Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku knows, from Nezu’s silence, that they’re still trying to gauge how bad it is.

“I don’t understand,” Inko says, worrying her lip. She’s seated on one of the couches in the study, hands clasped tightly together in her lap. “Those papers were in his desk? Papers about - about experiments, and monsters, and those creatures that attacked Izuku and his classmates at USJ?”

“And more,” Nezu says darkly. Izuku had contacted Tsukauchi the minute he realized that the situation was too much for him, and too dangerous to handle alone, especially with his mother still around. Yagi hasn’t been informed yet - Tsukauchi had told no one except Nezu, before rushing to Izuku with the chimera in tow. At the moment, they’re still in his grandfather’s house, unwilling to be exposed to the outside yet, and Izuku can’t help but feel a terrible sense of foreboding even as the silence of his quirk assures him there’s no immediate danger.

(He can’t help but feel watched. Dirty, unclean, as if whoever had trespassed in the house had left their fingerprints all over everything, even him. He thinks of the door being slightly ajar and shudders, wondering if they had just been in the house before they arrived.)

“There is so much on these papers,” Nezu continues, reaching the last page, “so much seemingly vital information that I cannot help but think this is a set-up.”

Izuku swallows.

“A set-up?” he repeats carefully, watching as Nezu maintains a neutral expression. “What do you mean by that, sensei?”

“You’re smart, Midoriya-kun,” Nezu says, looking at him knowingly. “You should have understood it before anyone else - in fact, I’m positive you got it, even before you called us. Think back to the scene - think back on how you described it for us.”

Izuku’s brow furrows, thinking back quickly to what he had seen. Nezu’s right - everything was incredibly suspicious. Judging from what he’d seen in the letters, correspondence between… someone, some people, had been going on in the house for some time now, possibly even years judging from the thickness of the stack. For all of that to be just sitting there, in the drawers, in an unlocked and open room, was too much of a coincidence. Not to mention the fact that his mother had been coming to clean the house at least once a month for years now, and not once has she brought up seeing anything like this. Granted, she’s not the type to go digging around or to snoop around someone’s personal business, but she would at least have checked inside the desk at some point.

There’s also the troubling detail of the door being ajar, and his grandmother’s painting being slightly tilted off its proper axis - Izuku doesn’t want to voice it out, fearing that doing so would make it real, but those circumstances combined with the fact that the papers came from seemingly nowhere would suggest that the intruder had been here recently.

Possibly even today,  Izuku thinks, and he hates that the thought makes logical sense. It would make sense for all of these clues, these little hints to be around if they happened to be in the house just as Izuku and Inko arrived and were forced to make a hasty exit without erasing traces of their presence. Perhaps they even meant to leave the place in noticeable disarray, to ensure that their actions wouldn’t be missed. It makes sense if their intention is to entrap him, and it makes him so, so afraid.

“You’re right,” Izuku eventually says, looking up. “It’s too suspicious. Everything is too perfect. Mom’s never mentioned ever seeing any papers like these in the house, and she’s been coming here regularly since Grandpa died. I’m sure even she would have noticed something strange about the study, if these letters were just being kept here.” He gestures to the papers. “The letters don’t have any dates, but this was obviously correspondence over a long period of time. It’s nearly impossible for Mom to have never noticed.”

“I come here at least once a month, sometimes more, and I often go through the whole place inside and out,” Inko confirms. “I’ve never seen a trace of these papers anywhere, not in the drawers or anywhere else.”

Nezu nods, looking grim. He turns to Tsukauchi. “Any word?”

“None yet,” Tsukauchi shakes his head, looking worried. He notices Izuku’s curious gaze at him and hastens to explain. “I have a few trusted officers scouting the area right now for anyone suspicious. It’s possible they’re still lurking nearby, especially since it seems like they were here only recently.”

“How could they have left without us noticing, though?” Inko asks. “Unless they had a quirk that would let them leave without going through doors?”

“The mist villain from USJ,” Izuku realizes. “ If they’re working with the people who created the monster, then they’re connected to that man. His quirk lets him open portals and teleport people somewhere else. I don’t know how far his quirk lets him bring someone, but teleporting someone out of here and into a nearby safehouse or something isn’t unlikely.”

“In that case, it’s unlikely we’ll find anyone in the area,” Nezu says, disappointed. “Still, it doesn’t hurt to check the area for suspicious activity.”

Tsukauchi clears his throat. “Aizawa-san and Toshinori have been informed,” he tells them. “But I’ve told them there’s no reason for them to come here now. They want to discuss it in person later on, though.”

“Of course.” Nezu looks at the stack of papers in his hands, then to Izuku and Inko. “I would like to ask you to release these documents to us. Naturally, they’ll be crucial in any further investigation.” He hazards a glance at the detective. “Owing to the… sensitive nature of the matter, we’ll make sure that it’s handled by a dedicated and specialized unit. We’re dealing with unknown forces here - we cannot be too discreet.”

“Of course,” Inko says immediately. “Please take them. We’ll cooperate in any way to help.”

“We also have to ask you not to return here for some time,” Tsukauchi says apologetically. “We’ll most likely station a security detail around this area to monitor for any suspicious activity. It’s worrying how much they were able to achieve without anyone knowing.”

“Especially if their intention was to plant a trap,” Nezu murmurs, looking troubled. “This was obviously well-planned. They must have been watching this location for a long time.”

Izuku watches his mother turn pale, heart clenching at the worry visible on her face. How long have the villains known about his grandfather’s house? How many times have they watched Inko visit, observing her from afar? Did they ever monitor her while in the house with her? Izuku feels sick - why had he been so resistant to going with her? If he’d gone with her, maybe they would have known about this sooner.

What kind of evil, twisted villains would desecrate the house of a deceased man and use it as a base for their own terrible deeds?

“Sensei, why do you think they would use my grandfather’s house, though?” Izuku asks, giving voice to the worry that’s been nagging at him. Everyone in the room turns toward him. “Let’s say that I really am their target right now, for whatever reason. Why would they go so far as to pretend and insinuate that my grandfather had worked with them? If there’s information in those papers that they’re trying to feed us, why bother involving my grandfather at all?”

Nezu and Tsukauchi share a quick look. “I don’t know, Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi says carefully. “Perhaps it’s simply a psychological trick, a way to affect you and your mother even more. The way they portray your grandfather in the letters makes him seem like a top scientist, involved with the creation of those monsters.”

Izuku shakes his head. “They’re not very imaginative, then. There’s no way Grandpa would be involved in anything like that,” he says firmly. He looks to his mother for support, and she nods slowly.

“Hisahito-san was a doctor, yes, but I really can’t see him participating in experiments like these,” Inko confirms. “Besides, even if he was capable, how could he create something that would be sent to attack Izuku’s school? Hisahito-san loved his grandson more than anything - he could never be responsible for something that would harm him.”

“That’s true,” Nezu says, not sounding convinced at all. It leaves a bitter taste in Izuku’s mouth, seeing the ugly look of doubt on his teacher’s face.

“Sensei,” Izuku says quietly. Nezu looks at him. “My grandfather was a good man. Yes, he was a genius. And yes, it’s true that he would have been knowledgeable enough to lead experiments like these. But he would never hurt anyone, even in the name of science. He became a doctor to help people. If he had any involvement in this at all - which is impossible, anyway - then he could only have been forced.”

Inko gently lays a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, rubbing it softly. He blinks, collecting himself. “Sorry,” he mutters, abashed. “It’s just… I don’t like this. I don’t like what they’re doing to Grandpa’s name.”

“Midoriya-kun, it’s alright,” Tsukauchi says kindly. “This is exactly what they’re hoping to achieve by using your grandfather in these letters. They’re hoping to upset and provoke you. They want to mess with your mindset. And while we may not yet know what their true goal is, we must avoid falling into the traps they’ve set. It’s clear that there’s a bigger plan unfolding around us - we cannot afford to give them any advantages.”

“You’re right.” Izuku rubs his eyes, feeling tired. He wishes it would all just stop. “They’re villains. They don’t think like we do.”

Nothing is sacred in the eyes of evil, after all - not even this old, unassuming house, one of the last vestiges of his beloved grandfather left on this earth.

“If you’re ready to go home, I can escort you back,” Tsukauchi eventually says. “While it’s unlikely they’ll attempt anything right after this, we cannot be too careful. It’s best that you don’t linger for too long.”

“We came here to clean the house, but we can put that off for another day,” Inko explains sadly. “I’m assuming you’ll be inspecting the rest of the house?”

“Yes. We can file a search warrant for it, but that would be unnecessary if you give us your permission to do so.”

“There’s no need to file a warrant. I’m the custodian of this house - you have my permission to investigate and look for evidence,” Inko says. “It would be more discreet if you didn’t have to file one, right?”

Nezu nods gravely. “You have my utmost gratitude and respect, Mrs. Midoriya. I can’t imagine how stressful this is for both of you, but your cooperation makes everything easier. Rest assured that your safety is our top priority as we continue the investigation.”

Inko shakes her head. “No, we… if there’s anything we could do to help you catch the people behind this, please tell us. They’re going too far. All I want is for Izuku to live safely, pursuing what he wants. For them to do this... ”

“You have my word. We will do our best to bring them to justice.”

Justice. The word bounces around in his head even as Izuku and his mother are escorted into a discreet black car. Justice.

“What do you know about justice, Izuku?”

Izuku frowned. “It means to do the right thing, right?” he said. That’s what he remembered from the dictionary, anyway. There had been words such as moral righteousness, fairness, equity - what he had gathered essentially boiled down to doing what was right.

His grandfather laughed, the sound wrapping around Izuku like the comforting swing of a hammock. He crawled up from the floor and onto his grandfather’s lap, his signal for Hisahito to begin explaining to him. “You’re not wrong,” Hisahito acknowledged, nodding. “But justice is a lot more than that. Did you know that there are classes in law school dedicated to the concept of justice? Lessons upon lessons dedicated to defining justice without truly defining it, along with its moral, social, and political implications.”

“Studying how to do the right thing? You have to teach people to do that?” Izuku adored it when his grandfather used difficult words with him, even if he didn’t always know what they meant. It made him feel intelligent, as if his grandfather viewed him as an equal instead of the four-year-old child he actually was.

“You would be surprised how many people need a refresher about doing the right thing,” Hisahito sighed. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? Every single corrupt lawyer who knowingly aided a criminal and freed them from punishment would have gone through those classes, and yet it seems as if nothing stuck.”

“I bet if I studied justice, it would stick with me,” Izuku said proudly. It’s something his mother and grandfather regularly commended him on, his great ability to grasp and retain concepts, a display of intellect rare in children of his age. Or so his grandfather had said, anyway.

“You are probably one of the few people who wouldn’t need that class, Izuku,” Hisahito said, chuckling. “You’re just a child, but your heart is already in the right place. I doubt a college professor could teach you anything you didn’t already know.”

Izuku pat his chest, wondering what his grandfather meant about his heart being in the right place. Wasn’t the heart on the left side of the chest? Still, it sounded like a good thing, so he smiled proudly at him. “What about Heroes, then, Grandpa?” he eventually asked, a frown gracing his small face. He knew his father had been a kind man - he was kind in the few memories Izuku had of him, and he was kind in every single story his mother would tell about him. “Do Heroes have to take that justice class?”

“It would be great if they all did,” Hisahito had said wistfully. “But no. While some schools include it in their curriculum, it’s not required. The discussion of justice is sadly lacking when it comes to the education of these so-called Heroes. Perhaps that class could have made all the difference in the system, if they learned about justice as more than just a black and white concept of good versus bad.”

“What about Dad, Grandpa?” Izuku persisted. “Was Dad good at justice?”

The sigh his grandfather let out felt heavy, as if weighed down by his thoughts and troubles. “Your father was a just man, through and through,” he said, stroking Izuku’s hair. “A Hero anyone would have done well to learn from. Even in the face of death, your father didn’t run from that villain, not when he knew he was the only thing standing between that danger and the innocent civilians around him. Even when his teammates abandoned him, your father never hesitated to do the right thing.”

Izuku’s fists clenched on his lap, curling up tightly. “What about his teammates, then? Why didn’t they do the right thing? Why did they leave him?”

Hisahito’s hand stilled, resting on the top of Izuku’s head. “They were weak, Izuku,” he said quietly. “Only the people who are strong enough can enact justice. Only strong people can be brave enough to pursue justice, even against overwhelming odds. Those kinds of people are the ones who would stop at nothing to protect others, no matter how hopeless it seems. Without conviction, morals are nothing. A cowardly Hero is the same as a bystander.”

For a while, Izuku was silent, taking this in. Then: “That means, Grandpa, that if I help people out when they need it, even if maybe I don’t want to, then I’m doing justice, right? Or - um - that word you used, I don’t remember - ”

“Enacting justice,” Hisahito supplied for him, smiling fondly. “And yes, Izuku. If you do the right thing and help people when it is truly needed, then you are being just. If you defend people who are being wronged, and if you call out people who are doing wrong and hold them responsible, then you are enacting justice. That’s exactly what your father did, and it’s what everyone should do, for the good of the world.”

“Detective,” Izuku says softly. He’s in the front seat, beside Tsukauchi, while his mother sits at the back. Nezu had left separately, claiming business that needed attending to at UA. “What is it, Midoriya-kun?” Tsukauchi asks.

“When you and the other officers examine the house, could you promise me that you’ll be careful? I understand that you’ll have to go through everything to find any evidence, but a lot of the things in the house are kind of old and fragile, especially the books, so - ” He breaks off, faltering.

“I understand, Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi says gently. “You have my word that we will treat the house with utmost care. I understand how much it means to you and your mother.”

“And… and if you find anything about my grandfather…” Izuku pauses. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it at all, let alone entertain it. “If you find anything - ”

“If we find anything, you will know,” Tsukauchi finishes for him. 

