U.A, Homeroom, 8:14 AM.

Wednesday, 13th 2149.

The sun was missing from the sky, and a wretched lens of blue light oppressed everything in sight. A vast desert stretched into the distance, but I couldn’t feel it. The connection that had existed since I was a child was simply gone, and the sand beneath me may as well have been concrete for all I could feel of it. I’d lived with the connectedness of my sand for so long that the absence was like I’d been stripped of my sight or the ability to touch.

I knelt down and sunk my fingers into the material, hoping to focus my attention on it. My fingers vanished beneath the surface, but there was nothing there, the sand lifeless and cold. I drew my hand back—and found the task impossible. I looked down as my knees sunk beneath the surface, submerged under the suddenly viscous solution that rippled outwards.

It was freezing cold, and in moments the sand had vanished beneath a rising tide of dark water. It surged upwards, grasping at my chest. I fought to rebuild the connection, trying to wrench the sand upwards to pierce the water. It failed to heed my call, and the water rose up my neck. It pressed against my mouth—

“Settle down,” Shota said, moving to stand in front of his desk. “Don’t make me speak louder just to be heard.”

I stared straight ahead, heart thundering in my chest. My eyes ached, and I was certain they were just as red as they had been when I left the apartment. The continued lack of sleep had left the world almost foggy, and I had to fight against it to keep myself from slipping back into inattention. I observed everyone around me at once, trying to decipher whether or not anybody had noticed.

“Sorry, teacher!” Mina said, clapping her hands together.

Shota made a noise of consideration before jerking his head at the pull-down screen behind him. The projector showed two students, one in the blue and white bodysuit that U.A favoured, and a silver-haired boy in a black tracksuit that might have belonged to Ketsubutsu Academy. The boys were standing across from each other on a raised platform made up of large white tiles.

“The deciding match of the 2141 finals,” Shota said. “It wasn’t a very long bout, and the audience’s reaction was rather tame compared to some of the others that had occurred on that same day.”

Shota pressed play on the control in his hand and then immediately paused it again—in the brief time the video had been playing, the blonde student had moved a significant distance from his starting place.

“The boy with the silver hair is the runner up of the sports festival.” Shota said, “The blond came in at first place.”

Both Momo and Tsuyu reacted to the comment, shifting slightly at their desks and suddenly appearing much more focused. My mind felt sluggish, and I couldn’t understand why they’d moved. I rubbed the back of my hand over my eye—had Shota said something strange? I should have done my homework.

Shota unpaused the video again, and the starting tile behind the blonde boy exploded up and outwards as the force of his dash shredded it. The blonde was the faster of the two, and he appeared to be digging his feet into the ground and pushing off at an angle, shattering each tile he passed over. The silver-haired boy raised his hands up, bracing himself as the blonde reached him—unsatisfyingly, Shota paused the video moments before they collided.

“Teacher!” Hanta complained. “You can’t stop it there.”

Shota ignored the protests, taking them all in for a moment.

“All of you will likely find yourself in this situation during your own bouts,” Shota said, watching them through the gap in his bandages. “It is also a situation you will find yourself in, time and again, during the course of your future hero duties.”

“Fighting a blond kid with super-strength?” Denki said, curling his hand around his bicep. “Is there a lot of them running around?”

Too many voices, too many things to focus on. A point in my head, above and behind my ear, throbbed, and I found myself staring down at the desk in an attempt to push it out of my mind.

“More like negative strength in your case,” Jiro said, smirking.

“Hey!” Denki yelped, quickly cocking a finger gun. “I’ve got guns, okay, big ones; I just don’t show them off—call it concealed carry.”

Jiro snorted.

“Not exactly what I meant, Kaminari,” Shota said. “The point was; You will be placed against opponents whose quirk you do not know, or if you are lucky, you’ll have some idea what it does, but maybe not the finer mechanics. This is a situation that can range from inconvenient, to dangerous, to deadly.”

Not knowing the details of an opponent’s quirk was something that had ended more than one professional hero’s career; I knew that much.

“What do you think of this match up?” Shota said, pointing the remote at them. “Kaminari, you’ve correctly identified that the blonde boy’s quirk was enhanced strength—how would you deal with him in this situation?”

“Uh,” Denki said, frowning at the screen. “Honestly, I think I’d get flattened.”

