Yoichi stares into the void of the universe, and the void stares back.
This deep inside of Ninth's realm, there are no other vestiges besides Yoichi and Ninth himself. The other users never travel this far inside. They don't think they have to.
Granted, Yoichi traveled for years to get here. Years in the void are mere seconds outside of it, so he's never missed by the others. He can afford to make these endeavors.
It's all worth it in the end.
There isn't a ground floor like in the other sections of Ninth's realm. Instead, when Yoichi looks below himself, there are only distant galaxies and clusters of stars. It's trippy to just glance at, as it looks like he's floating through space. If Yoichi didn't already have literal years of experience inside this place, he'd probably be sick.
All around him, a beautiful and vast universe continues to grow and expand. Colorful nebulae and cloud-like structures glow and move around like waves in the ocean. Spiral galaxies move towards each other to see which will be consumed by the other first, and black holes can be seen farther out, probably acting as little tears on the universal level.
As Yoichi walks through both time and space, he comes closer to a star. He sweats, becoming hot all over, but he pays it no mind. The star is burning, and solar flares rise out of the ball of gas, but there's no sound.
There's absolutely no sound in this place, as vibrations can't travel here.
Ninth's vestige is a stickler to science.
Out of all ten realms inside One for All, Yoichi will argue that this one is the most gorgeous and well thought out. But it is also the most dangerous. Why?
Because this is where Ninth spends most of his time when he's not out investigating. This is his—for lack of a better term—domain.
Yoichi finds him where he always is: in the middle of it all, this time overseeing the death of a star.
The cloudy vestige floats high above Yoichi and has his hands out, swishing them around with an almost musical cadence. It's as if he's a conductor of space activity.
Yoichi spares a moment to watch, as it never takes long for Ninth to notice him. He knows what happens next most times, but he still likes to give Ninth the benefit of the doubt to see if he'll change his mind.
Today is not one of those times, apparently.
Ninth rewinds the dazzling supernova with a flick of his wrist, and he holds it there, at the moment right before the first explosion happens. And then his head turns slowly, eyes glowing a blinding white. It spills from his eyes and leaks into the area around him, and his red aura grows bigger and more electric-like.
Yoichi thinks, not for the first or even the last time, that his nephew was born for greatness. Whether or not he wants it is another question entirely. But seeing him now, painted amongst a backdrop of stars and infinite time, Yoichi is reminded of why he never allows himself to smile.
He is the son of his brother in more ways than one. Well, what once was his brother, maybe.
Once upon a time, All for One was born for greatness too. It's just too bad he decided to choose the path of greed and control.
Ninth floats down to be level with Yoichi, but his hand is still up, this time forcing the supernova to occur at a much faster rate. He's speeding up time by light years.
He is stronger with each of Yoichi's visits. Each time he comes, he has to travel farther and farther to get to him. But that's perfectly alright; Yoichi is not worried. The more emotional that Ninth is in real life, the easier it is to get the best of his One for All vestige. So it happens like clockwork, really, as inside of Midoriya Izuku lies a vast expanse of anger and blinding, crippling fear.
The hard truth of it all is that Ninth never stays happy for long.
For Yoichi, however, this is fortunate, as this provides him with the knowledge of the best times to come searching. He has to take the path of least resistance if he wants to have hopes of succeeding in his adventures.
Abruptly, Ninth's hand stops its movements and instead faces the supernova, palm up and fingers twitching. And it's then that Yoichi sees his plan.
The dying star is pulled towards Ninth, and thus towards Yoichi. It doesn't seem like it's moving fast, but Yoichi has learned from his mistakes before. It is only due to the sheer size of the supernova that it looks to be moving slowly.
He tips his head and feels One for All rush all across his body in protection, burning at his skin. His quirk, his ability to pass something on, resides in every single user. It is the very basis of One for All.
So with each new holder, Yoichi has become stronger alongside them. Going through generations of growth has given Yoichi more strength than he knows what to do with while trapped in the clutches of death.
He raises his own palm against the vast force his nephew is about to send his way, and he doesn't blink. He just holds Ninth's gaze and waits for the supernova to get close.
And so, when the boiling heat has washed over him and the lights have framed Ninth's figure to the point where he's barely visible anymore, Yoichi sighs something sad and sends it all right back at him.
With nothing to cling to, Ninth can't hold it by himself, so he is sent far, far away—hundreds of years into the depths of the universe.
