Chapter Text
"Multiple quirks?" Yagi Toshinori checked, cradling the phone to his ear while balancing his lunchboxes with his other hand. "You're sure about this?"
"Yes," Tsukauchi confirmed somberly, "there's no doubt about it. Nomu suffered from severe brain damage, expert analysts tell us its because the body wasn't meant to contain so many different quirks. What's more, it's a miracle the body is even functioning, different as it has become from its original appearance. We've managed to identify the different people compiled in Nomu, they were all listed as missing or dead with a history of crimes or troublemaking behind them, the kind nobody would make a big effort finding..."
.
It was a surprise encounter.
Sakura had decided to walk part of the way home from Kyouka's, only taking the bullet train the last few stops, and was eating cheap noodles from a paper box as she walked down the dingy street, buildings rising high and and run down on either side of her. Her parents wouldn't worry about her coming home late, it was a Friday and they thought it'd be a late game night with lots of friends instead of it just being her and Kyouka hanging out a few hours after school. It felt good to be in an entirely different part of the city. The vibe wasn't drastically different from the neighborhoods west of Aldera, although it was cranked up a few notches which meant more graffiti, trash bags, and broken bottles - she didn't doubt it would be even sketchier once it was fully dark.
She should feel unsafe, but she was also Bakugou Sakura, so she didn't. Instead she sauntered on like she belonged here, back straight and heels of her boots clicking against the concrete.
A familiar shape appeared ahead of her. Looking up, she spotted Tokoyami Fumikage turn onto the street she was on. He was either lost in thought or did not recognize her without the school uniform. With her hair down in a rare messy display, and clad in a red and black tunic over a pair of jeans, she looked very different from the girl with her hair up always donning the grey and white U.A. uniform.
For a moment, she debated turning around to avoid interacting with him. Then she threw the paper box into a bin and caught up to him.
"Hey, wassup."
Tokoyami regarded her. "It is you."
"Yeah. You live nearby?"
"Not very. I sometimes walk here before it is covered by the dark of night, it soothes me after the blinding brightness of day."
She gave him an odd look, but didn't begrudge him his walks. She enjoyed them as well. "Fair, I guess."
"Do you live nearby?"
"No. I live way off in bumfuck, no point in walking there."
"I see. Do you want to wander the shadows together?"
"Sure."
It was getting darker, which neither minded as they walked, although she noticed Tokoyami stuck to the street lights.
"Isn't your quirk a shadow?" Sakura raised an eyebrow. "I thought you'd prefer the dark or some shit like that."
"I prefer the dark, yet the dark prefers Dark Shadow in return. He becomes so strong he's difficult to subdue."
"Makes sense, I guess," she shrugged, still in a good mood. "Still, shouldn't you just avoid the light now instead, build up a tolerance and whatnot? It's not like you have to use him, and if you're that scared, my quirk emits a lot of light."
Enough to mess with her sight, too. Not enough to require glasses, but enough to make a slight difference.
"I suppose that's true," Tokoyami nodded, drifting away from the circles of light cast by the street lamps with what almost seemed like relief.
"Of course it is, that's why I said it," Sakura rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Anyway, staying in the dark for training aside, being afraid of it will only make it, him, whatever, even more difficult to control, right?"
Tokoyami was quiet for a long time. "You're very wise."
He had this was of speaking that sounded both edgy and epic at the same time.
"Got that right."
They walked in silence for a long time, staying longer than Sakura would have on her own. While confident in a fight, she wasn't outright looking for them either and walking alone was five times as troublesome as with two. With no exact deadline to be home at, she found she rather enjoyed wandering about. Yes, there were some dubious figures around, but they minded their own business (literally) and everybody left each other alone. Generally.
Somebody whistled at her.
"Fuck off," Sakura hollered without giving them a second glance.
"Their behavior is-"
Sakura would never know what Tokoyami wanted to say, because a scream for help echoed from the alleyway they were walking past. Without missing a beat, she took down the narrow side street. It dark, but not so dark she had trouble seeing, and with Tokoyami hot on her heels she sprinted toward the source of distress. For every twist and turn that led them deeper into the mazelike underbelly, her heart beat faster.
What if they were to late?
Finally, they skidded around a narrow corner and she spotted an older man being threatened by three thugs. He was curled up on the ground in attempt to protect himself, while one of the assaulters raised a bat to hit him again.
