Chapter Text
The offensively inoffensive jingle that had been playing in your ear for the past hour cuts off as a per-rehearsed voice reads off a script.
“Hello, this is the Public Hero Safety Commission hotline. You’ve reached the Hero Liaison department. May I have your hero ID number?”
By this point, you’ve called the hotline so many times that you don’t even need to pull out your hero ID card. “My number is 155-320-62689.”
“All right, let me just pull that up here.” The tapping of keys reach your ears and you could tell exactly when your credentials are on the screen because there’s a pause. A significant pause.
“I can explain- “
“It says here,” the person on the other side said, giving no time to explain, “that your hero license has been suspended four times? I’m sorry, but hero licenses can be suspended a maximum of two times before their license is permanently-“
“Yes,” you said, words tripping over each other in your rush to ‘please god no, don’t be put on hold again’, “I understand, but that’s a misunderstanding. You see, I have this quirk that lets me go invisible and-“
“I’m sorry, I need to confer with someone higher before I can address your issue. Please hold.”
“No, wait!”
But the offensively inoffensive jingle has returned. You toss your phone to the side, uncaring of where it landed and grabbed your pillow to scream. You couldn’t scream too loud because your apartment walls are thin as shit and you did not need to deal with your landlord right now.
After a good ten seconds of silent screaming, you lifted your head in search of your phone only to find it face down next to the doorjamb leading to the bathroom… with the screen cracked.
Well, shit.
God, it was so not worth it being a hero.
—————————————————————
The life of an underground hero was, to put it bluntly, utter hell. Doubly so, if your name didn’t come attached to an agency. You got dumped with shitty patrol schedules in shitty areas with low pay and the longest wait times on the HPSC hotline. You once had been put on hold for two hours. Two hours. Meanwhile, most public-facing heroes had their own personal number that connected to their own personal liaison that they could call whenever. So yeah, being a solo underground hero was utterly thankless.
Or, at least you thought it was thankless.
—————————————————
“Here,” said the tall man that cornered you during your patrol route. He thrust a wrapped bento in your direction. “As thanks for saving me.”
You took the bento from his hands, not because you accepted this mystery box from a stranger, but because your brain had short circuited. You recognized this man, in the way you recognized any outlandish stranger you saw once on the subway. This seven-foot tall man who’d been in the hot zone of a villain attack last week who had refused any rescue until you had to drop your invisibility, scaring the shit out of him enough that he’d stopped protesting and went along with you semi-willingly—you still had to tug him with your branches—back behind the barrier.
So yes, you recognized this man, but he should not have recognized you. Not enough to corner you miles away from the last place you saw him while on patrol, at least. You were an underground hero for a reason. This, whatever this is, should not be happening.
“Oh god,” you said as realization strikes you from above, your nose scrunching behind your kabuki-inspired mask. “You’re not one of those stalker fans, are you?”
You take a step back.
It’s only half in jest.
“No, no, absolutely not!” The man said, coughing, covering up his cough, and moving his hands around like he was trying to convince you through semaphore alone that he was not a stalker. Tough luck. “I see how it might seem that way since I cornered you out of nowhere, but I promise, I’m not a stalker!”
You took another step back and turned invisible, hands reaching for that tug of the earth underneath your feet. Whoever this man was, he probably hadn’t realized your entire quirk or else he wouldn’t have confronted you near a local park, which meant you had the advantage. For now.
His eyes darted into the space before him and then he said, cautiously. “If you’re still there, then I’m reaching for something in my pocket. I promise it’s not anything bad, only some identification.”
You gave no indication of your , but true to his word he only pulled out a small card and offers it to the air, head bowed. You take it.
Yagi Toshinori, it read. Might Productions Secondary Clerical Office. On the bottom is a listed number and email but what draws your attention is the background, an outline of Might Tower, tastefully done and centered. Either this man had god-tier level graphic design skills or this was as official as official could get. Even through your gloves you could tell the card stock felt better than some fancy wedding invitations you’ve received.