Yoichi walks for another period, hands in his pockets, staring at the wonders Ninth has crafted with such care, and finally finds a spot to sit down.
Midoriya Izuku's deepest memories aren't always dark or depressing. Some of them are great. Some of them are kind. And so it came as a great surprise to Yoichi the first time he arrived here and saw them all locked away and guarded here with his worst ones.
He presses his palms against a ball of light before him and wills these memories, locked so far inside Ninth's brain, to show themselves, to come to him. They're all somehow disguised as these miniature stars, but they melt and obey at his touch immediately, as if aching for someone to see, to acknowledge, to know.
The wisps of white and gold come to him like tiny ducklings following after their mother, and he dives in. He'll be safe to search for as long as he likes until Ninth finds his way back. And he always does—stronger and more desperate than before with an anger that puts even his father's to shame.
Eventually, Ninth will be too strong for Yoichi to keep pushing away. But that's alright too, because Yoichi has hope that things will be finished before that happens.
It'll be the only way they can win.
"I showed Aizawa my quirks last night."
"You already told me that," Kacchan says in annoyance. "'Sides, it's not like that changed anything. You're still lying to him, shitface."
"I think he already knows I didn't tell him everything," Izuku appeases, remembering the look on his teacher's face when he was explaining it all. "And could you keep it down?"
"Yeah, of course he knows," Kacchan says, ignoring his last complaint completely. "Didja think he was stupid or something?" He uncrosses his arms suddenly and jabs a finger in Izuku's face. "Oi, stay on task! If you keep avoiding my question I'm dragging your ass downstairs and telling Auntie."
Izuku bristles, the sheets beneath him feeling wrong against his skin. The sound of Kacchan's television in the corner of the room just makes him itch more. "You'll tell her what, exactly?"
"Rabbit. Everything."
Izuku's eyes grow sharp, and he shoves Kacchan back so he can stand up from the bed. There's a bitter taste in his mouth that covers up the sweetness of the strawberry. "You shouldn't even threaten something like that."
"What, you don't think I'll do it?" Kacchan grabs his shoulder, and Izuku slaps his hand off.
"No, I don't. You've been saying it nonstop ever since the USJ, and have you done it yet? No. You never will."
Kacchan barks out a sharp, cruel laugh, and then he's walking past Izuku to the door. Izuku should've known better to say something like that, as he's well aware that Kacchan is never one to back down from that sort of challenge. It's this reminder that has Izuku's eyes widening and his body going rigid.
Pull is activated before he even has to call on it, and Kacchan's arm is yanked back from the door handle before he can touch it. The blond's head snaps to Izuku, and there's a deep fire in those eyes now that makes Izuku falter for just a moment.
"The fuck was that?" Kacchan hisses, slow and dark and threatening. He spins on his heel, stalking back towards him. "What makes you think you've got any right to use that damn quirk on me like that?"
"Since you became such a jerk," Izuku replies quickly, breathless.
Kacchan crosses the distance between them in three easy strides, and Izuku is crowded up against the dresser now, his back pressed into the corners of the wood. "I'ma jerk?" His friend scoffs. "Sometimes I wish you'd see how you're actually acting, Deku."
Izuku clenches his fists. Pull's residue burns at his fingertips like the aftermath of poison. "If you'd give me just a second to say my shit, you wouldn't have to get all huffy and puffy."
"Speak faster then, or I'll blow your ass up right here, right now."
Izuku pushes his face forward so he's only centimeters away from Kacchan, feeling more courageous than he's been in a while. He was already planning on telling Kacchan, truthfully, but now he's curious as to why the blond is so dead set on knowing everything. Why does he care this much? Is it really affecting him this badly?
Kacchan has always been nosy, at least when it comes to Izuku, but why is he so angry right now? He's fired up enough to be towering over Izuku and pressing him against his dresser. And if he's willing to threaten to tell Auntie everything he knows even with both Aizawa and Yamada here too?
Something must have changed. Something big.
Maybe Izuku can get some answers out of this, too. He'll just have to do it the old-fashioned way—by putting his ass out on the wire.
He grits his teeth and holds his dark gaze, making sure Kacchan hears every enunciated word. "All. Bark. No. Bite."
No sooner has the last word left his mouth than Kacchan is yanking him away from the dresser. Izuku doesn't wait to see what he'll do next—he doesn't want to wait. So, naturally, he strikes first.
