章節 40: To Take Away His Pain
'My arrogance made me see heroics as a simple matter. It is not. Both it and the law I argued be upheld even at the expense of compassion are messy things. There is rarely any cut and dry answer. Very few are willing to see themselves as anything but the hero of their own story. Circumstance turns many to crime. To simply brand them villains and sentence them to life in prison solves nothing. I have spent the last five years speaking with many of these villains and their stories are nothing short of mournful.'
—Excerpt from 'Reminiscing on the Final Hour' by Hinata Ononoki.
Kurogiri has many concerns, the least of which is making sure Tomura doesn't get himself hurt with whatever scheme he's concocted. He has a few assets observe and monitor his ward as he goes about his business meeting Giran, not truly interested in the why, but more interested in making sure Tomura isn't caught up in a Yakuza attack.
Thankfully, the boy is holed up in his room and Kurogiri can get down to League business.
His bar is the meeting place, a neutral zone with a suite of electronic countermeasures for security. It is also deep in League territory and should there be an attack, he has three cells nearby and dozens of other minor villains causing a distraction for the heroes and police in the region. No one will have any reason to visit his bar.
Tonight, he nurses a glass of gin and sits at a table with three others. After Sensei and Kurogiri, these three are the most important people in the League's command structure. The woman in gold nursing her beer controls their branch in Okinawa whilst the elderly man drinking water runs Shikoku.
Kurogiri has known them for years and values their utility and dedication. These two are pillars of logic and calm, powerful and obedient to Kurogiri's commands.
It is the third, the youngest amongst them, that Kurogiri is uncertain of. The boy is untested and an unknown factor.
"We've managed to recover most of the Yakuza's assets after All Might's attack," the elderly man says, eyes clear and sharp. "Give us a few more weeks and we should have total control."
Kurogiri nods, glad that his long-standing enemies are finally defunct. He's never much liked the group. The last time he dealt with them nearly involved one of those vile quirk-suppressing bullets to the head.
"Our control of local credit unions has increased as their assets have grown," the old man continues. "We should have a legal source of funds for the next few years. I'll have a full report of our financial assets next week once our acquisition of the Detnerat Group through our proxy holdings is complete."
The woman chuckles. "Not like you to be late on something."
"I was reorganising our spies in the military. A few nearly got caught and we lost a casino. Sending resources to Okinawa overextended some of our agents in the Meta Liberation Army."
"Well," the woman continues with a flourish, accepting the rebuke gracefully, "things in Okinawa are lovely. We have Taiwanese remnants trying to smuggle bioweapons, a massive weapons deal between America and few dictators off the coast of Okinawa, and the cultists are in a tizzy ever since someone raided their weapons shipments."
Kurogiri takes a sip of his drink. "Business as usual then?"
"Yes," she agrees, taking a swig of her beer. "I'll let you know if things are fucked in a new way."
He glances to the boy who has stayed silent so far. The boy is nervous, his hands tightly clasped together to stop from fidgeting.
"How did Stain's attack affect our holdings in Hokkaido?"
The youngest amongst them shrugs, affecting composure. He isn't the real division leader. No, the previous head died fighting off Yoroi Masha and destroying League data before the organisation could be compromised further.
"Not as bad as Stain was mouthing off. Gutted an affiliate organisation and even managed to localise a hideout. Mostly, he took out the fight club. Snuck in, got the boss man first, took out everyone else."
"Unfortunate. His family has been taken care of?"
"Had a runner drop off payment for the next six months. Added a bit more cause they're having a kid. I hope that's not a problem."
"Not at all. Are people lying low?"
"Trying to. Thanks for getting us out before the heroes hit the bases. Not a lot of breathing room, but we're managing. The only problem is that people don't got security. Got kids breaking the rules and sorting out their business on the streets. Even had a few people start shit in the safe zones. Shinobu dealt with them, but then Hawks got involved, and we all know how that ends."
Kurogiri looks back to the woman, knowing she has a surplus of assets. Not least of which because Kurogiri has moved League personnel south since the stadium attack to keep many of them out of the limelight
"We'll be taking personnel and supplies to help out in Hokkaido. We still need order in the region."
"It'll hurt the budget," the woman says. "And it'll hurt our ability to neutralise the arms deals should they try to do more than use Okinawa as a safe port. Should I include the teams monitoring the cultists for your selection?"
"No. Sensei has ordered they remain at their posts."
"Ain't never seen Sensei before, boss," the boy says.
"Be lucky you haven't," the lady says. "You'd piss your pants."
Kurogiri glares. "Enough. If we affect the monitoring teams, we'll be violating our end of the accords. Understood?"
"Understood," the elderly man says without complaint. "Speaking of the accords, I hear rumours that the World Walker is back in play."
"Unfortunately. All interference with Imperial assets is forbidden. Remind your cells that if they do, we're cutting them loose and disavowing them." He looks back to the child. "Report to Tomura should you have any issues."
The boy from Hokkaido clicks his teeth. "The fucking reason do I have to talk to him?"
"He is your superior."
"That kid ain't my boss," the child snaps. "Never seen him in Hokkaido. Never seen him get my people out before the hero's attack. Fuck if I'm going to listen to a spoiled brat."
"Be very careful of your next words," Kurogiri warns, mist popping menacingly.
"You ain't gonna kill me no matter what I say. He would, but he ain't got rules. You do. That's why you're the bossman, not some child."
It takes every iota of control Kurogiri has to not remove the boy's head. Because he's coming dangerously close to insubordination.
