Chapter Text
People liked to say if you were going to be poor in Akutou, you’d better do it on the south side of the river, and keep it quiet, too.
That, Izuku supposed, was the key difference between the two cities. The poor had no place in Musutafu. At the very least, in Akutou, they did.
Nothing would change the fact they were untouchables, though. Those who were more cynical remarked the only reason they hadn’t been evicted from the park was because they’d pitched their tents behind a thick copse of trees, so no one from the north bank could see them. Others preferred to think it was because someone out there recognized those here had nowhere else to call home. It was calculated idealism—otherwise, how could you live?
The upside, at least, was that no one could see Izuku almost trip over himself hauling a bucket of water up from the river. He righted himself, shook out his throbbing arm, and stumbled the rest of the way to the tents.
"Uematsu!"
An elderly woman, eyes pinched from squinting too long against harsh winter winds, hobbled out from one of the tents.
"Oh, my. Right there's fine—don't strain your arm. You can leave it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, yes. Thank you, Izuku."
With a huff of relief, he set the bucket down and rolled his sore shoulders. A couple others came by to check the water, musing what to cook; Takenaka, a hunchbacked man only a year or so younger than Uematsu, murmured a soft pardon and scooped out a bowlful to water his plants. Uematsu rummaged in her coat pockets until she found a cellophane-wrapped candy and dropped it into Izuku's hand with a kind smile.
“Why don’t you stay with us tonight? It’s the least we can do.”
"I couldn't impose," Izuku demurred. Not to mention it could be dangerous: there was a reason why he never slept out in plain sight, or in the same place two nights in a row. At least Akutou had enough net cafes he could hop between them for a couple weeks without repeating. "Is Mr. Ito around? I wanted to ask—"
His phone rang. Instantly on alert, he flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“I heard there’s a dispute around block nine. Are you close?”
Well, fuck.
Just a dispute, apparently—not a war. Soon enough, though, it’d turn into one. They were rarer nowadays, but no less dangerous. Which gangs could it be? Block nine, block nine… Nothing came to mind.
He’d have to go in blind, then. He drew in a breath, and out of habit, checked his pockets. Switchblades accounted for. Stun gun ready. Block nine: six minutes away. Five if he pushed it.
“Yeah. I’ve got it.”
The line cut, and after making a hasty gesture to Uematsu—she knew by now what this all meant—he took off.
"Wait— Izuku, wait!"
At the shout, he faltered and glanced back. Behind him, a middle-aged man with sunken cheeks and disheveled hair stopped to catch his breath.
Him.
Izuku grit his teeth.
"Mr. Okizaki, I really need to go—"
"Just last week you came in with a knife in your arm," Okizaki said sharply; despite Uematsu's warning, he pressed on. "Now you're going to run off and play cleanup for the pros again?"
"Mr. Okizaki, please, I'm not going to debate—"
"No, listen," he interrupted, taking a step closer; Izuku flinched and took a step back. "I've said this before and I'll say it again: the system's a speeding car, and we're just dirt under its wheels. Be realistic, Izuku. Do you think they'll ever give a damn about us?"
Very pleasantly, Izuku smiled.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this.”
He turned and ran.
Calculated idealism: because otherwise, cynicism would eat away at your insides, until you crumbled in on yourself.
No one was around block nine. It wasn’t hard to see why.
Shouting, light gunfire, crashing and cursing. The dispute had gone south after all, it seemed. Back flat against the building wall, Izuku inched along, until he was right at the corner, and listened.
Fifteen people. No, around ten. That would make five per gang, assuming this was a two-way fight, even split. He palmed his stun gun and forced himself to breathe. Know your triggers. Avoid dust, dry air. Above all—keep calm.
And yet, no matter how many times he did this, he couldn’t silence the fear rattling in his bones.
Izuku, promise me—
All he could do was ignore it. He tightened his trembling fingers into a fist, inhaled, and before he could lose his nerve, stepped into the open.
“Excuse me!”
All eyes turned to him. A startled bullet clipped his face, drawing a thin line of blood. He didn’t move.
Twelve people. No one familiar. Some injured. One or two on the ground, dead or dying. Could be worse. Izuku dropped his hands to his sides, empty palms outward, and smiled.
