Chapter Text
Shouta is done with life right about now.
His day started out pretty well. He woke up at a fairly good time, had his favorite coffee, ate breakfast with his obnoxiously loud husband, and then proceeded off to work.
He may have expelled his entire homeroom class a few months earlier, but he still has other lessons to teach the rest of the students at UA. Besides, Nezu doesn’t allow his teachers to just slack off, even when they technically don’t have a class to teach.
But back to the point—everything started out okay. He felt relaxed. Content. So content that it made him suspicious, because something has to go wrong.
Good days like this one don’t come by very often, especially on a weekday when he has to work. It just doesn’t happen.
It’s around lunchtime when he gets the call, and Shouta can tell just by looking at the caller ID that his instincts were correct, as always.
The underground hero sighs and puts down his chopsticks, wondering balefully if he’ll ever get the chance to finish his teriyaki. “What is it, Tsukauchi?”
The detective laughs a little over the line. “Don’t sound too upset, I think you’ll enjoy your visit this time.”
Here we go.
Shouta picks at his food, aware of Hizashi and Nemuri staring at him as he speaks. “You want me to come to the station again?”
“If you can. I only need a few minutes, at the very least.”
“I’ll see if Nezu will let me leave early after my last lesson. What do you need?”
“I’m sure you saw the news last night.”
The hero snorts. “Of course I did. It’s all everyone’s talking about right now.”
Shutting up about Rabbit is something the media doesn’t know how to do. The vigilante has done it yet again, embarrassing all of the pro heroes in the city yesterday by taking down a drug ring that local authorities hadn’t even been able to locate, much less initiate a full takedown on. Shouta didn't actually watch the coverage of it live, as he was getting ready for his patrol, but Hizashi recorded it for him.
Not that he needed to, though. Every news station within a fifty-mile radius of the attack has been replaying the scene of Rabbit jumping out of the helicopter like some sort of maniac every five minutes. It’s like they truly have nothing else to report on.
It’s getting to be kind of annoying.
“Well, I feel like it’s time to start the process, Aizawa.”
Shouta doesn’t have to ask what that means. They’ve been planning it for a while. Shouta has been keeping an eye on Rabbit for a few weeks now—nothing too special. Just some tracking to figure out where the vigilante tends to patrol, and also of the area and perimeter he covers.
So far, he hasn’t been able to gather much. The kid is slippery. He seems to know that he’s being followed, and after only a few minutes of Shouta trailing him, Rabbit just disappears into thin air. As if he’d never been there in the first place.
Shouta hates to admit that he’s a little impressed. Now, that’s not to say the kid has completely bested him—of course not. He’s fast, irritatingly so, but he’s still young and jumpy. Twice, Shouta has been presented with the chance to jump him, but both times he refrained. Not only because he’s not a fan of attacking a person who just got done saving a victim of assault or robbery but also because he knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t have solved the core of the issue.
“Aizawa?” The detective’s inquiring voice brings him out of his thoughts. “Can you be at the station in, say, a few hours?”
Right. This is his case after all.
Shouta makes an affirmative noise. “I’ll see to it. Give me a little bit.”
He hangs up, and with a long-suffering sigh, Shouta gets up to talk with the principal. He already knows he’s going to regret this.
“Going to the station?” Hizashi asks, peering up at him from his place at the table.
Shouta nods, grabbing his scarf off the hook and wrapping it around his neck. “Is it alright if I take the car? You might have to walk home.”
“Sure! Hey, I’m going to get some more ground sausage before lunch is over. We ran out this morning, so I’ll be leaving in a few.”
Yawning, Shouta nods in confirmation and picks up his sleeping bag from the corner by the door, feeling the beginnings of another headache coming on. He starts for his office to gather the work for his next class. Nezu will no doubt say yes when he asks. The mammal has never had an issue with him leaving early before if it’s for police business.
He passes back by the teacher’s lounge and chooses to ignore Hizashi’s amplified laughter as the voice hero berates Nemuri for taking the rest of his teriyaki.
I’ll get her back tomorrow.
Izuku hates bullies.
To be fair, most everyone does. You’d have to be a special kind of asshole to actively support bullying, especially when it’s against people who don’t deserve it.
Which is why it’s easy for Izuku to stand up to jerks. It’s the right thing to do. He knows what it’s like to be put down, to be hated by everyone around you and be spit on and treated like nothing more than an animal.
He knows what it feels like, so Izuku will be damned if he lets someone else go through that.
