#nemoto

I still Love Yurimoko But Nemoyuri and Uchimoko are Cute too, Not gonna Lie...

Overhaul: *crouches*

Nemoto: *kneels*

Deidoro: *sits on the floor*

Trigger Warning/s: alcohol, mentions of choking

Pre-chapter notes: none

Art: Hika Drew on ArtStation. He is a 3D artist based in Singapore! Fun fact about the cover - it was a piece he created to simulate a game environment as part of his final term at an award-winning digital arts school. Isn’t it simply beautiful? Best of all, he mentioned that he had a lot of fun creating it! I think that pieces where the artist is able to have fun and enjoy what they are doing are the most wonderful. I hope he is doing well and still full of passion for 3D modelling and art.

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Boss hisses in frustration, teeth biting into the skin of his marred lips.

Discussions with the major Yakuza group just a few prefectures away had not been fruitful. The Silencer and her lackeys had been actively scouting for major threats to the organisation, and had determined them to be of the most concern. In turn, the Undertaker had suggested that Boss find out their motives and seek an alliance. After all, the organisation had numbers and therefore influence, but lacked the resources to properly cement their place in the underworld.

The fact that Overhaul hadn’t sought them out himself should have been his first warning, for being the first to approach was already a sign of deference - an indication of their need. Still, he had somehow managed to arrange a mutual conference, with himself, flanked by the Undertaker and the Silencer, and Overhaul, flanked by two of his own members donning eerie variations of plague doctor masks.

“We have similar interests,” he had negotiated. “We wish to uproot hero society, and you wish to reinstate the Yakuza. Why don’t we work together?”

But the Shie Hassaikai had been a stubborn bunch. Whenever Boss had suggested any sort of union on equal footing, the Yakuza group had demanded for the upper hand in the partnership, backing away and sibilating uncooperative words at any other suggestion. Insistent on “creating a new era”, Overhaul was adamant that he was to become the next dominating leader of the underworld. In his mind, the organisation would need to fall under his command for any form of hierarchical upheaval to be successful.

Boss had initially refused. It was a foul, distasteful idea. To give up the organisation, his pride and joy, to someone still so green with such irresponsible confidence would be the same as asking a man to sever his own hand. It was simply a preposterous suggestion.

Yet, at present, the scarred man still cannot deny the sheer power that they have. He cannot deny that the Shie Hassaikai has resources that his organisation is lacking - illicit research and technology, medicine, weapons and tools.

All of which he must acquire. He simply must.

But would he let his organisation become a subsidiary of the Shie Hassaikai? Could he? Boss had wondered if his ambitions could ever outweigh his desire for control. Maybe they could, if he knew he was going to gain control back later.

Though, even if he did decide to join forces with the group, how would he prove the organisation’s loyalty? Betrayal was common amongst allied criminal groups. How could he ensure that his supposed devotion to the Yakuza group would not be questioned? Moreover, how would he prepare to eventually betray and hopefully supersede the group’s leader, while simultaneously kowtowing to Overhaul every step of the way?

He needed an insurance plan.

Now sitting in the dark of his musky office, the solution comes to him.

You.

You could be at the centre of it all.

Frustrated, Boss takes a swig of beer from his stein, slamming down on the table heavily. You are not the solution he wants, yet you are all too perfect for the job, and he hates it.

Because if you are the solution, it means that giving you, his greatest asset, up to Overhaul, is the perfect way to prove his loyalty.

Overhaul will have to pry Chiyo out of my cold, dead hands, he thinks. It was already hard enough to tug at the strings of fate just right so that you might be miraculously enrolled into UA, so to hand over his labour to the sullied palms of another like him would be borderline sacrilege.

And if you are the solution, it means that you will have to be the one to fish the organisation out of deep waters when Boss decides it is time to betray them. Worse still, you are perfectly capable of doing so.

Without a doubt, it is out of the question. If you were to do such a thing, the eyes of other villains would be cast on you, and you would no longer be his secret weapon.

Boss’s fists tighten around the handle of his beer-filled mug, which miraculously stays intact. He vows to find another way. He’ll do his part to make sure you’re not in the spotlight.

Then, when the time is right, he’ll get his revenge and supplant Overhaul. He’ll finally have everything.

Everything he needs to destroy hero society.

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Art is not a subject like the sciences, or like mathematics. In art, there are no solutions - only lines and colours which swirl into subjectivity, and a sheet of white on which its surface bears the scars marked by pencils and brushes.

Today’s art class is a sketching lesson, and you are adamant on mastering the skill.

