The fenced-off car park at the back of the building was devoid of people, although cars and vans lined up in neat rows behind the chain-linked barrier. Perched on a nearby brick wall was a white video camera, looking out over the car park for any potential car thieves.
But Takehiro Kazuma was no car thief, and there was an obvious blind spot right above the camera. Too easy.
The costumed man climbed up a nearby tree, his agility bolstered by his spring-loaded boots and adhesive gloves in his suit. With a swift leap, he pushed off the highest branch and cleared the fence easily.
A grappling hook shot out from his wrist, hooking onto the edge of a parapet. Hiro pulled hard and swung his body above the camera’s field of vision, landing squarely on the wall. Cold glass met his fingers, and he slid the window above him open.
A draught of air-conditioning hit his face, dry and with a tincture of bleach. Hiro rolled into the hospital room and landed on the linoleum floor without a sound. The four magnolia walls greeted him coldly, devoid of any decorations.
Hiro stared at the two patients sleeping soundly in front of him and pulled out a bouquet from inside his coat. He didn’t relish the idea of breaking into a hospital just for a visit, but it would be mighty suspicious if he showed up in a hero costume in broad daylight. Ditching the costume was out of the question too, since these two injured men didn’t know him personally.
Rest well, heroes.
The vigilante bowed his head in silent respect, before turning towards the window again. Nobody needed to know.
“It’s way past visiting hours, young man. How about a little professional courtesy?”
Bed springs creaked. Hiro turned back silently, his mask covering the shock on his face. He had been so quiet; how the hell did he still give his presence away?
“If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought you were someone else coming back to finish the job.” Shota Aizawa’s dry voice resonated, although it remained quiet enough to be audible only to Hiro. “You’re the vigilante who chased the assassin away, aren’t you? Thank you for the flowers, but is there something you want from us?”
The middle-aged man was sitting upright on his bed now. He looked a little worse for wear due to the bandages around his body. But he was still Eraserhead, the angler-type hero who prowled the city at night when he wasn’t working as a teacher at U.A. High.
“Just… being polite,” Hiro mumbled, noticing how he was subconsciously making his voice deeper.
Shota Aizawa’s solitary eye studied him for a moment before the veteran hero smirked audibly. “For someone without a quirk, you’re rather reckless.”
The vigilante remained motionless.
“... And very brave,” Aizawa continued after a dramatic pause. “You’re the new hotshot vigilante ‘Zero Hero’, aren’t you? Here’s some advice. If you truly are serious about becoming a hero, get your license. The police may be on your side now, but even the Number One hero has to obey the law. Doing hero work will make you many enemies. Without the law on your side, there’ll be nothing to protect you if they come for you.”
“Look. There is no point in trying again. You’ve already failed three times, Takehiro Kazuma. How can you expect to pass the entrance exams without a quirk to help you?”
Hiro clenched his fists as the licensing officer’s words rang in his mind again. It was the cold, hard truth. Unlike eighty per cent of the world, he was practically crippled compared to them. He had zero chance of being a hero via the conventional route. This was the only way he could contribute to society the way he wanted.
The vigilante shook his head dismissively and prepared to leap out of the window. “It’s not that cut and dry. But I’m glad to see you’re recovering well, hero. Thank you for keeping our world safe—”
“The assassin. Her quirk works the same way as mine.”
Hiro froze. “What do you mean?”
“She has the power to disrupt quirk cells by influencing them telepathically. But unlike my power, which stops the expression of transformation quirks entirely, her power attacks her victim’s quirk directly and corrupts it.”
Hiro’s mind spun. If that were true, it would explain why Kanna didn’t simply stay in liquid form to render herself impervious to physical attacks. It would also explain why Present Mic didn’t just shred the assassin with his hypersonic voice. But if Kusanagi’s power worked the same way as Eraserhead’s, then…
“So her power is nullified if she can’t see her target?” Hiro stepped away from the window.
“Yes, I believe so.” Aizawa nodded. “Her eyes also emit a red glow whenever her power is active. Whether or not that is a mere coincidence or if there’s a certain scientific basis to that, I can only make an educated guess. But that still lends to my theory of how her quirk works.”
“If so, she is the antithesis of our superhuman world,” Hiro mused. “To make others suffer for something they didn’t ask to be born with—”
Being shunned for something you were born with is such a curse.