He tries to help as best he can. Most times, he does it well. He’ll see a group of kids picking on someone that they deem weaker, and he’ll step in. Most of the time, the bullies back down.
That’s the thing. Most bullies aren’t used to their victims fighting back. They’ll get surprised. They’ll insult you a bit, and then make their exit after deciding it’s not worth it.
But it’s not really an exit, it’s not really a show of kindness. It’s a show of cowardice. It’s more of an escape.
Some bullies, however, don’t back down. These are the ones you really have to watch out for. These ones will break you down. They’ll pick out the things you hate most about yourself and bring it out into the light for everyone and their grandma to see.
It’s harsh, and it’s wrong. But it happens. And Izuku had thought that after everything he’s gone through, after all the shit he’s overcome, he’d become immune to it. And in many ways, he has.
But the insults hurt worse coming from certain people; people who you used to trust.
After Kacchan leaves for school, Izuku takes a quick shower and borrows some of his clothes, thinking that his friend probably won't mind.
Probably.
When he comes downstairs, Mitsuki is sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, getting ready for work. Masaru must have already left. It’s a Friday, after all. Those are the busiest days of the month.
Izuku makes sure to thank her again for letting him stay, and after promising to be safe and not be late next time he comes over, the boy skips out of the house with his notebook in his hoodie pocket.
He has a few things to do today, seeing as his Rabbit costume has a few holes in it now, plus the fact that some of his weapons got destroyed when he set the hideout on fire. The prices you pay for salvation.
So today he has to buy some fabric to patch up his costume, look through some dumpsters for abandoned technology and metal parts, and then wash his clothes at the laundromat. Which makes it a full day for him.
He’s on the way to the embroidery story down the street from his apartment when his plans first seem to go down the drain. Because as he continues to slip through the crowds of people, he accidentally bumps into someone.
Except it’s not an accident. Not on their part, at least.
The next thing he knows, Izuku is being grabbed by meaty hands and slammed into the concrete wall just inside the entrance of an alley.
His wide eyes trail up to meet the scornful expression of a boy around his height, and Izuku can already tell that things aren’t about to go his way.
He knows this kid. No, he knows these kids, because there’s more than one. Three, to be exact. All encasing him in, arms coming out to trap him against the dirty wall.
And honestly, Izuku could have avoided this. He felt the movement in the air a split second before the hand even came into contact with his shoulder, just before he was pushed by two other pairs of hands into the alleyway. He could’ve avoided it because he'd felt the attack coming.
In four seconds flat, Izuku could have had all three of these kids on the ground crying. Probably sporting a broken bone or split lip, or something even worse.
But he’s not Rabbit, here. He can’t fight them. And besides, if he dodged the hand, the idiot would've hit the guy behind Izuku.
You see, it’s different when you’re defending someone else from a bully or criminal. At that point, it becomes self-defense. The laws become more lenient at that point, especially when you have an alibi or witness to back you up.
But here, right now, the only witness is Izuku himself. And to make matters worse, he’s the one getting bullied.
Which means he can’t fight back. Not unless he wants to find himself in jail. For real this time. He can get arrested if he harms them because no one ever believes the victim. Not when they’re someone like Midoriya Izuku.
Someone who already has a history of violence and volatility from the age of six and beyond.
His eyes glance between the trio, and Izuku’s throat suddenly tightens.
It hurts worse coming from certain people. People who you used to trust.
These are Kacchan’s friends. Or, should he say, were. He recognizes them all. The one with spindly fingers and an angular face—he's the one Kacchan hates the most. He’s in the middle of the group now, still holding Izuku against the wall. He must be the acting leader since Kacchan is gone.
The next one is a boy Izuku can only faintly remember. He has a square chin with hair that stops right above his eyes, and Izuku can’t quite recall what his quirk is, but he can feel its faint power humming beneath the other boy's skin.
But Izuku remembers Bully Number Three clearly. He’s round, just a little bit chubby. The most defining features, however, are the crimson wings he sports on his back, folded neatly in on themselves. They look almost leathery in texture, set with talons at the end of each joint. They’ve definitely gotten bigger since the last time Izuku’s seen them.
“Tsubasa?” Izuku breathes out, staring at his old friend.
The boy doesn’t answer, only letting out a sneer as he looks back at the ringleader—waiting for an order, Izuku faintly realizes. The power dynamic here is obvious.
Kacchan’s replacement presses him harder against the wall, his breath hot against Izuku’s cheek.