“Idiot,” Katsuki grunted. “Don’t give up so quickly.”

“Hey, don’t give up so quickly!” Nanami pouted.

I closed my eyes, carefully digging my fingers into the edge of my desk in an attempt to distract myself with the feeling of pressure.

“I mean, did you see how fast he’s moving?” Denki said. “My quirk doesn’t do anything for mobility—the best I could do is try and dive out of the way. Shoot him in the legs, maybe?”

Denki showcased his tactic with his still present finger guns in a rapid one-two firing pattern.

“Put those away, would you?” Jiro said, amused. “You’re gonna hurt someone.”

Denki holstered them at his waist before tipping an imaginary hat.

“Consider this—you are seated in the audience, waiting for your future match against this boy,” Shota said, interjecting. “You know what you do now, that his quirk is strength-based, and that he can leverage it to move very quickly—Kaminari, what do you do to win this fight?”

Denki sat back in his chair, unsure.

“I’d plan out a strategy to take him down from a distance?” Denki wondered. “If I could hit him before he started moving, I could probably take him down? Depends if he’s got durability as well, I guess.”

“Adequate, for now,” Shota allowed. “Ashido, same question.”

The node of sand I’d placed in the hallway suddenly vanished, disintegrating into motes of sand and disappearing before they touched the ground. I opened my eyes, wondering when I’d closed them.

“Huh?” Mina said, sitting up straight. “Uh—I’d slick up the ground around me, so when he got close, he’d lose his footing. Then I’d hit him when he’s not in a position to fight back.”

“Merciless, I like it,” Shota said, nodding. “Ojiro.”

“He’s fast in a straight line, but he cannot easily change direction,” Mashirao said, narrowing his eyes. “He’s lowering his body as he gets closer as well, so he likely intends to tackle his opponent—I would evade upwards and get behind him.”

“Inspired,” Shota said. “Bakugo.”

Before Katsuki could say his answer, Hanta pumped in fist into the air.

“Blow up the audience!” Hanta declared.

“A million explosions.” Tsuyu croaked in agreement.

“Settle down,” Shota said. “Bakugo.”

“Idiots,” Katsuki gritted out. “Tail-boy was right, evade the obvious attack and then attack from behind; he can’t use his strength if he can’t target me. Mobility is a good counter for straight-up strength.”

“He just jacked Ojiro’s answer,” Denki complained. “Make him do it again, teacher.”

“What the hell did you just say!?” Katsuki cried.

“Rowdy today, aren’t you all?” Shota wondered, looking over the room through the gap in his bandages. “Higawara.”

I stared at the empty desk in front of me, wondering if it would be filled.

“Hisoka?” Momo said, kicking the leg of my desk.

I turned to look at her before lifting my gaze to Shota at the front of the room. My mind clawed to figure out what I’d just been asked.

“I would seek out additional information before engaging,” I managed, wondering if my response was even on topic. “There is not enough to plan it out effectively.”

An awful beat of silence followed, and a second sand node in the downstairs lobby vanished.

“How would you do that?” Shota wondered.

How would I do what? Get the information? The projector showed two students facing each other down. One was wearing a blue tracksuit. I caught sight of Denki, cocking his finger—it clicked.

“I would locate the Ketsubutsu Academy contingent and speak with them,” I said slowly, hyperaware of every word. “Considering this is the finals, there will also be footage of my opponent’s previous trials being circulated; I could use either method.”

Two answers, which should be enough to escape an additional—Shota had said it was the finals, hadn’t he? How sure was I that the student came from Ketsubutsu Academy? Could it have been a variant tracksuit, one belonging to Shiketsu Academy? Was the foundation for my answer even remotely solid?

“He is aware that you are his opponent,” Shota said, voice perfectly level. “Presume his classmates will not speak with his opponent for obvious reasons.”

I flinched at the word—why would they ever speak with me in those circumstances? It was obvious, and my answer was absurd. I should have said observe the Ketsubutsu contingent—I didn’t need to speak with them directly in order to discover information; simply listening in would have been enough.

“If I was unable to speak with them,” I said, forced to defend an answer I no longer believed in. “I would recruit assistance from one of my classmates to speak with them on my behalf.”