As the subject’s teacher had mentioned, for heroes, a profile sketch could mean the difference between an arrest and a criminal walking free. They had emphasised that it was “simply not enough to assume that you will catch every villain, or be able to take a photo of their face before they get away.” You had agreed, since you know that an overreliance on technology is the modern hero’s downfall, as it is to the modern villain. But of course, those like Bakugo had scoffed at the idea, proclaiming that he would be sure to have a 100% capture rate.

Still, others like Iida vouched for the process, who had tried to explain to the aggressive blonde that sketching was also “healing for the soul”. You did not expect Iida to have such a creative spirit.

“Hero work isn’t so easy, you know! It is activities like these that keep heroes sane!” Iida preaches. “You should be grateful to have the opportunity to learn such things as these in an institution such as UA!”

“You shutting the f*** up would keep me sane,” Bakugo snaps back.

Classic Bakugo.

Though you’re not entirely sure how scratching grey lines into a sheet of paper can be healing for the soul and a source of sanity, you appreciate Iida’s sentiment anyway.

No matter. You have work to do. Sketching. Unfortunately, as you’ve demonstrated previously, you aren’t very good at it.

Your current task? To draw someone important to you. But you don’t currently have anyone in your life that’s particularly important, other than maybe Yoarashi, but you’ve already tried drawing him once, and even if you tried again, he still probably wouldn’t be recognisable.

Still, you put pencil to paper, and you draw.

An outline begins to form. An outline of a man. An outline of a man with wrinkles like branching pathways on his forehead and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.

You scribble some more. Graphite smudges on the bandages on your forearms, casting a gradient on the underside. Nobody else seems to be struggling the way you are. You can hear Midoriya wittering on about inane matters on his side of the room, while the boys in the middle lean on each other’s desks and elbow each other’s sides, laughing at their friends’ creations with easy smiles.

But nothing you draw can bring the man to justice. On paper, the man’s cheeks are swollen and mouth is crooked.

You don’t remember the Adjudicator’s eyes looking like that.

It is sick and horrible, but your drawing is reminiscent of his final moments.

Your grip tightens. Your fifth pencil snaps. Thankfully, the pencils you are using are not your own, for you would not be able to afford so many - the teacher had provided a box full of them for everyone to use.

You need to shred this drawing.

Small blood ribbons emerge from the tips of your fingers, sharpening into points, and then-

“Who are you trying to draw?”

Your ribbons stop in their tracks.

Midoriya stands sheepishly in front of your desk, peering down at your drawing. He must want something from you. Your ribbons quietly retreat back quietly inside the barrier of your skin.

But how can you tell the boy you are drawing the man who raised you? Who taught you everything you know? There is so much to say and also nothing to say at all. Yet, you must answer him.

“…I am drawing my father.”

He wasn’t, isn’t, and never can be.

“Oh! So he must be important to you then!” The boy feels silly after saying that. Of course your father would be important to you.

“I suppose so,” you mutter.

Midoriya thinks that that is a strange response.

“Is there something you need?” you ask him when he doesn’t respond.

“Um, I was just wondering if you needed help, is all,” he says, wearily casting a glance down at the remnants of broken pencils at the corner of your desk. By the looks of it, Midoriya still doesn’t seem too sure of you yet, but the fact that he’s approached you to help must be a good sign. “I finished early, you see…”

With him, you observe the pitiful pile of snapped wood and graphite and nod. “Okay. Please teach me.”

Your green-haired classmate puts his notebook down on your desk and holds out his pencil out for you to see.

“Chibana, I think you’re gripping the pencil too tightly, which is why they keep breaking. You need to hold it like this.” Midoriya grips the pencil with a practised ease. His fingers do not constrict around its body the way fingers might curl around a neck, but holds them with a gentleness one might have with a baby. Delicately, precisely, easily, he traces the outline of a head. The lines cascade into a neck, then a pair of shoulders, which flow to the edges of the page.

“Your turn,” he says, tilting his head expectantly at your blank sheet.

You follow. The sixth pencil afforded for your use enjoys the light (albeit stiff) grip you have on its base. It cooperates begrudgingly under the keen eye of your classmate, leaving its traces of grey in more coherent patterns than before. Shaky lines crawl their way onto the paper, and with Midoriya’s guidance, you gradually are able to sketch a rough shape, enough to resemble a person’s head.

“Next, you can start to draw the basic shape of the facial features,” Midoriya says, scratching out two eyes, a nose, and lips.

In tandem, you do the same. You try to emulate the Adjudicator’s furrowed brows from your memory, his avoidant gaze, and his tight-lipped, determined reticence. If you can draw your late master, you won’t forget his face. It would be the least you could do to return the favour to the man who had taught you to fight - who had taught you everything.