“Midoriya,” he scoffs, and his voice is almost laughable. It’s almost as if the boy is forcing himself to sound like an edgy teenager who’s just finished his second bowl of weed. “Didn’t think we’d find you here of all places.”
It sounds like a normal conversation to anyone else, when in reality it’s anything but. It’s more of the calm before a storm. That’s how they get you, Izuku thinks. They build you up and make you think you’re their friend, and then they hit you where it’s hardest.
They’re nothing but a bunch of slimy assholes, thinking they’re tough shit.
Izuku can identify this. He can identify the problem and even come up with the solution for it, but the problem is just that he can’t seem to execute it.
A slap to the face jolts him right out of his thoughts. He stumbles slightly, realizing all of a sudden that his knee still hurts like a bitch. Escaping won’t be an easy feat.
“I asked you a question, Deku,” the leader starts up again, getting right in his face. “You don’t wanna be rude, do ya? Answer me.”
Deku. He called him Deku. As in, useless. As in, the nickname Kacchan gave to him a long time ago. The nickname that started out as an insult and is now nothing more than a term of aggressive endearment—but only when it comes from Kacchan.
And now this idiot is bringing back the old meaning behind his name? Anger rises up within him, setting his insides on fire. He shouldn’t stand for it. He really shouldn’t. He can almost hear his father’s soft words in his mind, egging him on, promising him he won’t get in trouble if drags these boys through the mud until they beg for him to stop.
“Shouldn’t you guys be at school?” Izuku asks instead, clearing his throat and praying he doesn’t sound as snappy as he thinks. “It’s not time for it to be out yet—”
He sees the next smack coming and braces for it, relaxing his face like he’s been taught multiple times. His head snaps sideways with the force of the blow, and Izuku is now facing the street, only just able to see what’s going on through the gaps left between the two boys closest to him.
He takes a few deep breaths in through his nose, ignoring their barked laughter all around him. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard.
“Now, I don’t think that’s any of your business, is it?” That’s the forgotten boy, the one Izuku can only faintly remember. His voice is squeaky, almost artificially so.
Izuku wishes he’d been patrolling as Rabbit at this moment. He would've roasted the hell out of them all.
So they got kicked out, or are they skipping? Probably the first.
He receives a kick to the shin, and he nearly buckles as his bad knee is jostled even more. He has to stay up. He’s taken a whole lot worse before. He just has to keep up the facade for enough time for them to get bored with him. Or maybe for someone to step in.
They tease him, but he’s used to these words. They’re more of a backdrop to his thoughts than real insults.
“Worthless.”
“Creep.”
“Bakugou’s little witch bitch.”
“Finally decided to drop out of school, huh, Deku?”
“Guess he figured out he wouldn’t make it after all.”
Izuku sees a few people glance inside the alleyway when they walk past. But instead of lending a hand, they just turn away. They keep walking.
In a way, Izuku isn’t surprised, but it doesn’t stop the new spark of rage from igniting inside of him. He forces it down with a swallow. This is not the best area to lose his cool in.
They’re just kids. That’s probably what everyone’s thinking. The onlookers. Just boys being boys, roughhousing and all that. Must be good friends.
But there’s no way. No way those people can’t see what’s going on. And what’s even worse, Izuku spots a cop on the other side of the street, watching the crowds for any suspicious movements or interesting events.
He catches his eye, and for a few long moments, Izuku waits. He waits for the cop to come over and stop them. To break up the literal assault going on. But he doesn’t. He gives Izuku one last look before glancing away as if he never noticed him there in the first place.
Somewhere in the midst of the spite-fueled rants being thrown his way, Izuku ends up falling to the asphalt. That’s when Tsubasa lands his first hit on him—a weak kick to his stomach.
They keep going, but it doesn’t hurt much. Having a high pain tolerance really helps in these circumstances. Besides, they’re not hurting him too badly. And if they’re doing it to him, chances are they’d do it to someone else if given the moment. Better Izuku than someone else.
He wants to fight back, but another part of himself knows he can’t. Because for one, they don’t know any better. They’ve never been taught how to deal with their emotions correctly, which is still not an excuse, but it is a reason.
Kacchan would’ve ended up like them. He probably would’ve ended up worse had Auntie not forced him into therapy.
Secondly, Izuku can’t bring any attention to himself in this alleyway. If he becomes the punching bag for once, or maybe even a few times, they might decide not to hurt anyone else. He can be that sacrifice.
