling notes onto his little cliché notepad began to grate on your nerves. Leave me in peace, you plead silently.

"Thank you for your cooperation." He says, rising from the not-very comfortable grey chair.

And you just couldn't resist--

"Cooperation? Aren't I the one that almost got blown up?"

The harsh turn of your voice causes the three to flinch.

"...Right, I meant..." Detective struggles, a hand grazing just beneath his own ear out of nervousness. "Apologies ma'm, it's been a long day. And, my a-apologies for your loss." He nods, curtly, before heading towards the door--clearly embarrassed.

"Hey, uhm.." Red Riot says, a hand out towards the detective--but the man is moving too quick, and really wants to be out of the room.

"Uh,..heh." He turns to you, broken smile turning sharp-toothed and polite as the other policeman heads out behind him. "It's nice meeting you, I'm Red Riot. I'm taking over patrol in the area so I, er, I thought I would.. Check in.. And..." His voice dies out once he catches your visual exasperation.

"I'm doing well. Have a good day."

He swallows, feet still planted for a few seconds after he stands up. Whether he was looking at you with sympathy or annoyance, you didn't dare to catch his gaze and find out.

If you faked it hard enough, you could convince yourself you didn't care.

"R..right. I'll be in the area. I would.. Suggest handing any packages you receive to the--"

"I'm not stupid."

"Right! AH, I mean--no, you aren't I was just uh.."

"Leaving?"

"...Yeah." It sounds defeated, and you swear he looks a little shorter as he leaves.

Air and tensed muscles leave your body at the sound of the door locking closed.

Peace at last.

🥀

"Hey uh.. What was that about?"

Detective Gina grimaces at the Pro-Hero's question. Fortunately, he was far enough ahead that neither of his accomplices could catch it.

"A job well done, if you ask me." He retorts, tempted to light a cigarette as they come out unto the bustling sidewalk. There's a creeping chill, and he tugs the trench coat a little closer. He almost scoffs when he looks back at Red Riot, who's hero costume barely consisted of a shirt and pants.

Show off.

"...Yeah, but.. She seemed kinda," he waves a hand, "I don't know. Mad at us. And, I won't lie--the way you talked to her wasn't all that nice, man."

Gina sighs, head shaking. He does pull out a cigarette after moving them to the smoking area outside of the hotel. He'd only been working loosely with the pro-hero for a few days, and in that short time he'd learned more than he liked about the young man. He was... forward, to say the least, about his opinions on--well most things. But hero-work in particular.

"Some people just are mad." Gina responds, palm over his lighter as takes a few attempts at lighting his cigarette. "And this isn't hero-work. We don't treat every person like a harmless damsel. You never know what people are capable of on the surface."

Kirishima's eyes drop to the ground at that. It was true enough--but it didn't satisfy him. His mouth is open to poise another question, but the policeman that had accompanied them had something to add.

"Yeah, sometimes it's the really simple looking ones too. I thought the name was familiar but--Gina, is she really the Whistleblower?"

Well, cat's out of the bag. Gina remarks inwardly, and he can't help the sigh that leaves his lips along with the smoke of his first drag.

"Whistleblower?"

"Before your time in these parts." Gina answers Kirishima's open-ended question with his teeth still clenched around the Tabaco. "It was a big case.. What, a year ago? Two?" He glances between them, but the silence that follows is a wordless request for explanation. Or, for the policeman, just a little gossip.

"...L/n was a high-priority candidate for the Hero Commission. Not as a pro-hero," He pulls another drag while he leans into the barring that separated large, frosted glass panes that sported 'SMOKING AREA' in simple black font. "She was in line to be an investigator. Like, a big one. Secret service stuff."

"So.. She's mad because she didn't get the job?" Kirishima guesses, waving a stream of smoke out of his face. Boy, he wondered what this guy's lungs looked like. Although, the stress of being a detective is enormous.. Something about that reminder makes him feel bad for being so annoyed about second-hand smoke his first day in this sector.

"...Not exactly. She had the job really, as far as I understand it. It's not a competition like hero-work, it's just about performance and certification. Up until that point, she'd played the game. It wasn't until last minute she tried something drastic."