Izuku nods, throat feeling tight. “Yeah,” he says, not trusting himself to say more. “Yeah. Thank you.”

-

When Naomasa enters Nezu’s office, Toshinori immediately notices the lines adorning his forehead. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned. “Did something happen?”

Naomasa shakes his head. “Nothing happened. I escorted Midoriya-kun and his mother to their home, and she gave me the keys to the house. I’ve told them that some of my men will be stationed around their apartment complex at discreet locations. We can’t be too careful.” He frowns, looking upset. “I wish I could do more for them.”

“This is all turning into a wonderful mess,” Aizawa sighs, placing his feet on the coffee table in front of him. No one tells him off for it. “I’ve never seen anyone in my life attract as much trouble as Midoriya, and that’s saying something, considering present company.”

Toshinori doesn’t miss the jab aimed at him, but he doesn’t refute it, either. This isn’t normal for a first-year heroics student, even one as extraordinary as Izuku. For all the strange and unusual situations that his original quirk gets him into, this is frankly preposterous. Toshinori agrees with Naomasa’s sentiment - he wishes he could simply wave his hand and make all of this disappear, but he can’t. He can only try his best to keep Izuku safe through all of it.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Nezu says, clapping his hands together. He carefully pats the stack of papers on his desk, the files found at Izuku’s grandfather’s home. “We can’t waste any time - the villains could well be preparing for their next move as we speak.”

He hands a copy of the papers to each person. “I’ve skimmed through them and had them duplicated, but it will require several read-throughs to fully grasp the amount of information contained in them,” he says grimly. “I have to say, if everything they’ve put in here is made-up, then they should win a Nobel Prize for fiction. This would be the most masterful fabrication of all time.”

Aizawa takes his copy and starts flipping through it, looking mostly at the diagrams. He stops at one page, eyes narrowing as he reads through it carefully. “They have several pages dedicated to that monster from USJ,” he says, eyes scanning the text.

“The noumu, as they call it,” Toshinori murmurs, eye catching on the characters spelled out in crisp lettering.

“All the information here lines up with what I saw that day,” Aizawa continues, eyes moving rapidly down the page. “Its appearance, its capabilities, its behavior. There’s more information here about its abilities that I wasn’t able to observe.” His lips form a thin line, face darkening the more he reads. “Jesus. If all of this is right, then we barely saw half of what it was capable of. It could have done so much more damage if the kids hadn’t figured out a way to incapacitate it.”

“That’s what troubles me,” Nezu murmurs, scanning the same page that Aizawa is currently on. “The amount of accurate information about the noumu here is alarming, considering we haven’t released any details about it, nor were the leaked videos able to clearly show off its actions. This increases the likelihood that these papers truly are from our enemies, although I can’t say for certain how accurate the rest of the information is.”

“Why would they plant them at Midoriya’s house?” Aizawa asks, sounding frustrated. Toshinori looks up, startled. It’s not often that anything can break through his stoic facade. “That’s the one thing I can’t make any sense of. If they wanted to lead us on with false information, they could have chosen anywhere else to leave them. It’s not like they even care about making it look convincing, or an accident - they just went and left these papers where we were most likely to find them. No - where Midoriya would find them. They’re obviously fixating on him again, for whatever reason.”

“And they didn’t even do it at young Midoriya’s own home, but his grandfather’s house,” Toshinori says darkly. His jaw had dropped when he’d heard about that detail in his earlier phone call with Nezu, anger flooding him. “That’s despicable of them - how could they invade such a sacred place?”

There’s a beat of silence as they all seemingly contemplate this. Then, Nezu clears his throat. “There’s a distinct possibility his grandfather isn’t dead.”

As one, the three men turn to look at him, shock written all over their faces. “What?”

“His grandfather, Midoriya Hisahito, supposedly died more than four years ago.” Here, Nezu looks at Toshinori, his face unreadable. “It was during your last encounter with All For One.”

Toshinori’s heart drops to his stomach.

A series of images flashes, unbidden, in his mind’s eye - the sky, blotted out with smoke; concrete walls crashing down, rubble spilling across the streets; dark, twisted fibrils, attempting to snuff the life out of him; one hand, stretching out towards him, the physical manifestation of every fear he’s ever had in his life - 

“That… that is...” he says, every fiber of his body thrumming with anxiety at this information.

“Are you sure?” Aizawa asks for him. Toshinori looks at him gratefully. “How did you find out?”

Nezu shrugs. “It was simple to look up his grandfather’s date and cause of death. According to the records, a body hadn’t even been recovered. Just his ID and some belongings. The circumstances align too perfectly with him having faked his death.” He tilts his head. “Assuming that he did.”

There’s another pause, longer this time, as everyone digests this revelation. Toshinori keeps silent as he slowly feels dread sink into his skin, into his bones. The entire world, Izuku included, doesn’t know that Toshinori, as All Might, was involved in that fight - let alone that All For One was the true mastermind behind the catastrophe that nearly unfolded. Yes, he had commandeered a lesser villain to masquerade and front as the actual culprit, but it was to All For One that Toshinori had nearly lost his life to that day. The only consolation is that Toshinori had been able to deal even more damage to All For One, enough to put him out of commission.

Or so he had thought. Obviously, with the way the League of Villains appear to be weaving a tighter and tighter net around Izuku, he’d been naive to hope he would truly be gone.

Aizawa laces his fingers together. “Alright, let’s say Midoriya’s grandfather did fake his death during that specific fight,” he says slowly. He’s quick to accept impossibilities - has to be, being responsible for a bunch of fledgling heroes hell-bent on surprising everyone.

“Unless he had some other, crazy reason for doing so, that would leave us with no choice but to assume he did it because he really was working with the League, and that he’s successfully managed to keep it hidden from Midoriya and his mother for several years. That would also mean that he was most likely working directly with All For One, for his planned ‘death’” - here, he sketches quotation marks in the air - “to have lined up so perfectly with that day. If it was premeditated, then it means that win or lose, him faking his death would have had a bigger purpose.”

Toshinori frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What I think Aizawa-san is saying is that no matter how powerful All For One was, there was always a chance that you would beat him in a direct confrontation, and he knew it,” Naomasa explains. Aizawa nods in agreement. “And obviously, if he was really working with Midoriya’s grandfather, something as major as faking his death isn’t something they would do on the spot. It had to have been planned beforehand. Which means that it must serve a bigger purpose, one that would come to fruition in the future, one that didn’t depend on whether All For One defeated you or not.”

“And that purpose appears to be unfurling now,” Nezu says softly. “After four years of being presumed dead, Midoriya Hisahito has returned to the picture.”

Toshinori brings his hand down on the stack of papers in his lap, feeling frustrated. “Are we really entertaining the idea that young Midoriya’s grandfather is still alive, and is some kind of evil mastermind?” he says, incredulous. “What kind of person would do that to their own family? What kind of person would do that to Izuku?”

“The same kind of person who would perform inhumane quirk experiments on people and engineer monsters like the Noumu,” Nezu says dryly. Toshinori blinks, faltering. “Don’t you think that someone like that - someone who must have discarded their own humanity in pursuit of whatever twisted plan they have in mind - would be the kind of person to deceive their own daughter-in-law and grandson? The kind of person who could deceive them so thoroughly that they’d never see him as anything but a kind old man?”

Toshinori frowns. “If young Midoriya believes that he - ”

“Midoriya was a child when he knew his grandfather,” Nezu says, cutting him off. “It cannot be helped that he would hold him in high regard, especially if he grew up without his own father.”

“That’s another thing. His son - young Midoriya’s father - was a Pro Hero. A well-respected one during his time, at that.” Toshinori had read up on Salamander after the meeting about Stain with young Iida. Though his time as a Pro Hero had been tragically cut short, it had been a shining tapestry of model behavior and astounding victories. Even as a solo Hero, independent of his already respected Hero unit, Salamander would no doubt have been a top-ranking Hero today if he had lived. “How could he be involved with such activities, knowing his son and grandson?”

“His son very famously died after being abandoned by his Pro Hero teammates,” Nezu reminds him.

“We don’t know that for sure. You know how the media twists events to fit a narrative - ”

“Believe me, Toshinori, I do. But although it’s true that we don’t know the full story, it doesn’t mean the Guardians are automatically innocent of any wrong. There’s a chance the details that never made it to the public make the story worse, and Midoriya Hisahito had somehow been privy to them. In the off chance that this is the case, it’s possible his son’s death could have radicalized him to the point of joining with villains.”

Toshinori’s eye twitches. “We are talking about young Midoriya’s grandfather - ”

Naomasa pats Toshinori’s shoulder then, gently pushing him back into the couch. He hadn’t even realized that he’s on the verge of standing up, indignant. “Toshinori, we’re all aware that Midoriya-kun is the victim here,” he says placatingly. It doesn’t do much to quell the ire brewing in his chest. “In all of this. No matter what Stain says, or whatever the League tries to imply, it’s clear that he’s just someone who’s been caught up in all of this through no fault of his own.”

“That’s - ”

“We’re not accusing Midoriya-kun of anything,” Naomasa says firmly. “Questioning his grandfather’s supposed death doesn’t mean we’re casting doubt on Midoriya-kun himself.”

Aizawa snorts. “How sweet. Midoriya’s got one hell of a protective mentor,” he says dryly. He takes one glance at Toshinori’s look of offense and snickers.

Toshinori doesn’t know how he can make quips in this situation. “If your speculations are true, which I don’t believe they are - ” Aizawa rolls his eyes. “ - then we have our link, don’t we? Isn’t that why you’re trying to push this angle this far? If young Midoriya’s grandfather himself is involved with the League, then that explains how they knew his name at USJ. It explains why they chose him to fixate on in the videos, and why they left the papers at his grandfather’s home of all places.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Nezu says quietly. Toshinori looks at him, perplexed.

“It would provide us with the link we’ve been looking for, yes, but we are no closer to understanding why they’re doing all of this,” Nezu clarifies. “Like you keep saying, it’s hard to imagine a man doing all of this to his innocent grandson, even assuming that he works for All for One. Why would he endanger his grandson to this extent? Why would they choose Midoriya-kun to target in the first place? What end goal are they aiming for?”

He ruffles the papers on his desk impatiently. “These monsters… these noumu are certainly part of it, but I don’t believe that they’re the only thing we should be worried about. In fact, just from the way they’re so loose-lipped with information about them, I get the impression they’re practically inconsequential compared to whatever else they’re planning. They’re trying to perfect these creatures, yes, but for what?”

“Not to mention the fact that they brought their best prototype to USJ knowing Midoriya would be there,” Aizawa adds, brow furrowing. “It’s possible that factored into the timing and nature of their attack.”

“Now that I think about it, didn’t Midoriya-kun point out how strange the whole encounter was? How he thought the villains were just toying with them?” Naomasa interjects. “Could they have been testing that creature out on the students? Or worse - perhaps they wanted to see how Midoriya specifically would respond to such a threat?”

“The villains were looking for me,” Toshinori says, frowning. The conversation is going places he’s not sure he wants to follow, and he feels like he’s the only one still keeping a rational outlook on things. “They targeted USJ because they had intelligence stating I would be present for the lesson.” The only reason he had arrived late was because he had gotten preoccupied with random villains in the city, but he had shown up.

“That could just be what they want us to think,” Nezu counters. “If you recall, out of all the videos that were leaked, the video of Midoriya punching the noumu was one of the clearest and most prominent, even considering the fact that one of the students’ quirks was obscuring the scene. Additionally, the arrival of the faculty wasn’t included in the leaked videos. They clearly took special care to make sure that Midoriya’s actions would be broadcast to the public, and more importantly, that he would be cast in a heroic light.”

“What’s the point of that? They want to, what, show how strong Midoriya is to the public? Is that it?” Aizawa asks sarcastically. It’s clear he’s vexed - as a Pro Hero, being so clueless about the motivations of the enemy is one of the most frustrating situations you could find yourself in. Especially when someone like a young student is being endangered. “Is the League secretly trying to give him clout before he even goes Pro? And for what? How could that possibly benefit them?”

“We can’t rule anything out, Shota,” Nezu says gravely. “Whatever their end goal is, they’re clearly trying to put Midoriya-kun in a vulnerable state, maximizing the amount of scrutiny on him. Perhaps it’s to set him up for failure, perhaps it’s simply a step in a bigger, more devious plan - but until we know what that plan is, we must consider every single angle possible, no matter how silly it sounds.”

He glances at Toshinori. “For Midoriya-kun’s safety.”

Toshinori swallows thickly, his chest feeling tight. His mind flashes back to that fateful day on Dagobah Beach, the day he’d taken the shackle of One for All and laid it on Izuku’s fragile shoulders.

(“Yagi-san…” Izuku had said. His face was terrible to behold, so gentle, and yet so broken. “Thank you for crying for me. But I’ve long since accepted this fate. Meeting you and rescuing Kacchan only solidified that acceptance. I will never escape it. I will never have the peace that I want.”) 

Peace may not have been an option for you, young Midoriya, Toshinori thinks, heartbroken. But you deserve a better life than this.

“For young Midoriya’s safety,” he echoes, voice hoarse. 

For as long as Toshinori could draw breath, he would spend his life atoning for his selfish choice.

As long as he was alive, he would protect Izuku.

-

The sky is the wrong shade of blue.

Underneath his feet, leaves make crackling noises as he steps on them. Upon closer inspection, he finds worms, crawling through the dead leaves and disintegrating as he steps on them.

It’s his neighborhood, but everything looks strange. The stop signs are too tall, the road too wide, and his hands - he holds them up in front of his face, and they’re too small.

Unblemished.

