By the third morning, Izuku could no longer feel two of his toes.
His feet had become maps of small injuries.
Cuts crossed the soles.
Blisters had burst beneath his heels.
Dirt filled the cracks in his skin.
The oversized jacket dragged behind him whenever he walked.
He kept it because it smelled faintly of laundry powder.
The smell reminded him that clean clothes still existed.
He had not slept for more than a few minutes at a time.
Whenever his eyes closed, his mother told him to run.
Whenever he opened them, he saw men watching from corners.
Sometimes the men were real.
A dark car followed him through three streets before turning away.
A man entered a noodle shop after staring at him through the window.
Two others stood outside a station, checking photographs on their telephones.
Izuku changed direction whenever anyone looked twice.
He no longer knew whether he was hiding from Rampart’s men, the police or heroes.
Perhaps they were all the same.
A public screen above an intersection showed news footage of the apartment building.
Izuku stopped among the crowd.
The presenter sat behind a desk wearing a solemn expression.
“Authorities have identified the victims as thirty-year-old Inko Midoriya and her four-year-old son, Izuku Midoriya.” A photograph appeared.
Inko held baby Izuku against her chest.
The crowd murmured.
“What a tragedy,” someone said.
“Poor child.” “They say it was gang-related.” “The father owed money.” Izuku stared at his own face on the screen.
The news said he was dead.
He touched his chest.
His heart still beat.
Perhaps the boy in the photograph was someone else.
Perhaps Izuku had died in the apartment and become a ghost.
That would explain why people looked through him.
It would explain why his mother appeared and vanished.
It would explain why no one had found him.
Izuku looked at his hands.
They were dirty and shaking.
“Am I dead?” A businessman glanced down at him, frowned and moved away.
The crowd dispersed when the signal changed.
Izuku remained beneath the screen.
His mother’s photograph disappeared, replaced by an advertisement for a new All Might cereal.
All Might grinned above a bowl of star-shaped pieces.
START YOUR DAY LIKE A HERO!
Izuku began laughing.
The sound frightened him.
It became crying without warning.
He covered his mouth and ran.
He reached a narrow street behind a row of bars.
The morning sun did not reach between the buildings.
A man slept beside a vending machine.
A woman argued with someone who was not there.
Three people stood around a barrel fire, even though the day was already warm.
One had a rhinoceros horn emerging from his forehead.
Another had long rabbit-like ears with several old tears along the edges.
The third looked entirely ordinary.
Izuku crouched behind a stack of crates.
His body swayed.
The horned man noticed him.
“Kid?” Izuku tried to stand.
His knees failed.
The man approached slowly.
“You hurt?” “No.” “You look hurt.” “I’m dead.” The man stopped.
“Who told you that?” “The news.” The rabbit-eared woman moved closer.
She had a blanket over her shoulders and a cup of steaming liquid in one hand.
“What’s your name?” Izuku pressed himself against the crates.
The people from the tunnel had asked the same thing.
Hana had asked.
Names made telephones come out.
“I don’t have one.” The ordinary-looking woman crouched several metres away.
“All right.
No name.” She placed a cup of water on the ground.
Izuku stared at it.
“No tricks.
Just water.” He crawled forward.
The water tasted metallic and wonderful.
He drank until his stomach hurt.
The horned man offered him a packaged cake.
Izuku held it but did not open it.
“My mum needs some.” The three adults looked at one another.
“Where’s your mum?” the rabbit-eared woman asked.
Izuku pointed in several directions at once.
“She’s coming after she fights the hero.” The woman’s ears lowered.
“What hero?” Izuku saw Rampart standing behind them.
His coat was torn.
Blood covered one side of his face.
Izuku screamed and threw the cup.
The three adults turned.
No one was there.
Izuku ran again.
The cake remained clutched in his hand.
He reached a public toilet and locked himself inside a cubicle.
For a long time, he sat on the closed lid with his knees pressed against his chest.
His heartbeat filled the small room.
Someone entered.