"Something stupid," The policeman chimes, arms crossing over his chest.

"'Tried' something?"

"She accused one of the Elite." Gina frowns at his hands, realizing his cigarette was almost spent. They never lasted long enough. "See, she has a quirk kind of like one of the classics. NightEye in particular. She could see things that people did--particularly bad things. On the papers, they called her quirk: Judgement."

"Oh man, that's crazy impressive." Kirishima's eyes widen. The implication that someone could actually witness villainous events without being around to actually experience them--that's mind-blowing! No wonder she had been heading in that direction. Her quirk is priceless for that kind of work.

"Well, yeah, maybe. But remember it's like I said. You never know who's the damsel and who's a bad-guy based on the surface. You know, 'the book by the cover'. Before we all knew it, she was up there causing an uproar--threatening to tear the whole thing down. According to the top, it was a power play." A final drag on his cigarette, then he crushes it before throwing it in the bin. "Thing is, her quirk is only useful if the Commission can trust her. Everything she claimed couldn't be proven--so who's to know if she's lying or not?"

The realization is almost like a cold chill to Kirishima's shoulders. If someone with that quirk did come into power and used their influence to lie and attack the building blocks of their society.. It was a scary thought.

But something nagged at him.

He'd never had a reason to mistrust the Hero Commission. They had made mistakes, but they weren't in the spirit of malevolence. And, he knew that their verdict was probably the correct one...

But what if it wasn't?

Eijiro Kirishima had always based his assessments of people on their actions, and for some reason, he wasn't ready to accept what he'd been told.

"If she did something so extreme.. Why isn't she in Tartarus? Why wasn't something this big on the News?"

"She's educated in our justice system. Everything she presented and every response she gave was legitimate enough that they couldn't pin an actual felony. In the end, it was almost like she hadn't done anything anyway. But, seeing as how this will exist on her permanent record--it was punishment enough." While continuing to explain, Gina begins to retrace their steps back to the station. "She can't get a job in this field anymore. Everything she worked up to was revoked, including any and all quirk licenses."

Yeesh..

He actually feels a pang of sympathy. It was better than jail, but... that begs the question. Why would you work so hard to get to that point, only to ruin everything for yourself?

"Now, don't go around bringing that dredge up alright? The Commission wants to keep that case under wraps as much as possible. The villain network doesn't need something like her false claims to cling to." Gina ends the conversation there, taking a few more steps to get ahead before they merge with a crowd crossing an intersection. This was a Pro-Hero he was talking to. It went without saying that most of their conversations would be considered confidential.

What had originally been just an impulsive decision inspired by his teachings from FatGum to become more familiar with his patrol route--and more specifically to help instill some safety in the heart of a recently traumatized civilian--had quickly evolved into a personal investigation.

The more he learned, the more he wanted to know. Frankly, Red Riot's schedule didn't include a lot of free time, and getting involved with someone whose reputation was that bad was.. Insane.

But if curiosity wasn't a killer, there wouldn't be a saying about it.

You shake your head--surely you had written him with black hair?

Despite having been in the process of writing this rough draft for almost a year, you dash back through a hoard of document files to find the character references.

Sure enough, black hair.

Anger boils in your chest, and you slide the laptop away from you on the hotel's (single) counter top. Not even your secret world could be free from the toils of the real one; you had found that blasted red-headed man almost every time your eyes had shut. Now, it was happening while your eyes were open.

The glimmer of hope you had felt at the cross walk should have been smothered, but somehow it came back every morning. It reminded you of a time when you had wanted to talk to people--when you had wanted people to talk to you.

He just wants information. You remind yourself, picking up your stiff bones to find the hotel's tiny-ass refrigerator. All that stuff he said was just manipulation. And I don't want to talk to anyone. And I don't want anyone to talk to me.

After another go of trying to convince yourself, you switch your focus to something else.

Your apartment's reconstruction was due to be completed within five days. Due to the structure being sound enough (and the fact the construction in bustling cities like Musutafu were required to work rather quickly due to subsequent villain and hero battles) the revival of your home was fast approaching. Thank god.