Which wouldn’t work for the exact same reason I couldn’t speak with them myself… Shota didn’t answer, and I was left to stew in the absolute failure of my answer.

“How many of you actually did the homework?” Shota said, voice light.

His disengagement with my answer felt like a slap in the face, and I returned to staring at my desk as the throbbing in my head worsened. Every single hand went up, except for mine, fingers once more locked around the edges of the desk—I was alone.

“Interesting,” Shota said, “Now, keep your hand up if you can tell me what quirk the silver-haired kid has.”

The unease spread across the room as Shota pressed them to back it up. Hands began to fall as the seconds passed until only Denki, Momo, Tenya, and Tsuyu were left.

“Bakugo?” Denki snickered, absolutely confident. “I can’t believe you didn’t do the homework.”

Katsuki looked furious, but he didn’t say anything beyond baring his teeth. I noticed that Tenya’s hand was shaking.

“Kaminari,” Shota said, pointing the remote at him. “What’s his quirk?”

Denki held his finger gun high in the air, clearly savouring the moment—and then he let it fall to the desk, shattered in defeat.

“I didn’t do it either,” Denki admitted, “Sorry, teacher.”

“Idiot!” Katsuki snarled, but Denki just shrugged helplessly.

“Ida, Yaoyorozu, Asui,” Shota sighed, bandages crinkling around his mouth. “Write the answer down in your books and bring them up here.”

There was a rustle of paper as they began to do just that, and then Tenya shot up in his seat, bowing at the waist until his head bounced off the desk.

“Teacher!” Tenya cried, “I’m so sorry! I did not complete the assigned homework!”

Ochaco, directly to my right, started laughing into her hand, unable to help herself.

“Seriously?” Shota said, letting the remote fall to rest against his thigh. “Even you, Ida? What kept you from completing it?”

“Teacher!” Tenya cried out again, fighting his failure with a rigid adherence to social etiquette. “My older brother visited, and we spent the majority of that time practising together! When he left, it was already late!”

“Your brother is Ingenium, isn’t he?” Shota said, brushing the back of his hand over his brow. “Well, at least you didn’t waste your time.”

I dug my finger in behind my ear, trying to dispel some of the building pressure. Momo and Tsuyu approached the desk, turning the books around and showing Shota what they had written.

“Well done,” Shota said before doing a double-take at Tsuyu’s answer. “Uh, close enough, I guess—You two, show the class your books.”

Tenya remained where he was, bowed at the waist over his desk as Momo and Tsuyu turned around, holding their books up. Everyone else in the class shifted around upon realising that the two answers were completely different.

Momo’s curvy handwriting spelled out ‘Weight Manipulation’ across the top half of the page, the writing rushed but still this side of neat. Tsuyu’s, on the other hand, was a blocky name, with a small chibi sketch of the person next to it; ‘Ochaco Uraraka.’

“Me!” Ochaco called out, surprised. “I fought the blonde boy.”

“I knew it was you,” Mina said, turning around to look back at her. “I could tell by the eyes.”

“Shut up!” Katsuki cried. “What the hell is airhead doing on that book?!”

“If you’d done the homework, you would know,” Tsuyu croaked, “Their abilities are very similar.”

“Brother, which is the correct answer?” Tenya cried to himself, forehead still pressed against his desk. “Weight, or gravity?!”

“Asui is correct,” Shota agreed, “The effect of the two quirks is mostly indistinguishable.”

“That’s a bad matchup, isn’t it?” Shoto said quietly, pushing past his own failure to do the homework and straight into the analysis. “Enhanced strength is a direct combat quirk; either of the other two has no place in that fight. It also explains why he came second, although I’m surprised that he made it to the finals at all.”

Momo and Tsuyu looked at each other again before Shota pressed play on the remote. The silver-haired boy fell backwards as the blonde reached him, one foot trailing behind him. The blonde crashed stomach first into his foot and was thrown up and over the prone boy.

Instead of crashing into the ground behind him, he just kept on going. The blond spun through the air, entirely weightless and unable to catch himself before he landed, upside down, back-first in the stands.

“I won!” Ochaco cheered.

“Good job, Uraraka!” Izuku said.

“Shut up!” Katsuki raged. “Keep your delusions to yourself!”

“Teacher,” Kyoka said, surprised. “You lied to us—you said that the blond boy won.”