The woman from Okinawa shifts uncomfortably. "You plan on shortening your life expectancy any further?"
"Don't act like the rest of you don't think the same. What's he done? Attacked a stadium and killed some civilians. That got the heroes on our asses. Attacked Hosu and for what? Burning a few empty buildings and losing an entire cell, including three Nomu."
"Are you refusing my order?" Kurogiri asks slowly, voice soft as the first leaf falling before the storm.
There are lots of things Sensei, and by extension Kurogiri, will accept. Everyone who works for them knows that. Questioning commands has never been a crime and neither has raising objections. But refusing an order without due cause is something of a death sentence.
That is why everyone falls silent, wondering if they will lose another division commander in such a short time.
"No," the boy says after a beat. "Merely raising my concerns over your channel of communication."
"Then follow my commands."
"You know I'll do what you say, boss. No need to threaten. Know I'm loyal to you."
Kurogiri ignores that. "Is there anything else of importance?"
There isn't. Or at least, no one is willing to test his temper.
Which is good because Kurogiri needs to travel to Harare and speak to one of his informants observing that part of the world. They don't have as extensive a network as he likes in Southern Africa, but they also don't have enemies from the region. And things are still as stable as he left them.
After he has contacted his informants, restructured their personnel and given them new orders, he makes a quick jaunt to South America. In back alleys and gambling dens in Argentina, he speaks to Sensei's agents who are preparing to launch a counterstrike against a rebel faction. The Brazillian president has nothing but good news for Kurogiri and assures him that their bilateral trade agreement with Canada is progressing well.
With that information, he returns to Japan. Hopefully, everything hasn't gone horribly wrong in the few hours he has been gone.
Sensei is in his room as always, monitoring Japan and the world through a dozen different screens: some which show surveillance footage, others the stock market; three dedicated to underground media and news; and four screens simply observing the movements of the world's armies. It looks like there will be another war in India and Korea is due an economic crash.
Kurogiri doesn't know what patterns his master searches for with the aid of a quirk, perhaps many of them, but he trusts Sensei to inform him of any important changes.
"The last operation was an abject failure," Kurogiri reports tersely. "We lost five Nomu and managed only to kill low-level heroes. We also lost Stain. The only good thing from this is that our operatives managed to take Yakuza assets after All Might's battle."
"In many ways, this looks like a failure," Sensei says. "But I believe we gained much more out of this than anyone realises."
"Tell that to the plans I'll have to rework. The fire Nomu would have been of great help come our next operation. It would have paired perfectly with the invisible Nomu."
He is pacing as he speaks, a nervous energy filling him mist body.
"Something else is bothering you."
No shit, he thinks but will never say.
"They aren't loyal to Tomura."
Sensei cocks his head. "Who?"
"The division leaders."
"And why would they be? Respect is earned, not freely given."
"But he's your heir."
Sensei chuckles. "You're a father upset the children at the park aren't playing nice with your son. I told you many times that I had hoped you would be my successor. They are loyal to you because they see your work for their benefit. You make the plans that keep that advance their interests and the contingencies that ensure their safety."
Kurogiri is too dignified to lash out and argue like a petulant child. They should be loyal to Tomura first and foremost.
"Tell me how this was a success in any way," Kurogiri demands tersely, annoyed enough that angering the Strongest Man Alive isn't a concern.
A part of him knows he has little to fear from Sensei so long as he remains loyal. Perhaps humiliation should he anger the man, but nothing that he can't walk away from.
"Peace, Kurogiri. You're a great planner for tangible things. Money, assets, and people are within your sphere. But you aren't very good at planning for more subtle things like socioeconomic influences and ideals. Tell me, what do you think of Hisashi's son?"
"He's a contradictory fool. He agreed with Stain, agreed that his personal ideals were ultimately false, yet the world praises him."
"Not the world. He has a lot of detractors like Mt. Lady. A lot of his fame comes from defeating Stain. Most of it though comes because he cares more about people than he does ideals or duty or money. His sincerity to save people is palpable. And that's important."
"You want to use him."
Sensei smiles cruelly. "Yes. I want to see his full potential."
"As a villain? Hisashi would wage a war against the League if you touched him." He tenses, his mind leaping to make the connection. "He would go after Tomura."
"Perhaps. But the boy holds One For All. To steal him away, to turn him to my viewpoint, would crush All Might, and my brother's quirk would finally be under my control. And that can be done without harming the boy."
Kurogiri stares at Sensei for a long moment, unsure if he heard that right.
"Your brother?" he ventures cautiously.
Sensei turns his head slowly and Kurogiri feels his life expectancy plummet. The great villain stands with deliberate slowness. At his full height, he towers over Kurogiri.
"I would usually kill anyone if they heard that slip-up. But you have proven useful and you are loyal."
Kurogiri takes a step back, failing to master the instinctive reaction.
"May I… ask?"
For a long moment, Sensei watches him. One wrong move and Kurogiri will be a corpse. There is no world in which he can face Sensei, especially not one personally angered by his actions.
"Do you know what our current system of heroics is based on?"
"Vancouver Island's Hero Conglomerate," Kurogiri answers immediately, terrified of the consequences of hesitation. "They were the first hero agency from what I understand."
"Yes. But before them, in the chaos after Stormwind and Titan were defeated, peace and freedom were kept by a group of people with quirks. They enforced the rule of law through force and the threat of violence. Until the inevitable occurred. The people they empowered saw them as a threat and gave them an ultimatum they refused. Their reward for their sacrifices was to be branded as the first villains of this modern era. And since then, they have been in a perpetual war between heroes and villains. Japan took this model without considering the consequences. I knew many of those first villains and smuggled those unwilling to wage an endless war."