Unfortunately, being an author didn't allow for fancy insurance perks. You had already received a check for the damage to your items, but it was far less than the accrued worth of your home furnishings. Once again, you would be forced to pay and save and pay and so on--until it was back the way it was. Or at least similar.

The hotel's mini-fridge mostly contained leftovers. Which, that had been your intention but.. Looking at all of it...

It just felt ew.

Dinner out it is then.

🥀

There's something to be said about the food service industry in Japan, perhaps even Esuha City specifically.

If you want your food quickly without a chat and to be left alone at your table, you could find it.

You had ruminated on the idea of leaving before, to put as much distance between you and the Hero Commission as possible. A cottage in the United Kingdom, or a cabin in America; maybe Maine or Michigan.

But.. This was home. Your apartment, the rainy season, the red and golden leaves, the corner-store ice-cream, the sticky summer sweets in the next town over--The Hero Commission may have taken the hope out of you, but damn them if they think they can have your mochi too.

"Oh my gosh..!"

Suddenly the café on your right comes alive. There's a couple, one now standing next to their chair and their partner on one knee--a ring clutched in shaking hands. The crowd 'ooh's and 'awww's.

"Will you marry me?"

"Of course!"

And they hug, and the café erupts into applause. And you stare, from the sidewalk, somewhere between melancholic and exasperated. You really didn't need this today.

"Now ain't that a beautiful sight." A voice says, too close to your right side. You flinch and glance--he's wearing a thick jacket and a fur-lined beanie. His features are so unremarkable, you don't even mentally take stock of them.

"...Uh huh." You drone, than try to speed off so you can pass the café. No offense to the newly engaged couple, but you were trying far too hard to keep up your solitary lifestyle to deal with reminders like that.

🥀

Ugh, finally!

Relief at last, as you waltz into one of your favorite restaurants. There are booths at the front, but closer to the kitchen there are one-person nooks. A tablet, attached to the wall, takes your order and starts up a bill. A drink arrives via a window in said nook only minutes later, and your feet sway in delight.

Or was it... complacency?

NO. You inwardly chastise, taking a loud sip no one could pester you for. This is how it aught to be. This is great. No one to taunt me, no one to treat me terribly or make me feel ugly. I can eat as fast and as sloppy as I want. No one's controlling me, no one's--

It's by chance, pure chance, that you look over your shoulder when you hear the door open and the jingle of their entrance alarm. A movement in your peripheral that catches your attention, draws a quick glance, that usually you didn't bother with. Who cares who just walked in?

Unless it's the same person that tried to talk to you earlier, in his fur-lined beanie. Well, except, now as you pay a little more attention--it's not a fur-lined beanie. It's a fur-lined face. A mutation quirk.

Is it coincidence? Paranoia gnaws into your bones, and you know the truth. Coincidence or not, one way or another, he followed you here.

The jingle comes again, and you watch four more people cross the thresh-hold and join the aforementioned...wolf man? They're all dressed warm, but you're pretty sure the thick jackets and low hats don't just hide their features out of convenience.

Your food arrives through the window in front of you, and you mentally groan. Not only were you being followed by probable villains looking for an easy score, but you wouldn't be able to eat your meal. Or get a refund.

You take one last forlorn draw of breath, taking in the steam and aroma of your would-have-been meal, before reaching to the tablet and paying for it. There's actually a little bit of guilt in your heart, knowing they'll be cleaning an untouched dish from your table. Sorry. I'm so sorry. It's really good, I'm just.. You know, about to get mugged. Gotta call the police. Maybe I'll get take out from here later.

Silently you rise from your seat and walk out. If all went well, you'd just go to another place. If it was a mugging, as you suspected, there was a convenience store near the hotel that you could stop in after writing--another--police report. Wow! Two for two this year.

And, heading further into the well lit streets of Musutafu's most populated ward, all seems well. They didn't follow you out, nor have you seen them over your shoulder for the last three cross walks. Great. Left my meal for nothing.

Maybe you needed to go to a therapist after all. Maybe, you could use a fake name or--was anonymous clients a thing?