Izuku held his breath.
Shoes appeared beneath the cubicle door.
They stopped.
“Izuku?” The voice was unfamiliar.
Izuku covered his mouth.
“We know you’re in there.” A second voice answered from near the entrance.
“Get him out before someone comes.” The handle moved.
Izuku had locked it.
One of the men sighed.
“Kid, your auntie sent us.” The word auntie cut through his fear.
He lowered his hands.
“Auntie Mitsuki?” “That’s right.” The men had found the correct name.
Hope rose too quickly.
Izuku reached for the lock.
Then his mother appeared beside him.
Her face was pale.
Blood ran from her eyes.
Run.
Izuku snatched his hand away.
Outside, the first man whispered, “He’s not buying it.” “Break the door.” The cubicle shook.
Izuku climbed onto the toilet and reached the narrow window above him.
It was partly open.
He pushed.
The gap widened.
The door behind him splintered.
Izuku dragged himself through the window.
His shirt caught on the frame.
A hand grabbed his ankle.
He kicked wildly.
His heel struck someone’s face.
The grip loosened.
Izuku fell onto the pavement outside.
Pain shot through his elbows.
He got up and ran.
“There!” The men came around the building after him.
Izuku crossed a service road.
A delivery cyclist swerved and crashed into a stack of boxes.
Izuku shouted an apology without slowing.
He entered a crowded market.
Stalls filled the narrow street.
People shouted prices.
Music played from several shops at once.
The crowd should have made him safe.
Instead, it became another maze.
The men pushed through behind him.
“Stop that kid!” A few adults looked.
No one moved.
Izuku ducked beneath a table, crawled between stacked crates and emerged beside a fish stall.
A hand caught the back of the oversized jacket.
Izuku slipped his arms free and left it behind.
Cold air struck his skin.
He ran in pyjamas that had become grey with dirt.
The market ended at a broad road.
Three professional heroes stood on the opposite pavement.
Midnight laughed at something Present Mic had said.
Her dark hair moved in the breeze, and a long coat covered most of her costume.
Eraser Head stood beside them, wrapped in his capture weapon and looking as though he had not slept in a week.
They were returning from an overnight patrol.
Izuku saw costumes.
His body reacted before his mind did.
He turned away.
One of Rampart’s men appeared in front of him.
Izuku stumbled backwards.
The second man closed in from behind.
“No more running,” he said.
Izuku looked from the criminals to the heroes across the road.
Rampart wore a hero’s face.
Heroes hurt mothers.
Heroes worked with police.
The news said Izuku was dead.
His mother whispered beside him.
Run.
The first man reached.
Izuku darted sideways.
He crossed the road without looking.
A car braked.
Tyres screamed.
Someone shouted.
Izuku reached the opposite pavement and collided with something solid.
Hands caught him before he hit the ground.
He looked up.
Midnight stared down at him.
Her expression changed instantly.
The laughter vanished.
“Hey.” Izuku screamed.
He struck at her arms.
“Let go!
Let go!” Midnight released him immediately and stepped back.
Izuku fell onto his hands.
“Easy,” she said, lowering herself into a crouch.
“I’m not going to grab you.” “You’re a hero.” He said the word as an accusation.
Midnight heard it.
So did Eraser Head and Present Mic.
The men pursuing Izuku stopped near the kerb.
Present Mic looked from them to the child.
Bare, bleeding feet.
Bruises across his arms and face.
Filthy pyjamas.
The way he shook whenever Midnight moved.
Present Mic’s usual grin disappeared.
One of the men raised his hands.
“Our nephew ran away.” Eraser Head looked at Izuku.
“Is that your uncle?” Izuku shook his head violently.
The man sighed.
“He’s confused.
There was an accident.” Eraser Head’s hair began to lift.
His eyes turned red.
“Then you won’t mind waiting while we verify that.” The second man ran.
Eraser Head’s capture weapon snapped through the air and wrapped around his ankle.
The man struck the pavement.
The first activated his Quirk.