He never got the chance. Sakura tackled him, bat skidding across the ground, and hurled him head-first into a brick wall with all her strength. It cracked, but she hadn't dared use less force since his quirk gave him a distinct coppery shell. He sunk to the ground, unconscious but not even bleeding.
Sakura turned to the next villain, who spat at her - she dodged, the spit hitting the wall with the force of a bullet. Meanwhile, Tokoyami engaged the other villain (was it the right term to use?), who started radiating heat and light that felt hot even to her.
A dangerous trio.
"Let's switch!" Sakura yelled, leaping over to her classmate who was on the defensive against the sun-emitter. Tokoyami rushed past her, a small Dark Shadow deflecting bullets while he charged. Sakura blasted her opponent further down the alley, aiming carefully to avoid damage the old buildings. Not letting up, she kept pushing him away.
He kept brightening. While he sweated a little as well, Sakura squinted painfully as she punched at him with smaller explosions that wouldn't harm the network of cables around them. It felt like the flesh of her arms were being fried, but at least the heat meant she didn't have to worry about producing enough nitroglycerine.
With an unintelligible groan, the guy soon fell and dimmed, the air cooling down. What a rare, powerful quirk he possessed.
Blinking profusely to adapt to the darkness and get rid of the dancing spots of lights, Sakura surveyed the damage. Her forearms were definitely blistered, while her more resistant hands had only reddened and strained, any hairs singed off.
"Boss-"
Promptly, Tokoyami and Dark Shadow defeated the spit-bullet villain as well.
The guy they'd saved hesitantly unfurled on the ground, catching sight of the copper guy's unconscious sprawl.
Shit- he wasn't allowed to recognize them.
Tokoyami quickly pulled his hood up, tugging at the strings so that it closed comically around his beak. Sakura dug around in her pockets and pulled out a medical mask, hastily putting it on.
"I... Thank you, thank you so much," the old man wheezed, getting to his feet but leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths. "I thought I was a goner."
"It's unwise to wander here alone," Tokoyami said.
"Yes, I suppose," the man chuckled, dusting off his expensive jacket. His eyes fell on Sakura standing at the feet of the villain who was apparently the boss. "I'm very impressed, that man has ruled this neighborhood for a long time. And his two enforcers, too, especially the assassin..."
"He was a proper boss, then," Sakura said, refraining from asking why he'd be after the old man. She wasn't stupid.
"We'd appreciate it if you refrained from mentioning us," Tokoyami spoke up. "It is better for our involvement to be in the realm of the unknown."
"Of course," he nodded with a look of understanding. "Then let me repay you at least-"
"No, no, you don't need to give us jack shit," Sakura cut in before he could conjure a wad of cash from his wallet. "We'll be off now."
His eyes fell to her burns, a glimmer of guilt igniting in his eyes when he put the wallet away. "Then let me get you to somebody who can treat those injuries, at least. You're both young, I doubt you want anybody else to know about this, especially not family."
"You don't-"
"It's the least I can do."
Sakura glared at him with suspicion. Tokoyami, hood still tied shut around his beak, came to stand next to her.
"I know somebody who works in the bar over there, he's dealt with burn wounds in the past."
The man pointed down an alleyway to a marginally wider street, where a couple entered a bar that, while shifty, didn't seem to contain either yakuza or overly rowdy hooligans during the moments the doors swung open. Of course, it was hard to tell in such a short time.
She hesitated. There was a burn salve at home, but it was meant for after accidentally spilling some tea over a finger, not treating forearms that had been put in an oven, and they didn't have gauze or bandages. Mitsuki would interrogate her, no doubt; there was no way she'd be able to hide this in the morning if it went untreated. If somebody could help her until she visited Recovery Girl next Monday, that would be very helpful.
If only everything around her wasn't sus as fuck.
"Why'd he help us?" Sakura demanded.
"He owes me," the man explained. "He's renting one of the apartment in my complex despite having no papers. He pays the rent on time, though."
Oh, okay, like paying the rent made him that much more trustworthy.
"...fine," Sakura decided. "But you go first."
The man nodded, turned around and walked down the alleyway. As they followed him, Sakura (since a meaningful meeting of the eyes was rather difficult) elected to lean closer to Tokoyami and whispered; "Stay alert."