"They were your allies."
"Yes. And in many ways, I founded the Vancouver Island Villain Association. I saw a world I could not abide by, one where my brother was hated for not having a quirk. Many flocked to my strength and we fought the extremists and their backers. Any who harboured a grudge against the quirkless, and even the quirkless who hated us, were the enemies we faced. We forced peace through our strength, and when there was stability, I went to Vancouver to help my allies once more."
Kurogiri listens attentively as his master speaks of the past as though it was yesterday, events centuries old still clear in Sensei's mind. This isn't a history easily found. Sensei's past is a mystery, one the man has actively kept hidden. To find any knowledge of the man is to trace his influence on the world, to trace China's failed invasions and the deaths of an Emperor and his Guard.
Though he can't actively confirm it, Kurogiri believes Sensei played a role in every major conflict in the past century, guiding one side to ruin whilst empowering another. There is no proof but in the long-term effects that benefited Japan foremost, and the League eventually.
"I was there for years, setting them up for their coming war. I taught them the laws of power and the nature of the Great Game. I showed them how to survive in the dark and left a strong structure. When I returned to Japan, do you know what I found?"
Kurogiri closes his eyes. "A land of heroes."
Sensei smiles but it feels nothing close to benevolent or cheerful. He leans forward and gestures theatrically with his arms.
Kurogiri doesn't process the next few seconds very well. All he knows is that the air itself changes. It becomes heavy and feels like standing in the eye of a storm. Malice, deep and ancient, an endless river of loathing, crushes him beneath its weight.
All of that occurs in one moment before it disappears.
Where once there was a simple room with monitoring equipment, there is now a destroyed room. The tiles have been torn to shreds, the walls eviscerated and the equipment ground to a cloud of fine metallic dust. Sensei remains standing, uncaring of the sudden destruction.
Around Kurogiri the tiles are undamaged. The circle is tiny though, barely large enough to contain him.
"I found my brother calling himself a hero," Sensei says in clipped, flat tones. "I found my brother working for the government. One of their first heroes. A shining example of how the government was protecting the people from my organisation. From my allies."
Sensei inhales and paces around Kurogiri slowly, not saying a word. "I battled my brother and broke him over my knee. But the fool refused to surrender or give up. He passed on his quirk with instructions to kill me. My last gift to my brother turned against me. He was their shining beacon, their great hero, their angel and saint."
Sensei stops right behind Kurogiri. His senses come alive and he sees the room clearly, sees the dust that settles on shattered tile and the location of each rip in the walls. Time, for a single moment, seems dilated for Kurogiri.
"My greatest betrayer was their hero."
The air shifts once more and the malice returns, creeping up his spine and reminding Kurogiri that he lives only at this man's mercy. He can feel the oceans of blood Sensei has made, the throne of broken bones and limitless strength that he sits upon. Like this, he can remember that Sensei is a monster first and foremost.
His voice is the whisper of a blade slicing a throat.
"I sought those responsible for his betrayal. I killed them and their families, took their quirks and used them against their allies to destroy their morale. I broke all monuments to their hubris. I became the devil they wished me to be. I fought off the Emperor of that time and killed their heroes. They called me a living nuke and I could have ruled over a country of bone and ash. Do you know what stopped me?"
"No," he says weakly, ashamed that his voice breaks in the presence of this man who is determination embodied.
"A single child stood against me. I offered her the chance to run. Instead, that little girl drew a line in the sand. I had just killed her family and friends and heroes. Any other child would have been terrified. But she stood tall and proud, braver than any who call themselves heroes. 'I'm not afraid of monsters,' she said. Any other day, I would have killed her, a girl no older than your dead daughter."
It takes all his self-control not to rage, not to shout at this man. Because no matter how sick the idea makes him, Sensei is the only person who can grant him his revenge. He is the only one who can kill All Might.
"I stayed my hand because the battle was over. Those responsible for my brother's betrayal were dead. And yet, that little girl let me know I had lost the war. When a child is willing to stand against you, then your methodology has failed. I could destroy this society easily, but it would simply reform stronger than before. It cannot be by my hands. My methods are old and outdated, unsuited to this era. It must be my successor."
Sensei takes a seat once more, another spot untouched by his quirk, and lounges languidly. But the weight never truly disappears. The scars of his anger remain, a reminder of the power he so casually wields.
"And if Midoriya is his ally, then all the better."
-TDB-
This facility is on the outskirts of Mustafu and highly guarded with layers of security. The security guards in stiff body armour are the easiest to spot but, if one spends enough time, the roving security cameras and monitoring drones reveal themselves.
It has been some time since he last came here. The last was a few days before his internship, and Fumikage has been too busy ever since to visit. Now seems as good a time as any with school starting up again in a few days. He doesn't know when next he'll see the children, and given that he has vital news, now is the best time to speak to them.
Just admit you miss them, Dark Shadow says fondly.
Fumikage rolls his eyes as he approaches the first of many security barriers. Amongst them are a full-body X-ray scan for weapons, a physical body search, and biometric verification. Finally, he will need to hand over the UA authentication pass Aizawa gave him so long ago.
He walks to the first checkpoint and reaches in his pocket to retrieve his ID. Except, the woman waves it away, raising a brow.
"Not for you, Inquisitor."