You'd accused Red Riot of working with the commission to torture you, and now you had accused warmly dressed people for wanting to just, mug you? You didn't even look like you had money. Sure, it could be more nefarious than that, but with heroes everywhere in the city? What happened to your sense of truth?

They took it away. You reply within, causing your foot steps to slow and your shoulders to hang.

Maybe you had been wrong, but it was better to be careful, right?

You reach for you phone with the intention to check the time. There were still a few places open late but--

Where's my phone?!

Frantically you search for it a second time. Then a third. Had you left it at home? Dropped it? Left it at the restaurant? You turn on a heel and start heading back. The new lap top had already been quite damaging to your funds, you couldn't afford a new phone; muggers be damned.

🥀

"What are you doing out here?"

"Huh?" Kirishima looks up to see one of the sidekicks from FatGum's agency. "Oh! Hey," He says, but stops. He can't quite remember this guy's name. There were so many nowadays, scouted for and hired in an attempt to help counter the swell in recent villain activity.

"Hey," The un-named sidekick offers a polite smile. "Kinda late isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. Most of my patrols are during the day but, it was brought to my attention that a lot of the packages were probably delivered at night. Just thought it was a good idea."

"So you're on, like, extra patrol? Without your hero costume?"

"Yeah," Kirishma, not Red Riot, scratches the back of his neck in some form of embarrassment. This guy liked asking questions. "Just trying it out, not looking conspicuous or anything."

"Oh. Okay." Sidekick-guy looks around a moment, extending their conversation into something kind of awkward before opening his mouth again. "Well, I'm heading home, so. Good luck!"

"Er, yeah, thanks. You too..?"

And they're gone.

Weird. Kirishima shakes it off, then continues his stroll. Guess he's just tired though. I should probably go back to the Agency and pick up the roster, it's rude not to know people's names when you work with them...

He comes to a corner and stops, looking up at the hotel--your hotel--for the fifth time that night. Not that he was obsessed or anything, it was just.. On the route. His call with Tsu had been enlightening--though, he wanted to disagree with her on some things; especially the 'giver her time' part. He wanted to fix his mistakes now.

His heart aches when he remembers the first night at their dorms in U.A., so long ago, when he'd unintentionally upset Tsu when he and the others went forward with their plan to save Bakugou. Though it was successful, he was ashamed that he never thought about how Tsu would feel when they directly ignored her advice.

Gah, and it still hurt to think about it!

And thus, he chooses to follow her advice to the letter this go round, and continues on his path to the next street over.

🥀

You know what it sounds like: when someone is following you.

And you, poor you, had made a very bad decision. What had you said earlier---'muggers be damned'?

Yeah, that wasn't serving you too well right now.

The streets' population had thinned on your return trip to the restaurant. Somehow, everything looked darker and more desolate--to the point you wondered if you had perhaps made a literal wrong turn--

Before your eyes you watch a street sign change. The letters, in white, wiggle and shift until it makes a new word--a street you swore you passed several blocks back.

Someone was manipulating your environment. Or, your brain's interpretation of it.

No phone, no real weapon aside from a hotel key card and a dense wallet, (note that you did in fact own a very nice self-defense kit in your apartment but uh--it blew up recently) and the defensive side of your quirk--which was fucking unpredictable at best.

Hence why pro-hero work wasn't really an option.

You stop then, but there's a distinctive sound of shoes shuffling on concrete nearby. This clearly felt like being hunted down, and honestly if not for the peril it was causing you--this would make for some good writing material. You know, if you live through it.

"Okay, I know what's going on." You say, hands up. "Look, I don't know what you want, but I don't have a whole lot. I can give you my credit card if you want it, but I'm just warning you--not a lot on there."

A few seconds of silence pass by at your confrontation. Oh, what, am I being mugged by ghosts? But, the agitation grows despite your mental humor.

Their response comes in the form of visually appearing ahead of you, wiggling and writhing at first like the letters on the sign. After they had solidified, they approaching like predators; low to the ground with hungry eyes beneath heavy warm attire.

Your stance widens.

I don't think they're here for my wallet...