“I’m sorry if I compromised you or made you uncomfortable,” Yagi said, head still bowed, “I only wanted to give my thanks.”
Yeah. Sure.
“Stand straight,” you said, and he did, his posture stiff as you circled him for a better look.
Yagi Toshinori, huh? Works in Might Tower. He didn’t look like much. His clothing looked more than twice his size and he had a face like someone had taken your average man and run him through the washer. He looked like a little kid in those clothes, even though he had to be at least two feet taller than you. He looked as if rigor mortis had set in a while ago.
He looked like the most pathetic wet cat of a man you’d ever seen and you kind of felt bad for the impromptu interrogation if it weren’t standard procedure for the average underground hero.
“I assume you used some of Might Tower’s connections with the Hero Commission to find me?”
“I tried looking you in the tower’s database first, and when that turned nothing, then yes, I had some contacts within the hero commission, but I expect I described you poorly because no one knew who you were,” you snorted. “At that point, I considered the possibility that I had imagined you or that the person I saw was an unregistered vigilante until I talked with my friend Detective Tsukuachi. He said you knew each other and when I expressed wanting to give my thanks, told me where to find you and that you liked omelettes.”
You clutched the bento box tighter. “Thank you…?”
“No,” Yagi said, disproportionately effusive, “thank you.”
An awkward silence descended upon you both, which just reaffirmed why you stuck to being an underground hero—god knows you didn’t have enough charisma to make it as a pro—and you jerked your finger Away. “Uh, I have to continue my patrol. See you around later?”
He nodded. You nodded before remembering your invisibility and then you dropped invisibility and left before reactivating it a block later.
Smooth.
—————————————
Halfway through your patrol, you unwrapped the light blue cloth—they had bunny patterns? Oh, how cute—and opened the bento. True to form, there sat a large omelette along with rice and leafy greens.
You took a bite. The meal tasted cold of course, but somehow, even through the cold, a burst of flavor exploded on your tongue.
——————————————————
“Mr. Yagi? Yes, I know him. We grab a bite every week in Might Tower’s coffee shop on the main floor. Did he finally find you?”
“Finally?”
Detective Tsukauchi adjusted the brim of his hat so it better hid his face from the hot summer rays. The picnic bench they sat on was their picnic bench, the one they'd met in front of and the one they'd always sit on if it was free; old and battered down but well-loved because of its proximity to the duck pond and its plethora of little quacking ducks. “He asked for your info a few days ago. I gave him your contact, but he said you hadn’t responded. Then I gave him a rough outline of your patrol, but it seemed he kept missing you.”
“My phone’s in the shop right now getting its screen fixed,” you explained. Then, dragging the syllables out, you asked, “So… he’s not some crazy stalker fan?”
Tsukauchi’s already wide brown eyes turned wider. “Mr. Yagi? He’s the nicest man I know! A little… strange in his expressions, sure, but that’s just because he doesn’t get a chance to converse that often. He’s very busy but you should talk to him if you want to get to know him more.”
You hummed. It was a dubious hum. “Second question: what does his job title even mean? I tried to look it up online but got nothing substantial besides the words ‘Second Clerical offices’ repeatedly.
Tsukauchi’s lips tightened in that way he did when he tries to hide something, but then the next few words knocked whatever suspicions you had right off its horse. “He manages All Might’s private life.”
You gaped. That guy you saved. The skinny stubborn one with too baggy clothes. He was in charge of All Might’s private life?
All Might had a private life?
You guess even the #1 hero had to have time off.
“Get to know him, huh?”
——————————————————————————
“Why did you really search for me?” you asked.
When Tsuakachi said 'get to know him', he probably didn’t mean another impromptu interrogation session, but, well, the question had been bugging you. You almost felt bad for the way Yagi jumped out of his skin but at the very least he had seemed to have been looking for you again. Why else would he be so far from Might Tower and along your patrol route?
“Ah, you frightened me!” said Yagi, spittle flying from his lips.