His arms enlarged, muscles swelling until his sleeves tore.
He lunged towards Izuku.
Midnight moved between them.
A purple haze spread from her exposed wrist.
The man held his breath and swung.
Midnight ducked beneath the blow.
Present Mic stepped sideways, placing his body between Izuku and the fight.
“Cover your ears, little listener.” Izuku did not move.
Present Mic crouched so Izuku could see his hands.
“I’m taking off my headphones,” he said.
“I’m going to put them beside you.
They’ll make the noise smaller.” He moved slowly.
Izuku watched every centimetre.
Present Mic placed the headphones on the ground rather than touching him.
Izuku grabbed them and pressed them over his ears.
Present Mic gave him a small nod.
“Good job.” Then he turned.
The sound of his voice became pressure.
Even through the headphones, Izuku felt it in his chest.
The enlarged man flew backwards into a fruit stall.
Wood splintered.
Oranges rolled across the pavement.
The second criminal tore free from Eraser Head’s capture weapon and produced a blade from his forearm.
Eraser Head erased the transformation before it fully formed.
His scarf wrapped around the man’s torso.
One pull lifted him from his feet.
He struck the side of a parked van and dropped.
The fight lasted less than a minute.
To Izuku, it lasted forever.
He curled against the wall, headphones pressed over his ears, waiting for the heroes to turn on him.
They did not.
Eraser Head restrained the criminals.
Present Mic remained between Izuku and the fighting until both men were secured.
Midnight approached slowly.
She removed her coat.
“I’m going to place this near you,” she said.
“You don’t have to wear it.” She put it on the pavement within reach and stepped away.
Izuku stared at it.
Midnight sat down completely, making herself smaller than the adults surrounding him.
One of the criminals groaned.
Eraser Head tightened his capture weapon.
“Who sent you?” The man spat onto the road.
“Go to hell.” Eraser Head’s expression did not change.
Present Mic crouched beside Izuku, careful to remain outside arm’s reach.
“Hey, little man.
Can you tell us your name?” Izuku shook his head.
“That’s okay.” “You’ll tell him.” The words came out broken.
Present Mic glanced towards the captured men.
“Tell who?” “The hero.” Midnight’s expression softened.
“What hero?” Izuku pressed his back against the wall.
“He hurt Mum.” “Did the men chasing you work for him?” Izuku nodded.
“Do you know his name?” His lips formed the first sound.
Nothing followed.
Rampart’s name had weight.
Saying it might bring him.
Eraser Head examined the child, then looked towards Present Mic.
The green hair.
The eyes.
The boy reported dead three days earlier.
Midnight spoke carefully.
“Sweetheart, is your name Izuku?” The world stopped.
Izuku looked at her.
“How do you know?” “We saw your picture.” “The news says I’m dead.” Midnight’s breath caught.
“You’re not dead.” “Are you sure?” The question was so sincere that Present Mic turned his face away for a moment.
Midnight moved one hand, then stopped before reaching towards him.
“I’m sure.” Izuku looked down at his chest.
His breathing had become shallow.
“You’re a hero.” “Yes.” “Heroes hurt people.” “Some people with hero licences hurt people,” Eraser Head said.
“That does not make them right, and it does not make every hero like them.” Izuku stared at him.
Eraser Head lowered himself onto one knee.
He remained several metres away.
“We won’t force you to trust us,” he said.
“We’ll show you what we’re doing before we do it.” Izuku looked towards the restrained criminals.
“You’re not taking me back?” “No,” Midnight said.
“To the apartment?” “No.” “To him?” “Never.” Her answer came without hesitation.
Something inside Izuku loosened.
Not trust.
Trust was too large.
Only one knot among hundreds.
“My auntie,” he whispered.
“What’s her name?” Present Mic asked.
“Mitsuki.” “Mitsuki what?” His thoughts slipped.
He could see blond hair.
Red eyes.
An apron covered in little explosions.
The surname would not come.
“Kacchan’s mum.” Present Mic looked towards Eraser Head.