Fumikage freezes and looks to the security guard. She looks average, her mutation being lizard frills down her neck, and undoubtedly on the other parts of her body that are hidden by the armour, and bright yellow eyes. There is nothing special about her. Most of all, there isn't a single speck of white or a chrysanthemum anywhere in sight.
And yet, against all reason, she calls him by the name granted to him by the Imperial Household, a name that should be a secret.
"I was unaware this facility belonged to... to us," he finally settles on, a weight in his throat.
Her eyes have slits instead of round pupils. "We just run security, sir. Anything else, you'd have to search our databases. I don't have the clearance." Unspoken, is that he does.
"Understood. Thank you for the information."
She smiles, and it looks so shy as to be out of place. "You're welcome, sir. No need to show ID again."
And he doesn't need to show a single piece of ID. He receives nods from the guards instead of a pat-down for concealed weapons. The doors locked by biometric locks open automatically without prompting.
He greets the caretaker politely as always. The man with quills barely musters up the energy to wave weakly, but Fumikage ascribes it to the dark bags under his eyes. He's had long days and even longer nights this past week and understands that level of exhaustion intimately. Yesterday was the first day he returned home at a decent time, and even then, his memories of the past week had plagued any attempts at sleep.
Pushing away the tiredness is only a matter of willpower as he walks down the hallways. There are signs of damage as always, like the wall melted through with lava or the many holes from fists or bodies thrown around.
He smiles fondly and crosses the final threshold. The space is just as beautiful as it was before, the right side mimicking an open valley with only a fox statue to interrupt the expanse, and the left side is thick with plants and vegetation.
"Hey, Fumi," a blonde girl shouts and tackles him to the ground. "Where ya been?"
"Busy." He grunts and shrugs her off harshly. She giggles, unhurt, and scurries away to find another of her friends.
He walks towards the heavy plant life. It is always a risk as entering is asking to be pranked by any of the rambunctious children. And indeed, the moment he passes under a tree he is soaked to the bone.
He looks towards the giggling and sees the redhead boy with racoon eyes. "Got you."
"Indeed," he says, wiping water away from his eyes. "Do me a favour, please?"
The boy cocks his head. "If you get me chocolate." Fumikage simply stares until the boy shifts nervously. "Fine."
"Call everyone else to the statue. I have something to show you."
"It better be good."
The kid scurries away before he can reply. I like them.
"I know you do."
Fumikage walks towards the statue and waits patiently for the children. It only takes fifteen minutes, a few explosions, and nearly a dozen fights before a group of eight children sit on the grass before him.
The rest of the group is just as diverse as the first child: a girl with feline features and burning blue fire; a boy with pink eyes playing with coral; one who looks like a very fury human the slings lava at another child who makes steam; a kid with a horse's snout being flown around by a girl with wings; and finally a brawny child who flicks ink and Dark Shadow.
"What are you gonna show us?" the girl with translucent wings asks.
"I know a little about your past," Fumikage says. "Not much, but enough to know what happened to your village hidden in leaves."
"Can we not, please?" That's the smallest one, a boy with pink eyes and coral on his hands, who speaks. "I don't want…"
One of the older children with red fur wraps an arm around the kid and pulls him close. They all look sad though some hide it better than others, like the redhead who shows no emotions but the shifting of his sand gourd.
"I do not bring up these emotions without cause."
There are benefits to having lots of money. Holographic emitters are one such benefit. The image it shows is of the man responsible for the suffering of these children who are nothing but kind and generous and beautiful in their simple joy.
"Nagato," the blonde girl whispers in horror. "How did… He's not supposed to…"
Fumikage raises his hand to calm them before her distress spreads any further. At best, the group looks ready to run in terror.
"Peace. He can never harm you again. I have ensured it."
"How?" the redhead asks.
Fumikage smiles. "He is imprisoned, and I watched him get taken away. They'll send him to Tartarus, and no one will ever see him again."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He has only half a moment to react before there is a pile of children crushing him. There are thanks and sobs and relived words from the children. Mostly, Fumikage tries to get oxygen in his lungs before he blacks out.
The children can barely keep still over the next two hours. There's steam and lava and sand and children strong enough to crush steel flying through the air. It looks like a warzone and only Dark Shadow's timely intervention spares him from more than a few cuts. Until Dark Shadow isn't fast enough and a piece of rock slices through his arm.
That forces the kids to stop. The oldest, the redhead, has the decency to drag him to their caretaker. The man has a disappointed gaze for both Fumikage and the little tanuki until they explain.
"It's good to see him in prison," the man says after the children have been sent to bed. "I think the spirits of their parents can rest at peace. That little fox will happy."
Fumikage checks his bandage once more. The wound won't need stitching and will heal cleanly so long as he doesn't do anything too foolish in the next few days.
"It is the least I could do. It was an act of good. And I needed to do something good."
"Yes. But he was always hidden through proxies and a dozen false leads. You had to have paid a price for it. What did it cost you?"
He thinks of the things he has seen fighting in the dark, the monsters and corruption. It runs counter to his memory of losing Asui's friendship, and a part of him knows it can never be recovered. Most of all, he thinks of the dead he has seen and knows that he would take those lives if it meant holding back the abyss.
It is a loss of innocence, one Fumikage mourns for no one will ever know the cost to his soul. No one will ever see him crying in the shower or his hands shaking as something reminds him of those who have fallen. No one will see his crushing guilt or fear.
"Everything," he says as a compromise.
"That's a high price to pay."