Izuku would love to beat their asses and hand them over to the police—oh, to Tsukauchi! The detective loves straightening out bullies!—but chances are he’d be put in jail even with the detective’s quirk to help him out. There’s no proof that any of this happened, and lie detectors (even human ones) are still subjective in most courts. Even if they do believe him, his past record is enough to lock him up anyway.
If he attempts to beat them badly and run, they might snitch, and then he’ll be hunted by Tsukauchi and the others.
The only thing Izuku can do is fight back just a little bit. Just enough to keep them interested and off of someone else’s case. He can humor them a little. Besides, this is good practice for him.
He sees a steel-toed boot heading for his nose and instinctively grabs it, twisting the leg and ankle simultaneously so the person trips over their own body.
The ringleader lands next to him and starts yelling more obscenities at him, becoming progressively louder—which is what Izuku wants.
Even after these years, the trio is still utterly predictable. They’ll no doubt take any bait he lays out for them.
It’s not until elongated fingers reach into his hoodie pocket does he actually startle. His notebook—his analysis notebook, filled with all of his notes and theories on all the recent villains and heroes—is snatched out of his grasp and thrown. Right into a large puddle next to a dumpster.
Are you fucking serious?
“Hey, what are you—!” Izuku is cut off by Tsubasa’s meaty fist flying towards him, and quicker than lightning, Izuku grabs his wrist between his fingers and yanks him forward. Tsubasa smashes face-first into the wall with a loud crack and cries out in pain, slumping to the side.
Well. So much for not doing too much damage.
The boy Izuku had forgotten about gasps, taking a few steps back from his previous place beside Tsubasa. He’s obviously the weakest link. Izuku had a feeling he would crumble as soon as one of his friends went down.
Izuku jumps to his feet and heads for his notebook, only for Ringleader to grab the back of his hoodie and swing him around.
Don’t hit him. You might hurt him.
He merely ducks under Ringleader’s fist, kneeing the other boy in the stomach so he stumbles away. Tsubasa must’ve recovered already, as when Izuku turns back, the mutant is now holding the notebook in his hand with a furious look on his face.
“Tsubasa,” Izuku tries, holding his hands out placatingly. “Please. Give me my—”
There’s a rush of wind to his side, and Izuku forces himself not to move as the third boy fucking slaps him with the back of his palm.
And what? What kind of hit is that? What a bitch move!
Izuku tastes iron in his mouth and grits his teeth, dazed for only a moment. Ringleader is on his other side now, blocking him in. Tsubasa stands triumphantly in front of him with his wings outstretched.
I need my notebook, and they’re going to make me fight to get it.
They want him to fight. They want him to get arrested, most likely.
At this point, fuck it. Whatever. He needs his notebook back, no matter the cost. He’s spent a lot of time on it, and his own analysis of his quirks are in there. Izuku crouches down a little lower, fists clenching.
Memories of his father are in it. He can’t afford to lose it.
He prepares for a fight, and he sees the trio tense in anticipation. They’ll go for the first hit, at least Ringleader will. Tsubasa will likely follow, and the third one will have no choice but to—
Ringleader is rushing forward, fingers outstretched to do who knows what, when a loud voice comes from the entrance to the alleyway and freezes them in their tracks.
“What’s going on here, boys?”
Izuku stares at the intruder—because that’s what he is at the moment. He could be a cop looking to arrest him, or maybe even a random civilian looking to get in on the action.
It sounds sick, but Izuku has seen it happen before.
The man is tall and lanky, and his hair (a nice, light shade of yellow that almost looks white) is pulled back to presumably keep it from getting in his eyes. It looks like he has it in a half-bun.
But that’s not the most interesting thing about the mystery man. He has red, rectangular glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, framing a set of piercing green eyes.
Eyes that Izuku swears he knows, but just can’t put his finger on. The voice, too, he realizes. It has a certain ring to it.
And also—is he carrying a bag of cat food and ground sausage?
Izuku opens his mouth to speak, but Ringleader beats him to it. “Oh, uh, were just having some fun, sir!”
His voice is high-pitched, and it’s such an obvious lie that Izuku wants to laughs. He should’ve let me talk, I would’ve been a hell of a lot more convincing.
And from the looks of it, Mystery Man doesn’t believe the act either. “Oh, yeah?” He frowns a little, walking casually towards them while still carrying his bag. “What’cha doing with that notebook there, kiddo?”