“Bakugou.” Izuku’s head lifted.
“Kacchan.” “We’ll find her,” Midnight promised.
His knees folded.
Midnight caught him before his head struck the pavement.
This time, he did not fight.
His body had nothing left.
She wrapped her coat around him.
Warm.
He heard Present Mic calling for an ambulance.
Eraser Head spoke into a telephone, demanding that the child’s discovery be restricted to a national investigative unit.
“No local officers,” he said.
“Not until we know who falsified the death report.” Midnight held Izuku against her chest.
His head rested beneath her chin.
“Mum said run,” he murmured.
“You ran.” “I got lost.” “You kept going.” “I didn’t find Auntie.” “We will.” “Promise?” Midnight looked at the captured criminals, the gathered crowd and the public screens that had already declared the child dead.
“Yes,” she said.
“I promise.” The ambulance arrived six minutes later.
To Izuku, its siren sounded like the apartment tearing apart.
He woke inside Midnight’s arms and screamed.
The paramedics stopped approaching.
Midnight did not hold him tighter.
She loosened her arms enough that he could pull away.
“It’s an ambulance,” she said.
“They want to check your feet and give you water.” “No police.” “No police.” “No hero hospital.” “It’s an ordinary hospital.” “Rampart can come.” Eraser Head appeared beside the open ambulance doors.
“He won’t know which hospital.” Izuku looked at him.
“How?” “Because I’m not telling anyone who doesn’t need to know.” “You can stop him?” Eraser Head considered the question.
“I can make it difficult for him.” It was not a promise of victory.
It was honest.
Izuku seemed to understand the difference.
Present Mic removed his bright jacket and turned it inside out, hiding the hero markings.
“I’m riding with you,” he said.
Midnight raised an eyebrow.
“So am I.” “The ambulance isn’t a tour bus,” the paramedic muttered.
Eraser Head stared at him.
The paramedic sighed.
“One of you.” Midnight looked at Izuku.
“You choose.” No adult had offered him a choice since the apartment.
Izuku looked between the three heroes.
Present Mic had given him the headphones.
Eraser Head had stopped the men and promised not to tell the wrong police.
Midnight’s coat surrounded him.
“You,” he whispered, gripping Midnight’s sleeve.
Present Mic nodded as though Izuku had made a perfectly reasonable tactical decision.
“Solid pick.
We’ll meet you there.” Eraser Head turned towards the criminals.
“We have work to do.” Midnight climbed into the ambulance with Izuku.
Before the doors closed, Present Mic placed his headphones beside him.
“For the siren,” he said.
Izuku held them against his chest.
He woke beneath white light.
The ceiling was wrong.
The sheets smelled wrong.
Something pinched the back of his hand.
A machine beeped beside him.
Izuku opened his eyes.
Hospital.
The word reached him before the memory did.
Then everything returned at once.
The doctor.
The electricity.
The gun.
Rampart.
His mother’s blood-red eyes.
Running.
Men chasing him.
Heroes.
Izuku tore the sensor from his finger.
The machine began alarming.
He tried to sit up.
Pain crossed his feet and forced him back.
A tube pulled at his arm.
“No.” The door opened.
A nurse entered.
Izuku screamed.
“Stay away!” She stopped.
“It’s all right.” “No!” His breaths came faster.
The room shrank around him.
The white walls became barriers.
The nurse’s uniform became Rampart’s dark coat.
The machine alarms became the apartment breaking apart.
“Don’t touch me!” The nurse backed towards the door.
“Get Midnight.” Izuku dragged at the tape holding the tube in his hand.
His fingers would not work properly.
Air went into his lungs but seemed to disappear before reaching anywhere useful.
He began shaking.
“Run,” he whispered.
The door opened again.
Midnight entered wearing ordinary clothes.
No costume.
No mask.
Her long dark hair had been tied back, and she carried nothing in her hands.
Izuku pressed himself into the corner of the bed.
She stopped near the door.