"You told me once you hoped I had the strength to pay the ultimate price. I've come to learn that giving up your life to save someone is easy. That is not the hard part."
"What is?"
He looks to his hands, red with his dried blood. It seems appropriate for this moment that his hands are stained red. Perhaps he never took those lives, but Dark Shadow and his dragon did, and both belong to him. He ordered them, even if he didn't personally take those lives. It doesn't absolve him of the acts.
They were lost to the darkness, his companion says soothingly.
Rationally, he understands that. Emotions and adolescence don't lend themselves to rationality.
"Sacrificing your beliefs for the greater good," he says heavily.
The caretaker pauses. "I see. I hope you find a light at the end of your road."
"As do I," he says quietly.
"I don't know the path you're going down. And I'm sorry to say this, but I can't risk you being near these kids any longer. That's not the lesson I want them to learn. I know I can't force you to do anything, but please, respect my wishes. I know you care for these children. And this is the best things for them."
It takes him a long moment to understand the caretaker has finished speaking. His ears ring, drowning out all sounds. Those words are distorted as though he's underwater. More than anything, he suspects he isn't hearing those words with his ears, but instead his soul is understanding the intent behind them.
Fumikage closes his eyes. Forces down his sudden and hot anger. Opens his eyes.
"I… understand," he says slowly, voice thick and heavy. "Thank you for everything."
"It's been a pleasure, Fumikage Tokoyami."
He takes the man's hand, numb. It would be so easy to snap it in twain. Calling upon Dark Shadow's claws would be easy as breathing. It would make sense to destroy this man trying to keep him away from one of his joys in life, children who look up to him and see someone they can trust in.
"And to you. Call me should the need ever arise. I will answer without question."
"And bring an army in white whilst you're at it."
"You do know," he accuses, though there is no heat in it. Everything tastes like ashes now.
"Not all of it. But I figured out who they were a long time ago. It was enough to guess why they call you sir. There is no space for kindness with that uniform."
They say no more and Fumikage leaves. The guards outside sense his mood and leave a wide berth as he leaves. He forces a smile for the woman with the lizard mutation, but she seems more frightened by the rage smouldering in his eyes than comforted by his teeth.
The world is coloured red with his rage as he walks aimlessly, and he wants to break everything. Because how is it fair that he makes sacrifices only to lose relationships.
He's wrong, Dark Shadow says and sends a wave of reassurance through their bond.
That tells him his anger must be ready to explode if Dark Shadow isn't taking advantage to weaken his resolve. It doesn't work. If anything, it stokes the fire hotter and hotter.
Maya was kind to you.
"She was manipulating me!" Fumikage roars in the emptiness of the beach. "That. Is not. Kindness."
You need to calm—
Shut up and get out here.
He doesn't give Dark Shadow a choice and forces it to materialise. He chains the demon's will, suffocates any thought and feeling it has through rage and chains. Darkness settles around his skin as he wears Dark Shadow as a second skin.
He feels strength and speed flow through him. He punches the breakwater wall in anger and watches a part of it shatter to his newfound strength. A deluge of water rushes past, soaking him to the bone. Fumikage ignores the stone chips that bounce off Dark Shadow's skin.
He opens his mouth to roar once more. And then, he feels Watatsumi rise past the barriers of his soul and materialise. Except not fully.
The dragon's wings materialise roughly where his shoulders should be. He lets his insatiable anger guide him and he leaps forward, bounding a great distance with Dark Shadow's strength.
Watatsumi's wings beat before he hits the water and Fumikage finds himself flying, long wings catching the air. Any other day he would feel joy and exhilaration. Right now, all he wants to do is destroy something.
He doesn't know how far he flies before he comes across a tiny patch of land barely large enough to be called an island. It's a pitiful thing, rocky and unimportant. So, he doesn't feel any guilt in breaking the stones with his fists.
And when the rage burns so bright that he feels sick with it, Watatsumi's purple fire surrounds Dark Shadows talons. It makes it far easier to destroy like this.
It may be minutes or hours or days later before his rage finally abates. He lies in the sand, staring at the night sky. The stars are bright, thousands of pinpricks of light piercing the veil of darkness.
Dark Shadow and Watatsumi have both returned to his soul, exhausted by his ceaseless anger. If he had the strength to continue, they would.
"I'm sorry," he says to them both.
Never do that again, Dark Shadow warns, angry and fearful. You took away my will. Made me a slave in truth.
"Forgive me."
Dark Shadow does not respond but retreats further back into his soul until Fumikage can barely feel his first friend. Somewhere in the depths of his soul mired with blood his closest friend hides. He yearns to reach out but hesitates, afraid of what he will do.
That fear keeps him rooted to his spot in the sand, listening to the waves lap lazily against the shore. There is sand in his feathers and down his shirt, blood running down his reopened wound. He looks a mess and is glad no one can see him in this state.
"Slaveking."
He looks to the side and comes face-to-boot with the infernal engine of the World Walker. The creature that wears Hisashi Atakani's skin is indifferent to his state.
"Yes?" he asks, uncaring f the threat the thing poses.
"It is time to fulfil an oath," the World Walker says.
It has an odd voice, an echo of a thousand worlds beneath each word. Those worlds it has seen are worlds of ruined, blackened husks struck by calamity after abyssal calamity. Listen to the World Walker speak and the necessity of Fumikage's actions become apparent.
"What oath?" he asks of the thing that looks like Hisashi Atakani.
A doorway appears, cutting through the barrier between real and abyss casually. Beyond, he sees the madness that is the void, a space where laws are made by those who are powerful. Beyond, he sees a place closer to home than the real world.