“I’m sorry for interrupting, but I’m going to have to ask you all to stop.”
Someone snorted. It was a wiry man, with quills all over his back, like a porcupine.
“Fancy yourself a vigilante, huh, kid?”
“No, look,” a woman hissed, exhaling smoke with each word. Potentially a fire-breather, or perhaps just a smokescreen. “It’s Deku. Let’s hear him out.”
Recognition sparked and rippled through both gangs.
Is that really him? He’s just a kid— Who now? You’ve never heard of him? Deku, the mediator—
So he had a title now. Well, he couldn’t really complain. Izuku waited patiently until it was silent, and all attention returned to him.
“Thank you.” His chest started to tighten, but his smile stayed fixed in place. Keeping the fear at bay. “I’m sure you’re all upset with each other, but I’d like to see this resolved peacefully. Can we talk?”
“Talk?” another man echoed derisively. Mutant-type, compound eyes. Potentially other insect qualities. “We didn’t come here to talk.”
“Arthro, wait—”
Too late. Arthro lunged forward.
“Get out of our way, brat!”
There were always a couple of these people, every time. Izuku wasn’t even surprised anymore. He pivoted away from the attack (too wide, telegraphed), caught the man by the arm, and threw him down to the ground. He grabbed his stun gun and jabbed it downwards. Arthro convulsed.
“You little—”
Three seconds, and he was down. Izuku leapt back, and a punch coated in some fluid—acid, perhaps?—swung through the space where his head had just been. A blink; pain flared in his cheek as a clawed hand raked a messy gash across it. An emitter and a second mutant, then. He ducked under the next two swings.
“I’m not here to fight.” He raised his voice, so everyone could hear. His cheek stung, and his breaths were coming in shorter spurts now. He kept smiling. A flash of the stun gun; the claw mutant dropped. “I just want to make sure no one dies today.”
The acid-user growled. “You’re one cheeky kid, saying something like that.”
“Corroder!” a green-skinned man barked out. Could be chlorophyll. “That’s enough!” One of the leaders, then.
“He took out Arthro,” Corroder snapped. Izuku held up his hands placatingly.
“I’m sorry. But he should be able to get up soon.”
True enough, the compound-eyed man was beginning to stir.
“Stand down, Corroder,” the green-skinned man repeated.
“Razor, you too,” the smoke-breathing woman called out. Most likely the other gang leader. The claw mutant pulled back, a sharp frown on his face, but otherwise, didn’t protest. Corroder’s glare lingered on Izuku for a moment longer, until she finally stepped away. Arthro followed, staggering slightly.
“Thank you.” Blood was beginning to drip down the side of his chin, and Izuku absently wiped it off. Practice kept his smile steady. “Before we talk, I’ll tend to anyone who’s injured. Who has the worst wounds?”
Arthro’s lip curled.
“You’d do that for thugs like us?”
“For humans,” Izuku corrected lightly. “I’d do this for humans.”
There wasn’t any debate after that.
None of the wounds turned out to be life-threatening, or needed surgery, something Izuku was thankful for. The tension hadn’t completely left the atmosphere, and he had to fight not to jump at every random sound, but no one bothered him as he cleaned and dressed their injuries. Like usual, he smiled, and tried to make small talk. It paid off—as he went on, he could sense they were opening up to him more.
Partway through, though, his lungs constricted, and a coughing fit seized him. His own fault for forgetting to warm up, before—he’d overextended himself with that short burst of fighting. At the very least, he hoped he wouldn’t start wheezing. That’d make it hard to talk.
“Asthma?”
Izuku stiffened when the smoke-breathing woman, whose broken wrist he was splinting, spoke up, voice low.
“Relax. I’ve had it long enough I can recognize the signs.” She quirked a wry grin. “Mine flares up whenever I overuse my Quirk. Not fun.”
“Oh. I see.”
“You know”—she grimaced when Izuku tied the splint into place—“I didn’t really know what to expect when I first heard about you. You’re pretty much a local celebrity.”
He smiled bashfully. “I’ve been told.”
“Well, if you’d be willing to humor me—” She gestured to the side, where all the people Izuku had finished treating were hovering about, murmuring amongst themselves. “Why are you doing all this?”
His smile strained, only for a split second.
“If I don’t, who else will?”
The woman laughed.