Something rang in the back of his mind. Why did that line sound so familiar?
The vigilante shook his head as though trying to chase away a persistent housefly. Now wasn’t the time to get a flashback.
“— She makes a terrifying villain to anyone with a quirk,” he finished his sentence after a pause.
“Not to someone like you.” Aizawa smiled wryly. “Officially, I can’t encourage illegal vigilantism. But unofficially, someone like you may be our only hope if it boils down to a head-on fight with her. You may not have a quirk, but you seem to have conviction, Zero Hero. Don’t lose it.”
Hiro’s lips pursed behind his mask. “Thank you for the information, Eraserhead. You’ve been very helpful.”
“I know what it’s like to be looked down upon for having nothing flashy to show off. But just because the rules of this world are unfair doesn’t mean you can’t still beat the game on its terms.” Aizawa leaned back onto his bed. “Take care, hero. And good luck.”
The vigilante bowed his head slightly and leapt out of the hospital window.
~ ~ ~
Kiko Asahi did her best thinking when she was on the move, and tonight was no exception. To the gang members brave enough to give her a second glance, she looked like her usual scary self, marching along the corridors to her master’s room with intense focus.
But her mind couldn’t be further away from the soulless Yakuza base she was in right now.
That guy on the bridge was definitely Hiro Kazuma; there was no way she couldn’t recognise his voice. Sure, he looked a lot older, but so was she now. But something didn’t add up. If she had recalled correctly, he was quirkless. Did he finally achieve his dream of becoming a hero? If so, why hadn’t she ever heard of him?
Kiko silently pushed open a bronze-plated door and waited for the closing door to announce her presence. The man in the room remained motionless with his hands behind his back, intently observing a map of Japan on the wall as though he were trying to memorise it.
“You don’t usually fail, Kusanagi. What happened?”
Kiko kept her expression neutral. Yamato always referred to her by her villain code name whenever he was unhappy with her, the same way a parent would call their children by their full names when they were in trouble.
“Eraserhead and Present Mic showed up unexpectedly,” she answered in a monotone voice. “Tangling with heroes out in the open would have jeopardised the mission.”
The man remained silent for a few more seconds before turning to face Kiko.
“Fair enough. Sometimes it’s just shit luck, eh?” Yamato’s voice softened. “Come here, Kusanagi.”
The woman obeyed, moving closer to her master. He pulled the leather overcoat off her body and tossed it to a nearby coat rack.
“You have done well, alright? Don’t beat yourself up.” Yamato traced his fingers down her back, unclipping the buckles that held her armour together. “Just be less sloppy next time.”
A breeze of cold air greeted Kiko’s exposed skin as the metal fell off her body with a loud clang, leaving her scantily clad in a camisole. Her master’s hand travelled from her shoulders and landed on her waist, grabbing her firmly. Discomfort flared, but her face was stone.
“Forget about Jelly Girl. If she shows her face in public, I’ll make sure someone puts a bullet in her head. She’s done for without her precious Hero Association to back her up.” Yamato whispered in her ear, slowly moving his hand up to the side of her chest. “I’ll take care of Watanabe; just give me a few minutes.”
A lump formed in Kiko’s throat, but she kept still. Her master didn’t like it when she moved without his permission.
“Mhm… yes. Kenchiro Watanabe, one of my former men— So he stole from you before too? That’s perfect. You say he’s in police custody at the moment?” Yamato tutted as his eyes narrowed with slight annoyance, his phone still glued to his ear. “So? I have men on the inside; that’s not a problem now, is it? Good, that’s what I like to hear. Oh, and get rid of his body too. That man needs to disappear entirely. Got it?”
Kiko flinched as a coarse hand squeezed her right breast roughly without warning. She cursed herself silently, praying that her master wouldn’t be displeased at her unwarranted reaction. After all, he had raised her since she was a teenager. She should’ve had complete trust in him by now.
“See? Not so difficult, is it?” Yamato’s warm breath tickled her ear. “That’s why I’m still your master, aren’t I?”
She nodded stoically. “Yes, master.”
“And who do you belong to?”
“You, master.”
“Well done, Kiko. You’re dismissed."
ns216.73.216.134da2
and then Add to home screen.