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Shinjitsu Sakebi was somewhat of a fossil in his mind. He knew this not to be true; he was barely in his sixties, but among the spry heroes and energetic children, he felt the time that sunk into his bones with every passing moment. He may not be a fossil, not truly, but he felt it in every aching bone or pamphlet for retirement. His coworkers had started offering him their help instead of asking for it, and Shinjitsu was startlingly aware of the fact that at the ripe age of sixty, his was a shelved life of others waiting to overtake him.
Years ago, this may have bothered him. But with the time in his bones, he had gained a few drops of wisdom his younger self may not have possessed, and so he simply let them bestow their help, and he took it as offered without looking deeper into intentions. Too much time was spent looking at intentions that could instead be spent enjoying the kindness.
Shinjitsu knew of kindness, not in any great personal sense, but in his years of walking down the path of life, he came to believe that in most people’s lives, kindness was not often given in grand acts of heroism, but rather in small bouts of generosity. A pencil lent on a frustrating day or a gift of a gentle shoulder nudge. Shinjitsu believed these small gifts were of greater value than they were led to believe.
Perhaps that was the product of his quirk though, or the desire to dismiss his cowardliness. Shinjitsu possessed the ability to see people’s life history if they touched his hands; on paper at least. The thing he had failed to tell the quirk agent was that what he saw was a meandering of one’s life memories, all the person’s mundane moments viewed shakily as if looking through muddied water and trying to see the picture on the other side. And while he saw these well enough, the memories he saw in clear view were those that impacted the person the most, subconsciously and consciously. Fortunately or not he had no control over when his quirk activated, a brush of hands and off he went down memory lane. He had seen how often small acts of kindness embedded themselves into one's memories, and it brought him great comfort.
And while he did not follow the ins and outs of the youth, dreams of heroism far too grand for him even at his peak, his coworkers certainly did, and in the current age of heroes, it was hard to go anywhere without hearing whispers. He vaguely recognized logos of UA or Shiketsu but would be at a loss to tell you much more. He knew the top few heroes and would recognize the rest of them if in costume, but the sparkly world of heroing had no place in his heart, nor his life.
Shinjitsu was, first and foremost, a coward. Taking a stand or planting his feet in the face of adversity was not his strong suit. There was a reason he had never become a detective and instead settled for a plain office job. His hands shook and his bones rattled when he was forced to create ripples in the water. He could handle the small acts that held secret meaning, but anything more had never come easily to him no matter his age. He left the acts of grandeur to the heroes. All Might saved a hundred people in ten minutes, and Shinjitsu would keep filing his paperwork, he would keep offering pleasant smiles and gentle nudges when he could. All Might could handle the saving just fine on his own, and Shinjitsu was grateful for it.
Shinjitsu lived his boring life and indulged in a guilty pleasure; on lonely nights or days when he missed the company of his wife and the graveyard brought her no closer, he would shake off his gloves and walk into stores, brush hands and watch as the understanding of a person was brought before his eyes alone. And then he would, as cowards do, let their memories slip down the river of time, and he would choose to forget. It was not his job to save, and he felt the phantom weight that would come with that job and could only thank his younger self for not burdening him with it.
It was not his job to save, and yet here he was. And yet here he stood outside the door of a late-night show, dressed in his late father’s faded suit as the cameras prepared to catch him in all his old glory. Here he stood, an old fossil of a man about to put him and that boy in the spotlight.
It was not his job to save, not his job to create grandiose acts of generosity, and yet still, here he stood.
A boy's hands had brushed against his and for the first time in a long while he was reminded that while every act of kindness could have a large impact, sometimes people just needed a hero. A boy’s hand had brushed his and for the first time ever Shinjitsu learnt that the power of the heroes he had so readily put his faith in would crumble soon enough. He learnt that the indomitable power of the number one hero was shattering under its own weight.
Shinjitsu was not presumptuous enough to believe he could be a hero, but if the true heroes had failed, for just one night, for one kid, he could push past his shaking hands and bear the weight of such a title. For a single boy, he could save more than just a piece.
Shinjitsu may be a coward, but he wanted to believe he was still a good man. He wanted to believe that when push came to shove, he would be kind.
There was nothing kind about leaving a kid to rot, so Shinjitsu sucked up his misgivings of his decision and walked into channel 37’s green room with the intention of making one hell of a grand act.