#izuqu

Toshinori frowned when Isamu’s content expression fell.

“Yes, ma’am,” Isamu replied weakly.

Placing the last box on the shelf, Isamu dusted off his trembling hands and reached up to rub at the back of his neck, pausing midway. A small, sad look passed over his face.

“Isamu,” Toshinori stood, smiling when the young nurse met his gaze, “It’s alright,” he said clapping a hand on Naomasa’s shoulder, “Detective Tsukauchi is a good friend of mine. He won’t bite.”

Isamu approached nervously, bowing his head to Naomasa, “Please take care of me.”

Toshinori barked a laugh, “So formal! There’s no need for all that. He just wants to ask a few questions back at the station. Very routine.”

Isamu’s ears reddened, but he smiled.

Naomasa returned a small bow, lifting his hat, “It is nice to see you awake and doing well. All Might’s told me about you.” He bowed his head lower, “Thank you for helping him despite the danger. You are a brave young man.”

Eyes wide, Isamu shook his head, “I - It wasn’t - It was the least I could do after everything…”

“Nonsense!” Toshinori grinned and pat Isamu’s back, “You live up to your name! That was a fine display of bravery. ”

The young nurse cracked a smile.

“You’re energetic today,” Isamu said, visibly stifling a laugh.

Toshinori took a half-step back and threw a few practiced jabs, “Finally getting back into the swing of things, and I’m feeling better already.”

Isamu grinned, awe shining in his eyes as he shook his head, “You’re really All Might.”

Toshinori huffed, tail flicking in amusement, “And you’ve said that before.”

Isamu reddened bashfully, “I-I suppose I have,” He smiled, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, “It’s... just good to see you like this. I mean-”

Isamu gestured helplessly, and Toshinori laughed, shaking his head, “I understand, young man, and thank you.”

Naomasa elbowed Toshinori, nodding to the door.

“Gran Torino is probably still waiting by the car, if he hasn’t wandered off,” he said, then turned to Isamu, “Are you ready to go?”

Isamu nodded, turning and unhooking a jacket from the bed corner.

Ah, Toshinori’s smile slipped. Small slits lined the backs of Isamu’s shirt and jacket. He caught a flash of pinkish scar tissue peeking from behind the fabric before Isamu turned back around.

“Are you heading back to the dorms?” the young nurse asked as he zipped up his dark blue jacket.

“No,” Toshinori said, glancing at his watch, “I’m going to catch Principal Nedzu while he’s still in his office and discuss a press release. This isn’t going away, and given - well - who I am,” he cracked a rueful grin, “There is bound to be some media attention. Better to face it head on.”

Naomasa shot him an understanding smile, briefly bumping his hand against Toshinori’s arm.

“Good luck,” he said and pat his pocket, “If you need anything, I’m a call away.”

Toshinori grinned and made of show of flexing his lean bicep.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he chuckled and dropped his arm, “Thanks. Drive safe. And Isamu,” Toshinori clapped his hand Isamu’s shoulder, “You aren’t in trouble. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your help.”

A flash of guilt darkened Isamu’s expression, and he averted his gaze, “Y-yeah…”

Sympathy welled in Toshinori’s chest, and he gave Isamu’s shoulder a small squeeze, “I can’t thank you enough, young man. But go on,” he gently nudged Isamu toward the door, “I know the man who’s waiting on the Detective over here. Best to head off sooner rather than later.”

Naomasa huffed and shot Toshinori a wry grin, “See you around, All Might.”

He led Isamu out of the infirmary, and Isamu bowed to Recovery Girl and Toshinori before closing the door behind him.

Chiyo chuckled softly, “He’s really quite a sweet dear. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Toshinori hummed in agreement, reaching back and tracing the small spikes on his neck.

“How is he?” he asked, sitting on Isamu’s bed across from Recovery Girl.

She smiled, spinning her desk chair to face Toshinori, “He is doing very well. His wounds are all patched up, and if it were safe I would have sent him home. As things are…” she shrugged.

“Were his clothes from home?” Toshinori asked.

“Yes,” Chiyo nodded, glancing out the large windows. White clouds drifted lazily across the inviting blue sky, “Snipe was kind enough to stake out his apartment. He brought Isamu a few outfits when he determined it was safe.”

“It’s doubtful All for One would follow up on Isamu,” Toshinori said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “He took his quirk and tried killing him. I can’t imagine him expending more energy on a nurse.”

Chiyo sighed, “I hope you’re right.”

Something pale on her desk caught Toshinori’s attention, “What’s that?” He leaned forward to get a better look before Recovery Girl tucked the cream-colored object behind one of her medical books.

“Ah ah ah,” a playful smile on her face, “Isamu isn’t finished with this.”

Toshinori quirked a lopsided grin and sat back, raising his hands placatingly.

Recovery Girl shook her head and clicked her tongue, “How did you manage to get so bruised up already?” When Toshinori gave her a questioning look, she pointing to his exposed arms. Small bruises and a couple scrapes dotted his forearms and elbows.

“Took a bit of a tumble,” Toshinori admitted sheepishly, rubbing at the sore spots, “Nothing a bit of stretching and rest won’t mend.”

Chiyo huffed a soft laugh and gently thumped Toshinori’s leg with her cane.

“Then you’d better get to it,” her smile faded, “It’s only been a week Toshinori… Be careful.”

Toshinori laughed, “You know me, Chiyo. I can’t stay cooped up forever. But I’ll be careful. I promise.”

He stood, stretching his arms out and rotating his shoulders. His side protested the movement, and pain lanced through his core. Hiding his grimace behind a small cough, he turned and dropped his arms, letting them hang loosely.

“Alright, I’m off! Thanks for your help,” He flashed her a smile and a parting wave as he ducked through the doorway.

She called out softly as he departed, “Anytime, Toshinori. Give Nedzu my regards.”

He nodded, gently closing the infirmary door.

A thought occurred to Toshinori, and he snorted, glancing back at the tuft of hair on his tail.

Hopefully, Nedzu will find it acceptable, or I may be subject to another lecture.

Detective Tsukauchi led Isamu through a side door of the station, waving to the elderly hero as he went his own way. Sweat beaded on Isamu’s forehead as they walked through the first floor and down a branching hall. Each step echoed on the polished tile, and he swallowed.