“Fair point.”
The last one to be treated was Razor, who only had some scrapes. He didn’t talk much, but offered a quiet mutter of thanks at the end, then jerked his chin towards the bandaged gash on Izuku’s cheek.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said grudgingly.
“It’s fine.” Izuku flashed him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
Now that everyone was patched up, the talks could begin in earnest. The two gangs had been arguing over the border between their territories, and eventually, they agreed on a new border that made their territories about even. Izuku extracted a promise from them not to fight again—or, if they had a serious dispute, to come to him instead.
Miasma, the smoke-breathing woman, approached him after they’d settled everything.
“There’s one last thing I want to ask you,” she began. Her tone made Izuku straighten.
“What is it?”
“Are you planning on becoming a hero?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
Miasma scrutinized him a bit longer. Then, she huffed out a smoky laugh.
“What a kid.” She turned back. “Tell that guy from the League, what’s-his-face—tell him we’re not interested.”
“You sure, boss?”
“Absolutely.”
“The League?” Izuku couldn’t help but repeat. “Do you mean the League of Villains?”
“That’s what they called themselves, yeah. They wanted us to join them.”
He’d heard rumors about them, and it always set him on edge.
“Do you know what they’re after?”
“They don’t tell you the specifics until you’ve agreed to join,” the green-skinned man, Chloroflash, interjected. He nodded curtly at Miasma. “We got the same offer. All they said was that they wanted to dismantle the hero system.”
“That’s pretty generic,” Izuku muttered, although he still felt uneasy. He gave Chloroflash a cautious glance. “Are you going to join?”
“Shigaraki’s a nutcase,” he said flatly. “So no.”
Izuku smiled. “That’s a relief. Thank you.”
Chloroflash shrugged. His interest in conversation apparently gone, he turned away. Miasma lingered for a moment longer.
“Don’t die, Deku.”
Izuku, promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to survive.
He touched his fist to his chest.
“I won’t.”
Bar Takodana was bustling as usual when Izuku arrived for work. Technically, it was illegal for him to be employed there, but it catered to those who tended to find themselves on the wrong side of the law, so no one ever made much of a fuss over it. That character was thanks to the bar’s owner: Nakano, a lanky woman who swept her blue bangs low over one side of her face and smiled in a way that always made you think she knew something you didn't. She'd been a villain, back in the day, but she’d retired for several reasons, one of them being her bad leg.
Still, she hadn’t cut all her ties to the villain world, and had a good ear for intel. Undeniably useful, when it came to Izuku’s quasi-vigilante work. If it hadn’t been for her warning, earlier that day, he might not have found out about the dispute in time.
That the League was recruiting in South Akutou set him on edge. Something about it didn’t sit right with him, so in between orders, he asked her what she knew.
“There’s the ringleader, of course. Shigaraki Tomura, if I remember correctly.” Nakano tapped her nails to her chin thoughtfully. “I’d say he’s a bit on the…deranged side. But he’s powerful, and shouldn’t be underestimated. He has an accomplice, too—a man with a warping Quirk.”
“Warping?” Izuku echoed. “That’s really rare, isn’t it?”
“Quite so.” One of the regulars, a heavyset villain by the name Flare—she had a penchant for robbing banks, though she’d been toning it down lately—entered, and Nakano paused to greet her.
“The usual,” she grunted out. Nakano had to handle the fancier drinks, but the simpler orders Izuku could do. He fetched a glass and scooped ice into it.
“Now,” Nakano continued, “this is pure speculation on my part, but I suspect he can’t warp anywhere unless he knows the exact location. I’ll spare you my reasoning for now, but perhaps later, if you’d like to hear more, I can explain.”
“Yes, please, that would be great.” Izuku passed Flare her finished drink with a smile. “How’s your niece, Flare?”
Flare swelled with pride. “Smart as hell, that one.” She took a swig. “Top of her class, you know?”
“That’s great to hear.”
A customer further down the counter called for a second round, and Izuku crouched down to pull out the glasses. The door chimed.
A hush fell over the bar. Izuku’s skin prickled.
Something was off.
“Well, well, well.”
Nakano’s drawl was languid. To anyone else, she might’ve sounded faintly amused, like she was enjoying an inside joke. But Izuku had known her long enough to know better.
