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 --XXXX--
The autumn air was crisp, carrying the first biting chill of the coming winter. For most students, it was just another winter.
However, for those involved in the Work Studies, it felt like a foreshadowing.
Izuku Midoriya stood in front of the mirror in the Nighteye Agency locker room, adjusting his costume, his hands trembling with nervousness.
Today was his first patrol day. A real patrol, on the streets, with Mirio.
"Ready, Midoriya?" Mirio asked, his face popping through the wallâliterally. His smile was as bright as always, full of optimism that Izuku desperately tried to absorb.
"Y-Yes! I'm ready, Togata-senpai!" Izuku stammered, slapping his cheeks to wake himself up.
After ten minutes, they hit the streets. The city was full of energy, a stark contrast to the tension that had settled in Izuku's gut ever since joining the agency. Sir Nighteye's humorless scrutiny weighed on him. He needed to prove himself. He needed to be worthy.
They turned a corner into a quiet, residential alleyway.
"We have to keep our eyes peeled," Mirio said, his tone shifting from cheerful to professional. "Villains don't always wear costumes. Sometimes they look just like-"
Bam.....
He stopped.
A small girl had burst out from a side alley, crashing into Izuku's legs.
She was tiny and wore a dirty, tattered hospital smock that was far too big for her. Her arms and legs were wrapped in bandages. Her hair was blue-gray, and a small, singular horn jutted from her forehead.
She was violently trembling like a terrified animal, a scene that froze Izuku in place.
"Please..." she whispered, clutching his leg so tight her knuckles went white. "Don't... go..."
"I'm sorry about my daughter, heroes."
The voice was smooth, calm, and utterly chilling.
Izuku looked up. A man had emerged from the shadows of the alley. He wore a green parka with a thick, purple fur collar, and a distinctive beak-shaped plague mask covered the lower half of his face. He was adjusting a white glove on his hand.
'Overhaul!'
The target. The man Sir Nighteye, was investigating.
Izuku's instincts screamed at him.
"Your daughter?" Izuku asked, his voice tight. He crouched down, wrapping a protective arm around the girl. "She seems terrified."
"She's just been scolded," Overhaul said, his golden eyes narrowing slightly behind the mask. "She's a difficult child. Come here, Eri. Let's not disturb these young heroes."
The girl flinched so hard she nearly fell over.
Mirio stepped in, his smile fixed, but his posture sending a subtle warning to Izuku. Don't engage. Not yet. We don't have the intel.
"Well, that mask is certainly distinctive!" Mirio said brightly, trying to diffuse the tension. "Are you from around here? We haven't seen you before!"
"Just passing through," Overhaul replied, his gaze never leaving Eri. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like my daughter back. We have places to be."
"She doesn't want to go," Izuku said, his grip on her tightening. He couldn't let go. He felt her terror vibrating against his own body. "She's shaking."
Overhaul sighed. "It's a family matter. You heroes are always so eager to stick your noses where they don't belong. Fine. If you're so concerned..."
He turned and began to walk back into the dark alley. "Why don't you come with us? I can explain everything away from prying eyes."
It was a trap. A blatant, obvious trap.
Mirio's hand clamped onto Izuku's shoulder. 'No.'
But Eri... Eri saw the look on Overhaul's face. She saw the slight movement of his hand toward his glove. She understood what happens when he removes that glove. She knew what he would do. He would kill them.
She released Izuku's leg.
"I..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry."
She stepped away from the warmth of the hero and walked toward the monster.
"Eri-chan?" Izuku gasped, reaching out.
"I'm going," she said, her voice dull and lifeless. She didn't look back. She walked to Overhaul, who placed a hand on her head, a gesture that looked possessive, not affectionate.
"Good girl," Overhaul said. He glanced back at the heroes. "Sorry for the trouble."
They soon vanished into the shadows.
Izuku stood there, his hand still outstretched, grasping nothing but empty air. The rain started to fall, as if mocking his weakness.
"Midoriya," Mirio said softly, his own smile gone. "We have to report this. We couldn't... we couldn't save her. Not today. If we had fought him there, without preparation... she could have been caught in the crossfire. We have to be smart."
Izuku lowered his hand. The logic made sense. It was the "right" hero move. But his heart felt like it was being torn in two. He had let go. He had let a terrified child walk back into hell.
But there was nothing he could do, so he followed Mirio to Sir Nighteye, hoping they could fast-track the rescue.
High above the alleyway, standing on the edge of a water tower, a figure draped in black watched the scene unfold.
Akaza didn't move. He stood like a statue, blending perfectly into the shadows of the overcast sky.
He saw it. He felt the girl's terror. It was a cold, sharp spike in his sensory field that made his own scars from his last life ache.
He watched Izuku and Mirio walk away. He watched Overhaul lead the girl deeper into the maze of backstreets.
He raised a hand to his ear, pressing the small communicator Nezu had given him.
"Location confirmed," he said, his voice a flat, dead monotone. "Target identified. 'Eri' is with him."