The distant sound of cats meowing fills his ears, too loud and too bizarre to be real, as if someone has managed to record the sound and then filter it through a funhouse mirror. It grates at his ears, scratching at his head like actual claws, and he clutches his head, trying to make it stop, stop, stop

“KIMI!”

The sky is the wrong shade of blue

and the road is the wrong shade of red

He turns around to find his classmates standing in the road, dressed in their Hero costumes. He runs to them, trying to figure out what’s going on, but they don’t know who he is.

He is just

a child

On the ground lies a young girl, her long pink hair drenched in blood, pooling around her shoulders and staining her pretty dress.

No.

Why…

Why hadn’t his quirk alerted him? Why hadn’t he felt anything?

If he had known, he could have saved her.

“Kid, just step back.” Kirishima gently pushes him away, and his arm doesn’t budge at all no matter how hard he pushes. “It’s alright, let the Pro Heroes handle this.”

“No.”

Someone kneels down beside her, caressing her cheek. It’s pale as snow.

“No, no.”

“Izuku, why didn’t you save me?” She’s dead, but her eyes are open, and her lips are moving, and her neck, her slender neck, is bent at an odd angle. “Why did you let me die?”

“No, no, no, no - ”

“Why did you let me die, Izuku?” Hisahito asks. His suit is stained with blood, pooling around his body. Around them, the world is on fire.

His eyes, bloodshot, find his. “Why didn’t you save me?”

“NO!”

Izuku shoots up from his bed, gasping for air. Even as he does so, he claps a hand on his mouth, panicking that he’d shouted loud enough to disturb someone. He listens with bated breath, an anxious chill filling his veins when he hears his mother’s footsteps outside his room. “Izuku?” she calls gently, knocking on his door. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, taking time to compose himself even a little bit. When he feels that he can answer without his voice breaking, he walks up to his door, saying softly, “I’m okay, Mom.”

There’s silence as his mother gauges his tone and answer. “Would you like a hug?” she eventually asks, and Izuku tries, he really does, but he can’t keep himself from tearing up as he presses his forehead against the door. “Yes,” he whispers, pulling the door open to reveal Inko already waiting with open arms.

Izuku rushes forward, burying his face in his mother’s shoulder. He has to bend his knees slightly to do so, but it doesn’t matter. He breathes deeply, inhaling her familiar calming scent, and tries to block out everything in the world that isn’t him or his mother.

Inko lets him hold her, even when the embrace gets a little tight for comfort. “Oh, my baby,” she says, sounding heartbroken. She lifts a hand to stroke his head, running her fingers through the wayward locks. “I’m sorry, Izuku. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry your mother can’t protect you. Today was… today was terrible, wasn’t it?”

Izuku nods, chest feeling tight as he struggles to breathe. “It’s not your fault,” he says. It isn’t his, either. “I just - I can’t believe they’d do that to Grandpa,” he says, voice coming out thickly. “I know it’d be - it would have been way worse if they broke into our apartment, but - the fact that they went there, that they broke in, that they’re trying to make him look like a villain - ”

Inko says nothing as he rambles nonsensically, letting him vent out the anger and frustration and helplessness he’s been bottling up ever since Tsukauchi and the principal had arrived at his grandfather’s home.

For all the power that One for All has bestowed upon him, for all the warnings that his original quirk may supply him with, Izuku has never realized how truly powerless he could be in the face of true evil.

Villains have no qualms about decency or morality. Nothing, not even the memory of his precious grandfather, is off-limits to their wrongdoing.

He wonders if he could ever measure up, in front of such immoral cruelty.

Eventually, Izuku settles down, at least somewhat. He and Inko have stood there for God knows how long, and although he’s reluctant to leave the safe bubble of his mother’s arms he knows he has to let go at some point. So he slowly pulls back, trying his best to mirror the gentle smile on his mother’s face. “I feel a bit better now, I think,” he says, closing his eyes to ground himself.

Inko strokes his cheek. “You think you can get some sleep? You need all the rest you can get.”

Izuku nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go to sleep. I’m… well, at least I’m more calm now, so.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything, okay?” Izuku nods again, and with a final squeeze to his shoulders, Inko leaves and returns to her own room.

Izuku watches her go, feeling an odd ache in his chest. He steps back inside his room and closes the door, turning his lamp on so he can search for his mobile phone. Once he has it, he returns to his bed and sits down, scrolling through his contacts until he finds the number he’s looking for.

Against his better judgment, he presses call on the number and holds it up to his ear. Despite the late hour, it only takes a few rings for the person to pick up. “Izuku?”

Izuku presses his lips together, relief flooding him at the sound of Kimi’s sleepy voice. He had canceled the meet-up with her and Yashiro after the whole thing at Grandpa’s house, and though he knows he couldn’t have met with them considering his mental state then, he’s a little sorry now that he’d skipped on a chance to be with both of them. “Hi. Sorry, were you asleep?”

He hears the soft sound of rustling in the background, followed by the sound of a door sliding open then shut. “Sorry, I just had to go out to the balcony. My roommate’s asleep, so I - ” she breaks off into a huge yawn. “Sorry. I was asleep, yeah, but it’s no biggie. Is something up?”

Izuku sighs. “I’m sorry for waking you up. I know it’s late. It’s just - ” he breaks off, biting his lip. “I, um. I had the dream again. The dream where you - ”

“The dream where you couldn’t save me?” Kimi finishes for him, sounding considerably more awake, and Izuku finally manages to exhale fully, albeit rather shakily. Of course Kimi would know right away. The two of them had been sleeping over at Yashiro’s home the first time he’d had that nightmare, so many years ago. “Huh. It’s been a while since you had that dream, hasn’t it?”

Izuku chuckles despite himself. “Yeah. The last time I had it was, what? A year before I got into U.A., I think. Maybe longer? I don’t even remember what was stressing me out.”

“A year before U.A.? Probably Yagi-san,” Kimi suggests dryly, and Izuku laughs. “Did you tell your Mom?”

“I yelled in my sleep, so she came to check on me,” Izuku says sheepishly. “I didn’t tell her I had the dream, though. I… I think she knew without me having to tell her.”

“There’s only one dream you have that makes you wake up screaming, so. Unless you added a new nightmare to your repertoire, she probably knows.” Izuku chuckles. He’s always so thankful for his friends’ ability to make things lighter, despite everything. He hears the sound of shuffling footsteps, presumably Kimi walking around the balcony. “Our door is locked, and our balcony is covered with some type of iron cage. That’s not as bad and prison-y as it sounds, actually - they’re not that thick and they’re covered in ivy and some pretty flowers. It’s supposed to keep students from falling off by accident, but I guess it also functions to keep intruders out, y’know?”

Realistically, Izuku knows that Kimi is safe and a dream is just a dream. Still, that doesn’t stop the relief that floods his chest at the confirmation that she is, in fact, safe. Kimi, he knows, understands - deep within his consciousness is the burning, persistent desire to know his friends are always safe, especially when they’re so far away from him. “Oh, the security guard on rounds just passed under my balcony. She’s waving at me - hi, hi! I kind of - yes, I’ll go to sleep soon! Thank you - sorry, she asked what I was still doing up.”

“You should go back to sleep,” Izuku says, laughing quietly. “We both should. I’ve calmed down now, so I’ll be fine. Sorry again for waking you up.”

“Don’t apologize, Izuku. I’d rather you call me than let you stew in your thoughts all night worrying if I’m safe in my ultra-high-security dorm. If a five-minute call is going to make you feel better, no matter how little you think the issue is, call me. Call Yashiro. Just - don’t apologize for needing us. We need you, too, so - ” She breaks off into silence, only the sound of her breathing coming through the phone. Eventually, she speaks again.

“Today was difficult for you, wasn't it?”

It’s such a simple question, but Izuku feels its weight in his chest like a tangible block. Kimi doesn’t even know how badly the visit to his grandfather’s house went, only that it must have upset him enough to want to be alone. She has no idea about the letters, the false evidence, the accusations his grandfather’s name had to suffer. And she doesn’t need to, not really.

She’s never needed to look too hard to know when Izuku is in pain.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here. And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, too. If you want me to talk into your ear for an hour about anything I can think of, I would. I’d recite the multiplication tables for you, if you wanted. Just. Don’t apologize for leaning on us, Izuku. Alright?”

“I won’t,” Izuku murmurs, and then, “I really miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” Kimi’s voice is hushed. “I miss you and Yashiro everyday. I wish I could see you more, but. Well. The universe is kind of a jerk for deciding we all had different paths in life, but I guess there’s nothing we can do.”

They stay silent for a while, a comfortable, companionable quiet. Eventually, Kimi yawns into the receiver again, and Izuku closes his eyes with a smile. “Let’s sleep, yeah?”

“Never thought I’d hear you of all people saying that to me, but yeah. We should sleep. Good night, Izuku.”

“Good night, Kimi.”

He locks his phone once the call ends, setting it on his bedside table. For the first time that day, Izuku’s mind finally falls quiet.

-

He should already have seen it coming, but his peace doesn’t really last all that long.

“Izuku,” Inko murmurs, gently shaking him awake. He groans, fighting to open his eyes in the early morning light. “Izuku, sweetheart, wake up. Detective Tsukauchi’s on the phone.”

That wakes Izuku up properly, prompting him to abruptly sit up. “I’m up,” he mumbles sleepily, slowly getting up from the bed to walk over to their telephone. He picks up the idle receiver, holding it far from his face as he fails to stifle a yawn.

“Midoriya-kun?” he hears, as soon as he places it beside his ear. “Good morning. I’m sorry for disturbing you so early on a Sunday.”

“No, it’s alright. Why are you calling, Detective?” As soon as the question leaves his lips, worry starts to grow in his chest. “Did you… did you find something? In the house?”

“No, not yet,” Tsukauchi says, and it literally feels like Izuku’s been freed from a straitjacket. His breath comes easier and lighter as he listens to the detective continue.  “Our search team hasn’t been able to find anything suspicious in the house yet. Everything so far seems to have been untouched for years and untampered with, unlike your grandfather’s office. Rest assured that we’ll continue our search until we’re confident we’ve scoured every inch of the place.”

“Of course, Detective. Thank you. But if you haven’t found anything new, then why are you calling me now?”

“It’s about the letters and the intel that you found. The principal and I have been scrutinizing them since yesterday, and we believe it would be helpful for you to examine them as well. While we still can’t be sure this isn’t a set-up or total fabrication, we felt that your input would be valuable.”

Izuku raises an eyebrow. “You want me to read the papers? Wouldn’t they technically be classified information, though?”

“Under normal circumstances, yes. However, these aren’t exactly normal circumstances, as things stand. While we’re still operating under the assumption that they’re lying about knowing your grandfather, we still haven’t figured out why. You were one of the people closest to your grandfather when he was still alive; if the villains are truly committed to acting as if they knew him, we thought that perhaps you would be able to spot references to your grandfather or his work in the papers. Your input could help us piece together their intention, or even dismiss it as a red herring.”

That makes sense - if the villains had learned enough about Midoriya Hisahito to break into his house and know how to frame him as a colleague, then they must know other things about him, too. Information they may have made its way into the papers, even if it was meant to muddle their true intention. “I see. Basically, you want me to see if there’s anything significant in the papers that you might have glossed over? Maybe try to see how they knew my Grandpa, or why they chose to lie about him?”

There’s a slight pause - then, Tsukauchi clears his throat. “Exactly, Midoriya-kun. It might seem a bit silly, but it’s possible there’s even a secret message hidden here somewhere, something that only you would be able to notice. While any hidden info we find is likely a trap, it might still help us get an idea of what they want.”

Izuku nods. “Okay. I understand. I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, Midoriya-kun. Principal Nezu will send a car over to pick you up and bring you here shortly. We’ll be waiting.”

Tsukauchi hangs up, and Izuku returns the receiver into its proper place. “They want you to go to UA?” Inko asks, walking up to him.

He nods. “They want me to read through the papers, see if they’re real or not. Or maybe even find a secret message in there somewhere. We already know they’re fake, though - there’s no way Grandpa would be associated with anyone in the League. I just hope I’ll be able to convince them that the documents are false.”

For a moment, Inko looks at him, biting her lip. “Is something wrong?” Izuku asks, tilting his head. His mother is prone to overthinking sometimes, when she has something she wants to tell him.

“No, it’s just…” she says, trailing off. She seems to be lost in her own thoughts. Eventually, though, she shakes her head. “Never mind,” she says firmly, clapping her hands to her own cheeks. “Don’t mind your silly mother, Izuku. I’m thinking too much. Just - just be careful later, okay? I know you’ll be thorough, but I hope you’ll be able to stay calm and focused while you read the documents.”

Izuku frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You already got upset enough at the thought that the villains were using Hisahito-san. I’m worried you’ll be… even more affected, once you start reading what they’ve actually written.”

Ah. She’s right. Just the mere implication that someone was accusing Grandpa of being a criminal was enough to make his blood boil. He’d have to be careful to keep a clear mind while reading, just so no one could accuse him of being biased. “I get it, Mom. Thank you. I’ll make sure to stay calm.”

“That’s my son,” Inko says, a small smile playing on her lips. “Alright. You’d better get ready - knowing UA, your ride will be here in the blink of an eye. I’ll pack breakfast for you, since I don’t think you’ll have time to eat here. Are rice balls okay?”

“Yes, Mom. Thank you.”

Like Inko had predicted, the car from UA pulls up in front of their complex right as Izuku is getting dressed. “At least you don’t have to jump from Manabe-san’s window this time,” Inko sighs, pressing his packed breakfast into his hands. “I made plenty, so share some with your teachers and the detective. I’m willing to bet none of them have had a proper breakfast yet, what with the investigation and all.”