"Already am."
The man opened the door to the bar and let them inside. It was old and clearly well-used, but whoever owned it was making an effort to keep it clean and maintain it, which meant that aside from faded, scratched wood and a discolored roof from back when most of the population smoked, it was in good shape. Various figures sat on high stools around round tables, not paying them any heed.
The man walked up to the bartender, a woman with eight arms that simultaneously dried glasses, made a cocktail, and handed a list of orders to the kitchen through a hatch.
"Hey there," the man smiled, "where can I find that new assistant of yours?"
"In the back," she grunted. "He's unloading a Bacardi shipment, can't miss him."
"Thank you."
They left through a back door, ending up in a tiny concrete yard where a young man was indeed carrying boxes of rum. He looked bored of the chore, eyes lidded and mouth tugged down, and if his arms were anything like his face, Sakura wondered if it wasn't painful to carry boxes. Burned skin was stapled to the rest of him like he didn't trust it to stick otherwise, though it could also be a fashion statement since his ears and nose were pierced as well.
"Ah, Dabi," the man smiled like it was a coincidence they ran into each other. "I'd like you to do something for me."
The man, Dabi, paused to observe him before his too blue gaze swept over Sakura and Tokoyami.
"You do," he drawled, going back to moving the bottles, disinterested. "We even after this, then?"
"After this, yes," the man nodded. "You know how to treat burns, don't you?"
He gestured to Sakura's red, hurting arms. Dabi looked her up and down, completely ignoring the injuries. Her fingers twitched. His lips curled, apparently satisfied with what he saw.
"I do," he shrugged, like he'd have denied it had she been somebody less to his tastes. He grinned tauntingly at her. "Did princess play with fire?"
"Doesn't concern you, patchwork," Sakura sneered, not that he could see it behind her mask. He grinned, then threw a nod in the direction of the man.
"I'll be back in a sec."
Dabi disappeared off, presumably to his apartment, returning in a couple of minutes with his materials.
"It'd have been easier if we'd done this in my room, but whatever," he said, sitting down on one of the crates and gesturing for her to do the same. Glaring at him over her nose even though he was taller, she obliged and stretched out her arms.
"Try something and I'll kill you."
He snickered, which was somehow more insulting than him vocalizing how little he thought she could hurt him. Thankfully, he got to work right away, applying a thick paste that glistened even in the weak light before wrapping them in gauze. The pain faded quickly, too quickly, replaced by a relieving cool.
"Where'd you get that," Sakura asked, glancing at the tub of salve.
"Not in a store."
She scowled, standing up again the moment he was done. Probably some unregistered quirk-enhanced ingredients in the paste, then. Dabi stood up as well, lips stretching into another grin that probably would've looked disconcerting even without the burned jaw because of his too bright eyes.
They seemed to burn into her own.
A hellish blue that should remind her of ice but seared instead.
"So, can I get you a drink? And, err, a juice box for your kid cousin or whatever."
Sakura glanced back at Tokoyami, fighting the urge to give her classmate a smirk when he bristled; he was clearly shorter and slighter than her.
"No," she flipped Dabi off. "Way too young for you."
"You're leaving," the old man observed. "Have a lovely evening. Thank you again for saving me."
"Don't mention it," Tokoyami said quietly, probably so they wouldn't recognize his actual voice.
"Yep, time to put my kid cousin to bed," she said and walked off.
It wasn't until ten minutes later, when Tokoyami and Sakura once again walked on a wider, well-lit street, that it all started to sink in. The station was in view by the time she realized this was definitely a foray into vigilantism.
"So..." Sakura said as they slowed to split up. "That happened."
"We have stared into the abyss," Tokoyami agreed. "The abyss stared back."
.
It was well into spring, but not so close to summer that neither Mitsuki nor Masaru would think it odd that Sakura only wore hoodies and loose longsleeves the entire weekend. Her reddened hands were explained away after her morning run by claiming she'd practiced with her quirk and gone a bit overboard. There was a bit of shouting, a lot of sighs, some cursing; then the matter died down and was forgotten about.
Mitsuki caught her spacing out later that afternoon and laughed, but what made the young hero (Hero?) tense up was when Masaru gave her a soft, questioning look behind his wife's back as they washed up teacups.