“Sorry,” you lied. You dropped in front of him, ready to continue your interrogation when reality registered.
“Oh shit,” you blurted out because red stained the underside of his jaw and the upper edge of his collar. Blood. He was coughing up blood. Internal injury? Cancer? “That’s not good.”
In the back of your mind, haunted by the perpetual disappointed face of your media-relations teacher, there’s a slap, as if a palm connecting to a forehead.
“What I mean is,” you said, “that I don’t want to alarm you, but we should head to the hospital.”
“No, no,” Yagi waved you off like this was every day for him, before pulling out a pink handkerchief, “this is normal.”
“No, it isn’t,” you said. “Heroes are required by law to have certificates in basic first aid and my certificate in basic first aid says this is not normal.”
“It is for me. I’ve had some health complications recently and well, this is normal for me.” He wiped the blood from his mouth and patted ineffectually at his shirt in the casual-est of manners; definitely used to it. “I believe you had some questions?”
To pry or not to pry? It wasn’t any of your business, although Mr. Yagi did have a track record of disregarding his health and safety. Best to keep an eye on him.
Disregarding your urge to bundle the man into a blanket cocoon and not let him see the light of day, you asked what really had been on your mind. “Why did you really find me? You are knee deep in hero work and interact with the number one hero day in and day out… and yet you decided you needed to thank me for saving you from a situation that, if I remember correctly, you did not want, and actively resisted saving from.”
You leveled a glare at him and to be fair; he looked appropriately shamed, although there withstood this stubborn set to his jaw, like he’d never apologize for being a massive pain in the neck even though he acted meek in every other instance you interacted with him.
Huh.
“So what’s up with that?” you asked.
Yagi took his time answering, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he stuffing his pink handkerchief into his breast pocket. You wondered, idly as Yagi took his time, if it had originally been white.
“I think,” he said at length, “that all those who do good are deserving of praise, but you’re right, it wasn’t just that you helped me last week. Do you remember runaway train near Hosu city that happened last month?”
You nodded. The conversation’s direction wasn’t lost on you, although how could he...
“That was you, wasn’t it? The descent of the train had been controlled but there weren’t any heroes with the right quirks to manage that level of control. Not without making a scene. You can turn invisible and you can grow branches, so I assumed…”
You remembered that day. The screeching of the trains on the rail, the screams of fright, the way the earth vibrated as it veered off the tiny platform above the city. It turned out someone’s quirk had gone off and fried the controls and where one quirk pops off, there was an inevitable quirk domino and it went from simple runaway train still on its tracks to runaway train about to ram itself into a major city center.
That was a tough day.
“You came to that conclusion just from watching the news?”
He swallowed. “I was there. In the crowd. I usually end up at these scenes and help call in All Might if he isn’t already aware, but…” His head bowed low and his bangs brushed against his cheek, “All Might was too far away. He wouldn’t have made it...”
Your fingers itched to brush his bangs back and so you, with your poor impulse control when not in the field, do; standing on your tippy-toes and maybe using a spare branch from the earth to lift you higher. “Hey, it’s okay, isn’t it? All Might might not have been able to make it; too busy rescuing someone else or sleeping or whatever, but it turned out all right, didn’t it? There was no casualties and the property damage was..." you winced, thinking of the numbers, "minimal considering the circumstances."
A smile pulled at your lips as a horrible joke pops into mind. You threw your shoulders back, grin pulling at your cheeks as you spoke from the deepest parts of your chest. “Everything turned out okay! Do you know why? Because I was there!”
There came a millisecond in the ensuing silence in which realization dawned that you just made fun of Yagi’s boss to his face. Before panic could really settle in though, Yagi, reckless and sickly and frail Yagi, burst out into a laughter so deep and rumbling that there was an almost familiar tinge to it, like a laugh you’ve heard a million times before, but also different. Sweeter and sincere then you could remember, and so, so lovely that you kind of wanted to make your home in it.
...
Uh oh.