Izuku chuckles nervously at the idea of sharing rice balls with Tsukauchi and Principal Nezu. Can the principal even eat rice balls? What does he even eat? Could he pick them up with his paws? “I’ll make sure to offer them some,” he concedes. 

He leans down to let his mom hug him goodbye. “Be safe, Izuku,” she murmurs, rubbing his back.

Izuku smiles wanly. “Be safe, Mom.”

He exits their apartment and makes his way to the car up front, wondering vaguely if Aizawa and Yagi would pick him up like last time. To his surprise, Detective Tsukauchi is the one in the backseat, smiling at him as he opens the door.

“Detective!” Izuku says, startled. “Um - sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Good morning, Midoriya-kun. Here, get in, get in,” Tsukauchi says warmly, moving to the side to make space for Izuku. “Toshinori wanted to come, but I told him he didn’t have to exert himself for a short trip. I hope you don’t mind that I picked you up instead of him.”

Izuku shakes his head, sliding into the seat beside the detective. “I don’t mind at all, but you didn’t have to come all this way, either. It must be a hassle to take a break from the investigation.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Besides, we can’t be too careful right now. While it’s unlikely that the villains would attempt to make direct contact with you again so soon, they might try something else. Principal Nezu and Toshinori are very unwilling to leave you unguarded, especially since we have no idea what they’re trying to do.”

“I see.” Izuku’s brow furrows. He’d noticed a couple of the guards that Tsukauchi had placed around their complex, on the way to the car - while he’s grateful for the protection, especially for his mom, he can’t help but be anxious about it all. He wishes the security detail wasn’t necessary at all.

The car starts, and they ride in silence for a few minutes as Izuku stares out the window, zoning out. “This situation must be very difficult for you and your mother,” Tsukauchi begins, an even tone to his voice. “How are you holding up?”

Well, I had a stress-induced nightmare about my best friend dying last night, Izuku thinks wryly. Out loud, he says, “As well as anyone, I guess. I don’t really - I don’t really know how to feel about all of this right now. I might freak out if I think about it for too long, honestly.”

Tsukauchi nods, humming. “That’s understandable. I hardly know what I would do if I were in your shoes.” His expression softens, just the slightest bit. “We’ll work hard to make sure this ends as quickly as possible. I wish you didn’t have to bear such a large burden, but please let us know anytime it’s getting to be too much, or if you need distance. We have your back, Midoriya-kun - and not just because it’s our job to do so.”

“Thank you,” Izuku says softly. Then - “While we’re here, can I ask you about something else, Detective?”

Tsukauchi nods and motions for him to talk. “I understand if what I’m asking is classified information. You can just tell me so, and I won’t ask again. But… about my dad's last living teammate. Decalcomania. Sakamoto Kaori, I believe her name was? Is she… is she still in hiding? Is she alright?” Is she still alive?

The detective smiles slightly at Izuku. “She is,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m not directly involved with the people managing her security detail, but she’s still safe.” He pauses. “Actually - are you familiar with how her quirk works?”

Izuku nods. “I’m pretty sure her quirk is registered under the name Photocopy? It allows her to make clones of people, right? Or, well, like the name implies, it allows her to make a copy of someone, but the copy isn’t a perfect duplicate - they aren’t as detailed or nuanced as the original. Like an actual photocopy.”

Apparently, Photocopy even allowed Decalcomania to make copies who retained the quirk of the original. Izuku remembers looking up footage of the Guardians when he was younger, and though his father had of course been the main focus of his attention, he had watched Salamander’s teammates keenly as well. Decalcomania had mainly used her quirk to make a copy of herself to fight alongside her, but occasionally she would copy one of her teammates as well. One particularly memorable clip showed a video of two Salamanders side-by-side, twin breaths of powerful blue flame burning bio-contaminated animal corpses that a villain had planned to use to unleash a new plague.

“Well, to give you a bit of insight, the officers at Hosu are using her quirk to add a layer of… let’s call it deception, to her protection detail,” Tsukauchi says, giving Izuku a subtle wink. 

Izuku ponders this for a while, then gasps softly when he makes the connection. Whenever Decalcomania had made a copy of herself, the clone had seemed nearly perfect, retaining her mannerisms and personality unlike when she used her quirk with anyone else. Izuku had even seen videos of two or more separate members of the Guardians conferring with her and her clone, as if there was no difference between the two. 

“Then, if there’s two of her…” Izuku begins, trailing off into silence when Tsukauchi gives him an approving smile. If there are two of her, then the police could use the copy as a decoy to lure the Hero Killer and apprehend him, while also drawing attention away from the real Decalcomania, hidden away somewhere else. It’s such a cool idea that Izuku wishes he were at liberty to ask more questions about it, and how her quirk works. Could her copy exist indefinitely, or did it fade after some time and require the regular creation of a new one? How far apart could she and her copy be, or could the copy travel anywhere and as far as it wanted? Would the original Decalcomania be aware of everything her copy was seeing and hearing, and vice versa? Or would they experience and remember situations completely separately?

“I can see you have more questions,” Tsukauchi chuckles, taking note of the glazed look that had overtaken Izuku’s eyes as he mind races. “But I’m afraid that’s as much as I can tell you, for now. I’m not even supposed to have revealed the trick, truthfully, but - ” here, he laughs at Izuku’s suddenly guilt-filled expression, “ - I trust that you understand the gravity of the situation and won’t be sharing the information with anyone else. Right?”

“Right! Of course!” Izuku confirms, nodding earnestly. He’s surprised the detective even revealed this much, but he’s grateful for the confirmation that Decalcomania is still alive and well, and that the law enforcement in Hosu are taking her safety seriously. Hopefully, the Hero Killer would be apprehended without any more attacks or casualties.

(Briefly, Iida and his brother cross his mind. Izuku closes his eyes and prays that Ingenium’s recovery is going well.)

He settles in his seat and spends the rest of the car drive in comfortable silence with the detective. They arrive in UA shortly thereafter, all of Inko’s rice balls devoured between Izuku and Tsukauchi, who when pressed had admitted he felt rather hungry. Taking the same protected route to the principal’s office as before, Izuku is greeted by the familiar sight of Yagi, Aizawa, and Principal Nezu.

Aizawa takes one look at the empty lunchbox still in Izuku’s hands and snorts. “Heh. Déjà vu,” he chuckles.

Izuku flushes. “Sorry - we ate them all on the way…”

Yagi clears his throat. “Pay him no mind, young Midoriya,” he says, sending an uncharacteristically annoyed look in Aizawa’s direction. Oddly enough, it only makes the latter chuckle even harder.

“Sorry to bring you here so early once again, Midoriya-kun,” Nezu says. “But we figured this would be the only time you could assist us on this matter. You would surely be busy during your internship, and we didn’t want to cut into such an important time in your education.”

“I’m happy to help,” Izuku says honestly.

“And we’re glad to have you,” Tsukauchi says warmly. He leads Izuku over to the sofa, then fetches one of several piles of papers stacked on Nezu’s desk. “Principal Nezu had the papers found in your grandfather’s home duplicated for us - and other select individuals on the case - to peruse. Please rest assured that we are limiting this investigation only to people who absolutely have to be involved. Additionally, in the interest of confidentiality, we can’t allow you to make copies of them yourself or to bring your copy with you out of this office. Even if you write on them, we have to keep the papers here. I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” Izuku agrees, taking the files handed to him. It’s quite a thick pile, and already he feels a growing sense of unease as he remembers how he found them in the first place. “May I have some paper? I’d like to write down some notes as I read these. I’d use one of my notebooks, but there’s always a chance that I could accidentally bring something back with me.”

Aizawa hands him a lined notepad and a couple of pens. “We’ve gone through all of these ourselves,” he says, watching as Izuku starts skimming through the pages. “We obviously couldn’t conclude anything in regards to why they’re involving your grandfather, nor could we verify the validity of all the diagrams and information present in the papers. Except, of course, for Specimen 24 - the noumu we saw in USJ.”

“The specimen that one of the letters said had real potential,” Izuku murmurs, recalling the note he’d read in his grandfather’s desk. Then, his eyes widen. The letters. How could he have forgotten?

“Wait. The letters,” Izuku says, suddenly jolting upright. Everyone in the room looks at him, instantly alert. “The person who signed off on those letters… Tsubasa Satoshi was the name of the person writing them. The letters addressed to Grandpa. Wasn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Tsukauchi nods at him. “We’re currently investigating people with that name, even on the off chance that it’s merely a pseudonym to throw us off. We have an eye on one person in particular - one Dr. Tsubasa who lives right here in Musutafu, though we haven’t directly approached him yet.”

Izuku bites his lip. It’s exactly as he had feared. “That Dr. Tsubasa is - was my pediatrician,” he says, mind running. “I haven’t gone to him since I was twelve, more than three years ago. I went there to have my pinky toe x-rayed, since I didn’t know - um, since I was quirkless as far as anyone knew, and I had wanted to confirm it.”

Aizawa and Yagi trade meaningful glances at his slip-up. “After I had gotten One for All, we informed some people that I was a late bloomer after all and I had just gotten my quirk. Kacchan - er, my classmate Bakugou Katsuki and his family were told, since we grew up together and he knew I didn’t have one before. Dr. Tsubasa was also informed, since he - ” here, he falters, suddenly realizing what he was about to divulge.

“Since he what, Midoriya-kun?” Nezu presses.

Izuku looks at Yagi, a hint of apprehension appearing in his eyes for the first time. “... since he was expecting me to manifest a quirk.”

Tsukauchi looks confused, missing the way Aizawa and Yagi suddenly tense at Izuku’s fearful expression. “Why would he expect you to get a quirk? If you were twelve and still didn’t have one, it would have been nearly impossible for you to get one without Toshinori passing One for All onto you.”

“Unless he had reason to believe you would have one,” Nezu realizes. His mind moves so quickly - Izuku does not like the calculating gleam that enters his beady eyes. “Your x-ray results. You don’t have the superficial toe joint, do you?”

Izuku swallows. “I don’t.”

“You’re not…” Nezu looks at Yagi, who can’t seem to meet his gaze, before turning back to Izuku. “You weren’t quirkless before you received One for All, were you?”

God. “...I wasn’t.”

Tsukauchi looks thunderstruck. “But that’s…” he says slowly, before looking down at the papers on Nezu’s desk. “That shouldn’t be possible, should it? The notes on their experiments - assuming it’s all accurate, assuming they really did do all of these tests… no one could hold more than one quirk without mutating beyond recognition, or at the very least without being hurt in some way. No one - not unless All for One himself was the one to - ”

“Actually - ” Nezu interrupts him, “ - I believe that we are looking at the one and only possible exception.”

Izuku looks at him, waiting. 

“In the first place, we have no way of proving that giving people an additional quirk would cause them to mutate in that way,” Nezu reminds them. “I'm ready to believe that genetic experimentation and the overloading of multiple quirks into one vessel were involved in the creation of the noumu, but I also think it’s possible that those creatures are extreme cases, not necessarily the norm.”

“Secondly, I think Midoriya-kun here is a rare case that has never been seen before - a person who receives a second quirk, but the new quirk happens to be One for All.”

Yagi inhales sharply. “A quirk that was meant to be given.”

Despite his anxiety, Izuku can't stop himself from asking, “What do you mean, meant to be given?”

Nezu looks at Yagi again, frowning. “You haven't told him about the origins of One for All?” he asks, sounding mildly disappointed. Yagi looks a bit shamefaced as he shakes his head no. “How have you never told him?”

“It… hasn’t come up?” Izuku offers, feeling the need to defend his mentor.

“Midoriya-kun, haven’t you ever wondered how such a powerful quirk can be passed on by the holder’s will, when no other quirks can?” Nezu persists. Darn it. Well, Izuku can’t deny that.

Yagi sighs and walks over to Izuku, taking the seat beside him on the sofa. “I’ve been remiss in my duties to you, young Midoriya,” he says gravely. “In more ways than one. But… allow me to tell you about the power I’ve entrusted you with. It’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

And so follows a tale of two brothers, one with the ability to take and bestow as he pleased, and one who was essentially born as an empty cup, waiting for a power which could become a legacy that grew and grew the more people who received and cultivated it. A quirk that allowed the user to pass it on, whose intrinsic worth had no value until the other gave him something to work and start with. Perhaps it had been out of pity, perhaps it had been a mocking gesture, but the fact remained that All for One himself, the greatest evil, had been the one to create the power that would someday defeat him. One for All, the very antithesis of his name and identity.

Izuku’s pulse is fully racing by the time Yagi finishes speaking - almost as fast as his mind has started to run. “So if All for One’s brother’s original quirk let him pass his quirk on to someone he chose…” he trails off, speaking as soon as Yagi had finished with his explanation.

“Then it stands to reason that the action of giving the quirk to someone wouldn’t harm their body or cause them to mutate, even if the other person already had an existing quirk,” Nezu finishes for him, nodding. “After all, All for One used his ability not only to take quirks, but also to transfer them to other people as he wished. Assuming he didn’t overload them with quirks like the noumu, I don’t believe that it came with any serious repercussions to the recipient’s bodies.”

“So it all works out just because One for All is a quirk that’s meant to be given,” Izuku concludes, feeling a bit ill when he thinks about what might have happened if One for All were a less benign ability.

“We have no precedent for this, owing to the fact that every holder of One for All before you was quirkless, including Toshinori,” Detective Tsukauchi says. “But… I think the principal’s right in this case. One for All was meant to be passed on, and it couldn’t do that if it were to damage the recipient’s body just by being received. It stands to reason that it wouldn’t harm you, even with your original quirk.”

Ah. Well. He’s finally touched upon the elephant in the room. Thus far, neither Nezu nor Tsukauchi have followed up with a question regarding what Izuku’s birth quirk is. He chances a glance at Aizawa, who hasn’t said a word since Izuku brought Dr. Tsubasa up in conversation, and finds his teacher already looking at him with an unreadable expression.