“Hi, Izuku.” His breathing came in small, painful gasps.
“You’re in a hospital,” she said.
“The men who chased you are not here.” “Hero.” “Yes.” He stared at her.
Midnight slowly sat on the floor.
“I’m going to stay here.” “Why?” “Because waking up alone is frightening.” She did not move closer.
The alarm continued.
Midnight looked towards the nurse.
“Can it be silenced from outside?” The nurse nodded and left.
The noise stopped.
Silence returned.
Izuku’s breaths remained too fast.
Midnight placed one hand against her own chest.
“Can you copy me?” He did not answer.
She breathed in slowly.
Then out.
Again.
Izuku tried.
The first breath broke into a sob.
Midnight continued.
In.
Out.
His shaking gradually weakened.
She remained on the floor.
After several minutes, Izuku looked towards the doorway.
“The other heroes?” “Eraser Head is making sure the wrong police officers cannot enter the ward.
Present Mic is looking for your auntie.” “You told the police?” “Only people we trust.” “They work for him.” “Some might.” Izuku’s breathing began to speed again.
“That’s why Eraser Head is checking every name,” Midnight said.
“No one comes through that door unless he allows it.” As though summoned, Eraser Head appeared in the doorway.
He wore ordinary black clothing.
His capture weapon remained around his shoulders.
He held a clipboard.
“No local officers have access,” he said.
“The hospital records use a temporary name.
Security footage from this floor is being isolated.” Izuku stared at him.
Eraser Head looked towards the disconnected sensor.
“That machine was too loud.” Izuku nodded.
“I told them not to reactivate the alarm unless your heart rate becomes dangerous.” “You can tell doctors what to do?” “No.
I can annoy them until they make sensible decisions.” A tiny sound escaped Izuku.
It might have been the beginning of a laugh.
Midnight smiled slightly.
Eraser Head placed the clipboard on a shelf.
“I’m going back outside the door.” “Why?” “To make sure no one enters.” “You’re staying?” “For now.” Izuku watched him leave.
He did not fully trust Eraser Head.
But the man had not promised safety and disappeared.
He had placed himself between the room and the rest of the world.
Midnight waited.
“Can I sit closer?” Izuku looked at the empty chair beside the bed.
He nodded once.
Midnight moved slowly and sat down.
She kept both hands visible on her knees.
“What happened at your home?” she asked.
Izuku’s gaze dropped to the blanket.
“A hero came in.” Midnight waited.
“He said he had to talk.” “Was it the same hero you were afraid would find you?” Izuku nodded.
“He hurt Mum.” His voice cracked.
“He made walls nobody could see.
Mum hit them.
She couldn’t get out.” Midnight’s fingers tightened against her knees.
“She told me to run.” “You did exactly what she asked.” “I left her.” “You escaped because she made an opening for you.” “I left her.” The words became a sob.
Midnight shifted forward, then stopped.
“May I hold your hand?” Izuku stared at her hand.
Rampart had worn gloves.
Daichi’s hands had carried electricity.
Hands grabbed children.
Hands also gave away bread.
Hands placed coats on pavements.
After a long moment, Izuku extended two fingers.
Midnight took them gently.
No electricity came.
No barrier closed around him.
Her hand was warm.
“I didn’t find Auntie,” he said.
“Present Mic will.” “I went the wrong way.” “You’re four years old, Izuku.” “I should know.” “You survived three days alone while dangerous men searched for you.
You did more than anyone should ever have asked.” His face twisted.
“I saw Mum.” “In the city?” “She kept telling me to run.” Midnight swallowed.
“Sometimes, after something terrifying happens, the mind keeps showing it to us.” “Was she real?” “I don’t know what you saw.” “She looked real.” “I believe you.” That answer seemed to matter.
Izuku closed his hand around one of Midnight’s fingers.
“Where is Mum?” Midnight’s arm tightened slightly.
Present Mic looked towards the floor.
The room became terribly still.
Midnight had known the question would come.