So quiet…

Isamu eyed the detective as he strolled ahead. The man’s shoulders were relaxed, apparently used to the silence. Isamu’s gaze roamed the hall. In passing, he glanced at hundreds of unfamiliar names and faces on the plaques and awards that lined the gray walls.

He shivered and looked over his shoulder. No one else shared the hall with them.

Only the graveyard shift at Rishi was ever this quiet.

“This way.”

Isamu jolted, “U-um, sorry?”

Detective Tsukauchi smiled gently, pointing to the elevator to the right, “We’ll be heading upstairs for the interview. Not too far now.”

Entering the elevator, Isamu fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He itched to make some kind of small talk, something to ease his anxiety, but every word caught in his throat.

As they reached the third floor a soft roar filled the air.

Isamu furrowed his brow.

Detective Tsukauchi looked up from his phone as the elevator dinged, “Here we are.”

The doors opened and -

A wall of sound assaulted Isamu’s ears. Phones rang loudly, muted conversations overlapped - creating the dull roar he heard before. Uniformed officers brushed past Isamu as he followed Detective Tsukauchi through the bullpen.

The detective glanced across the room and waved down a cat-faced man, “Sansa!”

The officer’s ears swiveled toward Tsukauchi’s voice, and he looked up.

Tsukauchi beckoned for him, and Sansa jogged over.

“Sir?”

“Could you take Sato to room four?” the detective asked. He glanced at his watch before turning back to Isamu, “I have to review a few notes before we get started. We’re just waiting on one more person who will be here in about a half-hour. I’m sorry to make you wait.”

“Oh no! It’s alright!” Isamu said quickly, “I don’t mind waiting.”

“We appreciate all the help you can give us,” Tsukauchi smiled, “Officer Tamakawa will take you to the room. There should be coffee and some crosswords in there, in case you get bored,” he tacked on, passing Isamu a pen with a grin.

“Thank you,” Isamu said, taking the pen.

“This way, please,” Officer Tamakawa said with a friendly chirrup, leading Isamu down a side hall.

Tamakawa paused beside the fourth door on the left and held the door open.

“Just in here,” he said.

Isamu entered the room.

It wasn’t like interrogation rooms on television. The room was fairly small, almost cozy. Thin, dark blue carpet lined the floor, and the walls were painted a pleasant cream color. To Isamu’s left was a smaller table with a coffee machine, a few styrofoam cups, and a small puzzle book set on it. In the center of the room was a light wood table where two men sat.

The older of the two appeared to be a foreigner. Wearing a tweed jacket, he didn’t look like a detective - more like a professor. His blond hair was neatly cut and combed. The expression on his fairly handsome face was pensive as he ordered the folders and notepads on the tabletop.

Sitting beside him was a younger man in a gray sweater. Lips pursed in thought, he slouched and tapped his styrofoam cup, staring at the ripples in his coffee. He looked up, meeting Isamu’s eyes, and tensed. Ducking his head, the young man glanced nervously between Tamakawa and the foreigner.

“You can sit here if you like,” Tamakawa gestured to the smaller desk before looking to the two in the center of the room. The officer cocked his head to the side, looking to the folders spread across the larger table, “Already set up then, Mr. Wright? Detective Tsukauchi isn’t planning to start the interview for another half-hour.”

“Understood,” The foreigner nodded, “Thank you, officer. I prefer setting up early. Hopefully that’s not a bother. Why don’t I handle the introductions while we wait?”

Tamakawa’s whiskers twitched uncertainly, but he nodded.

“Sato,” the officer said, “The restroom is down the hall, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask one of our officers.”

Huh? I can leave? Isamu’s brows rose, Well, I suppose since I’m not under arrest…

“O-okay, thank you,” he replied.

“And Tamakawa,” Wright grinned and gestured to the hall, “Ms. Tyto had a few questions for you. I believe she’s still in the conference room.”

Tamakawa’s fur fluffed around his neck, his slit pupils growing round, “Oh? Yes, I’ll see what she needs. Thank you.” He smiled and retreated into the hall, closing the door behind him.

The foreigner chuckled, holding out his hand the moment the door closed.

“William Wright,” he said, shaking Isamu’s hand, and gestured to the younger man at the table, “and my associate Genji Tsuda. Nice to meet you.”

“N-nice to meet you,” Isamu quickly replied, a little surprised at the firmness of Wright’s handshake.

“Why don’t you grab a cup of coffee and take a seat over here,” Wright suggested, “We can get started.”

Isamu tensed, brows furrowing, “Started? Aren’t we waiting on Detective Tsukauchi?”

Wright returned to the larger table, taking a seat beside Tsuda, gesturing casually, “We’re a part of a joint case team. Our questions focus on more than just the Yagi abduction case.”

“Yagi?” Isamu asked.

“Toshinori Yagi, All Might’s given name,” Wright supplied simply.

“R-right, All Might,” Isamu nodded, foregoing the offer of coffee, and moved to sit at the main table.

“Yes,” Wright said amicably, “Our case is a bit more broad and may take more time. Detective Tsukauchi will join us eventually, but it would be more efficient to begin now.”

Isamu shifted nervously in his plastic chair, “Are you sure we shouldn’t wait?”

Disappointment flickered across Wright’s features, “Ah well, it would be more helpful if we could start now. What you know could greatly advance our case. But if you’d rather wait -”

Shame and guilt surged in Isamu’s chest and he shook his head, “No! N-no, it’s okay. I just - okay, we can start now.”

“Thank you,” Wright said seriously, green eyes focusing sharply on Isamu. He placed a smartphone on the table, recording bars jumping, “Do we have your permission to record this session?”

“S-sure?” Isamu stuttered. He reached back, brushing the back of his neck and wincing at the feeling of his scarred divots.

“Something the matter?” Tsuda asked, looking to Isamu’s hands. His voice was soft and a little raspy with disuse.

“It’s n-nothing. I’m fine,” Isamu said, quickly folding his hands on the table.

Wright cleared his throat, a frown tugging at his expression, “In the pursuit of truth, it would be most helpful if you would allow my associate to use his quirk.”

Isamu jolted. His quirk? That’s -

“It ensures you simply tell the truth,” Wright said, “The truth is all we want. But again, this is completely up to you, Mr. Sato. We’ll need your consent first.”

“C-could you elaborate a bit?” Isamu asked uncertainly, “About the quirk and its effects, I mean.”