He’s looking at Tsubasa, and the boy in question folds under the adult’s knowing glare. He sheepishly shoves the journal back into Izuku’s chest, wings flapping slightly out of nerves. “We’re all just, er, playing a game of catch, ya know?”
Real convincing. Maybe phrase it like a statement next time, dragon boy, and it might be a little more believable.
Izuku holds his notebook tightly, not wanting to risk it getting tossed into another puddle.
Mystery Man stops a few feet away from him, frown deepening. “Is that right? Well, I think maybe you three should pick another game. This one doesn’t look like too much fun, yeah?”
It sounds more like an order, and Izuku is hit again with the same feeling that he knows this man.
The intruder—savior, more like—points back to the mouth of the alley with a thumb, giving the boys all the incentive they need to start scrambling.
They keep a safe distance away from Mystery Man as they flee towards the exit, and the one closest to Izuku, the Forgotten Boy, shoots him a scathing look and says, voice low, “You should’ve done everyone a favor and jumped off a building once you quit school, Deku.”
Izuku had been waiting for a comment like that, had been waiting for a taunt, a finishing blow, but now that he’s actually hearing those familiar words, he feels himself get sick.
"Do ya like making a fool out of me? You think I’ll believe you weren’t just lying to me all that time? Go take a fucking dive off a roof if you think for one damn second I’ll forgive you!”
The memory tastes foul on his tongue, and Izuku shakes it away quickly.
Forgotten Boy is gone with shrill laughter, leaving Izuku and the Mystery Man alone together in the alley. Great.
Izuku flips through the pages of his notebook, quietly seething.
All of his notes are ruined. The pages are soaked; he can barely read the words written in them. His drawings, theories, all of his hard work—destroyed. He can probably salvage some of it, sure, but it’s the fact that he has to do it at all that makes him angry.
A hand lands on his shoulder. “You alright, son?”
Izuku snaps the notebook shut and shoves it back into his hoodie pocket, glancing up at the taller man. “Oh, yeah! I’m, uh, I’m fine, sir, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense,” the blond says happily, retracting his hand. “I’m glad to help. Do they do that often?”
He sounds used to this. Is he a cop?
“Um, not really! They just like to play rough sometimes!” That sounds believable, Izuku thinks. The man probably would have believed it had he not just witnessed Izuku almost get the shit beat out of him.
“Uh-huh,” he says, brows scrunching suddenly. “Hey, you’re bleeding above your eye there, listener. Here.” The man digs in his back pocket for a moment before handing Izuku a bandaid, and looking closer, the boy can see a small print of a cat on the top.
Who the hell just carries a bandaid on them? Maybe he's more of a doctor?
Izuku wipes the trickle of blood off his forehead with his sleeve, thanking the man once more as he applies the bandage. He stands there for a moment after, the silence awkward as he realizes the stranger is studying him, before blurting out, “I have to get going, sir! I’m going to be late!”
He doesn’t wait for a reply as he runs out of the alleyway and disappears into the throng of people.
The man’s quirk had given off a strange, calming aura. It felt nice, in a way. Almost, dare Izuku say, comforting.
Again, he can’t shake the pressing feeling that he knows him from somewhere. There’s a strong possibility that he could be a cop, or maybe even a hero. In all fairness, his brain is too muddled from the bullies’ insults to think too much on anything else.
He ignores everyone’s stares and judgmental gazes, opting to instead continue on his way to the embroidery store. It closes pretty early, so he has to hurry. After that, he’ll finish his other plans.
It’ll take a few hours, but if he does it right he should have enough time to go to Tony’s for free breadsticks again!
At least the day had started out shitty, he thinks. Now it can’t get worse, it can only get better from here.
Right?
“You have his phone number.”
It’s not a question. Shouta hopes the disappointment is evident on his face as he stares at the text Tsukauchi apparently received from Rabbit himself.
Nezu let him off work a little early, as expected, so now he’s here, at the station, having to deal with this bullshit.
The detective has the decency to look a little sheepish as he replies, “Well, yeah. I don’t know how he got it, but he started texting me a week or so ago.”
“Did you find a location?” Shouta takes the phone and scrolls up, reading the rest of the messages. Maybe the kid left a clue or something. A hidden message.
“Nope.” Tsukauchi spins in his rolling chair, blowing out an annoyed breath. “The number is private. It’s a burner phone, by the looks of it. But the fact that he uses emojis throws out that idea. It has to be a smartphone.”
“He’s childish,” Shouta observes. The vigilante really does use an excessive amount of emojis.