Shota lifted the remote and cut the video feed, returning the screen to the menu.

“A logical ruse to see if any of you had done what I told you; Imagine my surprise when only two of you recognised the lie,” Shota said, slowly scanning the room. “I thought you were all taking this seriously.”

The directness of the words made the statement hit all the harder.

“I’ll watch the damn tapes!” Katsuki snapped. “All of them. Ask me any damn thing about them—tomorrow!”

“You’re going to watch decade’s worth of videos in an afternoon?” Kyoka asked. “Really? And you called Ochaco an airhead.”

Katsuki stood up, shunting his desk almost into the aisle from the force, apparently at the limit of his patience.

“You damn extras think you can talk shit to me?” Katsuki snarled, turning on her. “At least I know I screwed up. How about you shove your janky ass ears right up your—”

Jiro flinched back from the vitriol, and Shota interjected before he could finish.

“Enough, Bakugo,” Shota snapped. “Sit down, now.”

Katsuki gritted his teeth and then forced himself to sit down, wrenching his desk back into position with a screech.

“All of you keep any further comments to yourself,” Shota said, glaring at them all. “You’re all so full of energy today—Get up, and put your training gear on; we’re going running.”

Shota turned and moved to the door, sliding it open and vanishing into the hall. Half a dozen conversations broke out, and the sounds of everyone getting up washed over me. I pressed my fingers into my eyes as the pressure in my head continued to build.

#

Surprisingly, the running was actually helping to clear my head, whether it was my body flooding me with enough chemicals to dampen my migraine or if some old instinct from humanities days in the wild, I wasn’t sure.

“Hisoka?” Momo called, breathing heavy.

“Momo,” I said, just as out of breath.

The rest of the class surrounded us; the more competitive group members took the punishment as a challenge and an opportunity to show off. Eijiro had stayed with me for a while, but eventually, he’d broken off to go ahead. Now he was towards the front of the pack, trying to keep up as Shoto and Katsuki waged a cold war.

Izuku, strangely enough, was right up there with them, sticking doggedly on Katsuki’s heels. They weren’t the class leaders, though; Mezo, Mina and Mashirao were ahead of them by almost twenty strides. Katsuki had raged as he’d been passed; the lack of quirk usage had left him unable to dominate them as he usually did.

Tenya was in a league of his own and in danger of lapping the group; the quirk enhancements that his legs had received, his stamina, and his running form were too much for any of them to match. Mezo had managed to keep up for a while, his prodigal height, long legs and all-around fitness allowed him to keep Tenya’s back in sight, but eventually, even he had fallen back to run with the others.

“Are you okay?” Momo managed, the seemingly endless run snatching her breath away. “I saw—in class.”

I focused on my running as I tried to figure out what I should say, but my mind was just as much a mess as it had been earlier.

“I haven’t, been sleeping,” I said, taking my time with the words. “It’s catching up to me, that’s all.”

Momo didn’t respond right away, trying to maintain her breathing. I returned to facing ahead, blinking away the sweat trying to fall into my eyes. Shota, leaning against the fence, grew larger as we approached his position again.

“Is it because of Koda and Satou?” Momo managed. “If you need to, talk about it—”

I felt a flicker of something in my chest at the names, and it left me with a lingering feeling that I couldn’t quite identify—almost as if I’d done something wrong.

“It’s not them,” I said, voice flat.

I sped up my pace before I could unravel any further in the face of her good nature. Momo yelped as I left her behind, valiantly trying to catch up as I burned some of my dwindling stamina to force a gap. Safely nestled behind Midoriya, I kept myself away from anyone else. The laps started to blur into one another, and if I’d been able to keep track in my current state, this would have been where I’d have lost it.

I stumbled on the next lap, and Shota called me out as the group passed. I managed to recover my footing and then tried to gather myself as I made my way towards the fenceline.

“You’re pale, and you’ve got bags under your eyes,” Shota said, not even looking my way. “You were even falling asleep in class.”

I didn’t say anything in response, using my lack of breath as an excuse not to answer.

“You’re didn’t do the homework, and your answers weren’t anywhere near as good as I expect from you,” Shota said, finally glancing over. “When your work here starts suffering, I’m forced to get involved. So, what are you doing that’s keeping you up so late?”