Wright nodded, “Certainly. Once activated, ‘Speak No Evil’ ensures that the person under its influence is unable to lie for a short period of time. Thirty minutes is the usual limit. Each person reacts differently, but generally side effects only occur when someone attempts to lie or does not answer,” He waved his hand casually, “The usual headache due to the mental stress of fighting said quirk. Any questions?”

Isamu hesitated, biting at his lower lip, “I have no intention of lying to you.”

“I believe you, but even bending truth could hinder our progress,” Wright looked him in the eyes, “You said you were ‘fine’ a moment ago. A simple white lie, easily made, and yes - I can tell. People often lie when they want to protect someone or to simply not be a bother.”

Wright sighed, “Sometimes the truth hurts. So, Genji here makes it a little easier to get it off your chest.”

Isamu watched as Wright leaned back in his seat, hands still folded in front of him. He looked to Tsuda who nodded at Wright’s explanation.

“O-okay. If that’s all…” Isamu pressed his lips together, gathering his determination, “I just want to help. Alright. I consent.”

“Thank you,” Wright said, “If you would please make eye contact with Genji so he can activate his quirk.”

Nerves fluttered in Isamu’s chest, and he took a slow breath. Then he looked over and met Tsuda’s gaze.

A white ring flashed around Tsuda’s gray eyes, and the young man quickly looked away.

“How do you feel?” Wright asked.

“Nervous,” Isamu laughed awkwardly, then he blinked rapidly as a shiver ran down his spine, “Ah- I see. A vocal cue to make the effects sink in. Now I am a little more nervous and seriously reconsidering my decision.”

“An honest answer,” Wright said, a pleased smile on his face. “What is your name?”

“Isamu Sato,” he answered immediately.

“Your birthday?”

“April fourth,” the answer rolled off his tongue with barely a thought.

Wright leaned forward, “What is your affiliation with All for One, the man you call Sensei?”  

Isamu’s throat seized, and his eyes widened in shock. His hand flew to his side, over the still healing, red scar.

“I don’t want to answer that question…” A dull pain throbbed in Isamu’s head, images flashing behind his eyes. The terminal ward in Kamino. The late shift. The masked man.

“I-I m-meant nothing to him,” he said with a gasp, and the pain eased, “A nurse who saw too much.”

Wright frowned, “Where and how did you meet him? What did you see?”

Isamu shuddered, “I used to work in a cancer ward for terminal patients. It was one of my night shifts. He was in a room with a dying woman and Nurse Tetsumi Inoshita - my supervisor. She cut the patient, and he put his hand on the wound. Then he saw me.” His side ached, “I don’t like to talk about this.”

“You’re being very helpful,” Wright said quietly, gaze intense, “Do you know why she cut the patient?”

“Y-yes,” Isamu’s voice shook, “Quirk. He was stealing her quirk. Blood transfer. I think. Yes. I’m almost certain.” He clutched his shirt over his scar in a white-knuckled grip.

Wright nodded, quickly writing something on his notepad. He visibly suppressed a grin, but his sharp eyes shined with excitement, “When he saw you, what did he do? How did he act? What did he look like?”

“Couldn’t see his face,” Isamu shook his head, “He wore a mask and a black suit. He just stood there while my supervisor yelled at me. I-I couldn’t move. I don’t even know what she said to me. I was…terrified.”

“He didn’t kill you, so what did he do with you?” Wright asked calmly.

Bile stirred in his gut, and Isamu shivered.

“Nothing. Nothing. He didn’t have to. I can’t - I don’t know how - I don’t want to remember this. Please. I-I didn’t want to do any of that. The things I was t-told to do.”

“What did you do for him, Sato?” Wright’s voice was slow and even.

“I-I…” He paused. I did so much.

“We’re trying to find out more about how the villain operates, Sato, any information at all is useful,” Wright shifted in his seat, “Here, let me rephrase the question. What was your role as it relates to All Might’s imprisonment?”

Isamu nodded slowly, “All Might… I kept him fed. Cleaned the room when - when blood or sick got on the floor,” He let out a pained laugh, “My timing was the worst. I was there… to bring food. Bring food, talk with All Might - that’s what I did… They told me not to, but I would talk with him and then leave. But he was in the room too. Sensei. He -”

Isamu swallowed roughly, “He - you don’t know. You don’t know him. I thought I was going to die. He had me give A-All Might a tail quirk-”

Wright stiffened and leaned forward, “Wait one moment, you gave All Might the tail quirk?”

“Blood transfer. Sensei’s blood…  I merely… injected it.”

Nauseated, he whispered, “Sensei, he knew. The tail was almost too much. He was so thin. He doesn’t have a lung. He almost died.”

“Who?”

“All Might!” Isamu cried out, “I - the quirk almost killed him! His heart stopped - ah,” he groaned clutching at his head as the memory resurfaced.

All Might collapsing to the floor, his tail suddenly fully-formed. Months of growth in one night! The high pitched tone of the heart monitor as he flat-lined. The stillness of his chest as his eyes lost focus. The crack of his sternum as Isamu continued chest compressions. The look on his face when his heart restarted, stuttering - laboring to pump blood through a whole new limb.

He wasn’t ready to die. Not him… He couldn’t-!

“CPR - I performed CPR when his heart stopped and gave him blood and supplement transfusions.” He choked, and a tear dripped onto the table, “He was so different.”

Wright furrowed his brow, “Different? What do you mean?”

“He was - is so kind,” Isamu’s voice cracked, “I… I couldn’t leave him there. Not like them, not like the others.”  

“Others?”

Wright turned as Tsuda spoke up, and nodded, “Yes, could you elaborate? On the others I mean.”

Shuddering, Isamu opened and closed his mouth, uncertain, “The… noumu. In Kamino. There was a warehouse…”

“Ah, you mean this?” Wright pulled out a newspaper clipping of the battle at Kamino Ward.

Sweat dripped down Isamu’s back, cooled by the chill of the room seeping through the useless slits in his shirt, “Yes… That.”

Wright paused, glancing down at the clipping before placing it back into the folder, “Tell me about the noumu. I haven’t had the chance to research them. What are they?”

“The other nurses called them artificial humans,” Isamu let the words fall from his mouth. His head felt fuzzy as the long repressed memories resurfaced, “They were people once. By the time I-I got there, there wasn’t really… anything human about them anymore.”