No doubt on purpose to give them this inner dilemma on what kind of phone he’s using.
“Or he just likes to piss people off,” Tsukauchi offers. “You told me before that he’s likely trying to come off as innocent so the heroes won’t try to arrest him.” He tilts his head in thought. “And also so we’ll underestimate him.”
Shouta hands the phone back, huffing when he reads the latest text again: I lived, bitch.
Honestly, it’s so corny that it’s not even funny.
The message was sent at around eight in the morning, which is interesting in itself. It followed a string of messages from Tsukauchi, who'd asked the vigilante if he survived his latest stunt. The detective was obviously worried.
“You think he’s injured?” Shouta asks, turning back to the holographic whiteboard. “The time frame between the incident and when he answered you is short, considering he jumped out of a helicopter.”
Tsukauchi stands up and drags a video file with his pointer finger onto the whiteboard. He expands it so it starts to play, showing the last minute of the warehouse fight. “He didn’t get injured too badly here. The most he got was a strike to the knee, but it doesn’t look like the bone shattered.”
Shouta narrows his eyes at the display. The vigilante is efficient in this type of scenario. He seems to have a lot of experience in dealing with multiple targets at once while also minimizing property damage.
Well. At least before he set the place on fire.
Shouta pauses the video just as the first spark of flame leaches into the air beside Rabbit’s figure and starts to spread over the dry wood of the warehouse. “That could be a fire quirk. I don’t see use of any implement.”
The detective shakes his head. “Previous encounters have shown that Rabbit does have a flamethrower. Homemade, by the looks of it, so we couldn’t search the records to find out who’s bought one in the past couple of years.”
“His file says he has basic enhancements,” Shouta continues. “If we narrowed down everyone in Japan based on his build and features, we’d still get nowhere. Ten percent of this country has a basic enhancement quirk, if we’re to be broad. There’s no way we could limit that range any further.”
“Despite the chances, we still tried to do so. By the end, we still had around nine thousand potential suspects. We don’t have enough information to narrow it down more. It’s a dead-end, as of the moment.”
Shouta rubs a hand down his face. He brings up another video file, this time of the most well-known part of the incident; the one with Rabbit taking a spectacular dive off a spiraling helicopter. “The only thing we don’t know is how he managed to survive this.”
Tsukauchi speaks up again. “We spoke to the young girl yesterday. She was present at the time he allegedly smashed into her hotel room window.” His voice takes on an amused tone. “The only thing she could give us was a clue to his voice. She said he sounded a little weird when he apologized to her, and his words were a little choppy.”
There’s one explanation for that, one that Shouta has been pondering for a while.
“He might have a voice changer. I doubt he bought it with how smooth it sounds most of the time. Same with the flamethrower, he must’ve made it himself.”
“That’s what I thought. All of the weapons he’s used, they’re all one of a kind.” Tsukauchi drags up a few grainy photos of Rabbit’s support items, exiting out of both videos. A bōstaff is more prominent among the pictures, along with a few dozen knives and capture wires. “My team can’t find any of these on the market, even illegally.”
“So he’s incredibly smart,” Shouta concedes. “Or has a few amazing clients.”
The other man nods. “There’s also a chance he wears contacts. We have no proof, but we have to keep that theory on the table. What I’m hoping is that you can get some information from him.”
And that has Shouta turning to look at the detective, hands shoved deep inside his pockets. He’s too tired for this shit today. “You want me to initiate contact?”
“I don’t think you should capture him just yet,” Tsukauchi says after a moment of pause. “Just talk to him about what we’re offering. Maybe he’ll come to his senses.”
Shouta can’t help but snort. “I have a feeling he knows I’ve been keeping tabs on him. He won’t take too kindly to me talking to him. He’ll instantly be on the defensive.”
Tsukauchi grins. “Well, there’s only one way to find out how he’ll react, isn’t there?”
For what seems like the millionth time today, Shouta sighs. He longs for his sleeping bag. “I’ll try to see if I can talk to him in the next few days.”
The man thanks the underground hero sincerely, but Shouta just rolls his eyes and makes for the door.
“Just don’t expect anything big to come out of it. I know people who used to act like him before, and I know you know who I’m talking about. Chances are he’s going to laugh in my face and disappear on me again, perhaps permanently this time.”
If he messes this up, everything might crumble. The progress they’ve made will have to be restarted.
For the kid’s sake, Shouta hopes that won’t have to happen.