Nezu catches him looking at Izuku and hums thoughtfully. “You seem quite unsurprised by this turn of events, Shota. Were you already aware of Midoriya-kun’s quirk?”

Aizawa crosses his arms. “Yes.”

“Then I’m assuming Toshinori has known as well. Neither of you saw fit to tell me?”

“Wasn’t our secret to tell,” Aizawa says bluntly.

“Hmm,” says Nezu, considering. “Shota I understand, but Toshinori - why would you keep it secret?”

Yagi briefly glances at Izuku. “I feel the same. It wasn’t mine to share with others. Young Midoriya had his reasons for being private about his quirk, and at the time I felt that there was no harm in keeping his secret. I still don’t see any harm in continuing to do so.”

“Hmm,” says Nezu again. Then he turns to Izuku. “Is your quirk harmful to others?”

Izuku quickly shakes his head. “No. Not at all.” That’s perhaps the one thing it isn’t.

“Do you have full control of it?”

“I… well, technically my quirk is an involuntary sort of thing, but it can’t influence me directly, and I have full control of what I do in response to it.”

“Do you think your quirk can aid in this investigation?”

Izuku ponders that. Unless he happened to wander close to a hideout containing members of the League, it was highly unlikely his quirk could alert him to anything useful. It hadn’t even alerted him to the letters, because a stack of papers didn’t count as a threat to his or his mother’s safety. “No, I don’t think it can.”

“Hmm,” says Nezu, a final time. Then he claps his paws together and returns to his desk. “Well, I suppose if neither Shota nor Toshinori thought it was concerning enough to alert me, then I don’t have to know. What do you think, Detective?”

“Eh?” Tsukauchi appears confused, until he sees Yagi’s beseeching expression. “Oh… well, um, I… I agree? I suppose Toshinori wouldn’t keep it secret if it would endanger someone, or aid in the case, so…”

“Then it’s settled.” Nezu looks at Izuku with what he would describe as a kind smile. “You obviously have reasons for keeping it a secret, as Toshinori has said. And while I can’t deny that I’m curious, I’m willing to let it go for now as long as you’re certain it won’t cause any harm.”

Izuku’s mouth falls open. “It’s really fine if I don’t tell you?”

“I could order you to do it, as the head of your school. Or make you do it for the quote unquote good of the investigation,” Nezu chuckles. “But I’m not a monster, no matter what I look like. This whole situation with your grandfather and the League is more than enough stress to burden you with, and if it will make things easier for you, I want to accommodate you as much as possible.”

Yagi places his large hand on Izuku’s shoulder then, a reassuring weight to match the gentle smile he aims his way. From across the room, Aizawa nods at him as well. “But please, Midoriya-kun,” Nezu adds. “If you ever feel like your original quirk is beginning to conflict with One for All, or if the latter begins to put your body under abnormal levels of strain, tell us. And if you ever find yourself feeling ready to talk about your quirk, we will listen without expectation or judgment. Toshinori may have chosen you as his successor, but that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder the weight of it all on your own. Alright?”

Izuku looks down at his hands. “Yes. Yes, I will,” he says, blinking rapidly. He can’t believe it. They’re letting him keep his birth quirk a secret. Granted, he’s come a long way from when he looked at his quirk as a source of shame, an unfair advantage that invalidated every good deed he’d accumulated throughout his life. But it still feels odd to tell people about it, people who don’t know him well or know about the issues he’s had with it. Telling Aizawa had been hard enough, even with how much he trusted him - the idea of telling Nezu about such a personal thing just feels so off for reasons he can’t even articulate.

“Well,” Tsukauchi says, clapping his hand together to dispel the ensuing silence. He looks nearly as overwhelmed as Izuku feels. “This has all gone in quite a different direction than we were expecting… but before we proceed to the rest of the papers, do you have anything else you’d like to say about Dr. Tsubasa, Midoriya-kun? I’m assuming you have some insight, considering the way you reacted when you remembered the letters.”

“Oh!” Right. God, his thoughts are all over the place. He’s been here barely an hour and already he’s managed to divulge one of his most carefully guarded secrets to his principal. “Right. Of course. Well, this is what I kind of thought: I figured since Dr. Tsubasa was the one who x-rayed me, he knew I either already had a quirk - an unobtrusive one, as he put it - or that I would manifest one soon, which was way less likely. In fact, when he was speaking to me, it felt like he was leaning towards the possibility that I already did have a subtle quirk. And I did, but he had no way of knowing for sure since my quirk doesn’t have any physical indicators.”

“Still - assuming he did think I already had a quirk - once he learned that I had manifested another, abnormally powerful one, I think that could have led to him figuring out that I was the new holder of One for All,” he concludes.

Tsukauchi frowns, as does everyone else in the room. “Sorry, I’m not following. Are you saying he knows for a fact that the quirk you have now is One for All?” he asks.

“No, it’s - okay, I’m working here on the assumption that Dr. Tsubasa is linked with the League. Which means he probably works with All for One, and probably knows about One for All and its holders, too. Maybe he’s some kind of evil genetic engineering consultant for them? I don’t know. But, if he believed I already had a quirk and learned that I suddenly received a second one - an abnormally strong quirk that was nothing like either of my parents’, nor was it given to me by All for One or anyone else in the League - he could have come to the conclusion that it was One for All. Especially with the increased sightings of All Might in Musutafu around that time - he could have figured out that Yagi-san had chosen me to be the ninth holder.”

“And that means…?” Yagi prompts him.

Izuku falters. “Well, if he really had figured it out, couldn’t that explain why the League is focusing on me? Because they’ve been tipped off that I had One for All now? If the information came from Dr. Tsubasa, it would make sense that they knew about my name even before they’d seen me, even before I landed on TV. And why they would target me at USJ instead of All Might, since they knew or at least had a hunch that he didn’t have it anymore. And it would explain why they’re involving Grandpa, assuming they’re aiming to mess with me for some reason - Dr. Tsubasa knew him, though I don’t think they were close. He would have known how much Grandpa meant to me, though, and could have suggested breaking into his house to upset me.”

There’s a pause while everyone considers what he had just said. Aizawa tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “It makes sense,” he says slowly. “I don’t think it brings us any closer to figuring out what they’re trying to achieve by doing all of this, but at the very least it does explain how they know you, and why they might be targeting you.”

“It’s a very valuable insight, Midoriya-kun,” Nezu comments. “One we probably couldn’t have connected without you. I’m sorry it came at the cost of your privacy, but we’re very grateful for your help. This is exactly why we need you here.”

Izuku exhales, feeling slightly relieved. At least he hadn’t spilled his secret for nothing. “So, you’re going to investigate Dr. Tsubasa, right?” It was the only logical next step. And if - no, when they find evidence of his connection with the League, they could finally put the matter of his grandfather’s fictitious involvement to rest.

“Most definitely,” Tsukauchi confirms. “My team are nearly finished examining your grandfather’s house, and they still haven’t found anything noteworthy. Once we’re sure that no more evidence can be found there, we’ll proceed with Dr. Tsubasa.”

Izuku frowns. “I don’t mean to overstep, but you should probably move quickly, Detective - when I found the papers yesterday, I could have sworn that an intruder had been in the house just before I found them. Like I said, the mist villain from USJ probably got them out before I saw them, but if they know that I found the letters then they would also know we suspect Dr. Tsubasa. How could we not? His name is literally signed at the bottom of all of them.”

“He’s right - they could extract him before you get to him,” Aizawa points out.

Tsukauchi’s brow furrows. “I have some men stationed around his clinic and home, and none of them have alerted me to suspicious activity so far. But I’ll let them know it’s imperative they keep him in their sights. Don’t worry, Midoriya-kun. We’ll deal with him properly.”

Privately, Izuku isn’t satisfied with that, but there’s really not much he can do to press the issue. So instead, he leans back in his seat and finally does what he came here to do in the first place - read the fabricated files.

The adults silently settle down as well, re-reading the papers even though they must have gone through them several times already. For Izuku, who’s reading them for the first time, it’s a lot to take in.

Aizawa had been right - the diagrams depicting the noumu from USJ are perfectly accurate, and most of the information aligns with what Izuku himself had witnessed from that day. More worrying are the bullet points detailing its other quirks and abilities that they hadn’t seen before they took it down. Things could have gotten so much uglier if the creature had been allowed to remain active for longer.

Aside from that, what Izuku finds notable are little entries that sound like regular descriptions, but actually suggest flaws in the creature. Lack of independent thought is written on a page, following a wiggly arrow pointing directly at its head. Will pursue orders relentlessly to its - the sentence is cut off, but Izuku has a feeling it meant to say to its detriment. He’s not sure how that trait could be a detriment to a creature so tough and powerful, until he realizes that perhaps the noumu wouldn’t have cared about dodging or defending itself against attacks if it was in the middle of fulfilling an order.

Intrigued, Izuku flips through the pages to look at the diagrams of the other noumu. Specimens 1 through 23 are stated to have all been terminated or else - ugh - had body parts or quirks repurposed to be used in other, newer specimens. He briefly skims through the notes detailing their “disposal” but quickly find himself too repulsed to continue. Shuddering, he instead skips ahead to the specimens that came after the USJ noumu - and, counting how many are detailed in the papers, is horrified to realize there are thirteen more of these monsters.

Specimen 25 is a large, jellyfish-looking figure with no discernable human features besides frightening clawed hands sprouting at the end of its thick tentacles. Its equivalent of a jelly’s bell is translucent and covered in small, fish-like eyes and bony spikes similar to the claws on the tentacle-hands. Reading through the labels, it’s described as being able to float and move around independently of gravity, as if it were swimming through the ocean. The claws and the spikes apparently produce a more potent form of tetrodotoxin, a highly dangerous neurotoxin commonly found in species of toxic pufferfish. Izuku feels chills running up and down his spine just reading about what a single scratch from this noumu could do, let alone when it decided to actively target someone.

Specimen 29 resembles a masked, child-sized samurai (if the height notations are accurate), with a slender, blocky protrusion coming out of the top of their skull. The notes impassively state that the jutting part are actually the pommel and grip of a sword made out of the noumu’s own bones, and pulling it out involves yanking out the literal spine of the noumu. Their “armor” made of hardened skin and fortified muscles is able to account for the vacancy left behind by the bone, which is calcified to an almost indestructible degree and renders the sword nearly impossible to defend against. When the skeletal sword is sheathed, it’s practically futile to try and incapacitate it as its skeleton and body becomes ridiculously resilient.

Specimen 37, presumably the latest one, looks like nothing more than an enormous hawk with metallic blades for wings instead of feathers. Its head is an unnerving mix of some bird of prey and the face of USJ’s noumu, and going through the absurd number of notations on its pages shows that nearly every square inch of its body is covered by coarse metal that would slice anyone who touches it to ribbons. Oddly enough, its birdlike feet are free of any metallic covering - though that isn’t to say that the scaly limbs aren’t tipped with lethal claws, only that they aren’t made of steel like the rest of its body.

Though all the pages are filled with horror after horror, the running theme continues - if Izuku pays close enough attention to the implications of the notes, he can glean these creature’s weaknesses. Specimen 25 moves through the air at about the same pace as a normal jellyfish being carried by the ocean’s currents - not only that, it had apparently retained its pacifistic personality from before experimentation (Izuku’s chest tightens at that; it had once been a kind person, clearly) and could rarely be provoked into attacking anyone. Specimen 29’s opaque mask renders it effectively blind, though removing it wouldn’t improve anything since apparently its eyes are so sensitive to light that it couldn’t function in anything less than total darkness anyway. Specimen 37’s armored feathers are tightly interwoven and basically impenetrable, but exposure to high amounts of heat would cause its chest plate to unfurl and expose its fleshy, vulnerable abdomen.

As Izuku continues to read through the pages, going through blocks and blocks of text and diagrams that lay out these creatures from bone to skin, he begins to realize something. Aside from text containing formulas or scientific jargon, all the labels are handwritten. Now that he’s paying attention, it becomes clear that multiple people with different handwriting are responsible for the notations, and the tone of their insights are about as varied as their lettering. Some are neutral and purely observational, while others would let their opinions color their notes and gush or complain about a certain feature.

However, one thing is starting to really catch his eye, to the point of distraction.

Nearly all of the text pointing out the noumus’ weaknesses look awfully similar to his grandfather’s handwriting.

Lack of independent thought on Specimen 24’s page is written in Grandpa’s signature combination of neat kanji and rushed, sloppy hiragana. Unnecessarily bright plumage, written on the page of a noumu resembling a huge sphinx with a mane made out of feathers, sounds exactly like Grandpa when he would dryly make fun of Hero costumes that had too many superfluous features. Just barely tenacious enough to overcome its deficient object permanence on another page so perfectly parallels the way Grandpa would annotate Izuku’s storybooks with witty remarks to elevate the reading experience for the precocious child that he had been; just seeing it immediately fills him with unexpected nostalgia.

He starts hunting greedily for more of these notes, for more glimpses of the brilliant and impassioned man who’d had such a large role in his identity, whose loss had left a gaping hole in his heart that had never really healed, only gotten less raw and tender with time. It’s being soothed now, to a degree, when he sees the familiar way his grandfather would write the kanji for fly without a stroke out of place, only to write the hiragana for bu so messily that it looks more like a combination of drunken commas. His original task is completely waylaid as he devours every quip, every little remark, and then he finally remembers.

His Grandpa hadn’t written this.

Villains pretending to be Grandpa had.

They’d taken the time to open his precious journals with their filthy hands and study them until they had absorbed his handwriting, his manner of speaking. They’d made the effort to go through the children’s books Izuku had left in his library, covered in sticky-notes and marker scribbles to perfectly replicate the way Grandpa would address his messages to him. They had made sure to use his handwriting for the noumus’ weaknesses, the notes that Izuku would naturally be more interested in, to ensure that he couldn’t possibly miss the way they trampled all over Grandpa’s integrity and memory.