“But what makes them like this?” Wright tapped on a different newspaper clipping, a picture showing the exposed-brain creature under the hero Endeavor’s foot in Hosu.

“Drugs, quirks, and s-surgery,” Isamu’s brows furrowed, “There were times all the nurses had to leave so the Good Doctor could do their work. I don’t know who they were. We weren’t allowed to see them. They -” Isamu gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth. After a moment, he took a shuddering breath, “The Good Doctor exposed the noumu’s brains. I don’t know why. The noumu didn’t feel it though… I think… They were pumped full of morphine and other mind-altering drugs. The strain - the mental strain of additional quirks was too much. People aren’t meant to take in someone else’s quirks. It isn’t right. It isn’t natural.”

“And you were a part of that?” Wright asked, sharp eyes staring into Isamu’s own.

Searching.

Digging.

“What did you do while you were there, Sato?”

A sob tore out of Isamu’s chest, and he shook his head. His head throbbed harshly.

“Ah! I… I monitored their vitals,” Isamu gasped, pressing the heels of his palms against his face, “Their brainwaves.”

Memories played out in the back of his mind - bodies twisting and changing, the last bit of will fading behind their eyes, their brainwaves going flat on the monitor.

And I did nothing.

                                                           I did nothing.

                         Nothing.

“I watched them die. Brain-dead. Noumu. That’s what they are. Dead… dead dead dead…”

“Sato!” Wright’s voice was hard.

Isamu jolted, looking up, “I hated them.”

He froze. Shocked by his own words, but they were true. His hands shook.

“I was a coward. I did nothing to help them!”

“Sato, that doesn’t m-” Wright looked to the phone recording every word. He tapped the desk, “What else can you tell me about them? Why was Yagi different?”

A lump formed in Isamu’s throat. Why was he different…?

“With All Might… it was personal. Sensei didn’t treat him like the others. Chained, alone, and the Good Doctor never came to visit. But All Might - he survived! I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But he could handle it! The quirks! I thought maybe - maybe he could save… No! I mean -! He saw me. He spoke to me. Even when he lost his voice, he still tried. No one else… No one else ever lasted that long. When he started fading… He would get listless, only semi-aware. He paced for days - still trying to find a way out. I couldn’t watch him die. Not him.”

Wright frowned, “Which is why you cut Yagi loose?”

Isamu shook his head, reaching back to touch -

“I tried. I did, I tried… And Sensei punished me - punished him,” Isamu’s fingertips pressed against the scarred divots where his spikes were supposed to be.

Gone. They’re gone. They’re never coming back!

“He took my quirk,” Isamu sobbed, “And he stuffed it into All Might.” He shook his head, sorrowful laughter bubbling wetly from his throat, “I-I was dying… And so was he. I remember. All Might. He - his hands couldn’t reach me, and his eyes… Their light… He was gone.”

Wright furrowed his brows, “You’re saying he ended up like the rest of the noumu?”

“No! He saved me. I don’t- I don’t know-” Tears streamed down Isamu’s cheeks, “He is not a noumu. Incomplete… He’s incomplete. Sensei didn’t…” He gagged, and another sob wracked him, “Finish.”

“All for - Sensei didn’t finish what?” Wright pressed.

“What the Hell are you doing?!”

After running Toshinori’s blood sample to forensics, Naomasa returned to his desk. He flipped through the file left for him with a pensive frown on his face. Wright’s team was thorough, he gave them that much. Their questions delved into Sato’s role at the hospital and what he did for Toshinori. Idly tapping his pen on his desk, the words on the paper blent together as his thoughts shifted elsewhere.

Bap-bap! The sound of Toshinori’s gloved punches echoed in his mind and brought a smile to Naomasa’s face. In the dusty light of the old armory and with his back turned to him, Toshinori looked strong. Not the impossible strength of All Might, but a more subtle, healthy strength. His legs moved with certainty, bare padded feet treading softly on the boxing mat. His tail swung with the natural movement of the rest of his body, the tip flicking - in a way Naomasa was beginning to recognize - thoughtfully. Bap! Bap-bap! Toshinori’s punches were quick and sent the punching bag swinging on its chain. The hot flush of his skin and the damp line of sweat on his shirt following his spine and the ridged mane spoke of the effort he put in from the moment he’d entered the gym.

Naomasa chuckled fondly at the memory. He was right. Toshinori was restless.  

Taking a sip from his coffee, he returned his attention to text in his hand.

How did you first come into contact with the man you know as Sensei? Naomasa paused, then nodded. It was a fair question and one he himself had in mind.

What was your role in keeping Yagi captive?

Naomasa’s stomach twisted, and his gaze darted to the unfinished pack of cigarettes lying beside his computer. With a disgusted sigh, he snatched the box from his desk and stuffed it into his desk’s bottom drawer.

It would be nice to say he had fought the desire to fall back on his old habit, but when Toshinori was still missing after a week, Naomasa bought a pack with cup noodles. At least Sansa was polite enough not to make note of it when he caught him smoking in the parking lot.

I should have asked Toshinori to stay.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Naomasa sighed. Despite their early morning phone call, despite only just seeing Toshinori, guilt still chewed at the inside of his chest.

Twenty-two days. Toshinori had been in that hellhole for twenty-two days, chained and forced to undergo agonizing physical changes that nearly killed him.

Two weeks after Naomasa read All for One’s note… After he vehemently denied his gut feelings…

Toshinori’s not going to be found unchanged… It’s far too late. Toshinori was gone… replaced by an unseeing, unfeeling creature.

But he escaped.

Toshinori escaped.

Not found. Escaped!

Naomasa grit his teeth, I couldn’t find him. I did nothing.

Just like Wright… Just like...

Damn it. Naomasa grimaced, pointedly ignoring the desire to go outside for a smoke.

He’s back.

He’s safe.

Stop it! All for One is to blame.

Naomasa shook himself and looked back to the notes, crossing out questions he already had in mind and editing the wording of others. He nearly jumped out of his seat when his desk phone rang loudly.

“Hello, Detective Tsukauchi speaking,” he answered, quickly recovering, “How can I help you?”

“Hey, Tsukauchi. It’s Jun Suna.”

Naomasa glanced at his watch, brows furrowing thoughtfully. She was already due to be at the department for Sato’s interview.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Suna sighed, “Afraid so. A train car was thrown off track by a villain. I’m stuck en route until they get things cleaned up and back on track. No injuries, thank goodness. Just a mess.”