"To the abyss, I will take you. Let your horde grow. Ascend to your throne."
He feels the dragon in his soul awaken and rises to the surface to observe. It vibrates with anticipation, with the need to rip and rend and give tribute to its king.
Dark Shadow, though, is silent.
It may be a foolish choice, but he has made many, and will likely make many more. He needs the strength to face any monster that breaks the natural laws. And the abyss with its alien laws and crystal engines of ruin is the only place he can gain that strength.
He stands and looks to land in the distance, land where the facility is. It is the past forever barred to him just like his friendship with Asui. And then he looks to the portal where his future lay, a pathway opened by a man in perfect white.
"So be it."
Fumikage Tokoyami steps through the portal. Let him battle monsters on the outside and not the demons within. That might, at the very least, distract him from the pain in his heart.
-TDB-
Izuku MIdoriya is stuck in liminal time, in a space between growth and stagnation. It would be so easy to step away from the door and turn back, to act as though everything is the same. A part of him would forever hate himself if he did so.
If he turns around, won't he be doing the same things he's always done? Running and lying his way through problems are things he knows. This, however, is to face something different.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Yes. I've been trying so hard to save people that I forgot I can help them."
Izuku smiles at his mother, honest as he can be. She is hesitant to let him go and he loves her even more for it. But sometimes, he needs to move away from her protective embrace. Maybe it is time for him to grow up.
"He's a villain. You don't need to listen to him."
"You can find wisdom anywhere. Even from people, you hate and people you think are stupid." Izuku shoulders his pack and tightens the straps. "Maybe he's wrong and maybe he's right. But I won't know if I don't find out for myself."
His mother sighs and pulls him into a quick embrace. "I hate that you're growing up."
"Everyone grows up."
With one final kiss, he stands and walks away from home.
This is the second time in a month that he is saying goodbye to this place he grew up in. He's hardly been here for more than a few days in the last few months, partly because of his time in the abyss with Shouto and partly because of his internship.
Still, he needs to know. Izuku boards the train and heads to Hakodate. Tomorrow will be the first full day of the time he plans on spending there.
Almost immediately he is struck by the poverty, the thick and heavy stench of despair and despondency. He walks the streets to the hotel his father procured, noting the lines of wealth and how only a small portion of the city thrives. And no matter how much it hurts not to stop the fights that occur, he forces himself only to observe and catalogue everything.
This change is too big for you to solve by being a hero to one person, Mikumo says, disquieted.
It is so prevalent he can't even figure out where to begin. How does one change the socioeconomic state of a city? Fighting villains won't work because he can't tell if there are any. Who should he rescue when people are trapped by the circumstances?
After he checks in to his hotel room, Izuku picks a direction and walks through the city. Doing so without intent reveals things he would otherwise never have noticed: the police exist not to protect the people, but to keep certain areas quarantined against the poverty; the hero agencies are sparse and understaffed; too many office buildings and storefronts are in disuse.
Despite the bad, there are areas of hope. There are parks and squares that seem to be protected by individuals wearing no uniform or gang colours, but they all ensure fights are not permitted in those areas. And when a fight almost breaks out, the two are taken to another spot where they fight, watched by those who brought them there and anyone else with more than a passing interest.
In all his years he never saw a prostitute, or a very public drug deal watched on with complete indifference. He can see weapons being exchanged in the back of a rundown store, and though he wishes to stop it on principle, the buyer is a young mother with her child in tow. If he takes away that weapon, will he be taking away her only way to keep her child safe? Even then, how can he be certain it won't be put towards something other than self-defence?
Hakodate is nothing like the neat and orderly Mustafu he knows. It is a cesspit of violence and poverty and crime, nothing more than a breeding ground for suffering. And yet, in Mustafu he saw a little girl arrested when she should have been saved.
One the first day, he volunteers at a hospital.
The man at the reception looks at him in confusion, then shock at his sincerity. He is given a bright vest and directed to help move supplies. Izuku does it without complaint and soon he is being borrowed by everyone in the hospital. They never ask him to complete complicated tasks, but often enough they're too short-staffed that a doctor is restocking skin grafts instead of helping a patient, and maybe he does find it a bit demeaning to pick up laundry, but the nurse he gives the folded stacks of clothes to almost cries.
Between moments of work, he speaks with anyone and everyone he can. He wants to know their story, their history and what made them find their way here.
He helps a nurse with two patients, glad for his first aid certification and the dozen times he has been injured. He cleans the man's vicious wound and stitches it, no longer surprised they are willing to accept him despite his lack of genuine qualification. They're too understaffed to say no to anyone who knows how to thread stitches and attach an IV line.
"These injuries are from people sorting out their issues on the street," the nurse says, splinting broken finger. "That idiot Stain took out the fight club. At least with that, people could sort out their stupid issues without worrying about dying. Someone steals your girl, then fight it out over there. Usually got someone with first aid training and people to stop it going too far. Now it's just chaos and blood in the streets near the children."
He wonders how long it takes to become accustomed to these conditions. How long till you can tell the difference in the quality of blood spilt in the streets and in a sanctioned fight club. Blood spilt is blood spilt. It can never be reclaimed.
For the rest of the day, he does simple admin work, cataloguing inventories and dating the remaining supplies. It is tedious work, but something tells it lets someone with more experience and knowledge help those in need.
At the end of his day, he is ready to return to his hotel. On the way out, he is stopped by the nurse he helped earlier who thanks him profusely. Behind her, he can see a few staff members, all of them waving with smiles on their faces.