Suddenly, more of them begin to pop and shift into existence--much closer to you than the first few. The way reality seems to flex around them was really unnerving; but it gave you a better idea of what was going on. Whosever quirk was influencing you had a range, and that was good to know. Additionally, though, the original five you remember from the restaurant had at some point turned into about ten, which meant some of them might be illusionary.

And your quirk doesn't work on illusions.

"Okay.. Okay, I see, money's not your thing.." You take a step back, eyes darting between all of the assailants. "You guys know if I scream, a pro-hero--"

"Go ahead~" Someone says, but obviously not one of the entities in front of you. It's a feminine sultry voice with something else, something animalistic. Snake-like. "No one's going to hear you, dear. Not while my eyess are on you."

Shit, shit shit shit--you take another step back, pulling out that hotel room key. Better than nothing. You had some decent self-defense training, they won't take you down without a fight even if your quirk doesn't activate.

"Finally got you talking.." You grumble, holding the (damn near pathetic) hotel key up like a knife. "What are you stalking me for? What do you want?"

"Let me guesss, you're expecting ssome kind of reveal?" The voice, hidden beyond your probably-fake environment, answers. "Ssorry ssweetheart, thiss is just bussinesss."

You threw as many 's's in there as you could, didn't you? You ask inwardly, but your lips remain tightly shut. Angering your opponent probably wasn't a good idea--if what she said was true, it sounded like an arrangement. A mercenary oriented one.

You know. Murder.

"Oh," You utter, grieving a little for not having a witty comeback.

Luckily, or unluckily, your awkward conversation comes to an end by way of a classic knuckle punch, thrown in your direction by one of the more burly looking assailants. You manage a dodge, twisting and moving back enough to see claws as their hands reposition from a fist.

Mutant quirk, animalistic in nature--probably enhanced strength, speed, durability. If I can think fast enough--

A blow hits, right in the side at your lower back. You pivot forward, conveniently back into the arms of your first attacker. There, he lands another blow to your upper chest that leaves you gasping, but your conscious enough to move your body out and away. Well sort of--the rest were encircling you. Surely not all of them were real, but you had no way of telling them apart.

Had you really been out of the game so long, you couldn't hold your own anymore?

Of course.. going to the gym and practicing fighting moves hadn't really been on your agenda since leaving the court rooms.

You cough, righting yourself as they stare at you with smiles and gleaming eyes--like dogs, pouncing on small animals for fun.

"Nice scar," One says, leaning in. "Pity, you really did have.. a kinda pretty face."

You glower at him over your hotel key.

"Almost felt bad leaving the package.."

"Who wants me dead?" You ask, looking--well winded, but more confident than they probably wanted you to look.

"Why does it matter? You're dying today, girly. Who cares?" Another responds, similar in tone. Related, you note--for once you find him amongst the crowd, he is also similar in stature.

"Dying wish then." You retort, with a little shrug.

There's an uneasy, tense, exchange of stares then. A sixth sense, you realize, as they see through your façade and attempt to validate it with their comrades. Like you had something up your sleeve.

And, indeed, you did.

"Save it for your next life," is their answer, followed by another thrown fist aimed at your cheek bones. Veins and tendons bulge as the wallop is tensed, then thrust forward, and it gives you only a few seconds to use your quirk--

But it's enough.

🥀

Eijiro, still walking his rounds around the sector, still dropping glances at your hotel as he walks past, now stands in front of a vintage console store. He heaves a great sigh while watching pixelated characters hop, kick, and dance across the display screens--characters he knew well. One day, they would be selling his old video games, labelled as 'vintage classics'.

The thought depressed him. But hey, time has to move somehow.

...Despite his positive outlook, his mind wanders back to Bakugou--and more importantly, that look he'd given him. The once-in-a-blue-moon glimpse into his friend's actual feelings.

Maybe he was just making things up--maybe he just wanted Bakugou to regret not hanging out, or being a human being for once and establishing relationships with people outside of work--but he was almost sure it had been real.

"Heh.. I can hear it now." He mutters, catching his reflection in the glass that separated him from the television screens. He puffs out his chest, and digs in his eyebrows. "We're heroes, Kirishima. We have to make sacrifices. You can't be the best if you're worried about dumb shit like--" He stutters for a second, almost losing character. "Like--relationships and parties and..."