“Thank goodness for no injuries, yes,” Naomasa nodded, tucking the phone against his shoulder and pulling a sticky note from its pad, “I’ll send a car to pick you up if they will allow you off the track. Where are you now?”

“I’d really appreciate that. I’m about…” Naomasa heard a shuffling, “Seventeen miles from the Blue Line transit station. I can see the Musutafu Volcanoes baseball stadium from my window.”

Naomasa gestured for one of the uniformed patrol officers and handed them the sticky note, “Take your partner to pick up Attorney Jun Suna. She’s currently stuck on a delayed train between stations.”

The officer nodded and went on their way.

“There is a car coming to pick you up now,” Naomasa said, glancing at his watch again, “I imagine you’ll be back here in,” he clicked his tongue, “forty minutes.”  

Suna hummed on the other side of the line, “Is my client at the department already?”

“Yes,” Naomasa said, “Isamu Sato is waiting for us to start. I’ll let him know you will be here a little late.”

“Thank you,” Suna sighed.

Naomasa heard loud complaining and a crying child in the background.  

“Think your officers can get here soon?” Suna asked with a laugh.

“They’re on their way,” Naomasa said with a smile.  

Suna scoffed, “I’ll get comfortable. See you soon, Tsukauchi.”

“Talk to you soon,” he replied and hung up.

Sitting back and popping his neck with a groan, Naomasa scooped up the file and stood.

I should let Wright and his team know, he thought. Then Sato…

The walk to the small conference room Chief Tsuragamae had given Wright was short. Naomasa knocked once and swung the door open. Inside, Vera Lang sat reading from her braille terminal. Beside her, Mary Shin tended to one of her plants and smiled as it grew larger and greener. She sent a knowing look toward Alba Tyto and Sansa, who sat at the end of the table. Sansa pointed something out in Tyto’s translation book, his voice trilling with his loud purr. Tyto tilted her head, feathers ruffled and dark eyes shining curiously.

“Thank you, Tamakawaii,” she said, sneakily sidling up closer to Sansa.

Sansa - to his credit - straightened bashfully, fur standing on end, “N-n-no problem! Ah, a-and it’s Tamakawa.”

“Tamakawaii,” Tyto repeated in her heavy accent, fluttering her eyelashes.

Naomasa cleared his throat and nearly broke his professional mask when Sansa quite literally jumped to attention and threw up a salute.

“Tsukauchi! Sir!” Sansa’s voice cracked as he stood rigid.  

“At ease,” Naomasa snorted humorously.

Sansa’s shoulders relaxed as he sighed in relief and dropped his salute.

“Have you seen Wright?” Naomasa asked, glancing around the small room. The Englishman’s absence sent unease curling in his gut.

“Yes,” Sansa nodded, “Last I saw, he was keeping Sato company while he waited to start.”

Naomasa’s quirk itched at the back of his mind, immediately picking up the micro expressions on Lang and Shin’s faces.

Exasperation. Irritation. Acceptance.

His gut clenched, and he turned back to the hall, “Excuse me.”

Naomasa heard a quiet, “Sir?” from Sansa, but he already crossed the threshold, into the bullpen.

Don’t be right, he thought, fists already clenching.

He was two doors away when he heard a quiet sob.

“- didn’t finish what?”  

Wright. Fuck! Naomasa grit his teeth and threw the door open.

“What the Hell are you doing?!”

Sato jolted and twisted in his chair, staring wide-eyed at Naomasa. Tears streaked down his face, and he clutched his injured side.

“I- !” Sato’s voice broke. He lurched from his chair to the trash bin in the corner and retched.

Naomasa seethed, turning from Sato’s bent form to glare at Wright.

“This is an extreme breach of protocol,” Naomasa bit out, “What the hell did you do?”

Wright tapped on his phone and pocketed it before leisurely standing, “I was interviewing your witness. With his consent, of course.”

Naomasa scoffed, “Consent without legal counsel.”

“Still,” Wright tucked his newspaper clippings and notepad into a folder, “Consent is consent.” He turned briefly to Tsuda, “You can release him.”

Tsuda nodded quickly and rubbed at his eyes.

“You used a quirk on- ?! Passive detection is one thing, but to push your influence- !” Disgust coiled tightly in Naomasa’s gut.

Wright met his gaze evenly, not backing down an inch.

Fuming, Naomasa pushed open the door, “Get out. Now.”

Wright hummed and brushed past Naomasa. Before he strode through the doorway, Naomasa gripped the Englishman’s arm.

“I plan to review the recording on your phone,” he said, voice low and leaving no room for question.

“Naturally,” Wright said, adjusting his sleeve when Naomasa released him.

Tsuda followed after Wright, shoulders hunched and avoiding Naomasa’s gaze. His face was pale, and his hands trembled.

As soon as the two left, Naomasa shut and locked the door. Grabbing napkins and a cup of water from the side table, he approached Sato.

“I’m sorry,” Naomasa said softly. Kneeling, he passed the napkins to the young nurse, “That was never meant to happen.”

Sato nodded slowly and wiped spit and bile from his mouth. It came away with streaks of red, and he clutched his side.

“Ow,” he croaked, gently prodding at his healed injury. After a short self-examination, he sighed in relief, rubbing at his abdomen before spitting into the wastebasket.

Naomasa placed his hand on the young nurse’s back and rubbed slow circles while Sato caught his breath, still clutching at his side. A sense of familiarity flooded Naomasa’s mind.

He had done this before with Toshinori.

Sighing, Naomasa passed the cup of water to Sato, “Drink slowly.”

Sato did as asked, taking small sips of water between pained breaths. He chuckled weakly, “The truth… It hurts.”

Grimacing, he curled further on himself and coughed.

“Can you tell me what they did?” Naomasa asked, resting his hand on Sato’s shoulder.

Sato shivered, and fresh tears streamed down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I’m so so sorry.”

Naomasa sighed, “No, this isn’t your fault. They are my responsibility and-”

Sato shook his head, “All Might, your friend, I didn’t - I could have done more. I could have prevented so much, but I was a coward. I let Sensei hurt him,” The nurse shuddered and bowed his head, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Naomasa squeezed Sato’s shoulder, “Look at me.”

Sato sniffled and hesitantly lifted his gaze.