Izuku juts his foot out to trip Kacchan, and at the same moment he lets his hand fall at the back of the blond's neck, attempting to bring him to the floor. But Kacchan rights himself with a well-aimed miniature explosion and ends up elbowing Izuku in the face. The boy hisses and twists his entire body while on the tip of his toes, throwing a kick Kacchan's way.
It's easily caught, and Kacchan yanks Izuku closer by the ankle to pull him off balance. Aizawa has used this same move on Izuku before, however, multiple times, so the green-haired teen's counter this time around is almost instinctual.
He jumps up using his other leg so he's hanging midair and contorts his body quickly into a spiral, letting the back of his knee hook around Kacchan's neck. He swings his body around and sends Kacchan toppling to the floor. Izuku would've fallen into a neat roll had Kacchan not kept a tight grip on Izuku's waist, preventing him from detaching himself. Izuku is on top of him now, but only for a fraction of a moment.
Kacchan uses another explosion to force himself out from underneath Izuku, and he places another blast above him so he can drive Izuku into the carpet. With their positions suddenly switched, Izuku is more fired up than ever.
Kacchan's knees are on either side of Izuku, and he has a sparking palm raised threateningly. One for All cackles to life in response, dancing across Izuku's skin as he powers up and feels the new tension in his muscles.
Just when Izuku is about to send Kacchan flying across the room, Mitsuki's voice rings out from downstairs, her words traveling clearly despite the walls between them.
"What did I say about quirk usage in the house?" She shouts, making Izuku wince.
One for All fizzles out as the reality of where he's at and who he's with comes back to him. Kacchan growls audibly, teeth gritted, but his palms stop their sparking.
"Quiet, you hag!" He shouts back, shooting daggers with his eyes at the floor as if he can see her beneath it.
"You're lucky we've got guests, Katsuki!"
The empty threat does nothing to deter her son. "Like I care! Boss me around again and I'll kill you!"
Izuku glares at his friend and immediately makes to rebuke him, but Kacchan slaps his hand over his mouth before he can even get the first syllable out. He's still on top of Izuku, and half of his weight is pressing on Izuku's abdomen and hips.
"That!" Kacchan says, as if he's proven something. "That's exactly what I'm talking about!"
Izuku raises a brow. "What?" He asks, muffled by the hand on his mouth. He could lick the hand to try and get Kacchan off of him, but the blond is exceptionally sweaty right now, so Izuku doesn't want to.
"That dumbass look on your face."
"I always look like this."
"Don't be dense!" Kacchan spits. He grabs Izuku's face and manhandles him, pulling at his skin and making the boy squirm around in annoyance. "You look stupid!"
Izuku kicks him off of him after finally having enough and sits up so he's sitting criss-crossed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Just forget it!" Kacchan turns away and matches his pose, eyes twitching and shoulder muscles flexing. He mutters darkly under his breath and grinds his teeth, and his appearance suddenly resembles that of the bridge troll Izuku had a dream about the other night. The troll forced him to solve three riddles before he could pass by, and Izuku remembers being so baffled by it that he ended up speaking in riddles too in order to confuse the troll and sneak past.
Huh. Maybe Izuku has more issues than he previously thought.
Well, that was anticlimactic, Banjou comments. Thought there'd be more action there. What a let-down.
Shinomori responds before Izuku can get a chance. Did you really want them to fight each other honestly? I don't think now would've been a good time or place.
Agreed, Shimura adds.
Banjou remains unconvinced. It would've been funny, though. I think he—ow! Quit hitting me, woman! I was just joking!
Izuku picks at a stray piece of carpet on the floor. It sticks out from the rest of the fabric, and Izuku doesn't like it. It irks him. So, he carefully tears it out and moves around the other pieces of the carpet to cover it up.
"Why haven't we been talking?" Kacchan asks, his back still facing Izuku.
The question takes Izuku by surprise, but he doesn't necessarily blame his friend; he knows what he's talking about. Sure, Izuku talks with Kacchan more than anyone else in his life right now, even his teachers, and he liveswith them, for Christ's sake, but lately he hasn't really spoken to him.
While Izuku and Kacchan don't exactly have the best communication skills, they still usually make an effort to talk to each other. They don't outright state their emotions, of course, as that would be a symbol of unease and weakness on both sides, but they do acknowledge some of their thoughts and harder obstacles. They help each other most times, too. It's healthy, freeing, and natural to them for the most part.
So it's only fair that Kacchan is calling Izuku out on not holding up his side of their silent deal.