To the man, who, in his final moments, had even taught you your name.

In the end, you are still only a beginner. While Midoriya’s artwork is beautiful and precise, your lines wend their way in unpredictable directions. The man on your paper, though looking better than his earlier rendition, is still quite unsightly. There are plenty of complaints you could make with yours - his eyebrows are too thick, his eyelids are too heavy, and his mouth is too wide - but instead, you turn your attention to the boy’s work.

“You are very good at drawing,” you comment, causing him to sputter.

“O-Oh! Thank you! It’s because I’ve had a lot of practice since I used to sketch people a lot back when I was quirkl-” But Midoriya stops himself before he can say more.

You tilt your head at the confusion. “When you were…?”

“B-Back when I was really young!” the boy stutters out, reeling from the shock of almost revealing his secret.

To his great relief, you completely brush it off. “Okay. Thank you for your help.”

“Um, no problem!” he chirps.

Then, you take a closer look at his completed sketch.

It looks… familiar. Midoriya has drawn the outline of an unsmiling girl with a deadpan stare and a cloak around her shoulders. Something unfamiliar twists in your stomach.

The varying shades of grey look vibrant on Midoriya’s page. He has shaded the girl’s features to perfection, each line of darkness telling its own story.

The girl’s eyes look bright. Alive. Not like yours.

But even still-

“It looks… it looks like…”

“Like you?” he finishes for you, nodding sheepishly. “I thought it’d be easier for you to understand how to draw if I did it first, and you were right in front of me, so…” the boy mutters, fiddling with his pen, “do you like it?”

Midoriya-san… drew me?

You’re not sure how to respond to this sort of thing.

The only thing you know how to do is be honest.

“I… do. I like it.”

“You can have it then,” he smiles, tearing it out of his notebook. “It’s not my best work, but I’m glad you like it.”

Gingerly, you receive the paper with two hands.

You’re still pretty neutral about Midoriya, and you’re not sure how he feels about you other than the fact that he acts pretty skittish around you. But though the boy may never know, you’ll be sure to treasure this gift with all your heart.

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For the second time that week, Boss lounges back on a couch opposite to Overhaul, who sits stiffly with his arms on his thighs. Although the former may seem relaxed, the tension in his jaw suggests otherwise.

And so negotiations continue.

“I have considered the terms of your proposal,” Overhaul states coldly. “But I have a few conditions.”

“State your terms,” Boss spits back derisively, no love lost between the two men. His hand reaches for the cigarettes in his pocket, but the uptight Yakuza head hisses.

“Pollute my place with that s*** and the negotiations are off,” he snarls, and Boss’s hand moves away unwillingly.

A favourable outcome almost seems impossible at this point - it is a battle locked between an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

But one must give way to the other. Which will it be?

Scarface calculates the odds in his head. Overhaul is prideful - he is clearly interested in some sort of partnership, for otherwise, he would not agree to meet multiple times - but he does not show it. And he is more than likely not to budge, for Boss himself had unwittingly devalued the organisation by being the one to request such a partnership first.

The best he can probably do at this point in time is to grit his teeth and stand firm on the terms. Though, that’s proving quite difficult at the moment with how stubborn the other is.

A muffled cough can be heard from inside the younger man’s beaked mask. “Hand your greatest asset over to us. Then we can consider ourselves equal.”

Boss’s greatest asset is you. There’s no way he’ll give that up.

“You have nothing to offer us,” Overhaul continues to explain in anticipation of resistance. “We will achieve our goals with or without your assistance. If you truly want this partnership…” his voice lowers, “provide something of equal weight.”

The older man’s fists tighten so much that his knuckles pale at the strain. This man has some nerve to ask for more, to demand complete subservience to the Yakuza, he thinks, enraged. Yet, as insulted as he is, he cannot bring himself to let go of the opportunity.

“This is the Undertaker,” Boss offers, “my right-hand man and the best researcher in our facility. I can guarantee he will move mountains in your current project. All of his abilities and skills I can offer to you.”

Overhaul is never one to make things easy, and he scoffs at the proposal. “Do you truly expect me to believe that he is your greatest asset?” The man leans even further forward, staring at Boss with a condescending eye. “A first-generation villain group like you could not have acquired so much power in such a short period with mere research. There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

The man casts a glance to one of his henchmen, donning a black cloak and a wide-brimmed hat, and he steps forward.

“Go on,” Overhaul sneers, “ask him, Nemoto.”

Boss thinks he is about to be attacked; instead, the man speaks. “What is your organisation’s greatest asset?”