"The USJ was a close call," she finally said. There was nothing he could say to that, but the way his face softened with empathy made something lodge itself in her throat, painful to swallow back down.
She wondered what Tokoyami was doing. They hadn't texted. It was like nothing had happened.
He wouldn't have told anybody, either.
"Yes, it was," agreed Mitsuki without glancing back at husband and child. "I still can't believe they haven't caught the masterminds! Attacking U.A. like that, the idiots won't be on the run for long, but who knows what kind of trouble they can cause in the meantime! Now go get changed, the Midoriyas will be arriving in thirty minutes."
Sakura faltered, dish towel clenched tightly in her hands. Had she not put away the saucer moments before, it'd have shattered. The palms of her hands smoked, painful heat against taut, seared skin.
"The who," she asked in a brittle voice that had her want to rip her tongue out.
"The guests," Mitsuki said. "I told you we'd have guests this evening."
"Yeah, yeah. But- the Midoriyas?" Sakura said evenly.
"Midoriya Inko and her son, he should be your age," Mitsuki said. "I'm sure I mentioned that."
"You mentioned a son Sakura's age, Mitsu-chan."
Mitsuki nodded to herself, smiling. "I knew it. Now get dressed, lazy, sweatpants won't do."
"Right," Sakura breathed. Blood thumped in her ears, hot and rhythmic, faster and faster. "Okay."
Masaru, handing over the very last teacup for his daughter to dry, noticed the closed-off blankness of her face. Concern washed over his face like a tide, mouth opening to ask-
Sakura smiled, hiding shards of glass in the corners of her lips. "I think I know him. Midoriya Izuku, we go to U.A. together. Actually, we were in the same class in Aldera as well. We never interacted much."
"You're kidding me!" Mitsuki exclaimed. "How did I never know? No, don't answer that. Bring me your old school photo instead, I bet I can pick him out."
Sakura pressed her lips together, acid burning on the back of her tongue. If she opened her mouth, it felt like an avalanche of cruel words at Midoriya and Mitsuki would force its way out of her.
Wordlessly she went up to her room to retrieve it, taking the opportunity to take a deep, calming breath that did nothing, before going back down to give her mother the photograph. Mitsuki instantly pointed at Midoriya; small and hunched over and looking like he was trying to fade away altogether.
"He looks just like his mother! I can't believe I never noticed this before."
"Maybe because you never looked at this picture," said Sakura.
"It wasn't like you were going to bring any of them over here," defended Mitsuki, words cutting in a way that hadn't been intended. "The only friend you've ever invited over is Kyouka-chan, and you're sixteen."
Masaru came in between with practiced speed, "now now-" but Sakura, feeling vicious fury sizzle to the surface, disappeared up the stairs before hearing the rest. It was Mitsuki who was out of line, anyway.
(Sometimes, Sakura felt bad for worrying her parents, her mother especially, her mother who had wanted a daughter so badly, because since her toddler years she'd never been quite right. Things hadn't exactly gotten better from there.)
She punched her pillow, which turned out to be a mistake since it left a scorch mark on the pillowcase. Uneven black on pristine white, a mar that would never disappear.
A deep breath.
Hands were wiped clean of nitroglycerin before curling into fists and tucked against her stomach, pressing hotly against her skin.
Contain contain contain.
Sakura wasn't meant to contain. It was like wading upstream, like trying to put on nylons over shoes, like eating portion after portion when already about to burst and be sick.
She closed her eyes, but what flashed through her mind was light and adrenaline and action and burning blue eyes, wrong, and then walking home with Midoriya while discussing movies and Heroes, wrong, and-
"Fuck this shit," spat Sakura and wished she could just leap out of the window and stay over at Kyouka's for the night.
Instead, she changed out of her hoodie and sweatpants, scanning through her wardrobe for long-sleeved dresses or blouses. There was her graduation outfit, but it was too formal and on top of that it didn't sit very well anymore. In the end she found a baggy jumper that looked nice enough when tucked into a skirt: it hid her bandaged arms, falling so loosely it didn't make the burned skin itch.
She stayed in her room as long as possible, not leaving until the doorbell rung.
Fine. This was fucking fine.
Seeing Midoriya standing in the hallway of her house reminded her that this was not, in fact, fine. Part of her wondered if by this point, maybe the anger should've abated and been replaced by cold dismissal, but instead her fury seemed to keep growing. Too many of her thoughts led back to him.