Kacchan is challenging Izuku's silence, and in doing so he's challenging their entire dynamic.
Izuku plays with the discarded pieces of carpet between his tingling fingers. "I don't know." In a much lower tone, he adds, "You're angry at me."
"I'm not angry at you, shithead."
"You should be."
Kacchan looks back, face shadowed. "Don't be an idiot. It's not like it's your fault."
It. Izuku wonders what exactly he's referring to when he says that. It could refer to a lot of things: the Nomu, Native, Shigaraki, Stain, and so much more. What does he think is causing Izuku to pull away from him? Izuku wants to know, because if he hears Kacchan's opinion on it, maybe he can personally understand it better.
Maybe Izuku can get the answer to that question too, because not even he knows it yet. He's been searching for that answer.
"Then whose fault is it?" He counters, hearing the television return to the story every news channel has been falling back on for the past few days. They're still talking about that damn video, about Native. God, do they really have nothing else to report? Izuku is getting so, so sick of hearing it. But then again, maybe it's deserved on his end. His eyes flit to the dark window above Kacchan's bed. "Who's responsible for all this?" He continues, this time more to himself.
Kacchan angrily scoffs. "No one," he growls, but he can't look Izuku in the eye. "Shit just happens."
And doesn't it? Fuck, Izuku wants that written on his tombstone. He needs it branded on his skin. That way whenever someone questions his actions or asks him something, he can just hit them with the old it is what it is.
Yagi might look at him one day and ask why Izuku ever thought becoming his successor was a good idea, and Izuku will only be able to say well, shit just happened. I wasn't planning on it either.
Aizawa will ask why he keeps trying so hard to hang onto his name, onto his vigilantism, and Izuku will shrug and say that he has to be prepared for anything, because shit just happens sometimes, y'know?
Maybe this will be Izuku's new catchphrase. He can put this on his new calling cards just to irritate the heroes further.
It's a thought that the old Izuku would've entertained—annoying, immature twelve-year-old Izuku who was still polishing off his newly found abandoned apartment. It's something that that Izuku would've done. But the Izuku now?
The one who's drained of most outward emotion nowadays and is more obedient than he's ever been before?
It's not logical or feasible. Izuku thinks he should keep these immature ideas inside and lock them away. It'll be better that way. More realistic. He says it'll be more realistic because he knows that if All Might or Aizawa actually asked him those questions now, he very well might just break down and not want to speak at all. There'd be no room for snark.
Not anymore. Not ever.
"Kacchan," he begins, his words hanging heavy in the warm air. "Do you remember... that boy back in elementary school? The one that would make fun of me sometimes."
Kacchan grips his pants. His knuckles turn white, and Izuku pauses to gauge his reaction. He knows this is a sore spot—he knows that Kacchan doesn't want anything to do with those boys back at their old school—but Izuku just has to get this out. He needs to.
"He had... red wings. Tan. Kinda stocky. Freckles." Izuku scratches the scar running along his jaw. "He, um, always wore that wife beater shirt, even to school."
"Tsubasa," Kacchan says abruptly, as sure as the sunrise each morning.
"Yeah," Izuku affirms, soft and quiet and regretful. "I think... Kacchan, I think that..."
"Spit it out."
Izuku presses his aching palms against his face and uses the pressure to ground himself. "I told you before that Nomu are made from the quirks of living people. Of... corpses, actually. They, um, use them as bases to build upon or alter. It's easier that way. When the brains are still intact, I mean. And when the person's personality may still be there."
Kacchan's blond brows are furrowed, and there's a growing look of suspicion on his face that betrays his next curious prompt. "What are you saying?"
Izuku swallows. "The Nomu that killed Native. The one that... I killed. It..." He drags his fists down his skin, wishing he had a mirror close by to see the red marks left behind. "It looked like him. His quirk—I could feel it in there as clear as the first time I sensed it inside him after Extract manifested. It felt just like him. And—and the eyes, Kacchan, they were..." Izuku shivers, his hair rising. "I looked into it after Hosu because I was confused. I—I didn't want to believe it. And wouldn't you know..." He thinks of the records and police reports still saved on his phone. "Tsubasa's been missing for several months. Ever since the last school year."
When Izuku looks up, Kacchan's eyes are blown wide, and his lips are parted once more. Horror stretches across his expression, and it leaks into the air around Izuku.
It seems Kacchan is putting it together rather quickly.
