So I've been on a bit of a My Hero Academia bender and wondered...what would it have been like if the Monsters never surfaced, if the Manager had sent the Concierge to Osaka, if the Concierge died in its defence?
What would it have been like if the Concierge's death was not an end, but a new beginning?
And so here is a little ramble/ficlet of that thought~
cw: blood and implied violence
It is a pain to be underestimated. But in this…it is useful.
A man lies dying at your feet, his heart leaking from his neck in thick, quick spurts. His eyes bulge up at you, pale and big in his head. You only tilt your head as you crouch, balancing so you avoid the arcs of carmine liquid.
“Forgive me my enthusiasm,” you murmur, reaching out to lift one side of his blazer up. It is heavy - a mobile phone lies in its inner pocket. It buzzes and buzzes, lighting up the fabric which conceals it. “I’m afraid I have gone without for too long. I find myself…overeager.”
The man gurgles a response. It is all he can manage between clawing at his throat and pressing hard against it. The movement dislodges your grip on his blazer, but you’re not bothered. “Be calm, it will end soon,” you say as if to reassure him, but it does little as the life bleeds from his wide eyes. The colour leaves his cheeks, pooling around his body instead of remaining within it.
Scarcely had he taken his last breath before you reach back into his blazer to remove the mobile phone from its spot, peering at the touchscreen with dead eyes. Two calls from an unsaved number - one you recognise. A handler belonging to the broken remains of a yakuza group.
Gloved fingers turn the screen off as you stand, tucking the phone into your own jacket. Your own phone buzzes at that moment. You smile.
What timing.
Your gloves are clean and pristine despite the gore at your feet. Your clothes untouched but carrying the scent of iron and copper. If you were to walk onto the street, no one would know the violence that your hands have wrought in this rundown home.
“Nezu-san,” you speak quietly when you pick up the phone.
The high pitched voice on the other side greets you warmly, “Concierge! Should I take it that your mission was successful?”
In a way. You walk away from the corpse and its pool of crimson, tucking your free hand into your pocket as you go. “I have an in.” Knuckles brush against a slim thumb drive in that pocket. “And what you requested.”
“Well done! I shall send someone to collect it. Ah, there’s a new cafe that opened up in the next neighbourhood, have you had their coffee?”
This is familiar. Reading between the lines. Looking beneath the underneath. You miss it. You miss it fiercely.
That being said, you know the cafe he’s talking about. Overpriced coffee to afford maintenance of the cafe’s ‘entertainment’. “Not their coffee, no.”
“Then this would be an excellent opportunity to do so! In fact, their coffee is sourced from—“ Nezu, as you have learned, is prone to long-winded explanations about the smallest of things. Politely, you listen, leaving the rundown home behind and blending into the evening crush of bodies heading home.
As it happens, you’re one of many on their phones and in your nondescript coat, shirt and trousers, you look like any normal salaryman or woman. Alas, you’re anything but.
It is two days later before you find yourself at said cafe. Said cafe being a cat cafe with minimalist decor and a multitude of cats in all colours. You don’t think you’re a cat person, but neither do you think you’re a cat hater. So you sit there at the table, a pot of tea before you and a black cat in your lap purring away.
The barista doesn’t look up from where he taps away at his phone, though he greets someone as they enter.
From where you sit with your back against the wall in the corner, you can see who comes in. A man, tall and lean, with scraggly hair and a five o’clock shadow comes ambling in. His steps are measured though his back is hunched. His eyes rove the store though his expression remains slack. A fighter, you think without looking away from the window. A hero.
His boots hardly make a noise on the floor as he dodges cats who rub up against his ankles, and neither does the chair when he drags it out to sit across from you. At this, you flick your eyes over to him. The cat in your lap likewise cracks its eyes open to meow at the newcomer, its green eyes glowing bright in the afternoon sun.
You both sit in silence save for the meowing of attention-seeking cats. The man softens and pets a cat that jumps into his lap. You turn your eyes back to your cup of tea and take a sip, balancing the feline in your lap that decides to stretch on its side.
“I see you’re finally taking some time off,” the man rumbles lowly as the barista sets down a massive coffee cup at his elbow.
You peer at him over your teacup and blink slowly. “I have been told that it is good for my mental health to spend time with animals.” The cat in your lap meows softly. “I can see where they’re coming from.”
The man looks at you and tugs down his pale scarf to bring his coffee to his lips. “That it is.”
For a moment, you enjoy the silence. At least, until your teacup empties and you place it down in its saucer with a soft clack. Your phone buzzes on the table softly, drawing your attention. Gloved hands pick it up, gently tapping at the screen until you sigh and place it down again.
The man looks at your phone, then at you with a raised brow. “Work?”
Looking at him through your lashes, you smile softly. “No, a friend.” Then you slide your phone back into your pocket and regrettably place the black cat back on the floor. “I’ll see you around, Aizawa-san.”
“Yeah,” Aizawa mumbles into his coffee cup, not bothering to track you as you leave through the front door, a gaggle of cats trailing after you. Rather, his eyes are locked onto the shadows beneath the teacup saucer and the little black thumb drive you left behind.