Her mind was being pulled in a million different directions, undoubtedly caused by sleep deprivation. It had taken her hours to fall asleep, mulling over her act of vigilantism deep into the night. It had been so easy, so obvious, so right-
Sakura could handle Midoriya at school, no problem. Sakura was less sure she could handle Midoriya coming into her own house when she was sleep deprived and hung up on her illegal stint of vigilantism.
"Hi," she made herself say, too late. Only Midoriya noticed. His mother, a round woman with round eyes and a round face, smiled kindly at her.
"You must be... Sakura?"
"Yeah. That's me."
The kind smile softened even more.
"It's great to meet you. Izuku said you're in the same class at U.A.-"
"And back in Aldera, too," interrupted Mitsuki, faking outrage, "isn't it crazy? None of our brats told us."
"Only third year," Sakura pointed out, ignoring Midoriya's nervous glances. "We weren't close."
A flinch. Luckily Masaru didn't know the boy better, otherwise he'd have picked up on it. As it was, nobody but Sakura noticed.
It made her want to smile, or spit in his face. Or punch him, preferably. She should've done that when they were behind the school building at graduation, but back then she'd been too busy being hurt.
Introductions were made. The mom's name was Inko. The husband was overseas.
"-hope none of you are vegetarians," Mitsuki was saying, "I should've checked-"
Sakura set the table. Her hands were steady, so were her breaths, the intervals between her blinks. Midoriya hovered in the corner of the dining room, the adults' voices carrying from the kitchen where they were opening a bottle of prosecco around the kitchen isle.
"I drove here," Inko said hesitantly.
"A glass won't hurt," laughed Mitsuki, "or two."
"We can pay for a taxi if you're worried," Masaru said, but apparently Inko wasn't that worried, or maybe she was so worried she needed to liquid courage to steady her nerves, because she was the first to raise her glass and say;
"Cheers!"
Sakura placed cloth napkins on the plates; bright yellow, fading into white at the edges. It reminded her her of yesterday's villain.
"How- um. H-how are you," Midoriya asked so quietly his words barely reached her.
She gave him the look that made him shrink into himself at school. Cold, cold cold cold with disdain and dismissal, hiding how furiously, dangerously boiling she felt, like she could just-
He averted his gaze, gulping, reduced to silence. He clearly wanted to vacate the room, give her space, but he was a guest and smart enough to not risk any behavior that would give away the history between them to the adults. So he stayed, calloused hands stuffed into his pockets, skin pale beneath his freckles. For a moment, Sakura was tempted to just stare him down, make him squirm and fidget and fight nausea, but after observing him for a few seconds she was already sick of it.
The skin of her forearms itched, strained. Dabi's salve had worked well, but burn wounds didn't disappear overnight.
Tokoyami flashed through her mind, dark and quietly epic and a total edgelord. She put him out of her mind. Then she wondered how Uraraka would act if she were in her place: she'd probably cheerfully be chatting away, making Midoriya both blush and relax, open up. (Be honest-)
Sakura hated betrayal. It probably had something to do with Sasuke, because that had turned out well, but this was different. This was completely separate, incomparable. This was Bakugou Sakura, hurt and angered and insulted because apparently she hadn't been worth telling, hadn't been important, hadn't mattered, had been inconsequential to her first real friend after fourteen, fifteen years of being half-alone because she was violent and off-
A deep breath. Her fingers twitched. Useless thoughts.
Midoriya had winced. Of fucking course he'd been able to spot the darkening storm cloud that was her mood.
Dinner was an awkward affair for the two teenagers. Inko, Masaru, and Mitsuki were reminiscing about their university years, hushing and laughing every now and then when remembering there were minors around who couldn't know that their parents weren't perfect angels and role models. Midoriya went cross-eyed when his mom mentioned that his dad used to have a nose piercing.
Laughter bubbled up her throat, but she swallowed it back down before it reached her lips.
The clock ticked incredibly slowly.
"-yes, Sakura made the chutney, she's got talent for cooking," Masaru smiled. "If she wasn't so set on becoming a Hero, she'd become a master chef."
Midoriya opened his mouth. "Not a Hero. The best Hero." He went red, ducked away from her piercing green glare, managing: "I m-mean, that's what she s-s-said at school."