That one image of tired and overworked people smiling is worth more than the shirt that says he volunteered. They take a picture together and though Izuku hopes they keep it private, he's come to accept that it will be online in a few hours.
A few hours later, in his hotel room, he sees a minor news article with that picture on it, one written by the Quirk News Network. There are questions being asked, and not all of them are terrible. Still, he's glad that the only reason he saw it is because of the many flags he's setup.
On the second day, he goes to a local soup kitchen. This time, there are two others who seem to be new. Izuku works in the back, chopping vegetables for a while, but spends most of his day washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen till it sparkles.
They don't include him immediately in the conversations. There is too much slang they use, and words he understands the meaning to don't line up in the context of their conversations. He may speak all languages, but only in their clearest forms.
Yet, when their conversation veers off into the territory of villains and things that might not be legal, one of the new volunteers calls him out.
"You sure he won't rat us out. Look at him. Probably richer than all of us combined."
Izuku closes the tap and turns around, shamed. He can't deny that accusation. His father wields wealth and authority, and so does Izuku because of that. That wealth belongs to Izuku now as well. He knows it because of their house, small and comfortable yet patrolled by security. He knows it in the way his wardrobe has changed since his father returned, the clothes staying the same but for an extra zero to the price tag.
These are changes he hasn't given much thought to.
"If you want me to leave, I will," he says sincerely. "I'm not here to make things difficult for anyone. I just… I guess I wanted to do just a tiny bit of good in my life."
They don't ask him to leave. No, instead they ask the volunteers who called him out. Izuku picks up the slack without complaint because no matter how busy he is, something inside him genuinely enjoys this. He doesn't learn as much as he did that first day, but he learns more than enough.
It is because of those conversations that he visits Goryokaku. Once, centuries ago, the star-fortress was a thriving and vibrant place. Today, the canals are dried out and the greenery is nothing more than salted earth, sterile and dry. All that remains of the government hall are a few wooden columns and a collapsed roof.
"Who did this?" he asks Mikumo.
It isn't his brother who answers.
"No one knows."
Izuku looks over his shoulder at the lady who has been following him for the last few hours. He's known about her from the very beginning, but he's let her shadow him because she never tried to hide her presence.
"Some say it was the anti-quirk rioters," she continues. "Some say it was the government trying to eliminate extremist leaders during the riots. Others would accuse Aogiri Tree and some would tell you the Imperial Household. Either way, it's only civilians who suffer."
"What do you want from me?"
She smiles. "I want your story. You took down the hero-killer and now you're here, in Hokkaido. The same place he started in. I want to know why."
"No," Izuku snaps. "I don't care how much you pay me. I'm not here for fame or money. Just let me get back to work."
"You're famous now," she says. "I've seen your face on every magazine. People want to know who you are and what you believe in. And this, helping out in Hokkaido, will sell."
He grits his teeth. "I'm trying to help. That's all I've ever wanted to do. Now leave me in peace."
The conversation with the journalist leaves him unsettled at the very idea that he is famous. So, he spends the evening doing research on his name. There are so many articles and opinion pieces that leaves him too anxious to sleep. Especially when so many are wrong, when so many twist and manipulate his words.
That is the cost of fame. The public knows you and will use you for their whims. Unless you control the story being told.
On the third day, he goes to a mental ward. The place is old and dilapidated. Despite that, he gets the sense this is one of those places that is protected just as the parks with children or the schools and hospitals.
"What do you want me to do?" he asks the organiser.
"Go talk to people?" she says, startling him.
"Huh?"
"Look, kid, we've got people for all the things you think need doing. Go out there and talk to them. Remind them that they're still people. That they aren't monsters."
He speaks to a mutant with purple horns and a large mouth. There are old scars running the length of his lips as though someone tried to sow them shut.
In the deepest parts of his heart, Izuku knows it to be the truth.
"Wanted to be a hero," the man says, his mouth filled with many rows of shark teeth. "Tried my damned hardest. Even got into a school. But it's next to impossible to go when your family's been kicked out of the apartment. Can't get mail if you don't have a home address."
He thinks of his hotel room that probably costs more a night than most people in this city will see in a month. It leaves a deep pit in his stomach, one that is equal parts shame and irrational hate—hate at himself, at the world, at the heroes and police and government. He pushes those feelings down before they can consume him.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Saw your battle against… what's his name?"
"Stain," he answers, surprised that the famed hero-killer is distant news to some people, an otherwise unimportant blip in their day to day lives.
"Yeah. You're here, right? You're doing something. You didn't just say something and do nothing, you know. I've seen Hawks destroying the block fighting a villain. Ended Shinobu's Vow right then and there, and he had no fucking idea what she meant to us. The worst part was we all knew the kid. Just trying to keep some peace and order against some Yakuza scum. Nothing wrong with that but not going to an expensive school."
"What was her Vow?" he asks, surprised that anyone would support the villain.
The man frowns. "To free Shikoku from the military and uplift Hokkaido."
Izuku closes his eyes, pushing down the rage that threatens to consume him. In what world is that so wrong?
"That can't be it," he says, but knows it to be true.
Did Stain not tell him the truth of Tartarus and the prisoners there? Very many of those imprisoned were those who rejected the government and sought a different future. For their ultimate crime, they will live forgotten in the depths of Tartarus, unseen and unheard.