"The Nomu I killed wasn't fully complete. Meaning the time frames match up." Izuku lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "It was him. I know it was."
Kacchan can only stare, devastated, when Izuku finishes dropping the latest bomb. He seems to look not at Izuku but straight past him, hearing and seeing things Izuku cannot. Or maybe things he once did but chooses to block out.
Unable to deal with the stunned silence any longer, Izuku presses on with a newfound fervor. Now that the bandage is off, he wants to itch at the wounds. "I took the quirk, Kacchan. Tsubasa's. And it killed him. If I didn't... I don't even know what would've happened. It probably would've torn my head off and dragged me somewhere far away, back to him, I don't know, but..." Izuku presents Kacchan with his palms, all red and scarred with those same gaping holes marking the entrance to Extract's power. "I... have... it."
Kacchan's throat moves when he swallows silently, and Izuku sees the way his body starts to contort in on itself as he stares down at where Izuku lets his hands drop. He's quiet, and it's not usually like him. Izuku hates it. Hates the way Kacchan can just never let things be. Hates how much his friend pushes him.
But maybe that's also why Izuku loves him so much, as selfish as it is.
"Tsubasa's was a mutant quirk," Kacchan manages to get out eventually, voice scratchy and raw.
"I know. I know. That's why you can't see them, but—but I do. I see them. Every time I pass by a mirror, every time I'm dreaming. They're there, and I—I see him, too. All around me. And just what if?" Izuku's words get higher the more his emotions reel their angry heads at him. "I'm scared, Kacchan. What if they come in? The wings? How am I going to explain that? How—how could I even begin to explain it? I can't live with his wings on my back. I can't. It's not right." Izuku grips his own shirt and pulls, needing the pressure again, needing to remind himself that the wings aren't there, that he can feel the fabric of his shirt stretched across every inch of his skin. "I killed him."
"Deku."
"I killed Tsubasa. With—with my silence. With my... my fear. I felt him die when I took that quirk, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do now. I keep thinking to myself that if I had only told people what the doctor was always planning to do with those Nomu, and how he was going to achieve his goals... maybe the heroes would've been able to plan against it. Maybe the other people All for One killed would still be alive. And they wouldn't be trapped in those fucking vessels." The dam has cracked, and Izuku can't stop. He's cold all over now, and funnily enough it feels like only Kacchan's heat will be enough to help him this time. He continues hoarsely, barely able to muster a normal volume anymore. "I feel them on me all the time. Whenever that stupid back cream wears off and I'm not numb anymore. Kacchan, I know it should be impossible, but what if I wake up and they're—they're there? What if they just—"
Kacchan moves forward suddenly. "Turn around."
Izuku blinks. "Wh—"
"Turn around!" Kacchan doesn't give him a chance to do it this time; he shoves Izuku's shoulder and forces him to lose his balance. Izuku lands on his side on the carpet, too shocked to counter it, and chokes when Kacchan pushes him again so he's on his stomach. He attempts to sit up on his elbows, but then warm hands are pressing between Izuku's shoulder blades through the shirt and feeling the area there.
"Ka—!" Izuku cuts himself off when the hand moves down to slip up his shirt. Izuku is quiet, deciding to just stare the wall while he wonders what the fuck is happening. Honestly, he shouldn't be too surprised by these weird antics by now.
Kacchan points at two spots on Izuku's upper back. "Tsubasa's wings protruded from these points." Warm fingers drag across Izuku's shoulder blades. "If the skin hasn't broken or gotten textured by now, they're not coming in, Deku. They're not going to appear. It's been how long? You would've gotten them by now if they were coming.
Izuku's breath shudders. "But—but still. What if they docome in? Later?"
"Then you can fucking fly. That's all there is to it."
"What would they say—?"
"Who gives a shit!" Kacchan moves away and pulls his hands back, allowing Izuku's shirt to fall back into place. "We'd make something up! Don't be dramatic!"
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut and moves back to his sitting position. He wipes his face, cringing at the cold sweat. Kacchan jabs a finger in the middle of his chest.
"Hey," he demands. "Hey."
Izuku looks into those dark crimson eyes he loves so much. He sometimes forgets how beautiful they are, but it only takes one glance to remind him again. Those eyes are just as vast as his friend's mind.
"We wouldn't let them touch you," Kacchan says, like it's a fact, like he doesn't know why Izuku is worried about it in the first place. And Kacchan's easy confidence smooths over his worries better than anything anyone else has ever said to him before.