“You saved All Might,” Naomasa gave Sato’s shoulder a soft shake, “You stood up against All for One, despite what he could do to you, and you helped All Might escape. That’s more than I - or anyone could ask of you. So, don’t,” he huffed a soft laugh, “Don’t apologize. All Might wouldn’t want you to.”

His phone buzzed softly in his pocket, and he took Sato’s cup to refill it, “Just rest there a moment.”

Glancing down at his phone, Naomasa sighed in relief. His other guests arrived safely.

After filling two cups, he sat down next to Sato, who muttered his thanks.

“I came in here to tell you your lawyer was running late.”

Sato blinked, tensing, “L-lawyer? B-but I’m not under arrest… You said…”

“No, no, but you should always have legal counsel when questioned by authorities. This isn’t television. What Wright did… That was not fair to you at all. I’m sorry.”

Sato was quiet for a moment before softly saying, “I just wanted to help.”

Naomasa sighed heavily, “I know. I know. I… think it would be best if we tried again on another day. What do you say?”  

Gingerly rubbing his abdomen, Sato nodded, “That would be… nice. Thank you, Detective.”

Naomasa smiled gently and stood, offering his hand, “Here, let’s get you cleaned up. I have a couple of people who would love to see you.”

He laughed at Sato’s wary look, “Don’t worry, don’t worry. You’ll see. It’ll be alright.”

Sato took his hand, grunting with effort as he stood, “Okay.”

Staring into the mirror above the sink, Isamu sighed as the cool air of the department seeped through the slits in his shirt, drying the cold sweat on his back. He splashed water on his face and exited the restroom.

Detective Tsukauchi waited in the hall and, after giving him a short once-over, gave him a small smile, “Feeling better?”

Isamu nodded.

The detective sighed in relief, “Good. This way.”

Following Tsukauchi, Isamu took slow, even breaths. He relaxed when they passed the interrogation room, but his head throbbed - an echo of the sharp pain he felt when his memories clawed to the surface of his mind.

A few officers watched as he weaved through the bullpen desks after Tsukauchi, and Isamu kept his head down. He jolted when the detective turned and spoke.

“Just over here,” Tsukauchi said with a smile, gesturing to a small room off to the side. A sign above the door read Break Room.

Isamu furrowed his brows curiously, pausing as Tsukauchi opened the door for him. Hesitantly, Isamu stepped into the room.

His heart leapt, and a wide grin split his face.

“Mom!” Isamu rushed forward and into his mother’s arms.

“Isamu!” Koharu wrapped her short arms around Isamu before holding him out in front of her and taking his face in her hands, “My boy…”

Small tears threatened to spill from her dark brown eyes,  “Oh my sweet, brave boy. Oh, Detective! He told us everything, Isamu. You saved a kidnapped man? Oh sweetheart,” she wrapped her arms around him.

Isamu held her tight, bowing his head and kissing his mother’s forehead. He smiled when bright purple wisteria blossoms sprung from her hair, filling the air around them with a sweet fragrance.

He chuckled, brushing his hand over her shoulder, “You’re dropping flowers again, mom…”

“Oh dear! Oh dear! My apologies, Detective,” Koharu fretted, brushing her hands through her flower-filled black hair, and looked anxiously down at the dusting of small, purple petals littering the floor.

“It’s perfectly alright,” Tsukauchi said from beside the door and bowed in parting, “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

As the door closed, Isamu felt a rough, calloused hand take hold of the back of his neck.

“What happened to your spikes, boy?”

Isamu’s smile slipped only slightly, and he turned, “Hi, Dad.”

Yoshio Sato stood at eye level with his son, wearing his dark brown suit. His usual stern expression melted away, and he placed his hand against Isamu’s cheek.

“You gave us a scare, Isamu,” Yoshio’s strong arms suddenly enveloped Isamu, “You just had to live up to your name, didn’t you? You had to go and scare your mother.” He clapped his hands on Isamu’s shoulders and held him at arm’s length, “There are flower petals all over the house.” Yoshio’s voice cracked, tapering into a breathless whisper.

He closed his eyes, face twisted with worry.

“They told us you were hurt…”

Isamu’s brows rose, and he embraced his father, arms wrapping around him and fingers finding their usual resting place between his father’s long spikes. Voice lost, he pressed his face into his father’s shoulder and choked back a sob.

“Isamu - Isamu dear, what’s… Are you alright?”

His mother’s voice soothed his aching heart, but he shook his head, holding his father tighter, “No. I will be, but can I just stay like this for a while? No questions?”

He felt his father nod and pat his back, rocking side to side as he always did when Isamu desperately needed comfort, “Sure, my boy. Just like this. No questions.”

Isamu took a shuddering breath. He could smell the scent of his father’s work bench, sawdust, clay, bone, and varnish, “Thank you.”

I’ll tell them. Just…

Unbidden, an old memory resurfaced. The warmth of his mother’s lap. His father holding up Isamu’s first baby spike, comparing it with the ones he shed the previous year. Teaching him how to brush and take care of them… Ever patient with his instructions.

“I-I… My…” Isamu struggled to say it aloud.

His mother placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and directed him to the break room’s couch. He gazed sadly at the small spike hanging from his mother’s necklace.

Isamu closed his eyes as a small tear ran down his face, he couldn’t look at them, “My quirk. It’s gone. Taken. I-I don’t think my spikes… will ever grow back.”

His father’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and the scent of blue moon wisteria washed over him. True to their word, his parents didn’t ask a single question.

Resting her head on Isamu’s other shoulder, his mother sighed softly, “I guess we weren’t told everything. It’s going to be alright Isamu. We’ll… figure this out together.”

It’ll be alright.

Isamu nodded, eyes still closed.

Somehow.

A twisted hand, discolored and covered in sores, grabbed at his wrist, and Genji flinched. The noumu’s eyes locked on his, fear and pain shining from them. Its chapped lips mouthed silent words. He quickly grabbed a syringe and injected the tranquilizer into the creature.

“Genji.”

Genji blinked, and the nurse’s memory returned to its roaming around his head.

Mr. Wright stood at his side, gaze fixed on the words slowly filling Genji’s journal.

“What else did you see?” he asked. “Before the Kamino Noumu. Did you see All for One?”

Genji nodded as the memories moved on their own, and he drew a sketch in an empty space below the entry. A tall man in a dark suit cast an imposing figure on the page. A mask with almost skeletal features flashed in his mind’s eye, and he spent a good moment to try and capture each detail.