"She was a called villain because she was against the government," the man says softly, as though he knows Izuku is breaking. "But the government was never on our side. The military never cared about us. I don't think Hawks was cruel or even knew what he was doing to us. He just saw another villain to be taken down."
And though it pains him to walk away, there are other stories to be told. Not all of them are cold and cruel. Some are tales filled with beauty and grace, joy and the timelessness of human dignity. But those bright spots are few and far between.
This is the cost of your oath to save everyone. You see what it means to be a hero. What choice will you make?
"You're what we really need, honey," an older woman says to him during lunch. "If all the kids your age spent three days a year, just three, helping out, then things wouldn't be this bad."
She has a bitter smile, one that smacks of old regrets and disillusionment. "Three days where kids like you do some good instead of wanking over your phones."
His blush is a furious scarlet. He's been caught once by his mother and never wants to repeat that ever again, though he doubts that will ever be a worry. Still, there is honesty in her words, a bitter earnestness that is captivating to listen to.
"The rules are different here," she continues. "You get one chance and if you fuck it up, you're gone. The police don't care so we must do it ourselves. Rape someone, traffic someone, start shit in the safe zones, and your chance is up. If you're lucky, it's a bullet to the head. If it's some fucked up shit, they'll make a show of it."
When he leaves, he hears the flash of a camera. It is the reporter and she grins as though she has found the greatest prize.
Control the story. Tell the story you want to be told.
Izuku sighs tiredly, worn down to the core after only three days in this city. The idea that this is normal for some disgusts him.
"I'll give you the entire evening if you don't twist my words," he finally concedes, exhausted. "If you tell the story honestly."
Her grin softens, fewer hard edges permeating it. The sense of victory she likely sought slowly dies as she sees the fragile edges of his breaking heart.
"Alright. Tell me the story you want to be told."
"I'll tell you who I am." He places a hand over his heart, clutching his shirt tightly. "It starts with a girl in a sunflower dress that I couldn't save and involves a conversation with the hero-killer."
At first, it is hard speaking and his voice is scratchy. He's never done this before, and the complete fear of knowing everyone will see this makes him hesitate.
She notices and asks, "What did you learn that really surprised you?"
There are so many answers to that question, so many steeped in despair and violence and misery. Yet, one crushes him more than any other.
"An old man told me about Shinobu's Vow," he says, tears in his eyes. "Maybe he only told me the side of the story he wanted to believe in. Maybe it was all a lie. But, if all she wanted was to help people, then was her vow so terrible?"
These moments spent in Hakodate are but snapshots into the lives these people live every day. He is an intruder granted the privilege to know these stories, to carry them and perhaps make a change to help those who have been forgotten.
It is an honour and a burden, a gift that he holds close to his heart. In speaking to this reporter, he bears his heart fully, withholding nothing but the truths he can never speak—the truths of his quirk, of All Might and many of his failings.
But there is enough to tell that they speak well into the night. He lays his heart open to this reporter and by extension the world. They'll hear his story, untwisted and honest, the story of a boy trying to make things right in this confusing world.
"All I've ever wanted to do is save people," he says at the end. "Life is precious, and I love life. Maybe it makes me a fool, but I won't stop trying. I'd rather fail than give up before even trying."
Maybe it will change nothing. Maybe it will change everything. All he knows is that he must keep trying until the very end.
On the night of the third day, he sets his sights homeward and returns.
-TDB-
This is what it means to be Japanese today. Things are changing and they will change soon.
This is how it feels to be Tanabe Kaori of Hokkaido in the morning. You eat breakfast slowly, savouring what may be your only meal of the day, and see the notification from your friend. You open it, expecting a joke or something inane. You do not expect the story of Izuku Midoriya. You remember him the night he fought Stain. You remember the uncertain hope, hope because he may be better than the heroes before him, and uncertainty because he may be just as bad. For the first time in a long while, you feel trust in heroics.
You are the vigilante Crawler, trying to enforce an unsteady peace at a discussion table for the forgotten and disenfranchised. There are factions vying for power, too many for you to fully trust. But everyone is watching this boy, the same boy you said would do great things. "Give him a chance," you say to your peers. "That's all I'm asking for here."
This is how it feels to be the hero Edgeshot of Shikoku. You're at home, stuck inside until the military curfew ends. You could leave in your hero uniform and get away with it. Better not to antagonise them unnecessarily. They know your identity, know your family and friends. So, you stay at home and watch an interview with a boy less than half your age. You watch him shed tears over Shinobu's Vow. For the first time, you wonder if there is hope in the future.
You may be Kohei of the Horikoshi Cult, first amongst equals, preparing a summoning ground off the coast of Japan, indifferent to the mewling of a child. The words of a child are unimportant compared to surviving the relentless pursuit of the Royal Guard. You must succeed at all costs. Godhood is the final goal and you will have it.
You may be Captain Yosuke Kadomatsu of the navy, on a fast track to Rear Admiral, holding the defensive line against a Chinese fleet and praying for another day of peace. The line has existed for decades, an uneasy peace that so often turns bloody for a few hours. In your cabin, you watch one foolish boy call out you and the navy you love. You scoff in annoyance. That boy knows nothing.
This what it means to be Kouta Izumi, watching the interview with your aunt Mandalay. She is silent and seems disturbed, but you can only find hope in those words this Izuku speaks. Maybe, just maybe, there's one hero who understands the failings of society. Maybe he will show the world that heroes shouldn't be praised.
Regardless of who you are, you can feel change brewing. Soon, the tide will wipe away the old order. Only the strong will be left standing.
Will you stand tall or be swept away?
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票