She had imagined giving a careful answer while a doctor or child psychologist sat beside them.
She had imagined finding language gentle enough to contain something that had no gentle shape.
None of those plans survived Izuku’s face.
He was four years old.
He had spent three days carrying food for a mother who would never eat it.
He had followed hallucinations through traffic.
He had run because he believed she would follow.
Midnight looked towards the doorway.
Eraser Head stood just beyond it.
He met her eyes.
No one else was going to answer.
Midnight turned back to Izuku.
“We’re still confirming everything that happened,” she said softly.
“Is she at another hospital?” Midnight could not lie.
Izuku felt the answer before she gave it.
His grip closed painfully around her shirt.
“No.” The word barely existed.
Midnight shifted fully onto the bed.
“Come here.” She did not ask him to be brave.
She did not tell him everything would be all right.
She opened both arms.
Izuku collapsed into them.
“Where is she?” he cried.
Midnight held the back of his head against her shoulder.
“I’m sorry.” “No.” His entire body convulsed.
“She said run.
She said she was coming.” “I know.” “I left her!” “You obeyed her.” “I left her!” “She saved you.” “I have to go back!” Izuku tried to climb from the bed.
Midnight caught him gently, careful of the line in his hand and the bandages covering his feet.
“I have to get her!” “You can’t go back tonight.” “She’s waiting!” Midnight’s eyes filled.
She gathered him against her chest.
Izuku struck weakly at her shoulder.
“Let me go!” “I won’t hold you if you want me to stop.” “She needs me!” “I know.” “She’s alone!” Midnight could no longer keep her voice steady.
“She made sure you weren’t.” Izuku stopped fighting.
The sentence reached somewhere the others had not.
Midnight rocked him slowly.
It was an instinctive movement, older than hero training and gentler than any restraint.
“She made an opening,” Midnight whispered.
“She told you where to go.
She stood between you and the people who wanted to hurt you.” Izuku shook his head against her shoulder.
“I didn’t get to Auntie.” “You kept running until someone could protect you.” “Heroes hurt her.” “One hero did.” “They’re bad.” “Some are.” “You’re a hero.” “Yes.” “Are you bad?” Midnight closed her eyes.
“I can only show you what I choose to do.” Izuku pulled back enough to look at her.
“What are you choosing?” “To stay.” Midnight wiped the tears from his face with her sleeve.
“To help find your auntie.
To make sure nobody takes you.
To listen when you tell us you’re frightened.” Present Mic leaned forward.
“And I’m choosing to make this room a quiet zone.
No sudden noises, no shouting and no terrifying hospital jelly unless specifically requested.” Izuku stared at him.
“Hospital jelly?” “It’s a menace.” A tiny, broken laugh escaped Izuku.
Present Mic did not smile triumphantly.
He only nodded, accepting the sound as something fragile.
Eraser Head entered the room.
He placed Present Mic’s headphones on the table beside the juice.
“I checked them,” he said.
“They’re safe.” Izuku looked at the three heroes.
Midnight holding him.
Present Mic sitting close enough to hear him but not close enough to trap him.
Eraser Head standing between the bed and the door.
None wore costumes.
None smiled for a camera.
None asked him to stop crying.
The word hero did not become safe again.
Not yet.
But for the first time since Rampart entered the apartment, it no longer meant only danger.
Izuku buried his face against Midnight’s shoulder.
“Will you stay until Auntie comes?” “Yes,” she said.
“All three?” Present Mic nodded.
Eraser Head dragged the chair from beside the wall and placed it near the door.
“All three.” Izuku’s fingers remained tangled in Midnight’s shirt.
She continued rocking him as his sobs weakened into exhausted, uneven breaths.
Present Mic opened the juice carton but left it untouched on the table.
Eraser Head watched the corridor.
They could not return his mother.
They could not undo the apartment, the alley or the three days he had spent beneath the city’s bright surface.
They could do only what real heroes sometimes did when victory was no longer possible.
They could remain.
And, for that night, they did.