I woke up in a dark room. The scent was foreign ― it smelled like a rotting corpse; I'd guess. Scrunching my nose in disgust, I began to rise from what I'd assume to be a bed but felt a spike of pain shoot through my body. Yelping in pain, I shot back to my original position before biting my cheek to stop any more noise from escaping past my lips.

A few moments later, a figure came rushing through the door ― ushering me to stay down; although, I could hardly keep myself from growing fearful. It was terrifying, waking up in a place I'd never been before, and having someone I'd never met before ushering me to remain calm in a bed I'd never slept in before. This place with no familiarity whatsoever was terrifying. Although I'd never truly felt free or secure at school or in the house I'd lived in, at least then, I had the liberty to move about as I pleased and wasn't confined to a bed. Not that I could even move if I tried.

After a few minutes, I calmed down and decided to take this opportunity to ask a few of the thousand questions that were currently floating about in my brain.

"Where am I? What happened? Who are you? Why...?" I began, only to be cut off by the mysterious figure.

"Slow down, kid, I can't understand you." The mysterious figure started. "Let's start with introductions, my name is Shigaraki Tomura."

Shigaraki had greasy blue hair and his skin looked as if he hadn't seen the sun in years. Taking in his details, I studied the way his hair draped over of his eyes. I studied the scars he wore along his eye and lip. I studied the agitated and raw manner of his neck ― likely from scratching, alcohol abuse, or eczema. I studied and remembered the foul scent that shrouded his figure. I studied him.

He wore plain black clothes and didn't look much older than me. Though, the detail that seemed to catch my gaze the most, was his eyes. I could almost smell the sickeningly sweet-smelling, candy-like nitroglycerin. I could almost taste the ash from his explosions ― from when I accidentally left my mouth agape. I could almost see his ash-blond hair and malicious grin forming in front of me. All because of those eyes that bored into my own; all because of the color of his eyes.

His ruby-red eyes.

The more I pictured Izuku's lifeless body, the more I cried. We had been escorted as Izuku's closest friends to the hospital, and no one could get ahold of Mr. and Mrs. Yagi yet; although, I didn't know what I'd say if they were here. I didn't know how I could ever face them again, after what we did — after what I did. Though we all knew he was dead, they were still trying to save him. I suppose they thought there was still something they could do, despite the fact that he had obviously been lying there, on the concrete, alone and in pain, for hours before anyone had found him.

He was alone — he always was.

Izumi was resting her head on my shoulder, sleeping. She had been taking this situation the hardest, I'd guess. It made sense though. Her brother had just taken his own life because she, Bakugou, and I had tortured him. The rivers that ran from Izumi's eyes were only rivaled by the defeated and guilt-stricken faces Bakugou and I wore; though, I felt more selfish than anything. Selfish in the sense that I was only now starting to give a damn over what happened to him. Izuku suffered through a life of nothing but harassment and pain, and now we were crying for him. It was as the saying went.

No one cares until you're gone.

The doctor tending to Izuku came out of the ER, so we woke Izumi up. He explained that they tried everything they could, but no matter what they did, his heart wouldn't start. Of course, we all knew deep down that he would never wake up again but being properly faced with the harsh reality that he was dead was more painful. All I could think of were the what-ifs and nothing more.

What if I had been there for him?

What if I had helped him?

What if I had a second chance?

Would I have done things differently?

"Among his belongings, we found a note."

Perking up at his words, I prayed that this was all just some sick joke — that Izuku was just trying to get back at us, that Izuku was okay. And honestly, if this was just him trying to get back at us, it's definitely working.

The doctor handed us the note, and went to talk with the principal and our homeroom teacher, who were trying to coordinate with the receptionist and an officer to get ahold of Izumi's parents.

Turning our attention to the note — the somewhat charred paper originating from the notebook Bakugou burned just yesterday not going unnoticed — we began reading. Immediately, a shockwave of venom and bitterness erupted from the letter. You could feel how frustrated and upset he was as he wrote it, and he had every right to be. We gave him hell; a life filled with nothing but agony.

Izumi could barely compose herself, but neither could I. We asked Doctor Okumura if we could keep the note, and he said it was fine. It wasn't addressed to anyone, and it wasn't like it was to be buried with Izuku, so he felt it best belonged with his friends.

He used the word friends; however, I'm sure he knew deep down that we weren't his friends.

We knew it too.

We weren't his friends.

The guilt of my actions weighed heavily on my heart, but alongside that guilt and selfish desire to once more see his smile, there was something else — something I couldn't describe. There was something else eating away at me.

My wife and I searched for Izuku all night, but he was nowhere. He wasn't in the diner we always took Izumi to when she did well on testing week; he wasn't by the cherry blossom tree the three of us would have picnics by; he was nowhere. We left both of our phones at home because we were in such a rush to find him. In hindsight, that wasn't the best idea.

What if we got a call about Izuku, and didn't know it?