Subtly, she shifted her weight to her bad leg.
Danger, it meant.
Izuku didn’t dare look up.
“Mr. League of Villains, in my own humble establishment.”
No fucking way.
“To what do I owe the honor?”
“I’m flattered you know about me,” a raspy voice answered. Slowly, Izuku forced himself to straighten.
Hands. Pale and deathly, all over his body. Red eyes gleamed out from between corpselike fingers. Shigaraki Tomura.
This man was dangerous.
“I’ve heard some fascinating things.”
Nakano’s tone had shifted. Mirroring—that was what she was doing. Build rapport. Keep his attention.
Just focus on your job, Izuku chided himself. Mix, mix, mix. Pretend he wasn’t there.
“Is that so?”
“Quite.”
“Do tell.”
Nakano’s smile remained as easily lopsided as ever. “People say you want to bring down heroes, once and for all. I must admit, I’m curious.” She leaned forward, ever so slightly. “You see, I’m sure every one of us has dreamed of that, at some point. But no one’s ever been able to do it. So, if you’d pardon my asking—what’s your plan?”
“Oh, that’s simple.”
Shigaraki’s eyes glittered with dark fervor. No. More than that. Absolute determination and certainty.
“We kill All Might.”
Izuku’s breath shortened.
Kill All Might.
That—that wasn’t possible. Kill All Might? Impossible. All Might and kill couldn’t exist in the same sentence. It was—
No.
It was possible. All Might was only human, after all. Of course he was. You know this, you knew this, you always have.
“Color me impressed. All Might is no easy target.” Nakano glanced coyly at Shigaraki. “I’m sure you’ve thought up some strategy, though.”
It was bait, and Shigaraki took it without hesitation.
“Let’s just say we have a secret weapon… An anti-All Might, if you would. And, of course, we know exactly when and where to strike.” He laughed, high and scratchy, like nails on glass. Izuku trembled. “A perfect boss raid! Doesn’t it just make you giddy?”
“Interesting,” Nakano murmured. Her noncommittal reply didn’t seem to deter Shigaraki, now that he was all worked up.
“You know, you’re pretty cool.” He leaned across the counter. “Ever thought about joining?”
Nakano—
Nakano laughed, like a psychopathic villain hadn’t just made a recruitment pitch to her.
“I don’t think you’ll want a feeble old cripple like me in your ranks. The most I’m good for now is mixing up a fancy drink or two.”
“Hm… That’s a shame.”
Thank god. If she’d tried to turn him down any other way— Izuku didn’t want to think what might’ve happened.
“Actually, I almost forgot.” Shigaraki cocked his head. Almost like a curious child—except for the shroud of bloodlust, wrapped thick and heavy around him. “I came here because of some…interesting rumors.”
“Oh?”
“Tell me… Do you happen to know Deku?”
Izuku’s lungs convulsed. A damning cough hovered in limbo in his throat.
No. Did Shigaraki know? Izuku had never really bothered to keep his face secret, figured it’d make people trust him more. He’d never thought anything like this could happen. Stupid, stupid.
Glass clinked. Nakano kept on mixing. Her placid smile never faltered.
“I’d have to be living under a rock to not know him,” she said mildly. “He’s famous around these parts.”
“I don’t mean that.” Shigaraki scratched at his neck. “I just wanted to know if I could meet him somehow. He seems like a pretty cool guy, you know.”
Izuku almost fumbled the drinks as he handed them over. One last order lined up. One last excuse to keep busy. He felt like throwing up as he reached for another glass.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. He likes to keep to himself.”
Scoop, pour, mix.
“That’s too bad.”
Don’t look at him. Just do your job. Don’t look at anyone, actually. Just—
“How about you guys? Anyone here know?”
No orders left now. No excuses. Everyone here—the regulars, anyhow—knew who he was. Their lips were already loosened by alcohol. All it would take was one person.
Two seats away, Flare leaned back and met Shigaraki’s eyes.
Don’t.
Her mouth opened.
Please.
“Well…”
Izuku shut his eyes.
That was it. The one person.
Sorry, Mom. I—
“Can’t say I’ve ever met him. Guy’s a real recluse.”
He didn’t breathe.
The silence over the bar broke.
“Never seen him either.”