Izuku nods once, then twice, and he finds it difficult to speak. "Yeah," he lands on, voice scratchy. "Yeah, that's..."
Kacchan just rolls his eyes, but there's no anger in his expression—only something darker that's always present on his face, something that Izuku subconsciously searches for in every person he meets. "You're doing it again. That face."
"I can't help it." Izuku glances around the room again to find something else to focus on. Maybe that'll help get rid of whatever look Kacchan claims is on his face.
"Yeah, well, learn to help it, because you're not going back down there until you're normal again." Kacchan turns off the television and walks across the room to rifle in his dresser, this time for a different reason. After a second he throws a maroon sweater at Izuku, who lets it cover his face for a moment before dropping into his lap. "Your shirt looks ugly. Take this one instead."
"But Aizawa gave it to me," Izuku says with a frown, fingering the new shirt he was handed.
"That only makes it more ugly. And you were probably too stupid to notice, but Mom nearly cried when she saw you. She thinks it's ugly, too. Just trust me and wear the damn thing. Anything is better than what you have on."
Damn. Izuku feels like he should be offended on Aizawa's behalf but then comes to the conclusion that he's too tired to really care. Nothing can sway Kacchan when his inner fashion designer is showing. He shucks off his jacket and then pulls his shirt over his head to put the new one on, making a mental note to not forget about it before he leaves.
Kacchan is standing at the door watching, his arms crossed and face screwed up. His foot is tapping impatiently, but the blond doesn't speak or rush Izuku.
It's a good thing, too, because Izuku's body is suddenly sore despite not having done anything. The stress of having to reveal some of his more recent nightmares must've really fucked him up.
Another few moments pass, and Kacchan leans his head against the door. "You said you felt bad about keeping that shit quiet," he says, low and not at all demanding. "So, when are you going to tell them?"
At this point in their conversation, Izuku doesn't need to waste his breath asking what he's referring to. He holds the shirt Aizawa gave him and sees the brand name on the collar. It has a number written on the tag in sharpie, and it's clear Aizawa got it from a thrift shop a long time ago. Izuku only likes it more because of that, personally. "Soon," he says, stopping himself from over-explaining or making any other excuse. He knows it wouldn't do anyone good anymore. "I'm... I'm sorry, Kacchan. I'm trying. Really hard now." He hears rain begin to pelt the ceiling above, and it distracts him for a moment. It's so cold outside that Izuku is surprised it isn't snowing instead. "I'll tell them everything soon. I just have to take care of some things first."
Kacchan accepts this response, but only for now—if the way his eyes narrow and his lips purse together are any indicator. He must figure Izuku looks more presentable now, as he gruffly jerks his head in the direction of the stairs. "C'mon, before the hag gets suspicious. I'll show you the pie I made for dessert."
"Is it cinnamon apple?" Izuku asks, perking up a little.
Kacchan sneers. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
And just from that response, Izuku knows it is.
"You're supposed to be off tonight," comes a voice behind Naomasa.
The detective sighs and turns around in his spinning chair. Sansa is leaning against the door, his furry arms folded. He looks the epitome of judgmental. They've been working together for so many years now that professionalism goes straight out the window when it's just the two of them.
"I have catching up to do," Naomasa replies, swiping a hand down his oily face. He hasn't showered in a while but knows he needs to soon. "I can't really afford vacations."
Sansa's large eyes drift over to Naomasa's multiple stacks of paperwork and files. They take up a majority of his desk, and there are even more papers on the floor around him. "They act as if you're the only detective in this entire city, huh?"
"Apparently I'm the most capable one at this time," Naomasa answers, but he's not proud or happy about it. "They're giving me more assignments than I know what to do with."
"Doesn't make it any better that you're working on personal cases, too."
The words are blunt, but Sansa is never judgmental—only slightly disapproving. Naomasa turns back around and flicks a hand up in a what can you do gesture. "Yeah, well, my personal cases are important for the future of society. I have to direct my attention to them with every moment of free time I have."
Sansa's chest rumbles with some kind of amusement, and he makes his way further inside the office. "That's exactly why you're named the top detective in this prefecture. You just don't quit, do you? You're determined, and the commissioners know it."
"Sometimes I wish they'd ask someone else to do their dirty work," Naomasa complains, striking out a line on his file and writing a correction above it. "But then I think about how badly things could turn out if someone who didn't know what they were doing tried to handle it by themself."