I didn’t answer, once more remaining silent and hoping to use the running as my shield for a little bit longer. His status as a teacher non-withstanding, he wasn’t owed any answers to what I did with my personal time, and he was also exactly the type of person that I didn’t want checking in on me.

“That wasn’t a question you can choose not to answer,” Shota said, turning his head. “You weren’t like this before, so I can only assume this is your response to what happened at the USJ. Were you close to Koji and Satou?”

The angle of the question threw me off guard, and for a moment, I couldn’t understand what he hoped to accomplish with an opening like that. The assumption that he knew how I was feeling and that he could somehow simply divine my response to it—something terrible bubbled up inside me, and I couldn’t keep it down.

“I didn’t feel anything in regards to Koji and Rikido,” I said, rejecting everything he said. “They weren’t my friends; I didn’t have a single private conversation with either of them. Don’t assume you know anything about how I feel, teacher.”

I cut myself off as I realised how angry the words had become. Everything suddenly felt so close to the surface, everything that had been unfelt, and buried so far down suddenly rising up and being disruptive. All of what I said felt like a mistake, just like this entire day was one. I could have avoided all of it if I’d simply stayed at home. I could have feigned being sick; I could have spent the day finishing parsing through the lists in my search for Nanami; instead, I was out here, wasting time and energy running around a field.

“Is that right?” Shota said, voice even. “Are you telling me that you don’t care about what happened at the USJ? That you don’t care that two boys died—two of your classmates.”

The pointed words felt like a personal attack, even though there was nothing I could see in them that was actually insulting. I felt as if agreeing to anything that he said would equate to an admission of some kind, so I was left to simply dig my heels in, even if I didn’t truly believe the words.

“I don’t care,” I said.

“Is that why you came back, even though you knew it would get you in trouble?” Shota said, turning to face me. “Or why you fought those villains to save Koda, Satou, and Hagakure, despite the danger?”

That terrible feeling was washing up my neck now, and I clenched my teeth against it as my eyes began to sting.

“I did it because that’s what I was supposed to do, because that’s what the role of a hero requires,” I said, unable to keep my voice even. “How would anyone ever think of me as a hero if I left my own classmates to die while I was safe? They probably already think of me as a coward.”

“Have you asked them what they think?” Shota said, studying me. “Or are you the one making assumptions about how they feel?”

The trap caught me entirely off guard, my own words clamping down around me in a vice. I couldn’t even hold a conversation in my current state. I wasn’t being careful with my words. I wasn’t anticipating counter questions. I’d gone too long without sleep, and I no longer had the presence of mind or the focus to ever handle something like this.

I was left with a feeling of worthless frustration and a quickly growing shame. The reprieve that the running had granted me was vanishing fast, but the anger bled away with it.

“If you want to pretend you’re not upset about what happened at the USJ, then fine,” Shota said, lifting his one good hand palm up in a calculated open gesture. “Tell me, why aren’t you getting any sleep?”

There had been a perfectly good reason for my sleepless nights, for the bags under my eyes, and my lack of focus in class. I could have placed it all at the foot of my classmate’s deaths and avoided any kind of reprimand, and yet somehow, because of my washed-out state, I’d allowed him to put me in a position where I was arguing against the obvious cover story.

“Sorry,” I said quietly, not sure if It was aimed at him or not. “I can’t do this. I’m going home.”

Shota slowly lowered his hand until it bounced against his hip.

“I see,” Shota said in easy agreement. “Make sure you change out of your tracksuit before you go.”

#

Hayami’s Residence, 6:12 PM.

Thursday, 14th 2149.

“There you are,” Sajin said, sliding the door open. “I should have checked the balcony first—you’d think I’d know better by now.”

I turned to face him and found him smiling.

“I guess it’s become a habit,” I admitted. “Happy birthday, Uncle Sajin.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Sajin said, coming to lean against the railing. “I’m getting close to half a century now; it feels strange to think about it. Time just kind of moves along without you—you end up taking a glance every now and then, and it just hits you.”

“Are you going to retire now that you are old?” I asked, trying not to smile.

“Funny,” Sajin said dryly, “Hayami told you to ask me that, didn’t she?”

“Sorry, Uncle Sajin,” I said, keeping my voice level. “I promised her I wouldn’t talk about it.”