His ears ring. Something is rising in his throat. The scarred man thinks he is about to choke on the words that bubble up uncomfortably. Scarface’s tongue disobeys him and thrashes against his own will, his lips parting to make way for an onslaught of syllables.

It must be that man’s quirk.

“I am raising a young assassin.” The words flow out like river rapids, and the man simply cannot bring himself to stop. “She is currently enrolled in UA disguised as a hero, and I will use her to uproot the foundations of hero society.”

“And her name?”

“Chibana Chiyo.”

“And what have you done to her so far?”

“The Undertaker conducts experiments on her every week and attempts bodily improvements. None are successful yet, and there is still much to learn about her quirk.”

“Which is?”

Scarface curses himself for the way the information slips out so easily. Sweat leaves moist trails down his forehead from the way he tries to resist. He’s walked right into their trap. “Hemomancy.”

Overhaul holds up a hand, and Nemoto steps back into his previous position. He appears to be thinking, until finally, he leans back, seemingly coming to a conclusion.

“She’s already enrolled, you say?” The man spreads his arms apart in delight. “That’s better than I imagined. No wonder she’s such a guarded secret.”

“She is ours,” Boss snarls. “Enrolling her into UA was no easy feat. She has the potential to wipe out an entire generation of heroes from the school, so I’ll be using her for greater causes than reigniting your pity party.”

“And that is why she will be better in the Shie Hassaikai’s hands,” Overhaul counters, jeering. “You are conducting physical experiments on her, are you not? We have the resources to expedite any sort of progress you are trying to make. Let us take care of her, and we’ll give you exactly what you want. Or is your little girl more precious to you than the fact that we can cater to your every need? She’ll outlive her usefulness if you don’t put her to work soon. The Shie Hassaikai are much better a friend than an enemy to you.” The man leans forward again to peer at the older man with sharp eyes. “I would consider this decision very carefully.”

Scarface hates it, but Overhaul is right. To have the Shie Hassaikai as an enemy of the organisation would be detrimental. He has no choice, so to protect himself, to protect his legacy…

“I’m feeling generous,” the masked man continues while the other remains silent. “If she is so precious to you, let her remain as yours. But lend her to us for a period. I assure you, we will put her to good use. You can at least do that for us. We’ll be allies, after all, won’t we?”

The older man looks so furious that the veins lining his forehead look as if they’re about to explode. “If she is damaged in any way afterwards, our alliance is over,” he snaps, finally caving. Though he cannot see Overhaul smile, the edges of the Yakuza head’s eyes crinkle up in irritating mirth.

“I am glad we could come to an agreement.”

The two men talk about you like you’re a good, a commodity to be shared. You are nothing more than a tool, a resource or a fount of potential carnage.

When their greedy fingers reach for you, will you be able to do anything other than comply?

Boss knows that this alliance is equal footing in name only. Overhaul holds the true power here, and there is nothing he can do but bow down and pretend to submit.

At the very least, he still has his insurance - you. Even if it’s in name only, he has trained you well enough that you will respond to him and him only.

When the time is right, he will call you to show your talons, and you will, well and truly, pull him out from the depths of subservience.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, and betrayal will drip from the mouth of the one who consumes it.

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Boss: I will never spill a word about Chiyo. She is my best-kept secret. She is everything to this plan-

Nemoto Shin: Yes, you will.

Boss: (after rambling about his plans with you) Do you want my social security number as well?

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Author’s notes:

It has come to my attention that there are a few plot holes in the story of Bloodwalker. Thank you to the readers that have pointed them out - the ones that can be fixed have been rectified. As much as I wish to bury these mistakes under a pile of dirt, it is also right for me to be honest with everyone, and I apologise for disrupting the immersion with simple mistakes such as these.

I am sure it may be frustrating for those of you that read the flawed version, and it is frustrating for me too. Rest assured I will be checking my work more thoroughly from now on. Please do continue to call me out for them. I hope you will still all be able to enjoy and support Bloodwalker as you have been doing. Thank you!

A summary of the changes can be found below…

Chapter 7: “What is Plus Ultra?” - “It means going beyond your limits!” - Beyond my limits? - “I see… then, Plus Ultra.” → But instead of asking what it means… you opt to just repeat the phrase after him. - “Plus Ultra,” you say with uncertainty.

Chapter 31: Who is Y/N? Why haven’t you told him about her before? → Why did she know your real name?

Again, my sincerest apologies to those of you who read the original version and may have been confused or put off by the quality of the writing.

Nemoto Shin, at your service.

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Highschool crushes

Part 2|Part 3