"Control freak," Sansa says with a roll of the eye, but there's no heat in it whatsoever. Even acting like this, Sansa is still so proper and careful.
Naomasa glances back at him once more, noting the way Sansa has a travel bag at his feet and is dressed in more casual clothes. "Speaking of assignments, are you about to head to your new one?"
"Yep. It's a four hour train ride to my next post." Sansa picks at a hangnail, not looking at him. "The city I'm being sent to is in rough shape. They're paranoid because of Hosu, and there have been some weird reports of more Nomu sightings, so I have to take an extended stay."
"How long will you be gone?"
"A few weeks, but a month at most depending on what we can find."
Naomasa shakes his head. "Can't believe they're taking you away from me for that long."
At this, Sansa smirks, his long whiskers twitching against his cheeks. "I'll be back before long, maybe with some more info that'll help you out with your cases. And anyway, I'll be just a phone call away."
"Be safe then," Naomasa directs, remembering the riots and protests he's seen going on in the news in neighboring districts. "For all we know, it could be a free-for-all over there."
"That's exactly why I'm going."
"Try to have enough fun for the both of us."
Sansa picks up his bag and prepares to leave. "I will."
Naomasa doesn't react to the lie, knowing that even the slightest unease or doubt in someone's mind will cause their words to register as one regardless of what it actually is. Besides, there's nothing fun or interesting about Sansa's newest assignment. He should be fine.
So Naomasa waves him goodbye after wishing him some more luck and turns his gaze to his monitor.
The video of the fight against Hero Killer: Stain and Native's death is shown, all zoomed in and saturated for the best viewing. He has markers all around the screen in each frame where his personal notes are, and, oh, he has a lot of them.
It's not that he's obsessed. No, no. The truth is that Tsukauchi Naomasa feels haunted.
He can tell a lie just by hearing a person speak. He can ruin so many famous people's lives by simply coming out and discrediting them online. He can tip all political scales in the span of an hour if he so wished. His quirk isn't a rare one, exactly, but it's sought for all the same.
Forty percent of people with lie detection quirks kill themselves by age twenty-five. It's a statistic that was drilled into Naomasa's mind by the time he was old enough to process it, mostly because he was scared out of his mind that his sister would become another one of those numbers. He tried his hardest to be there for his sister and use his power, which is similar to hers, only for good.
It was hard to block out all the unwanted lies and truths and whatnot as a teen, but he's learned to deal with it now. He doesn't fall into the trap of selling his services like others do, and he doesn't try to make himself out to be some kind of omniscient guy.
He helps where he knows he can: at a smaller level, making a big impact nonetheless.
These cases haunt Naomasa like how the moon lingers and haunts the sun in the early mornings. He has a duty to the people in Japan, to the people on this Earth, to create a safer environment for all individuals regardlessof their quirk status or background.
The creation of the multiple quirked creatures known as Nomu breaks the balance that hero society has so desperately tried to uphold for the past century, and there's no telling what will come next. There are so many possibilities, so many vague clues, that nothing is out of the realm of possibility.
But that's Naomasa's job, right? To account for those variables and plan accordingly. He is a detective, after all. He is also getting promoted soon, although he can't exactly say he's stoked about that.
Promotion means different areas of study. Different areas of study means that Naomasa's plans will have to be flexible and change along with him.
For now, though, Naomasa continues with what he knows he can do: analyzing footage.
He's watched this video around a hundred times now, but he's only more intrigued with each playback. He doesn't falter. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't allow his muscles to tense when Native dies again and again and again on the screen—he only watches.
He's familiar with these kinds of terrors by now. Besides, there's no use grieving forever over a hero who died exactly how he would've wanted to: saving lives.
When he can recall every detail of the footage even without his eyes open, Naomasa figures he's done enough. Rubbing his temples, he opens up a new tab and begins to type out an email. This one will be sent to two people.
Principal Nezu never sleeps, so Naomasa is expecting his reply in due time. He can't be so sure of the other, however. He's always a wild card.
It's been a while since Naomasa has contacted All Might's old friend.
Mitsuki and Yamada hit it off immediately, and Izuku is immensely grateful for that. Despite their fashion differences, the two have a lot in common, actually, and their personalities fit well together.
They're eating dinner for the first time together and it's already like they've been friends for years.
Izuku figures he should be a little uneasy about that, saying as Yamada is still a pro hero and could definitely nonchalantly ask some questions to get some information out of the Bakugou family, but interestingly enough, he's not scared at all. Not anymore.