“Sadly, we can’t connect that with any of the other descriptions without seeing his face, but,” Mr. Wright hummed, “I suppose that’s all we’re going to get with Sato. I wonder what Yagi knows…”

Yagi. All Might.

Genji stood in the center of a small room, a tray of food in hand. All Might sat, slouched against the far wall. Tired, blue eyes glanced up at Genji, and a warm smile lit up his haggard face. Suddenly, the little room didn’t feel so cold.

“He’s a nice man,” Genji said, glancing down. He pursed his lips in thought as the rough sketch of All Might grinned up at him. The graphite smile didn’t do him justice.

It lacked his warmth.

All Might felt like the sun on Genji’s skin, like the sound of fire, like the smell of the ocean. He was all yellows and blues like the sky.  

Bad people didn’t feel that way. Genji knew that much.

“He’s a liar,” Mr. Wright stated simply, and Genji could tell he was frowning.

Genji rocked slightly in his seat, thinking through his words, “Sato liked him. He was nice even when he was hurting.” Frowning, Genji tapped the paper, “He hurt a lot.”

Mr. Wright placed his hand on Genji’s shoulder, “Try to focus. Look for any memories with our Big Bad.”  

Genji held Sensei’s blood and filled the syringe with practiced ease. He turned and knelt beside All Might. He looked… tired. Defiant, but resigned. Dread and guilt and disgust twisted in Genji’s stomach.

“I-I can’t …” he said in the barest of whispers. “Not to you. I c-”

All Might held out his arm and nodded at it. Sorrow filled Genji as he injected the tainted blood into the kind, brave, hurting man.  

“I’m sorry,” Genji whimpered quietly as he rubbed the area with a small alcohol wipe, “I’m sorry, All Might.” His hands trembled as he pulled the needle from All Might’s arm. He pressed a bandage to the red pin-prick, nearly bursting into tears when he saw All Might try to give him a reassuring smile.  

“To think that self-sacrificing nature of yours could still be exploited,” Sensei said smugly, “So much for that strength.” He bent and took Genji’s shoulder in his hand, “Take this lesson to heart.”  

“Y-yes, Sensei,” Genji stuttered, frozen under All for One’s grip. He feared him.

Genji flinched away from the hand on his shoulder. A shudder ripped down his spine, and he quickly wrote every detail of the memory before it slipped away.

Cold. Sensei … All for One was steel gray - heartless. Unfeeling. His touch stole away all warmth.

“Ayumi Shiire?” Mr. Wright muttered under his breath.

Genji heard Mr. Wright’s jacket rustle as he crossed his arms, “A coworker of Sato’s. I think she directs the supply chain.”

Ms. Vera’s head snapped up, “Now there’s some good information. I’d like to have a word with her… I’ve gone over the supply chain for these hospitals for months. Isn’t that right, Mary?”

Genji looked up as Mary nodded.

“Good,” Mr. Wright said, “We’re getting somewhere. Genji.”

Genji glanced up briefly, not quite meeting his guardian’s gaze, “Yes?”

“Was there anything more?”

Genji shifted in his seat, brows furrowing. The memory slipped from his grasp, a mere wisp. He focused -

Pain erupted from his side, but Genji couldn’t speak. All Might leaped forward and, arm snapping back, crumpled to the ground - still held by the last uncut chain.

“A-All Migh-,” his eyes widened, and his face paled. He seized and gagged. Blood dribbled out the side of his mouth. He brushed his lips with trembling fingers and stared down at them. Tears welled in his eyes.

“There.” All for One sneered darkly - angrily. Genji’s blood dotted the villain’s hand and suit, “Now you match.”

Genji gripped the bone. Pain throbbed through his side. More pain than he’d felt in his life.

“Genji!”

The memory flickered, but held Genji submerged within it. Drowning him.

The masked villain grabbed the bone spear, twisting it slowly.

Genji’s hands shook and slipped against the twisted bone, grasping desperately.

Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop! Please! Please! Stop!

“I left you alone with the barest glimmer of hope, a naive child’s kindness. Temporary allowances I accounted for. I had expected Tetsumi to teach this runt…” He gestured at the broken chains with disgust, “She failed.”

All Might snarled, “St- !” The word broke, and instead an inhuman growl rumbled out of his throat. His hackles stood on end, and his tail swung in anger.

Sensei pulled at the bone spear and Genji let out a broken, pained shout, desperately holding onto the slick spear - willing it to still. Hot, wet blood seeped through his shirt.

“I thought perhaps fear would turn to loyalty given time. I overestimated his cowardice…” Sensei canted his head, and his grip on the spear tightened.

“It’s time to extinguish that hope.”

The villain yanked the bone spear from Genji’s side.

SLAP!

Genji blinked, tasting blood. He pressed his fingers to his lips, and they came away red.

I … bit my tongue…

“Genji..?”

He looked up. Mary stood by him, panting, open hand still raised. His cheek stung.

“W-what?”

All eyes were on him, and he shrunk down to avoid them. A collective sigh filled the room, and their gazes mercifully left his face.

Mary shifted so that she faced forward, looking away, “Genji, you were stuck. I’m sorry. We tried calling out. Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

Genji looked around the room, confused. Glancing down he noted bloodstains on his notebook, “Ow…?”

Alba clicked her beak, “And… it’s gone. Probably for the best. That was a nasty memory from the looks of it.”

Genji’s eyes widened in understanding. Oh. Sato’s interview.

He checked the date and time of the last journal entry and looked at his watch, nodding.

“Yes, the borrowed memories are gone,” he grimaced, sticking out his throbbing tongue, “Ew. I need to wash out my mouth. I’ll be back.”

Mr. Wright said nothing.

Genji couldn’t look.

A hand reached out to him, and fear bubbled his chest. Fighting the urge to bite his nails, he sped up and passed his guardian.

Once he was safely out of the room, Genji paused.

Strange. Why would I…? Mr. Wright’s not scary.

He shrugged, dismissing the feeling as remnants of borrowed memories now lost.

After his long chat with Principal Nedzu, Toshinori stumbled back to the dorm and immediately collapsed onto the livingroom couch. Lying on his stomach with his head resting on his folded arms, he stretched out his tired legs behind him and let his feet dangle off the far arm of the couch. His tail curved down and thumped absently against the floor as he listened to his students prepare their own dinners.