“I don’t even think he lives around here.”
“Would be cool to meet him. But, y’know…what can you do?”
“Tough luck.”
His knees felt weak, and his lungs tight. Something
was
wrong.
“Izuku.”
Each breath hurt. Something was crushing him.
No, he couldn’t be having an attack now.
Not now.
Not here.
“Izuku, Shigaraki’s gone.”
Static rushed in his ears and flickered across his vision. He slumped to the floor, and clutched at his chest. His breath came in fast whimpers. He was suffocating. He was suffocating. Oh god, he was going to die.
“Izuku, everything’s fine. You’re safe.”
Tears burned in his eyes. He didn’t want to die. Not yet. He wanted to breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?
“Listen to me, Izuku. Listen to me. Who am I?”
“N-N-Nakano,” he gasped out.
“That’s right. Now listen to me. Sit upright. Take a deep breath.”
“I-I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You can do it. Mind over matter. Just breathe in. There, that’s right. That’s good. Hold. Now let it out. Okay, again. You’re doing fine.”
Piece by piece, the haze over his mind began to lift. It was quiet—most of the customers had probably left. He was sitting on the ground, Nakano next to him, still murmuring instructions. In, hold, out, hold, in, hold.
“Here, drink.” She pressed a cup of hot coffee into his hands. “It’ll clear up your airways.”
“R-right.” His fingers shook as he brought the cup up to his lips, trying not to spill it. One sip sent warmth tingling through his body, and he shivered.
“Don’t force yourself.”
“I’m o-okay.” He paused to cough. A couple more gulps later, his breathing was less constricted. “I th-th-think it’s, I think it’s over n-now.”
Damn it, he hadn’t stuttered this badly in years. He dragged a sleeve across his eyes.
“S-sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Nakano took his hand. “Here, let’s get you up.” She pulled him to his feet, and steadied him when he swayed. One hand on his back, she guided him to a chair. “Do you want anything?”
“I’m g-g-good.”
Flare, as it turned out, was the only other person left in the bar.
“You okay there, kid?”
“Y-yes.” Izuku gave a wobbly smile. “My asthma started a-acting up. And then I p-panicked. But, um, th-thank you. For, for earlier. You didn’t have to.”
“The League’s all damn psychos.” Flare’s face flashed. Her Quirk tended to activate when she was angry. “Kids like you should stay outta that kind of stuff.”
“I have to wonder what Shigaraki wanted.” Nakano had returned to her usual position behind the counter, and was wiping it down with a dishcloth. “He can’t really think you’d join the League. It’s not exactly a secret that you’re a pacifist.”
“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Flare muttered. “He’s insane. You heard him talk about All Might—like he actually thought he could do it.”
Izuku kneaded the handle of his mug. “I th-think he was, um, was serious. I-I mean. Um. I don’t think we sh-should write him off. We should w-w-warn someone.”
“Who’s gonna take the word of people like us?”
“I-I don’t know. I’ll—I’ll figure something out.” He glanced back at Nakano. “Um, m-maybe I shouldn’t stay here. He might come b-back. And it won’t be hard for him to find out what my, um, what my face looks like. And—”
Nakano flicked him on the forehead, and he yelped.
“Don’t be silly. You’re not much safer somewhere else, frankly. But you have a point. Try to keep a low profile, but really, the best thing you can do at this point is be on your guard.”
“What she said.”
Izuku broke into another fit of coughs, and Flare thumped him on the back.
“Look—if they ever come hounding you again, give us a call. There’s a bunch of us who’d be happy to give you a hand.”
“Thank you.” Oh no, now he was starting to cry again. “R-really. I…” Izuku ran out of breath, and he had to stop.
“Don’t sweat it.” Flare gave him a thumbs-up. “You take care, kid.”
“I will.”
Nakano came around after Flare had left.
“I closed up for now, so don’t worry about your shift.” She held up a hand to stop Izuku’s protests. “More importantly, we need to talk about the League. Are you absolutely set on warning someone?”
“Yes.”
“You realize you’re positioning yourself to be Shigaraki’s enemy.”
“Yes.” Izuku took a deep breath. “I know it’s dangerous, but I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Nakano took a seat, and steepled her fingers together. “Alright, listen closely. I’ll tell you everything I know about the League.”