Izuku doesn’t even realize he’s started crying until he feels a large hand gently lift his chin up, and he realizes he can’t see Yagi’s heartbroken face clearly because his tears are blurring his vision.

“Young Midoriya,” he says, sounding about as crushed as Izuku feels. “Oh, my boy.”

At his gentle endearment, Izuku sobs and falls forward to hide his face in his mentor’s chest, uncaring of the way all the papers slide out of his lap and onto the floor. Yagi holds him through it, his thin arms firm and resolute even as Izuku’s body shakes with the force of his crying.

It’s too much. It’s too much for him, and it’s tearing him apart from the inside. Izuku can’t remember the last time he cried like this, so loud and unrestrained. He didn’t even wail like this when his grandfather had actually died; he remembers being filled instead with a numbing sort of static that forcibly banished any emotion from his body, a horrible thrumming mix of anxiety and fear and grief that had paralyzed him instead of unraveling him.

He couldn’t break then, not then - not when there wasn’t anyone to catch him, not when his poor mother had been suffering equally as she lost her father-in-law, the only living tether she’d had left to her beloved husband. Not when a young Kacchan, still obsessed with becoming a perfect Hero, would never be able to understand the reason for the resentment that tinged his grief. Not when there wasn’t a single other person around him who understood the gravity of his loss and the manner in which he had lost him, the sick and twisted irony of once again losing a family member to a villain who shouldn’t have been left unchecked.

But maybe that’s why he feels he can cry now - because now, there are arms that would hold him with the resolve of someone who’s been through similar injustice, who survived their trials and is living proof that no matter how bad things are now, they could and would get better. It’s hard to cling to despair and bitterness when the literal Symbol of Peace is comforting him, wordlessly promising his unconditional support and sympathy.

But now that Izuku does know what it’s like to fall and have someone catch him, he promptly decides that falling in the first place is the single worst experience he could ever have allowed himself to go through.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku gasps out, grasping Yagi’s shoulders and bracing himself so he can lean back. “Sorry - ”

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, slowly approaching them. “It’s okay.”

“Sorry - I can’t - I c-can’t - ”

“Breathe, young Midoriya,” Yagi says soothingly, sounding a million miles away, and that’s when Izuku realizes he must be having a fucking meltdown in front of everyone, like a useless fucking weakling - “Breathe.”

He thinks there are other voices, but they fade into the background as Izuku’s ears seemingly stop processing any sound other than the blistering rush of blood through his head. Someone gently takes his hands and squeezes, and he feels himself squeeze back in return, trembling even as he tries to stop trembling. It’s so hard to breathe, but he tries, he really does - he feels a violent sort of distress claw up his throat the longer he fails to calm down, and it’s all he can do not to choke on his frustration.

He doesn’t know how long it takes, but the suffocating feeling eventually fades, washing away like a slow wave on the shore. As his vision clears, he distantly notes that Aizawa is now sitting beside him while Yagi kneels in front of him, stoically letting Izuku crush his hands in a clearly painful grip. A slowly dawning horror creeps up on Izuku. What if he - what if he’d lost his control and hurt him with One for All?

“Yagi-san,” he says, and even getting that out takes effort. “I’m sorry - it must hurt, I’m so sorry - ”

“You aren’t hurting me at all, my boy,” Yagi calmly reassures him. “It would take much more than a tiny thing like you to hurt me.”

A laugh somehow bursts out of Izuku’s lips quite against his will, and even though it sounds terrible and shaky it still manages to make everyone in the room relax nominally. “I’m sorry,” Izuku says again, sniffling. Slowly, he manages to release Yagi’s abused hands and swipe roughly at his face, trying to wipe off the remaining tear tracks. “I - I don’t know what came over me.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Midoriya-kun,” Detective Tsukauchi says, sounding remorseful. Nezu watches on, silent. “It’s our fault. We… we should have realized it would be a demanding task for you. You loved your grandfather very much - it can’t be easy seeing people tarnish your memory of him with lies.”

Izuku shakes his head. “I wish they were just making things up about Grandpa,” he whispers. “This… this is worse.”

Taking a moment to try and regulate his breathing, he stands up, though both Aizawa and his mentor reach out to steady him like they’re afraid he might stumble. With still shaking hands, he carefully picks up the files that had fallen to the floor and sits back down. “The notes… sorry, I don’t think I can contribute anything more or read them again today. I’m really sorry. But… I did manage to underline most of the parts that stood out to me.”

“Can you tell us why those parts in particular stood out to you?” Aizawa gently prompts.

Izuku hesitates. On the one hand, he knows he needs to tell them. That’s the whole reason he’s here in the first place, having a breakdown at school on a Sunday morning: so he can offer his insight on these planted papers.

But on the other hand, letting them know that some (a lot) of the writing in the pages matches his grandfather’s lettering and tone feels like admitting to something, even though there’s nothing to admit. He glances briefly at Nezu and notes his expectant countenance, even as he keeps silent and doesn’t prod Izuku any further.

Fuck it. There’s nothing to be defensive about - there’s no way his grandfather had any involvement in this before his death at all. If anything, this just shows the extent of the villains’ reach and dedication to their plans, whatever they are. “...There are parts of the files that look and sound as if it was my grandfather who wrote them.”

As he had anticipated, his words have a visible, worrying effect on the room. Everyone becomes very still and says nothing as they wait for him to continue. “The labels on the diagrams are mostly if not entirely handwritten. They were clearly written by multiple people, and some of them… some of them match my grandfather’s handwriting. And they sound like him.”

“What do you mean they sound like him?” Yagi asks, puzzled.

“They…” Izuku pauses again. God, is every single discussion today going to require him to reveal something intensely personal? He would never have turned down an opportunity to assist in this investigation, but he wishes it didn’t come at the cost of details from his personal life. Though, really, the only reason he’s here at all is because he had known Grandpa closely.

“When I was younger, Grandpa would sometimes write little messages or notes in my storybooks before he gave them to me. I didn’t really enjoy children’s books, but he thought they had interesting stories and important morals to teach me and that I shouldn’t be so dismissive of them. So he’d write jokes, or reply to dialogue in the story to make them a bit more fun for me.”

“The labels that look like his handwriting - not only do they look like they were written by him, they sound like things he would say, too,” Izuku says, tracing his finger across one of the labels he’d underlined. He misses the quick look that Nezu and Tsukauchi share, as well as the deep frown Yagi sends their way. “He was deeply pragmatic and intelligent, and surprisingly sarcastic, too. Some of these notes sound exactly like the way he’d nitpick gaudy Hero costumes, or poke fun at characters in a story who were being cartoonishly virtuous or evil.”

Aizawa taps the edge of Izuku’s copies, wordlessly asking to borrow them. Izuku relinquishes them and watches as his teacher examines them with a critical eye. “These notes also stood out to me during my reviews,” he comments, scanning the parts that Izuku had underlined. “They’re not overtly negative, but I noticed that most of this person’s inputs sounded like they were pointing out the creatures’ weaknesses.”

“Right?” Izuku exclaims, leaning forward. “All of these are traits that could be considered flaws in the noumu. They knew I would eventually start focusing on those kinds of labels, so they used his handwriting for those.”

“Forgive me, Midoriya-kun, but I don’t follow,” Nezu interjects. “Don’t you think it’s more likely that it’s the other way around? That they used your grandfather’s handwriting for those parts to make sure you read them?”

Izuku frowns. “But I… while I was reading, I realized that they sounded like weaknesses before I realized that they looked like Grandpa’s writing. I only really noticed it because I was looking for similar notes. And why would they do that, anyway? Why would they want me to focus on the monsters’ weak points? Wouldn’t that put them at a disadvantage if we had to confront them, since I’d know how to handle them?”

“I can’t say for certain,” Nezu admits. “But I think it makes more sense that way than for them to expect you to identify the notes denoting weaknesses and then realize they were written by your grandfather.”

“That they look like they were written by my grandfather,” Izuku sharply corrects him.

“My mistake,” Nezu amends, too quickly to be sincere. 

Izuku narrows his eyes. “Sensei, if you’re still stuck on the angle that my grandfather had been secretly working with the villains, I’m afraid I can’t support you there. It’s a completely pointless idea to pursue and I - I think you’re getting distracted from what’s really important here.”

Infuriatingly, Nezu remains calm. “And what is that, Midoriya-kun?”

“Wha - it must have something to do with the noumus, right? What else could it be? I think they’re just using my grandfather to muddle their true intentions. What if everything about these diagrams except their appearance is a lie, and trying to exploit these weaknesses in an encounter would actually help or strengthen the noumu instead of hurting it? What if they highlighted these fake weaknesses so that when the noumu showed up, I’d completely mess up against them?”

It’s a theory he’s made up completely on the spot just to counter Principal Nezu’s absurd perspective, but the more he thinks about it the more it makes sense. Why would the villains just hand them the answer key for the noumus unless it contained all the wrong information? “Doesn’t that make more sense than my grandfather being a villain, Sensei? Don’t you think so?”

“I never said your grandfather was a villain, Midoriya-kun, nor did I imply it,” Nezu says patiently. “And I do think that what you said just now makes more sense than any of our theories thus far.”

“But?” Izuku demands.

“But?”

“There’s clearly a follow-up you’re dying to add, Sensei,” Izuku says, more scathing than he means to be. Or perhaps exactly as he means to be. “I’ve been doing all the talking this morning, haven’t I? I’ve gone and laid out my childhood for you all to see so we could make sense of this, haven’t I? So isn’t it my turn to listen, now? My turn to hear what you’ve come up with? So go ahead, Sensei, and tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me why you think my poor, innocent grandfather is actually some wicked villain - ”

“I think,” Yagi says, “that we’ve had enough for one day.”

Izuku and Nezu both look at Yagi, who stands up and places a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. He blinks, realizing he’d nearly risen from his seat in his anger. “I think we’re done here,” Yagi says calmly, but there’s something about his expression that sets Izuku on edge. “Young Midoriya has contributed more than enough to the case. Right, Naomasa?”

“Huh?” Poor Detective Tsukauchi is once again taken off guard, but recovers quickly. Izuku can’t see the face Yagi is directing at him, but it must speak volumes. “O-oh… um, yes, of course. I think we’ve discussed all that we need to.” He turns to Izuku with an impressively sunny smile. “Thank you, Midoriya-kun, but we can take it from here. You’ve, um, been a great help.”

Izuku exhales raggedly, pressing his palms against his eyes. Having grown up with Kacchan, he is more than familiar with these sorts of placating reassurances. Naturally, he has never in his life expected to be on the receiving end of them, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything. “Of course, Detective,” he says, trying to keep his tone level. “...I’m glad to have been of help, even if it’s just a little bit.”

“You were of great assistance, Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi corrects him. He sends a nervous little glance at Yagi’s direction. “With your input, we’ll be able to change the direction of the investigation in a more productive way. On behalf of the other officers, I offer you our sincere gratitude.”

Izuku just nods, feeling contrite. He chances a look at Principal Nezu, but the chimera looks as genial as he always does. “I… I apologize for lashing out at you, Sensei. I shouldn’t have lost my cool. I guess - I guess it all really got to me. But I understand that you were just… that you were just trying to see all the possible explanations. I’m sorry for speaking to you in that way.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Midoriya-kun,” Nezu assures him. “The stress you’re under would affect even the most stoic of people. We’re all thankful for your assistance, and for coming here even though it’s right before your internship. Make sure to get some rest now, you hear? The detective will escort you home.”

“And I will accompany them,” Yagi says, before narrowing his eyes at both Aizawa and Nezu. Both of them meet his glare with differing levels of amusement, but Izuku’s too tired to make any sense of it.

“Good job today, problem child. Hit the hay early tonight - if you’re late to the assembly tomorrow, I’m not waiting for you,” Aizawa says dryly.

“I would expect nothing less, Sensei,” Izuku chuckles weakly, before allowing himself to be escorted out by Tsukauchi and Yagi.

The ensuing car ride is uncomfortably quiet. Izuku sits between the two men, staring resolutely at the carpeted floor of the car. To his left, Tsukauchi fidgets as if he wants to say something but can’t. To his right, Yagi links his fingers together and hunches forward, silent. Izuku had figured that he tagged along because there was something he wanted to speak about, but so far Yagi hasn’t said a single thing.

A couple of minutes before they reach Izuku’s neighborhood, he finally breaks the silence. “Detective… could you drop me off at the nearby park, instead? I need a moment to myself before I go home.”

Both Tsukauchi and Yagi turn to him in surprise. “Of course, Midoriya-kun, but…” Tsukauchi trails off, and Izuku doesn’t need to see him to know he’s probably exchanging a concerned look with Yagi. “Will you be alright, on your own? Today was… it was difficult for you, wasn’t it?”

Izuku stiffens at those words. No fucking shit, he wants to say, but he can’t. It’s not the detective’s fault he doesn’t understand. “Yes, it was. But that’s exactly why I’d like to have a few minutes and… compose myself. I don’t want to worry my mother by showing up and looking like I cried my eyes out.”

“Of course,” Tsukauchi says awkwardly, following it up with a timid pat to his back. Yagi still doesn’t say anything.

Tsukauchi directs the driver to stop at the park. Izuku glimpses the familiar playground through the windows and swallows around a lump in his throat. “Will you really be alright, Midoriya-kun?” Tsukauchi persists, obviously worried.

“I’ll be fine,” Izuku says, more curtly than he intended. He needs to get out of this car. “You… you have officers stationed around here right? They can keep an eye on me, report my movements to you or whatever. I don’t care. I just - I need to be alone for a bit.”