“It’s like clockwork.” Sajin laughed, “No, I’m in this for the long haul, Hisoka. I don’t think I’d know what to do with myself if I just called it a day, you know?”

“I’m relieved,” I said, smiling. “The U.A Sports Festival is coming up soon, and I was hoping you would put in a good word to a hero agency for me.”

Sajin laughed out loud.

“That sounded like one of Hayami’s, but I’ve got a feeling it’s all you this time; you’re learning fast, kiddo,” Sajin said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You’re in the festival? That’s going to be something to see; I’ll make sure I’ve got time off for it—Did you have an eye on any agency in particular?”

“I would have asked to join yours if you were a part of one,” I admitted, “I’m researching the hero agencies now, but I haven’t made a choice. I was hoping for one with a more investigative focus, rather than a reactionary, rescue or combat orientated one.”

Sajin hummed at that.

“Those types are definitely more uncommon,” Sajin said slowly, “That’s part of the reason why I enjoy working with the police force. They are generally the ones doing that kind of investigative groundwork. What’s your rationale for that?”

“There are a lot of villains in Japan,” I said, thinking back to everything I’d read the past few days. “The vast majority of them have managed to avoid being caught—the ones that do get caught seem to have impaired judgment, personality complexes or quirks which make it impossible for them to hide for long. With the right kind of training, I could find them before they can hurt anyone.”

“Good answer, I’ll ask around for you,” Sajin said, squeezing my shoulder in support. “I do want you to keep in mind that it isn’t always that simple for villains, though. Sometimes, from an outside perspective, what looks like impaired judgement or an atypical personality is really just the externalisation of desperation and suffering.”

“Externalisation of desperation and suffering?” I said quietly, repeating the words.

Sajin reached up and brushed his knuckles over his moustache, neatening it up a fraction.

“Quirks haven’t really solved any of the problems that exist in our society, the fundamental ones, I mean. People fall between the cracks all the time. Some of them have terrible lives or had terrible childhoods. They grow up with distorted views of the world and the people in it.” Sajin said, gesturing out towards the houses spread out before them. “Everybody has a breaking point, and when you’re at the bedrock, you have to start leaving pieces of yourself behind if you want to survive.”

“Pieces of yourself?” I murmured.

“Decency, morality, honour, empathy.” Sajin listed off, “When you’re that desperate, you start doing things you know you shouldn’t because nothing else seems to work.”

I remained quiet.

“Our society is filled to the brim with heroes,” Sajin said, hand washing upwards as he converted into sand. “People who style themselves as saviours, uplifters of the weak, or crusaders, who destroy the evils within our society.”

A figure appeared within the sand, All Might, standing proud before it swirled in on itself, and Endeavour appeared, sand flickering about like pale flames.

“But the reality is, heroes can’t do a single thing to fix the problem,” Sajin said; Endeavour melted, leaving a homeless woman sitting against a wall. “Heroes are a hammer designed to combat villains, but the kinds of people that become villains don’t need a hammer, Hisoka, they need help.”

The homeless woman vanished, replaced by a child crying as a figure stood with their hand raised threateningly. Once again, it was whisked away, and a man rested on his knees, crying over a woman’s still body.

“Unless we deal with the underlining conditions that create villains, they will continue to appear,” I said quietly, piecing it together. “Providing aid to those who desperately need it is the panacea for villainy; Heroes are just the cleanup.”

Sajin glanced down and met my eyes with a smile.

“I knew you’d understand, kiddo,” Sajin said, patting me on the shoulder a final time. “Hisoka, I told a friend of mine that I’d introduce you to her son, and I think you’d both get along. You want to come inside for a bit?”

I nodded at the request.

“Okay, Uncle Sajin,” I said.

As soon as the door opened, the sound of voices washed over me; I followed Sajin inside and through the mass of people Hayami had invited for the gathering. Sajin made a beeline towards a strange pair who was standing beside a table with an assortment of foods on it.

“Nyoko,” Sajin said as we approached. “This is my nephew, Hisoka—I’m sorry to say that he ran off and joined U.A instead of a proper school.”

I smiled at the joke—Nyoko was a tall woman, at roughly half a head higher than Sajin. Her skin was abnormal, matte black and impossibly smooth. Her eyes were round, two white circles with no pupils, and her mouth was a jagged line across her face.