When we opened the front door of our house, we were met with Izumi and her friends. They all looked terrible. They shared the same red, puffy eyes — filled to the brim with tears. They shared the same guilt-ridden, fearful expression — looking defeated and anxious as the sound of the door clicking filled the room. They shared the same horror in their eyes as my eyes scanned the three of them. To top it all off, Izumi looked as if she hadn't slept all night.

How could she have?

"It's ok, kids. We'll find Izuku." I reassured the three.

In what I interpreted as shame; Izumi bowed her head — evading my gaze. The silence that invaded the room was deafening.

"Izuku..." Izumi spoke abruptly.

"We'll find him, sweetheart."

"Dad..."

"It's ok, he couldn't have gone far..." I hushed her.

"Dad! You're not listening!" She spoke angrily with regret lacing her voice — pausing as she stared into my eyes.

"They found Izuku..."

"Well, that's great!" Inko replied, her voice full of relief.

Izumi closed her eyes. When she opened them, she looked to the side, not looking us in the eyes.

"They found his body at school."

My heart stopped as her words rung out through my ears. It was like a terrible dream.

"What?" I asked her.

She was about to respond, but her voice faltered. Abruptly, Izumi stood to her feet and ran upstairs as fast as she could — leaving Katsuki to finish our conversation.

"He took his life last night..."

"They found his body, mangled and bloody on the concrete. He jumped off the roof." Shoto took over the sentence Katsuki was about to say.

Looking to the two boys for confirmation of their words, Shoto and Katsuki bowed their heads in guilt.

This couldn't be happening.

I felt my throat closing, my vision blurring, and my mouth drying. I heard my wife collapse to the floor and I immediately ran to her — bringing her into my arms as she sobbed, and as my world imploaded.

After a moment, I turned to look at Shoto and noticed a piece of paper in his hand. He was clutching it so tightly, even if a tornado were to rip through the house, the paper would likely still be in his grasp. Looking to meet my gaze again, Shoto caught my eyeline on the paper before tensing up and starting to speak.

"It's Izuku's letter..." He answered my unspoken question.

"Addressed to whom?" I asked him, as Inko was still bawling in my arms. Shoto paused for a moment and continued.

"He didn't specify."

"May we see it...?" My voice faltered as the realization hit me.

I was asking for my son's suicide letter.

Shoto tightened his grip on the paper, before slowly making his way to my wife and I — loosening his hold just enough to allow me to grab the paper.

I heard a loud cry from the room the child was sleeping in. It had been a little under a month since we had brought him here; however, I could still vividly remember the day he came into our possession.

Kurogiri and I were walking near a school. He lectured me about 'disintegrating the doorknobs' and how I should 'be more careful'; however, I couldn't care less about our conversation, so I let myself drift off.

As Kurogiri was droning on about God knows what else, we heard a scream. One that sounded like it came from a child, causing us both to start racing to where we heard the scream come from.

We may be villains, but we're as curious as cats.

We made it to a school just in time to see a child jumping off the roof. As a reflex, Kurogiri opened a warp gate a split second before the child hit the concrete. The warp gate reopened above me and I swiftly caught him in my arms, while remaining cautious of keeping a finger of both my hands from touching the child. He looked to be around thirteen or fourteen years of age and had soaked green hair.

As my eyes wandered the child, taking in his appearance, Kurogiri began to speak.

"We should leave him here."

I took a moment and thought about something. The way the child looked — his body being littered with burns, frostbite, bloody gashes, and bruises — I figured this must have been an attempted suicide.

Curiosity, again, getting the better of me, I wanted to see what kind of a letter he may have written. Purely for entertainment purposes. Nothing ever happens anymore, and with Master sidelining me from any real fun until All Might's first year at U.A. High, I needed something to satisfy my boredom.

"Kurogiri, open a warp gate to the rooftop where this kid jumped from. I want to check something..." My voice trailed off as I spoke, losing myself in my thoughts.

I set the child down on the concrete and walked through the warp gate, and just as I suspected, there was a pair of shoes and a note. I picked up the note and read it over.

Reading it, he seemed to be an abused child who admired heroes and realized the truth. That those people on pedestals we called heroes were the real villains'

This child was just like me.

Cast out by society because of something we couldn't control — abandoned by those said to be our heroes; idols; saviors. It was sad, really. There was nothing we could do for this kid. We couldn't take him with us, obviously, as he would have served us no use. He would have only been in the way.

I looked through the child's backpack, and in it, there were a few pens and a notebook.

Hero analysis for the future no.13

I flipped through page after page, each being filled with perfectly accurate notes on countless heroes. That was when the thoughts rolled in.

Information like this could be useful...

This child could be useful...

We brought the child back to the bar and called our supplier, Giran. He had amazing connections and was well known in the underworld for black market dealings and human trafficking.

We sent him a picture of the child who jumped and asked him to bring a kid that looked similar to the child. We specified that he be dead; however, we did put in special requests.