There's still a little hole in his stomach from the conversation he had with Kacchan, but it's slowly repairing itself.
Aizawa, on the other hand, seems to like Masaru a good amount, all things considering. They're both even tempered and calm, and Masaru has just the right amount of aloofness so that he doesn't come off as a total fool. He appears only a little hesitant to people who don't know him, which is something Aizawa can definitely deal with.
They also have another blaring thing in common: they both have energetic blondes as partners.
So, while Yamada and Mitsuki continue talking about their opinions on the newest brand of jackets coming out, Aizawa makes small talk with Masaru.
Izuku is sitting next to Kacchan, feeling only a little awkward.
Dinner is delicious, not that Izuku thought it wouldn't be. In this house, there's no such thing as bad food. The fish is cooked exactly to Izuku's liking, and it's seasoned perfectly.
So, to avoid anyone asking Izuku questions or looking at him, the boy spends his time stuffing his face. He's grateful Masaru piled his plate up high—Izuku would've hesitated if he had to ask for more to make up for his enhanced metabolism.
This doesn't work forever, though, as soon Auntie is flashing Izuku a warm look after taking a bite of her food. "So, Izuku, when are you going to invite your new friends over? Katsuki tells me you have a whole group now."
Izuku feels his face begin to burn. He knows he shouldn't be embarrassed about Auntie sorta outing the fact that he was a loser and didn't have any other friends before UA, as his teachers already know this by now, but still.
He laughs nervously and gesticulates with his chopsticks—he was allowed chopsticks this time, hell yeah!—only to stop when he remembers it's considered rude, not that Auntie cares, he bets. "I'll invite them soon!" He assures. "There's just been a lot of stuff going on, so it's kinda hard to find a day where we're all available."
Thankfully, he's not pressed with too many more questions. Aizawa and Yamada seem to be on their best behavior, too, as they haven't done one embarrassing thing yet!
When Izuku has gotten a little too bored, however, he fishes out his pocket knife which also doubles as a pen and sets up a game of tic tac toe on his napkin. Kacchan loves playing even though most of their games end up in draws. That's why Izuku usually ends up drawing random heroes on Kacchan's hands and forearms instead to pass time. He has Edgeshot and Mt. Lady inked onto the tan skin by the time his friend finally decides to pull away to get him to stop.
The rest of dinner goes by so smoothly and easily that Izuku should've known something would go awry. There always has to be something.
He can never have one moment of peace.
Mitsuki tells the guests about how she and Masaru designed the interior of the house by themselves, and of course this makes Yamada absolutely ecstatic! He gasps and grins widely, clasping his hands together.
"No, really? It all looks so rad! That's incredible!" He snaps his fingers and points to the hallway. "And I loved all the pictures you hung up! I'm trying to do the same thing at my house, you see, but I can never get the homely vibes quite right. I always make it feel cramped instead with all my pictures."
Aizawa subtly rolls his eyes at this, but no one acknowledges it.
Mitsuki waves the other blond off. "Nah, to hell with that! The more photos the better! Who cares if your shit is cramped or not? I can't bring myself to get rid of any of mine. I've got tens of thousands of 'em saved in my phone just to be safe; I never delete."
"It's true," Masaru says, staring into his plate and sounding exhausted. "She has way too many."
"There's never too many!" Mitsuki defends. "I've kept all our pictures since we first started dating. And I've even got Katsuki's baby stuff!" She shakes away the negativity and turns back to Yamada, lighting up. "Anyway, follow me and I'll show you more of the interior of the house. We've got some other photos hung up, too! Actually, most of them are of 'Zuku and Katsuki. You wanna see the one where they both dressed up as All Might and won an imitation competition back when they were five?"
Izuku and Katsuki both stiffen at the long forgotten memory while Yamada snorts out a sure!
Masaru chokes, seeing the kids' horror-filled faces, and attempts to do damage control. "Mitsuki, dear, I don't think we need to—"
But his wife is already long gone with Yamada apologetically in tow. Aizawa stays at his place looking just as confused as Masaru is.
Katsuki is the first to jump up and stomp after his mother, though, with Izuku following quickly in suit.
Yeah, like hell he's going to let Yamada see that! Absolutely fucking not! But of course Izuku is too late with his efforts.
Mitsuki is always right in the end, and she rarely ever loses—it's just as Inko always used to say.