“Hello Hisoka,” Nyoko said, her voice faint. “Sajin has spoken of you many times. This is my son, Kiyoshi. I’m afraid his quirk has left him unable to speak—I hope you will both become friends.”

Kiyoshi looked almost identical to his mother, white eyes on a canvas of matte black. Unlike his mother, his face was entirely absent of a mouth. As I always did when encountering someone with unique qualities, I found myself curious.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” I said, ducking my head slightly before taking the cue afforded. “Kiyoshi, do you attend Shiketsu?”

I had been expecting either a nod or a shake of the head, but instead, he lifted his hand from his pocket, revealing his phone. In moments he had written a message.

“Yes, I am a second-year for the hero studies course,” The phone read out loud, converting the message to audio. “Which school do you attend?”

Sajin unsubtly steered Nyoko away from the two of us and towards the staircase to the upper level. I assumed they wanted us to get to know each other without the stress of adult supervision. I turned my attention back to Kiyoshi. The other boy seemed very much aware of our mutual abandonment but didn’t seem to mind.

“I am a first-year at U.A,” I said. “I’m also in hero studies, although I am uncertain how closely the school’s curriculum mirror one another.”

Kiyoshi tilted his head at that and raised his phone once more.

“I am curious about the recent attack. It was reported to involve the first-year class.” Kiyoshi said through his phone’s speakers. “Were you involved in it?”

A rather direct question about what should have registered as a delicate subject. Given the medium in which he was forced to put a voice to his thoughts, the stiltedness might have been for the sake of brevity, but I had a feeling there was another element to it there.

“My class was the one involved; we were attacked during a training exercise at a rather secluded training facility,” I said, watching his eyes. “It was an attack targeting All Might, who was elsewhere during the event. When he did discover what was occurring, he was quick to defeat the villains.”

“Alarming,” Kiyoshi asked, holding his phone up. “What is All Might like in person?”

The swift topic change was notable, with no additional follow up questions about the villains or what had occurred.

“Energetic. He is always smiling,” I said, thinking about it. “Sometimes, he makes silly jokes. He once called out his catchphrase but modified it to announce that he was walking into the classroom like a normal person.”

Kiyoshi’s eyes seemed to change shape slightly, the muscles in his face moving upwards where his nose should have been. It was impossible to really know, but he may have been smiling. I took a moment to speak up about my own curiosity.

“Kiyoshi, do you mind if I ask you some questions about your quirk?” I asked. “I find myself very interested in its function. I assume it has some kind of combat capability, given you are a second year at a hero school, but its function isn’t intuitive to discern.”

Kiyoshi seemed to pause for a moment before quickly tapping out a message on his phone.

“Most people are afraid to ask about my quirk for fear of hurting my feelings,” The phone declared. “Are you not concerned about this?”

The directness reminded him of Tsuyu, and he wondered if the two would have gotten along.

“I am not making a value judgment about you based on your quirk; I am simply interested in its function,” I said, watching him. “If the topic is uncomfortable, we can move on from it.”

“It’s not,” Kiyoshi said, typing out his message. “My quirk allows me to absorb anything I am in contact with and hold it inside of myself.”

He’d abandoned the previous topic again, moving straight on through to the details of his quirk without pause. I had no issue following along, but I expected it could be jarring for most. The quirk itself could have made him a perfect counter to most melee combatants—dependant on how fast it activated. If it took more than a second, that might not be the case.

“Interesting,” I said, “Are you a melee combatant? How fast does it activate?”

The phone vanished into his palm, and with a flick of his wrist, it returned, the matte black of his skin peeling back away from it like slime.

“I prefer to grapple my opponents,” Kiyoshi said via the phone.

“I see,” I nodded, “Kiyoshi, without a functioning mouth or nose, you must have a nonstandard experience with most things. I assume you can absorb both oxygen, water and nutrients through your skin?”

Kiyoshi’s eyes changed again, thinning slightly as he typed.

“Yes, although the process takes much longer,” Kiyoshi explained, “Eventually, whatever I hold within myself will begin to break down and be digested.”

“Including your enemies,” I said offhandedly.

“Yes, it makes cleaning up much simpler,” Kiyoshi said, eyes changing again.

I saw the familiar shape and noted it as a smile of amusement.