Thankfully, Tsukauchi gets the message and lets it go. He opens the door and steps out to let Izuku through, but before he can exit the car himself he’s stopped by Yagi’s hand on his shoulder.

“Young Midoriya,” Yagi says, and Izuku has to force himself to turn and look his mentor in the eye. “I…”

You what? Izuku bites his lip to keep the acerbic words from spilling out. It’s not Yagi’s fault any of this is happening. In fact, Yagi might have been the only one in that room who was fully in Izuku’s corner. He needs to get out before he snaps at another person who doesn’t deserve it. He’s tired and frustrated and confused and upset and they just won’t let him go and be alone.

“I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to ensure this gets resolved,” Yagi eventually declares. “I’m on your side in all of this, young Midoriya. And I always will be.”

Izuku swallows. Yagi doesn’t deserve his attitude - and Izuku doesn’t deserve this unconditional support. “I know, Yagi-san,” Izuku mumbles. “I know you are. And I’m really thankful for it.”

He has never seen Yagi look more sorrowful. “More than anything, my boy, I’m truly sorry that this is all happening to you. For them to have gone this far…” he trails off, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry,” Yagi reiterates, and Izuku looks down. 

Of course he’s sorry. He had probably campaigned to have Izuku involved so he could have the chance to properly clear Grandpa’s name, but all Izuku had done was go and make a huge fucking mess of things because he can’t keep a lid on his emotions. And Yagi, being the good person that he is, probably just feels sorry that Izuku had gotten so distressed over what should have been and is nothing. 

“I’m sorry, too, Yagi-san,” Izuku whispers. “I’m really, really sorry.” And because he’s a coward, he leaves before he can see the expression on Yagi’s face or hear another comforting platitude.

He makes his way over to the playground, which is blessedly empty, and doesn’t turn back around even when he hears the car door close and the engine start up. He resolutely faces forward, sits on the first swing he reaches, and lets his body slump over, posture be damned. He does not look back.

If they see him crying again, they might change their mind about leaving.

He finally hears the sound of the car driving away, and he relaxes marginally. He’s finally alone.

Although it’s a Sunday, the playground is empty. He figures it’s because it’s almost noon - the lunch hour and the hot midday sun are keeping everyone inside. He should probably move to the set of swings positioned under the shade, but the heat of the harsh sunlight feels grounding. Reassuring, somehow.

In the light of day, away from the detached coolness and clinical logic of Principal Nezu’s office, all of the suspicions surrounding Grandpa crumble and become as flimsy-looking as they really are. Midoriya Hisahito, a collaborator with the League of Villains? The same Midoriya Hisahito who had made sure to serve as a positive role model to his grandson, who never let him feel the emptiness of his father’s absence? The same man who, despite sharing Izuku’s early resentment for the Pro Hero industry, had always wished for its betterment and taught Izuku to uphold his own exacting moral standards?

They’re attacking him because it’s convenient, Izuku thinks bitterly. Just blame it all on my dead grandfather, why don’t you? It’s not like he’s around to defend himself.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, letting his anger work its way through and out of his system, when he hears an incredulous “Deku?” from somewhere behind him.

Izuku turns around to see Kacchan of all people gawking at him from the edge of the park, a convenience store bag in one hand. The other boy’s face goes from surprised, to confused, to markedly irate, and only then does Izuku realize he hasn’t bothered wiping away any of the tears on his face.

“The fuck?” Kacchan takes one look at his face and hops the fence, instead of walking around through the entrance like a normal person. “The fuck’s wrong with you, nerd? You get into a fight, or something?”

“Kacchan,” Izuku groans, embarrassed. He’s not emotionally equipped to handle this now at all. It’s one thing to stress-cry in front of his teachers and a police officer in a tense situation - it’s another thing completely to cry in front of his volatile childhood friend who sniffs weakness out like a bloodhound, purely so he can poke and prod at it. “Why would I get into a fight?”

“Why would you - that’s exactly the kind of shit you pulled all the time, idiot!” Kacchan snaps at him, flicking him on the forehead. “Or do you not remember all the brats I had to fight off because you just had to go mouthing off at them instead of leaving shit alone?”

“Oh my god - go away! I haven’t done that in years! And I wasn’t getting into fights!” This is so humiliating. Just as the allegations against Grandpa seem nonsensical in broad daylight, all the emotions that had overcome Izuku seem dramatic and silly, too. It feels… god, now it just feels lame to cry in front of Kacchan like this.

“Why. Are. You. Crying. In. A. Park.” Kacchan punctuates each word with a poke to Izuku’s shoulder, and to his credit, he isn’t poking with as much force as he could. “It’s gross! You look like a creep!”

(“Gross!” Kacchan yelled, but it clashed with the blinding grin on his tiny face as Grandpa showed him an enormous tarantula that sat serenely in his wrinkled hand. Six-year-old Izuku had taken one look at the fuzzy thing - a pet that belonged to one of Grandpa’s friends - and knew that Kacchan absolutely had to come over and see it too. “It’s so creepy! Awesome!”)

“What the - fucking hell, are you crying again?” Kacchan looks equal parts bewildered and outraged, and Izuku would be laughing at his face if his eyes hadn’t decided to start tearing up again. “Cut it out!”

“Kacchan, I c-can’t just turn it off - ”

He’s smacked in the face with a handkerchief, which gets all mushed up against his nose and forehead because somebody has no concept of tenderness. “Get up,” Kacchan demands, grabbing one of Izuku’s hands and pushing it against the handkerchief so he can hold it up himself. Honestly, it’s kind of a revelation to discover that Kacchan’s the type of teenage boy who carries a handkerchief around in the first place.

(It’s because of his quirk, Izuku’s brain supplies, followed by childhood memories of Kacchan detonating anything he could get his hands on if his parents weren’t quick enough to catch him. Even Grandpa had had to sprint more than once to grab Kacchan before he blew something up in his beautiful living room - )

Kacchan grabs Izuku’s other wrist and starts dragging him away. “Augh - where are you taking me?” Izuku whines, even as he lets himself be dragged along.

“Somewhere your nasty crying isn’t gonna bother the general public,” Kacchan scoffs, taking a turn. Izuku perks up, recognizing the route - oh god, they’re headed to Kacchan’s house. “Have some fucking dignity, for fuck’s sake!”

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say because it just makes Izuku cry harder, which means Kacchan spends the entirety of the walk fruitlessly yelling at him to shut up and stop.

When they arrive in front of the Bakugou home, Izuku starts pulling against Kacchan’s hold in earnest. “No, no, no, let me goooo,” he whines, nearly resorting to just lying down on the street pavement so that Kacchan would have to contend with his full dead weight. “Kacchan, I’m gonna die of embarrassment if Auntie sees me like this!”

“Should’ve fuckin’ thought about that before you went around crying in this neighborhood, huh, fucker?” Kacchan sneers, ignoring Izuku’s pleas, even when Izuku goes ahead and drops to the ground. He keeps his elbow trapped in a vice grip, effortlessly keeping Izuku upright, the annoyingly strong jerk. “Come on!”

He kicks the door open and bodily hauls Izuku inside, yelling “Ma! I brought Deku!” out as he kicks his shoes off at the entrance. He glares at Izuku until he takes his shoes off, too, before pulling him inside and heading straight to the dining room.

Although it’s lunchtime, Mitsuki already appears to be in the middle of putting leftovers away - she looks up from the table as they walk in, and immediately startles upon seeing Izuku. “Izuku!” she exclaims. And then - “Izuku?”

Kacchan herds him to the dining table and pushes him into one of the seats, keeping a firm grip on his shoulder. Completely unnecessary - Izuku has a snowball’s chance in hell of escaping now. “Found him crying in the park like a creep,” Kacchan reports. This whole thing feels like a parody of Izuku turning some petty criminal thief in at the station. Perhaps it’s karma. “And before you say anything, hag, I had nothing to do with it! I dragged his ass here so he wouldn’t make a fucking scene in public.”

“Katsuki!” Mitsuki admonishes him. “You do not just drag your friends away while they’re crying!”

“The fuck was I supposed to do? Leave him there?”

“At least let me stop crying first!” Izuku complains, at the exact same moment that Mitsuki barks, “Let the poor boy stop crying first, brat!”

“Fucking picky ass drama queens,” Kacchan mutters, glaring at them both. “You should be grateful I took you in instead of letting you make a nuisance of yourself outside!”

Mitsuki pinches the bridge of her nose, holding her other hand up. “Okay - whatever this is, you’re not doing this anywhere near my lovely mahogany dining table,” she says. Izuku wants to laugh, but it’s a little beyond him right now. “Katsuki, take Izuku up to your room and give him a minute to breathe.”

Kacchan positively glowers. “And why the fuck would I do that?”

“Why do you think someone would be crying alone in the park at noon?” Mitsuki demands. “Obviously Izuku was looking for a little privacy. Which you completely ruined for him, by the way!”

“The fucking park is not the place to be fucking crying - ”

“Give me ten minutes,” Izuku interrupts, resigned. Kacchan and Mitsuki both turn to him. “Just… let me stay in your room for ten minutes? I promise I’ll get out of your hair after.”

“Of course, Izuku,” Mitsuki says kindly, slapping a hand over her son’s mouth when Kacchan starts to protest. “You take all the time you need, okay? I’ll make sure this one doesn’t kick you out before you’re ready to go.”

Kacchan does his best to rage against this turn of events, but his mother keeps him securely restrained and waves Izuku off with a friendly smile. Izuku, long since used to this kind of scene, just gets up from the seat and leaves with a polite bow in her direction.

Though he hasn’t been in Kacchan’s house since before junior high, it’s completely familiar territory. Aside from a few new family pictures hung up in the upstairs hallway, and the various houseplants having grown bigger, virtually nothing has changed. Izuku walks up to Kacchan’s bedroom door and pushes it open with a quiet, “Sorry for the intrusion,” even as he hears Kacchan still kicking up a fuss downstairs.

His room hasn’t changed much, either - the All Might posters on the wall are a bit faded, and his bedsheets and overall room decor are decidedly darker and more monochromatic in theme, but it still feels like the same room Izuku had spent so many sleepovers in as a child -

“Mrrow?”

Izuku blinks.

An orange-and-white ball of fluff with a remarkably flat face stares at him from the desk by the window. An equally fluffy tail swishes back and forth behind it, running lightly over some of the books Kacchan must have put there.

It’s a cat.

What’s a cat doing here? In Kacchan’s room?

Oh my god. Izuku’s jaw falls open. This must be the cat the Bakugous adopted right after Kacchan and I stopped talking -

“Mrrow,” the cat says again, and it leaps down from the desk to approach Izuku. Instead of rubbing up directly against his ankles, like another cat might, it simply sits in front of him and looks up at him, expectant. Its smushed little face gazes at him, occasionally making little huffing noises.

Izuku looks down at it, confused. He’s never needed to rescue this cat from a tree and thus has never interacted with it. He’s never even seen it before - what if it’s a biter? A scratcher? What if Kacchan had secretly trained it to attack Izuku on sight and now it’s finally reached the ideal moment -

“Mrrow.” Sounding impatient, the cat stands up and pushes its face directly into Izuku’s leg, pawing insistently at his shoes. He immediately gets the message and picks the cat up, marveling at how soft it feels and how it immediately goes limp in his arms.

“Hello,” Izuku coos, voice hushed. He dangles his fingers in front of its nose and just about dies when the cat starts nosing at them. “Oh, but you’re actually a sweet little fellow, aren’t you?”

“Deku!” He hears the telltale sounds of Kacchan bounding up the stairs two at a time and sighs, walking over to sit on the neatly made bed. Kacchan bursts into the doorway mere seconds later, not winded in the slightest as he glares first at Izuku then at the precious little cat in his arms.

Kacchan walks over and plucks the cat out of Izuku’s arms, setting off an indignant round of protests from both of them. “Useless fucking cat,” Kacchan harrumphs, even as he gently sets the cat back down on his carpeted floor. The cat simply takes off as soon as it’s released, returning to his spot on Izuku’s lap. “Tch. No fucking sense of stranger danger.”

“Who would hurt such a cute little kitty?” Izuku asks, stroking the cat’s back and being rewarded with an astronomical level of purring for his efforts.

“Never call my cat that again, you disgusting bag of shit,” Kacchan shudders, backing off briefly to shut his door before taking a seat at his desk. “Her name is Punk, and that’s the only thing you’re ever calling her.”

“Punk?” Izuku cries, aghast. “Why would you name her Punk?”

“It’s a nickname, because she came from the shelter with the stupidest fucking name in the world and I refuse to use it,” Kacchan explains darkly. Knowing him, Punk’s actual name is probably something adorable and fitting. “‘Sides, she likes it. Watch. Punk!”

Izuku expects the fluffy cat to ignore the terribly unsuitable name, but to his surprise she chirps happily and hops off his legs to make her way over to Kacchan. He picks her up with an uncharacteristic amount of care and places her on his desk, where she settles down in a perfect loaf. “Told ya,” Kacchan brags, smirking at the disbelief on Izuku’s face. “No cat of mine’s gonna be called fucking Pancake - ”

“Her name could have been Pancake and you called her Punk instead - ” Their exchange devolves into an overly intense argument about what name Kacchan’s cat should have, and Izuku barely notices the tension in his body from the morning drain slowly away. Pancake - because Izuku would never call such a sweet little cat Punk, Kacchan could go cry about that - ignores them both, peacefully grooming herself on the desk. Absently, Izuku thinks she’s probably used to loud noises, living with Kacchan and Aunt Mitsuki.