Mitsuki ruffled her daughter's hair. "That's my girl. You're going to be the death of me, I swear."
Sakura swatted the hand away. The sudden movement pulled at her burns, but the sting of discomfort didn't reach her face. Instead, she rolled her eyes.
"You should stop worrying," she said. "I'll be fine. I always am."
"If it only it was that easy," murmured Inko. "Sometimes I wish there was a stop-worrying button, but of course there isn't any."
Sakura couldn't wait for dinner to be over.
When it finally was, it turned out the adults were just going to keep on talking, no signs of the Midoriyas heading home in sight.
Sakura turned to the parents, managing a smile with her eyes crinkling firmly, safely shut. "Midoriya and I are going for a walk. See you in a bit."
"W-we are?"
"Yeah."
There was some waves and fussing ("stay safe!") while Sakura shoved her feet into boots, barely remembering to grab a coat as well. Midoriya, who had actually stayed in the living room to assure his mother that yes, he'd watch his step, scrambled into his own jacket and red shoes before hurrying after her.
The night air was a soothing chill against her skin, sky overcast and opaque.
"Here's what we're going to do," she spoke up in a level voice that betrayed nothing. "I'm going to head in that direction and walk around for forty minutes. Meanwhile, you go in the opposite: you'll reach a park, speed-walking two times around it will take you forty minutes. If anybody asks, we talked about training regimens during the walk."
He stared, mossy green filled with regret and a stupid, awful spark of determination.
Then, he bowed low, voice trembling but words rushing out like he was afraid she'd cut him off, which was a justifiable concern. "I'm so sorry- I've apologized before and I know it's not nearly enough, and you don't ever have to forgive me, but I will work for it nonetheless."
The sight of the back of his neck and head - so vulnerable - made her want to take a step closer and knee him in the face. It'd be so easy.
"Fuck you."
He flinched, but didn't rise from his bow.
"Either you leave now, or I will go with you to that damn park," she hissed and yanked him up, sneering in his face, close enough for her breath to ghost across his cheek, "where I'll beat you up so bad your mom will call the cops on me and get me suspended from U.A. in the best of cases."
She let go. He swallowed, wanted to say something but thought better of it, and turned around to go to the park. Alone.
A fuming Sakura walked the opposite direction, breaths ragged, violence in her blood, eyes opened so wide they became dry and painful. She hated him. She hated him.
Hating Midoriya was easy.
(A face for all her anger.)
.
"What a nice evening," giggled a tipsy Mitsuki, who'd been directed to the couch while Sakura and Masaru did the washing up. "I'm so glad I got into contact with Inko-chan again, she's so sweet and shy, but she's a firecracker when she wants to be!"
"Sure," Sakura made herself say.
"It was lovely, MItsu-chan," agreed Masaru, bear-cub face soft. "I'm glad you had so much fun. You've been tense lately."
"Yes, I have, haven't I," she sighed dramatically. "Pervy bosses, reckless daughters, bitches for coworkers... They are, Masaru, don't give me that look."
"Switch jobs, then," snapped Sakura.
"It's never that easy."
"Yes," she said, "sometimes it really, really is."
.
In the eyes of the school, Tokoyami and Bakugou were classmates, nothing more. They did not speak to each other unless they happened to be partnered during an exercise. They were not friends. They did not have any noteworthy interactions.
Sakura did not glance twice at Tokoyami the following Monday, passing him in the hallway after getting her arms healed by Recovery Girl. He did not react to her either. At lunch they sat with their own tentative friends.
Nothing had changed.
But it also had and nobody else knew and they couldn't talk about it, wouldn't talk about it, because it shouldn't have happened. Sakura was going to become the Number One Hero, mild vigilantism like stopping a robbery that happened right in front of her was one thing, but that was hardly what'd happened. There were witnesses, there were defeated bodies, a man had been saved. A man who didn't care about identities or papers, a man who probably housed criminals, villains.
At the very least, they should report that piece of information. That way they'd be likelier to get away with their own crime, and even if they didn't say how they knew about the apartments, it would still be a good deed.
Neither did that, either.
Both were quiet and went on with their daily life. Sakura laughed with Kyouka, Tokoyami talked with Shouji, everything was normal. The U.A. festival was announced, classmates chattered away with excitement and nerves and questions. Nobody noticed any minute changes in them; not Kyouka and Shouji, not the teachers, not Midoriya.