“Are you able to taste what you absorb?” I wondered. “If you were to close your eyes and take in something from that table at random, could you identify what it was?”

“The shape and texture would be very noticeable,” Kiyoshi said, “But I cannot conventionally taste anything.”

Fascinating.

#

Hisoka’s Apartment, 4:59 PM.

Friday, 15th 2149.

“I’m still scratching my head over it,” Sajin said. “You remember Marcus, right?”

The officer who had delivered the news handled my appointment in the aftermath of the ‘Shoot N Leave’ incident. I remembered that Sajin had been on pretty good terms with the man.

“I remember him,” I nodded.

“Well, he was there last night at the party,” Sajin said, scratching his chin. “He said he was talking to a hero who’d come in from Australia on a little world tour he was doing—I’m going to be working with him for a couple of weeks.”

“Japan isn’t far from Australia,” I offered. “Have you met him yet?”

“Not yet,” Sajin admitted, “Problem is, my hero name got brought up, and the guy just started belly laughing right in the middle of the station but wouldn’t explain why. Marcus asked me what it could be about, but I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer,” I said, “I can ask around if you’d like?”

Eijiro might have known why it was funny; he seemed to be good with jokes.

“Nah, I’ll ask him when I meet the guy,” Sajin said, brushing it off. “Alright, I better get a move on—you need me to bring anything next time I drop by?”

“I think I have everything,” I said smiling, “Thank you for coming, Uncle Sajin.”

“No worries, buddy,” Sajin said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll see you soon.”

I walked him out of the apartment before closing the door behind him. I turned and moved back into the room. I took my uniform off and changed into a simple, plain pair of black business slacks and a white shirt. I made sure neither had any identifiable brands on them to avoid anything memorable in case I was seen.

Sajin tossed a wave back at the small orb of sand that was sitting in the corner of the stairwell before crossing the street. I waited five minutes until I was sure he wouldn’t be returning and then placed the portable external drives I’d prepared in my pocket. I latched the fabric face mask over my mouth and nose before leaving the apartment.

I dissolved, slipping under the locked roof access and reappearing on the other side. I took a moment to orient myself, and once I knew where I was going, I burst into sand. I angled upwards, crested the next building over, and continued. The city began to curve away as I moved higher, the mist of sand too thin for anyone without enhanced sight to spot even in the still fading light.

It took seven minutes to reach my first target of the night and the one I was least worried about being found at. I spread across the restaurant’s roof, seeping through the gaps in the ventilation duct on the roof. I split down every branch I came across until I had the entire building’s ventilation mapped out. I sent a tiny sprinkling of sand through each ceiling grate spread throughout the building.

The restaurant was open already, but only a few tables were actually occupied. I caught sight of the table we’d sat at so long ago. The table where that unknown group had remained watching us lay there, innocent and devoid of anything useful to me—I watched it for a moment longer, my mind creating shadows where each person had sat that night. My sand leaked into the security room, and I turned my attention there, leaving the memories behind.

The room was unoccupied. The security guard on duty stood by the kitchen’s back door and talked with a young woman in uniform. A spread of screens filled the room, a server rack and three computers, one of which had an open computer monitor. I stayed unformed, sending sand down onto the keyboard and mouse. I had no experience with the software being used, but there was an application with the same logo as the security monitors.

The application was already open, and I clicked through each tab until I found the settings. There was an option to change the file path where the security footage was being stored, and I expanded it. Folders upon folders, compressed, and dated by year—I found the year; 2141 and extracted the folder. I searched for the correct date and found it; March 5th.

I reformed partially inside the room, removed the portable drive and inserted it. I copied the files and then removed the drive, compressed the file, closed the application and returned everything to its original position. The other two computers were password protected with an attached scanner. The security guard’s lanyard did nothing to unlock them, and I was forced to dissolve again as the guard returned to the room.

I searched the building for people, figuring out who would have the lanyard needed to open the other computers. The ‘highest ranking’ person in the building was probably the chef or the host by the door, and neither of them would have access to the payment storage. The owner or the restaurant manager were the ones who would have dealt with that, but no one stood out as being either of those people.

I withdrew from the building, pushing back out onto the rooftop and then into the air—in the short time I’d been inside, much of the light had vanished as night came about. I spread out into the sky and began searching for my second target.