Eventually, Izuku gives up arguing that Pancake’s flat face makes her original name much more apt and decides to just fall backward into Kacchan’s bed, ignoring the other boy’s yelling and demands for him to get off. “I give up, Kacchan,” Izuku laughs helplessly, covering his eyes. “You win, okay? You win! Call your cat Otoboke Beaver for all I care.”

“Like hell I will,” Kacchan scoffs. Pancake meows loudly, as if to punctuate his statement. “See? Punk is on my side.”

“You’ve brainwashed her,” Izuku accuses.

“More like I showed her the fuckin’ light!”

Izuku chuckles and turns to lie on his side, curling up. He expects Kacchan to kick him off his bed for daring to make himself comfortable, but instead the other boy just picks Pancake up again and then unceremoniously deposits her in front of Izuku’s face. The orange cat immediately settles on the mattress, meowing directly into Izuku’s face.

“Not much of a tree-climber, are you?” Izuku says softly, stroking the top of Pancake’s head. She feels like a cashmere blanket. “I’ve never seen you around these parts.”

Kacchan snorts. “First of all, she may be called Punk but she’s a little wimp. She ain’t built for the outside world, you get me? If we ever let her out, she’d just get run over in five seconds flat.”

“Kacchan!”

“It’s the fuckin’ truth! And we do the responsible fuckin’ thing by keeping her inside! So don’t you dare get any ideas about taking her to the park or some shit, you hear me? She stays inside.”

Izuku’s heart warms at the thought that Kacchan has already accepted this won’t be his last meeting with Pancake, and is now preemptively threatening him about her safety. “Also,” Kacchan continues. “There’s no way in hell any cat of mine would ever get stuck in a tree. I can fuckin’ promise you she’d be a tree-climbing prodigy if we ever let her near one - ”

“Most cats can climb, Kacchan, it’s the getting down that - ”

“She could get down!” Kacchan insists, outraged. “Fuck you! I’ll put her in a tree right now!”

“I thought you said she was a wimp who shouldn’t go outside - ”

“I said she’d get run over! I didn’t say anything about trees!” Pancake meows loudly again, and Izuku wonders if she really is seconding her owner’s opinion. What a funny little thing - she’d probably meow in support of anything Kacchan said, if he said it with enough conviction.

“You exhaust me, Kacchan,” Izuku chuckles weakly, running his hand gently over Pancake’s back. She starts purring immediately. “Truly. It astounds me how exhausting you are.”

“Better exhausted than depressed and creepy,” Kacchan shoots back. Izuku looks at him, and he doesn’t look mad or disgusted - just watchful. Considering, almost. “Look. You’re a bleeding-heart, Deku, so I know you won’t cry with Punk right in front of you. Wouldn’t wanna get snot on her - ”

“Gee, thanks, Kacchan - ”

“ - so cut the crap and tell me why you were crying in the park at fuck ass o’clock,” Kacchan finishes, crossing his arms. “I’m willing to bet it’s something stupid, but it’s probably bothering you for real if it had you acting out in public.”

Izuku falls silent. His hand stills, then completely withdraws from Pancake even when she meows in complaint. Kacchan, blessedly, doesn’t say anything - but Izuku can feel the pressure emanating from him all the same. Man. What a conniving guy.

“I don’t know that I’m allowed to tell you,” Izuku says, after a long moment.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you be allowed to?”

“It’s got to do with… with classified information. The police, and all that.”

“You running from the law, then? Were you crying in the park ‘cos you’re a fugitive now?”

“What?” Izuku laughs. “No!”

“Fucking hell, Deku, you’ve got a brain, haven’t you? Figure out a way to tell me without landing me on the PSIA’s most wanted list!”

Izuku laughs again. God, he’d never admit it to his face, but he’d missed Kacchan. A lot. It’s a weird sentiment considering they’re literally in the same class now, but losing contact with him for three years after having known him his entire life had been harder on him than anybody knew. Nobody called him out or talked to him the way Kacchan did, not even Kimi at her strictest.

Grandpa had been fond of Kacchan, too, he remembers. Mrs. Ando and all the other adults in the neighborhood had thought of Kacchan simply as the rowdy, uncontrollable Bakugou child, but Inko and Grandpa had both seen him for what he truly was - an exceptional child who simply hadn’t learned to rein himself in a little. Kacchan may not have been the type to happily spend an afternoon curled up with a book like Izuku was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t share the same excitement of learning and seeing new things, and Grandpa appreciated kids who cared for knowledge. Izuku knows for a fact that Kacchan even has his own set of children’s encyclopedias gifted to him by Grandpa, though he can’t say for sure that he still has them.

(He wonders if maybe, Grandpa had written in them, too.)

Izuku looks at Kacchan now and sees him still looking at him, a little more impatient. “Whatever I tell you,” Izuku begins. “You absolutely cannot tell anyone else. Not even Auntie and Uncle.”

“You’re not turning me into your accomplice, are you?”

“For goodness’ sake, Kacchan, I haven’t committed a crime, alright?”

Kacchan rolls his eyes at him, but keeps quiet. Izuku heaves a sigh and presses a hand onto Pancake’s back, drawing comfort from her soft fur. Slowly, haltingly, Izuku tells Kacchan about what he had found in Grandpa’s study yesterday. Yesterday - God, so much has changed and happened since yesterday that it’s hard to believe it hadn’t happened much longer ago. He doesn’t mention Dr. Tsubasa’s name, and leaves out the diagrams of the other noumus, but he does tell him about the notes regarding the USJ noumu and how their accuracy had given the rest of the files an unfortunate air of authenticity.

He hesitates at first, but he also tells Kacchan about how the villains had copied Grandpa’s handwriting and tone, and how the little disturbances in the study had seemed perfectly set-up to make sure Izuku noticed everything. “And Principal Nezu seems to have gotten it into his head that Grandpa really was involved somehow,” Izuku says bitterly. “It’s so - it’s so moronic! They all kept telling me to keep a clear head and make sure not to be affected by what the villains are doing, but then he goes and believes Grandpa’s some kind of mad scientist just because some villains happen to be really good at copying his handwriting! It’s insanity! It’s - it’s - ”

“You can cuss,” Kacchan prompts.

“It’s bullshit!” Izuku yells. “It’s so fucking stupid and I cannot believe they’re falling for it!”

Pancake yowls at this and leaps from the bed, seemingly spooked by the rise in Izuku’s volume. He watches her leave and settle in a corner with a sinking feeling of remorse in his heart. “Sorry,” he mumbles, burying his face into the comforter with a groan. “God, I lost my cool back there, too. I yelled at Principal Nezu, can you believe it?”

“You yelled at the head of U.A.?” For some reason, this delights Kacchan to the point of almost childish glee. “You? Mister Teacher’s Pet and Bootlicker Supreme?”

Izuku throws a pillow at him. Kacchan smacks it away midair.

“Yes, I yelled at him. I yelled at him, and I would’ve kept yelling at him if All - if Aizawa-sensei hadn’t stopped me.” Thus far, Izuku has managed to avoid mentioning Yagi’s involvement. He hates to lie to Kacchan even more, but Yagi’s presence would be hard to explain away as anything but personal investment in Izuku’s safety. Aizawa at least is their homeroom teacher and had been there at USJ, so his being there at the meeting would make sense.

“That’s fucking hilarious,” Kacchan howls. “Didn’t think you had it in you - ”

“Me neither, okay - ”

“ - but I ain’t surprised. That was your gramps they were lying about, they should have realized you wouldn’t take it lying down.”

Izuku blinks, taken aback. Kacchan takes one look at his wide eyes and snorts. “You can be a real fucking  bitch when you’re mad, Deku,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Just ‘cos none of the fucks at U.A. have seen you get angry doesn’t mean you never do. And if there’s one thing that gets you going, it’s when someone talks shit about someone you care about. Don’t you remember when you threw an eraser or something at that winged brat in our class? After he said something like your gramps didn’t look nerdy or smart enough to be a doctor?”

The memory evokes such a sharp feeling of embarrassment that Izuku flushes red in an instant, groaning. “I hate you so much. You’re the only reason Aiko-sensei even realized it was me, ‘cos you started laughing and pointing at me!”

“Served you right, asshat,” Kacchan snarks. “Talk shit, get hit. But anyway, knowing all of that, I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me you marched over to Nezu and backhanded the daylights outta him.”

“Kacchan!”

“Alright, you wouldn’t. You’re too lame to do something like that,” Kacchan relents. He holds up his hands before Izuku can grab another pillow to toss at him. “I still don’t get how any of that ended up with you crying at the park, though.”

“I asked the detective to drop me off there because I didn’t want Mom to see how upset I was,” Izuku mumbles, looking away. “I really was just taking a breather - I would have gone home after a bit.”

“A bit, my ass,” Kacchan scoffs. “You like pretending you’re all stoic and shit, but you definitely inherited Auntie Inko’s tear ducts, I can tell you that. Would’ve taken a hell longer than a bit for you to stop looking like someone murdered a kitten in front of you.”

Izuku scowls at him. “Well, sorry I’m an ugly crier! It’s not my fault it messes me up so bad! Sorry I don’t have an explosion quirk that I can use to blow things up instead of processing my emotions - ”

“No one fucking said anything about being ugly, but if you want to admit that you are then be my fucking guest.” That comment earns the second pillow throw, which Kacchan bats away just as easily. “Oi! Stop tossing my fucking shit around! This ain’t your house, dipshit!”

“Sorry,” Izuku mutters, not particularly repentant.

Kacchan glares at him for a little bit before rolling his eyes, grunting. “Well, what’re you gonna do now? Internships start tomorrow - you probably won’t have a chance to go back and change their minds before then. ‘Specially not since you stomped out of there bawling your eyes out.” 

“I won’t,” Izuku shakes his head, ignoring the jab at him. “They called me in extra early today because they didn’t want to cut into our internship time. I don’t think they’ll ask me to get involved again unless they turn up something new at Grandpa’s house, which is unlikely considering they were almost done searching it this morning. Either they find some kind of proof that Grandpa was never involved… or they don’t.” The opposite scenario warrants almost no consideration.

“They’ll find proof, shitty Deku,” Kacchan says. Izuku looks up, staring at him. If he hadn’t known better, he’d almost think Kacchan is being… supportive. But he wouldn’t be - not without making Izuku jump through a million hoops to feel encouragement from him. “Your Grandpa was shady and kinda weird, but that’s probably just ‘cos he was rich. All rich people have something wrong with them, s’just how they are.”

Izuku gapes at him. “You’re one to talk, Kacchan!”

“Fuck you! We ain’t rich! My old man just did well for himself!”

“You literally completed the limited edition Golden Age All Might trading card set that came with that collaboration he did with Calbee! By buying all the cards on Mercari instead of properly collecting them - ”

“Like you’re one to talk!” Kacchan retorts, echoing him. “You begged Auntie Inko for that limited edition All Might postcard from Häagen-Dazs ‘till I thought her ears would fall off!”

Izuku pauses. “Me?” he frowns, genuinely confused. “I did?”

Kacchan stops mid-tirade and blinks at him. “Yeah, duh? You don’t remember?” he asks, brow furrowed.

“No?” Izuku shakes his head. “Are you sure you aren’t thinking about yourself? Mister I-Spent-A-Week-Contacting-Online-Sellers-Behind-My-Parents’-Back - ”

Kacchan picks a pillow up from the floor and hurls it at Izuku in one lightning-fast move, hitting him right in the face. “Buying them on Mercari was cheaper than buying all that goddamn cereal ‘till I completed the set, dumbass! It ain’t my fault you don’t understand probability! Get the fuck out of my room! If you’re feeling well enough to slander me then you’re well enough to get your ass back home!”

Belatedly, Izuku realizes he’s overstayed the initial ten minutes he’d requested by quite a lot. “Oh,” he says, sobering up. “Sorry, I didn’t notice the time.”

“Damn right,” Kacchan grumbles, picking up the other pillow and tossing it back on his bed, blessedly missing Izuku this time. “Fucking useless nerd. Bothering me on a fucking Sunday.”

Izuku chuckles and sits up, rearranging Kacchan’s pillows and straightening the comforter. “Sorry to have imposed, Kacchan. You didn’t have to bring me here, but thank you.”

“Like hell was I gonna leave you looking like that in the park,” Kacchan scoffs. He truly is the epitome of tenderness and - oh, who is Izuku kidding. “All weepy and shit.”

Izuku lets out a proper laugh and makes another swipe at his face, intending to stop by the bathroom on the way out, when a loud and plaintive meow catches both of their attention. Turning to see the source of the noise, it’s none other than a very petulant looking Pancake, who’s somehow made it to the top of Kacchan’s dresser and is now pressed uncomfortably close to the ceiling.

“Punk!” Kacchan exclaims, startled. “The hell are you doing?”

“Miaow,” Pancake draws out every syllable, forlorn.

Kacchan starts yelling for her to get down just as Izuku collapses back into the bed, shaking from the force of his sudden laughter. “Punk!” Kacchan hollers, sounding for all intents and purposes as if he’s had the fear of God stricken into him. Pancake yowls at him with equal anguish. “Get the fuck down from there!”

“Katsuki? What’s all this commotion about - oh dear.” Uncle Masaru gently pushes the door open only to freeze in shock when he spots the stranded cat. “Punk!”

Somehow, hearing the typically placid man shriek Punk with sincere and extreme distress is enough to break Izuku, who has to roll and face the wall to try and minimize the volume of his laughter. Behind him, he can hear enough to understand that Pancake is refusing to jump into either man’s arms, her meowing escalating into a piercing caterwaul. Really, Izuku’s being so unhelpful - he’s the cat rescuer around these parts, for goodness’ sake.

But according to his gut, Pancake isn’t in any danger. Quite the opposite really, what with Masaru promising, with feeling, to buy her all the salmon churu treats she could possibly want if she just jumps down. They’ve got it all under control. All will be well.

Right.

All would be well.