The soft, pleasant atmosphere lulled him into a peaceful nap.

Hours later, Toshinori woke covered in blankets and surrounded by pillows. He shifted, tail tightening around -

“All Might-sensei?”

Toshinori blinked sleepily and looked down toward his hip. Young Kaminari smiled awkwardly from his seat on the floor, his arms pinned by the tail wrapped around his torso.

“Can I get out of tail jail now?” he asked, wiggling in place a little.

Toshinori’s ears perked and went red when he heard a couple of his nearby students snicker.

“That’s what you get for trying to play with his tail,” Ashido giggled, earning laughter from the students around her, quickly followed by a stiff reprimand from Young Iida. Uraraka and Izuku shared a look when Iida sat, broken when Uraraka snorted and shook with laughter.

“Oh,” Toshinori unwound his tail, moving it up to rest atop his legs, “Sorry, Kaminari, my boy.”

His student only smiled and hopped up from the floor, stretching his arms, “Not a problem! It was actually pretty comfortable.”

Toshinori quirked a lopsided smile, the tuft of his tail flicking in amusement.

“If you say so,” he chuckled, raising his hand briefly to wave off the boy as he wandered back to a group of his classmates.

Toshinori shifted comfortably. Stretching his legs and splaying his padded toes, he chuckled warmly at Young Ashido’s whispered comparison of his and a cat’s feet. Yawning, he pressed deeper into the cushions, and his eyelids drooped.

A energetic tune suddenly played from the television. The cold open of the eight o’clock nightly news, Toshinori realized vaguely as it pulled him back from his nap. Rolling with a grunt and pushing himself to sit up, he gestured to the screen.

“Kouda, my boy, would you mind turning up the volume?”

Kouda, sitting on the other couch, looked up from the rabbit in his lap and nodded.  

Toshinori blinked the sleep from his eyes, ears perking as the anchors spoke.

“Hello and welcome to the top of the hour,” the first anchor said as an animation flashed across the screen, “Breaking News now from the front gates of U.A. Principal Nedzu, along with members of his staff held a brief press conference regarding the story we brought to you this morning.”

“Yes,” continued the co-anchor, “This morning, a photo of the mystery person who startled shoppers in the Rishi shopping district entering U.A. was sent to us by an anonymous source. This is what the Principal had to say.”

Principal Nedzu, sitting on Blood King’s shoulder, appeared on the screen.

“The man in the photograph is a faculty member, and so is meant to have access to the U.A. campus. He was, at the time, attempting to save a wounded person while injured himself,” Nedzu smiled pleasantly at the reporter, “He extends his apologies to anyone he frightened in his rush to help.”

The video continued as the anchor spoke again, “When asked who the faculty member and the injured person were, the Principal talked instead about the benefits of keratin.”

Another animation flashed over the screen while the co-anchor moved the show along, “Well, it’s been rather chilly outside. Let’s get a first check of weather.”

Toshinori quirked a small grin, and his shoulders sagged in relief. A perfunctory top story with a single soundbite was perfect.

Hopefully now the excitement will die down, he thought, glancing down at his clawed feet absently kneading the carpet. At least until I’m ready to go public.

Standing, Toshinori stretched and shook off the cocoon of blankets. He quickly folded them and returned them to the chest by the television.

“Thank you, Kouda,” Toshinori said, closing the chest.

Kouda smiled bashfully up at him while his rabbit grew restless and hopped down from the couch. Toshinori looked down at the rabbit and gave his tail a few experimental flicks, smiling when they hopped over and around it in excitement. Crouching, he pet the rabbit with the back of his fingers, careful to keep his claws away.

Whiskers twitching, the rabbit made a soft noise of complaint and thumped their foot on the ground when Toshinori stopped. He chuckled and shooed the rabbit back towards Kouda.

“Go on,” he said softly and grinned.

Standing up straight, Toshinori -

“Ah,” he inhaled sharply and pressed against his side. Pain flared from the center of his scar outward. He grunted, pursing his lips at the taste of blood coating his tongue, and moved towards the kitchen.

“All Might-sensei?” Toshinori heard Tokoyami’s voice as he stumbled up to the sink.

Shit… Toshinori spat into the basin, quickly rinsing the red down the drain. Not in front of the kids… With a trembling hand, he wiped his lips and flinched as painful aftershocks seized his side.

“All Might?” Izuku’s voice was quiet as he passed a clean hand towel to Toshinori.

Toshinori managed a small nod in thanks, pressing the towel to his mouth and clearing his throat, “Just a spasm, my boy.”

The tickle irritating his throat worsened, and he braced against the counter. The coughing fit hit like a punch to the gut, though he was mercifully able to muffle the heaving coughs in the towel. His legs shook and tail slumped to the floor.

Sh-shit. He thought as the aches from his exercising returned with a fury, Overdid it.

Toshinori wheezed and finally pulled the cloth from his face, folding it quickly to hide the large, red stain. Claws digging into the countertop for support, Toshinori eyed the elevator and clicked his teeth in frustration. He took a hesitant step forward, and the room spun.

Izuku’s hands hovered uncertainly before he gently gripped Toshinori’s forearm, steadying him.

“That was … rough. Do you,” Izuku gave Toshinori’s arm a small squeeze, “Do you need water or help up to your room?”

Toshinori shook his head, shuddering at the intense burning in his chest. He rubbed his abdomen, Damn it. The acid sac…

“Okay, just… take your time. I’m right here.”

Toshinori nodded, “I -”

His eyes widened.

No no no no -!

Nausea seized his throat, and he staggered, blinking rapidly to clear the spots dancing in his eyes. White…

The fog…

Shit. Did I really overdo it?

Numbness washed over him.

No. This is nothing. I can handle this mu-! A shudder ripped down Toshinori’s spine, and his legs wobbled.

No…

Toshinori grit his teeth, vaguely realizing he was on the floor.

Not here.

Hands squeezed his shoulders.

Please not here.

Time slowed.

Not… not near the kids...

Green eyes desperately searched for his.

Please -

Canvas 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Catalyst 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Control 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Collapse 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

Contained 1 / 2 (WIP)

Find the whole series on Archive with fanart at the end of each chapter HERE!

Check out Aoi’s and my sideblog @toshinoumu for more series content!

An older, lovely sketch by @juustozzi which inspired part of the last scene :3c

Thank you! <3