Blood spatter analysis was a problem. We needed the blood spray to match how it would have looked if we had let the child fall to his death, so Kurogiri and I devised a plan.

We needed the look-a-like to be sedated somehow and lightly pushed from the same roof that the child had originally jumped from. That way, if done correctly, the spray from the look-a-like wouldn't be out of the ordinary. Then, we needed to carefully transport the child to our base — without disturbing his blood in any way — so that we could make any physical alterations that were necessary, such as hair partings or any hair colorants that needed to be made. Then, we needed to place him back into the exact position he was in after the initial fall, and we needed to make sure that nothing looked out of the ordinary.

DNA analysis was also a problem, but we didn't focus much on that. It was unlikely that the NPA had a reference to compare to if they did decide to take a blood swipe — seeing as the kid didn't seem like a criminal and had no need to be in the database. As well as that, it was unlikely that any hospitals had a sample either, considering all the serious injuries on the child's body that should have been tended to weeks ago. So, really, our plan was more of a gamble or a stall — depending on whether or not anyone would have any identifying material that went beyond showing a picture to a relative.

Giran showed up at the bar around twelve in the morning with a child on a stretcher who looked similar to this one. His name was Shindo Yo, and he was a first-year at Ketsubutsu High.

Hero name: Grand.

Immediately, we began our work. First, we needed to erase all traces of the sedative we had used to keep the look-a-like from struggling. If the Etorphine had shown up during the eventual autopsy, then this would have turned from a suicide to a potential homicide case in the eyes of the NPA. Even if we couldn't flush the entirety of the drug out of his system, we needed to do the best we could.

Luckily, after a quick blood test, we discovered that the child who was lying unconscious in one of the spare bedrooms was blood type O, and therefore able to be our surprise blood-doner. So, we performed the blood transfusion with the boy's blood — which effectively flushed out most of the sedative, leaving only trace amounts of the M-99.

Then, having solved that one issue, we began reversing the physical alterations that set the two boys apart. To start, we dyed the boy's hair from black to green — that being one of their defining differences — and then we noticed his eye color. His brown eyes were, at first, an issue until we contacted Giran. He introduced us to a product used in the medical field for correcting irises or pupil defects: artificial iris implants. They're not used for cosmetic purposes in the medical field; however, with a starting price of two-hundred-and-eight-thousand-four-hundred-and-eighty yen on the black market, we could do whatever we wanted with them.

It took several hours, but after our tireless work, the boys were almost identical — the only differences being the lack of freckles and height; however, it was unlikely that the height would matter, seeing as whoever it was that would be identifying the child wouldn't have seen the body in real life. As for the freckles, we used black henna to make them as realistic as possible.

The last thing we had needed was a uniform identical to the boy's, but that was right in Kurogiri's area. We needed to change the boy anyway, so with his uniform, Kurogiri made slight modifications to fit Shindo's form better.

With our work done at close to three in the morning, we carefully transported Shindo's body to the exact spot we had found him — making sure to preserve his blood perfectly — and placed him back onto the ground. Then, we gazed back at our work with pride.

He was perfect.

I ran through the halls towards the room the child was in, and slowly opened the door to see the kid was trying to stand up. Though he didn't hit the ground, while falling through the air, he sustained damage to several of his internal organs. I figured it would be quite painful and agonizing to move, so I convinced him to calm down and stay put.

After settling down, the boy began rambling and babbling questions faster than I could understand. I cut him off quickly to end his nonsensical questioning spree before introducing myself. Then, I noticed his eyes.

His giant, emerald-green orbs began wandering my figure, flickering from place to place as he took in my details. It felt nerve-racking and exposing, feeling his eyes as they traced my figure. It felt almost as if he could see through my skin to my soul. It was almost as if he could see my deepest thoughts and darkest secrets. It was almost as if he knew everything about me — even things I hadn't known of myself — all from the quick few moments of his eyes wandering my figure.

This must be from the years of jotting down notes on the heroes.

I would be lying if I denied the fact that I cared for this kid. Over the past few weeks, I had kept him company and gone through his notebook. The information contained in that little book could be worth fortunes — if we refined it, that is. All the information was up to date on all of the latest heroes and their quirks, making it valuable.

I watched his eyes as they wandered until they eventually stopped on my own and began to cloud over in resentment.

As I stared into the man's ruby-red eyes, I felt a wave of pain, surge through my brain. I remembered what happened. Those ruby-red eyes resembled the eyes I stared into frequently. The ruby-red eyes of Bakugou Katsuki.

I remember everything.

I remembered who I was and what had happened — what led to this, and what led me here; however, I still didn't know where 'here' was.

"I remember everything..." I spoke in a low growl, my words laced with venom.

The tone of which I spoke was foreign and the words I spoke were even more so, even to myself. I could hardly even remember speaking that way in the past.

In the past, that is.

Today, I was reborn as a new me, and I had a new mission. I sneered at the thought and laughed to myself.

I remember everything.