7,000 Miles Away - Musutafu, Japan
Nemuri Kayama stood at the front of Class 1-A, her professional smile firmly in place, watching her students choose hero names with the enthusiasm of teenagers who still believed heroism was glorious rather than the cruel reality it really was.
The students laughed, revised, and argued among themselves. They were so young, so hopeful, so certain that choosing the right name would somehow define their destinies. Nemuri maintained her upbeat teaching persona, making suggestions, offering encouragement,
But inside under all the facade of her hero identity, where none of them could see, she was hollow.
It happened sometimes, triggered by seemingly random things. Today it had been Midoriya, nervous, brilliant Midoriya, who'd chosen the name "Deku" despite its original use as an insult, reclaiming it as something meaningful. The way he'd explained his choice, voice shaking with emotion, talking about how someone important had helped him see it differently...
It reminded her of another child, one she'd never let herself think about, and one who'd be about 4 years older than these students now.
She'd told herself for all these years that she'd made the right choice. That abandoning her infant son with his paternal grandmother in Gotham had been necessary, pragmatic, the only option for a young heroine trying to establish her career. That she couldn't have raised him alone, couldn't have managed single motherhood with her persona.
She'd told herself he'd be fine, that his grandmother would care for him adequately, that someday when she was more established she could reconnect, maybe build some kind of relationship, but she hadn't gone through with anything for years and now he was an adult.
She'd missed everything.
(A/N when I began writing this story a while back I thought she was older than what I thought, but I just checked google and it said shes 30 i thought she was like in her late 30s maybe 40 lol so im going to change her age so this makes sense since im way to far ahead now to change everything)
The truth was she had no idea if her son was even alive. She'd tried to check on him, just once to confirm he was okay. But the private investigator she'd hired had reported that the grandmother had died in what appeared to be a psychotic episode, jumping from a building, and the child had disappeared into Gotham's sprawl with no subsequent records.
Just... gone
Vanished
And she'd done nothing. Because finding him would mean admitting what she'd done, exposing her secret would just ruin the empty life she still had.
So she'd buried it deeper and tried to forget.
But days like this, watching children full of hope choose their hero identities, seeing their excitement about the futures they'd build, their certainty that heroism meant something, made the guilt resurface like bile.
"Midnight-sensei? Are you okay?" Yaoyorozu's voice cut through her thoughts, concerned and polite.
Nemuri blinked, realizing she'd been staring at nothing, her smile slipping. She forced it back into place. "Fine! Just thinking about my own hero name selection. Ancient history now, but it was stressful at the time!"
The students laughed, accepting the explanation, and returned to their discussions. Class continued with its usual energy, and Nemuri played her part flawlessly, maintaining the persona of confident, slightly inappropriate teacher who had it all figured out.
When the class finally ended and students filed out chattering excitedly, Nemuri remained at her desk, staring at the whiteboard covered in their chosen names.
Deku. Uravity. Shoto. Red Riot. Chargebolt. Earphone Jack.
Names chosen with thought and care, meant to represent who these children wanted to become. Names they'd wear proudly as they saved lives, fought villains, became the heroes society needed.
Did Suguro ever choose a name for himself? Did he grow up wanting to be a hero like his mother, did he hate her, did he even know who she was? Did he think about her at all?
Or, the thought that haunted her most, did he not survive long enough to choose anything? Was there a grave somewhere in Gotham with his name on it, marking the end of a life she'd thrown away?
She'd tried to visit Gotham once, two years ago, thinking she might search for him. But she'd stood at the airport, tickets in hand, and couldn't board the plane. Couldn't face what she might find.
Coward. She was a coward wearing a hero costume, playing at righteousness while carrying a secret that would destroy her reputation if it ever surfaced.
"Still here?" Aizawa's voice came from the doorway. He looked exhausted as always, sleeping bag tucked under his arm. "Class ended ten minutes ago."
"Just reviewing the students choices. Some of them are quite creative."
"Mm." Aizawa studied her with those too-perceptive eyes. "I overheard the students say you seemed distracted during class. Is everything alright?"
"Fine, just tired, long day, you know how it is."
He clearly didn't believe her but was professional enough not to push. "If you need to talk to someone, I'm told I'm a decent listener. Emphasis on 'I'm told,' I personally doubt it."
Despite everything, Nemuri smiled genuinely. "Thanks, Shouta. I'm okay, really."
He nodded and left, and Nemuri was alone with her thoughts again.
She pulled out her phone and, for what felt like the hundredth time today, pulled up the Gotham news feeds she monitored obsessively despite knowing she shouldn't, something she found herself increasingly doing more as these years went on. She told herself she was just keeping informed about international hero work, about American crime trends, about nothing specific.
But really, she was looking for anything that might be a clue. Any mention of a young man named Suguro Crane, any hint that her son had survived and was somewhere in that terrible city.
Today's headlines were typical Gotham horror: " Attack Leaves armed prisonar convey with two dozen heroes either dead or missing along with the entire GCPD team, reports are only one Survivor who is currently Hospitalized With Severe Psychological Trauma" "Mayor Announces Increased Security" "Batman Investigating suspected new villain group Cranes Wings, Source Claims but we can't verify"
Cranes wings...
The reports said the leader was young, late teens, maybe early twenties but for now no known image of him is known to exist. They said he was brilliant, methodical, completely without mercy.
Crane... that name?
When she saw that name, something twisted in her chest. It couldn't be. The odds were astronomical. Her son's name was Suguro Crane, but Cranes wings was a historically used name for various things like the tactic that ancient Korean admiral used against Japan. Any rational person would see that it was very probably completely unrelated, just a coincidence of names and timing.
Probably.
But she'd didn't try to find out for sure, because confirming it meant one of two outcomes: Either he was someone else entirely and her son was still missing or dead. Or he was the the new villain killing and terrorizing innocents, which meant her abandonment had created a monster, meant her child had become everything heroes were supposed to stop.
She didn't know which possibility terrified her more.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to the empty classroom sitting in her chair curling into a ball, to the son she'd abandoned.
"I'm so, so sorry."
But sorry meant nothing.
Sorry changed nothing.
Sorry was just another comfortable lie she told herself to survive the guilt.
Nemuri Kayama, Midnight, the R-Rated Hero, gathered her materials and left the classroom, carrying her secret shame like a weight around her neck. She'd go home, she'd drink until the guilt faded to manageable levels, she'd wake up tomorrow and play her role again.
Because that's what she did. That's what she'd always done.
She was a hero who'd committed the most unheroic act imaginable: abandoning her child to save herself.
And she'd never, ever be able to forgive herself for it.