He falters, the impression sliding from his shoulders and causing them to slump.

"And living." He says with a finality. A final nail in the coffin, as he watches a character get taken out on  the screen followed by big "K.O." written in orange font.

Kirishima had learned long ago that he didn't want to be the best. He denied it at every turn, at every query someone threw at him--even if it was himself in the mirror. You wanna be the best don't you? Work harder!

And, well, he did work hard. Just, not as hard as Bakugou.

Despite the green monster of jealously that might swell in his gut while watching his friend's name rise on the leaderboard, there  were always days like these that humbled him. And plenty of others, when he was actually protecting a civilian or stopping a truck from crushing a bunch of school kids; it was in the doing. It didn't matter where his name was on the leader board.

In fact, there's a deep sympathy that he feels for Bakugou in that moment.

"I wish I could reach out to you man." He says, before going back to his walk. This time, he would be heading back to the agency. "I hope--"

He stops, shoe skidding over sidewalk as a scream splits the air.

🥀

Using your quirk had a tendency to make you feel blind when you otherwise weren't using it.

It's refreshing, despite how much it.. sucks.

Living several minutes, sometimes hours, within seconds of the moving world--between spaces and moments and memories and matter--it's indescribably big.

And it is, perhaps, because of that feeling; that you change.

You remember the doctor when you were young, who tried to explain it to you in words you understood. But, you technically never remembered the words--all you could see was a younger version of them, stealing from a convenience store. Over and over and over again.

In some way, under high stress, your quirk would shift. Usually it was directed as an emitter type; but based on whom you were gazing upon, Judgement would make a decision--and in the face of danger, morph into a transformation quirk. Supposedly, the malevolence of your opponent directly affected the size and duration of this shape-change. This was only negated in a safe environment.

Fortunately for you, these guys were seasoned mercenaries, and murder was pretty high up there on the malevolence scale. So you were big. Just as big, you might say, as the hatred that festered at the sound of their dying victims screams, gurgles, and gasps.

When you come back from the visions, you're thrashing. You're wholly unaware of your features, but your claws digging into the earth below hint at something truly gruesome.

Better than a damn hotel key!

"What the hell--"

"Mizuchi, you didn't say anything about this shit!"

"Ugh, that'ss what you get for taking your time!"

They come at you anyway, brandishing weapons this time in the form of pipes and broken bottles; whatever the street could provide. The first thwack of a pipe to your enlarged form has your back twisting, and you find horns adorning your crown as they knock the assailant backwards.

Nice.

Following him would be another, but you grasp the ability to fight like an animal pretty quickly. There was a maw for biting as well--but despite knowing their horrid truths, there's always something that keeps you pulled back. Some lurking old version of yourself that still wanted to tame the beast.

Yet, even with that sentiment, accidents happen.

One of them screams, as one of your horns protrudes through a shoulder; painting the sidewalk in red. It causes the inner you to lurch, but your physical form only growls in response. By trying to shake him off, you throw him instead. Oops.

You try to step away, but your backed into a corner. One that technically shouldn't exist, but it takes a second before the illusion ripples and fades out to reveal you had instead been fighting in an alley way.

Maybe that will stop them. Maybe, they'll take the hint and move on to someone else--

You would have hoped, if not for the shards of glass that slice through the flesh of your shoulder. Inwardly you might of screamed, but you outwardly roared--clutching at the wound with one arm while lashing out with the other. You nail a good hit, claws bared, and they scream too.

"What the--hey!"

A familiar voice..?

You try to look in their direction, but another bottle cuts into your left temple. You whirl back on them, but the troupe was already leaving. There's an animalistic urge to run after them, and you even step forward--but with your foot (paw?) landing on even more glass, you halt in place. Instead, your frustration leaves your lungs in a loud roar.

Finding your breath, you hear the sound of scraping metal from behind.

"Listen man, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.."

Red Riot? Again?

You go to turn and look at him, but you stop midway. No, I can't. I can't look at him.

"Just come quietly, and we won't have to make this a bigger mess than it already is.."