Sakura walked on that same street regularly now, keeping to herself and keeping to the rules. Tokoyami had yet to make an appearance there. She hoped he wouldn't.
She hoped he would.
.
Mirei wasn't a girl with a great destiny. She knew this. She'd never make it big, legally or illegally, but currently she was trying to get her life in order. Sure, her roommate was an asshole, but at least he wasn't a criminal and with her juggling jobs as a cashier at a 24/7 store as well as being the customer service girl everybody screamed at she made life go round. Her family was humble, neither parent the kind anybody wanted to hire for better jobs or promote: doing averagely well at school, their physical quirk mutations caused them to struggle finding any line of work with a future in it. As their daughter, Mirei struggled at least as hard.
Her older sister had given up on struggling. Instead, the idiot had decided to foolishly run into joining some half-baked plan of attacking U.A.'s USJ and was now arrested. Of course, calling the plan half-baked was dangerous in her neighborhoods where the boldness of it was inspiring all the hoodlums, petty thieves, and villains. Mirei had to admit that the ringleaders escaping and still being on the loose was a little impressive.
Her older sister Reika pleaded with her family for them to bail her out. Nobody had that kind of money, or much sympathy. They'd all worked so hard (well, Mirei had gotten involved with the wrong crowds as a teenager, but aside from doing lowkey drugs and dating a toxic asshole, she'd made it out unharmed) despite the quirkism and social constrictions around them, but now Reika had turned them all into even more pariah-like figures than before.
They weren't the only family experiencing this.
The entire USJ incident had tugged at the already tense strings around her.
The store door chimed when somebody entered. Mirei looked up, prepared to see a drunk or teen stumble in to buy beer or a workaholic office worker speed toward the healthy snacks for an all-nighter, but saw Chibaga instead.
"Oh, you're here for the lights," she said with relief and hoped she wasn't blushing. Chibaga, a massive man with a wide, shy face, stammered the affirmative. She didn't know what he'd been in prison for, but he was clearly grateful for the job he'd been given and treated everybody kindly.
"It's those two over there," she said somewhat unnecessarily, moving close to him to point out the two obviously not working LEDs in the ceiling. "They died yesterday and switching them hasn't worked."
Chibaga nodded again, flustered by her nearness. It almost made her hope that despite looking like a pig, he still found something worthwhile in her.
He mumbled, "I'll check the cables," and got to work, reaching the ceiling without a step stool, hands turning into screw drivers and wrenches and other things Mirei had never been trusted with. Realizing she was staring, she quickly shuffled back behind the counter.
She felt safe with him around, a warm flush riding high upon her cheeks.
Eventually, however, he finished and had to leave.
"Thank you," she said with a shy smile, fumbling around for the cash her manager had given her to pay him with. "Here you go."
He managed a, "thanks," smiled kindly, and left the night store.
Mirei turned to the a customer - the workaholic all-nighter type who wanted a vegan sandwich - only to whirl around, sensitive ears twisting around. It was dark outside, but she was sure she'd heard something outside the door.
"Did you hear that," she asked.
"No," said the customer, but peered outside with her as well, eyes reflectory for a moment. "There's nobody on the street, it was probably nothing."
"Oh." Then she froze. "Nobody?"
"Nobody," assured the customer, a little annoyed. "Can I pay now?"
Mirei hesitated. Then, dredging up all her courage, bolted outside. The street was indeed empty; a dark and quiet place with regular spots of yellow light cast by the old lampposts. The only things that moved were the wilting, fraying posters, wet and indistinguishable after the rain.
"Chibaga-san," she called, but aside from the distant thrum of engines and a club, was met by silence. "Chibaga-san!"
By her feet was a dark smudge, so insignificantly small an accidental step on it was enough to erase it forever.
Mirei was not a girl with a great destiny. She was fearful and insecure and uncertain, but in the dark of night in a neighborhood that harbored delinquents and petty crime like other neighborhoods boasted potted plants in windowsills, she snatched a tissue from her pocket and wiped the blood away from the stone.
The tissue was carefully folded to protect the red smear and tucked into her pocket again.
Her heart thumped in her ears when she reentered the shop, stammering apologies and hoping the customer wouldn't yell, hoping she was only paranoid, hoping Chibaga wasn't dead.