"Good work, Asura," Aizawa's voice crackled in his ear, sounding tired but relieved. "Do not engage. You are deep in enemy territory without backup. Return to base."
Akaza's eyes tracked the small, retreating figure of the girl. "When?"
"Excuse me?"
"The next phase," Akaza clarified, his gaze never leaving the little girl. "When do we strike?"
There was a pause on the line. "The raid is being coordinated with Nighteye and the police. Nezu predicts their actionable intel will be ready in a few days. We are planning a strike right before their operation starts."
"A few days," Akaza repeated.
"Asura. Nezu has a specific role for you. We need to leave a message. We need to make sure the underworld knows that hurting children... is a death sentence. After you are done with the mission, there will be no cleanup. We will let the world see the fate of those whose evil knows no bounds."
"A few days," Akaza scoffed, though he didn't argue. "Understood."
The wind whipping his long hair around his face. He looked down at the alley one last time.
Overhaul and Eri were about to enter a door at the rear of a building. Just before they crossed the threshold, as if sensing the weight of his gaze, Eri looked up.
Her red eyes were wide, swimming with tears, filled with a despair so deep it looked like a bottomless pit. She saw the dark figure standing on the rooftop, silhouetted against the gray sky. He didn't look like the bright, colorful heroes who had just let her go. He looked like a shadow.
She saw his face. She saw the black sclera of his eyes, so much like the darkness she lived in.
Akaza didn't wave. He didn't smile. He locked eyes with her, and with slow, deliberate movements, he mouthed four words.
I. Will. Save. You.
Eri blinked. The heroes had left. The bright, shining hope had faded. But this... this shadow... he was still watching. He wasn't looking away.
For the first time in years, a tiny, fragile spark lit up in her chest. It wasn't happiness. It was something fiercer. It was a promise.
She sniffled, wiping her eyes with her bandaged hands. She looked at the shadow man and gave a small, jerky nod.
'I believe you.'
Then, Overhaul shoved her inside, and the door slammed shut.
Akaza stood there for a long minute, staring at the closed door. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, tightening until the leather of his gauntlets creaked under the strain.
"A few days," he whispered to himself. "Just hang on."
********
The following week at U.A. was a study in contrasts.
To the casual observer, classes proceeded as normal. Cementoss taught modern literature. Midnight taught hero history. Ectoplasm taught math. But beneath the surface, the currents of the Work Studies were dragging the students in different directions.
Izuku Midoriya looked lost. He sat in class, his eyes glazed over, staring at nothing. He muttered to himself less, scribbled in his notebooks less.
The guilt of letting Eri go was eating him alive. Every time he looked at his hands, he saw them empty, failing to grasp hers.
Ochaco and Tsuyu tried to cheer him up, but their own experiences with Ryukyu, hearing about the drug trade, and the quirk-destroying bullets had left them somber as well. Kirishima came back from Fat Gum's agency with tales of street fights, but even his hardening couldn't protect him from the grim reality of the streets.
But there was something more terrifying in the classroom than Izuku's depression.
It was Akaza's silence.
He had always been quiet. But this was different. This was a coldness that radiated from him like frost. He didn't speak during lunch. He didn't participate in the banter. He sat in his seat, perfectly still, his black eyes focused on a point in the middle distance that no one else could see.
When Kaminari tried to joke with him about a video game, Akaza had simply looked at him until Kaminari nervously apologized and retreated.
Even Bakugo seemed to sense the dangerous aura radiating off him and kept his distance, offering only silent nods.
Only one person could get past that wall.
It was lunch break. The cafeteria was loud, but the table in the corner, occupied by the Big 4, was dead silent. Akaza was staring at his food. His hand was clenched around his chopsticks, trembling slightly.
Rumi watched him. She knew. He had told her everything the night he came back from the "scouting mission." He had told her about Eri. About her bandages. About the look in her eyes.
She reached out, her hand covering his clenched fist.
Akaza flinched, his head snapping up. His eyes were wild for a fraction of a second, the Battle God reacting to a threat, before they softened instantly upon seeing her.
Rumi didn't say anything. She just squeezed his hand, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. She looked him in the eye and gave him an encouraging smile.
I know, her eyes said. I know you're angry. I know you're scared for her. But you're going to save her. I know it.
The tension in Akaza's shoulders bled away. He took a deep breath, turning his hand over to interlace his fingers with hers.
"I'm okay," he murmured.
"I know you are," she replied softly. "You're just charging up."
He gave her a sweet smile. "Yeah. Charging up."
He thought of the little girl in the alley. He thought of the promise he had mouthed.
'She looked like me,' he realized, the thought surfacing again. Not just the eyes. The abandonment. The pain. She's alone in a world that hurts her.
His grip on Rumi's hand tightened, grounding him.
But she won't end up like me. She won't lose. She will have a family. He will be her family. He will save her.
'Few more days,' Akaza thought, his resolve hardening into something unbreakable, something diamond-hard. 'Just a few more days, Overhaul. And then... I'm going to tear you apart.'
--XXXX--
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