Mitsuki had already known Izuku was alive for forty-three minutes.
The knowledge still refused to settle.
It sat beneath her ribs, too large to become relief and too fragile to become certainty.
Present Mic had called shortly after the heroes found him.
He had explained that Izuku was in hospital, dehydrated, malnourished and injured after spending three days alone.
He had also confirmed the truth Mitsuki had been trying not to imagine.
Inko was dead.
Izuku knew.
Not well.
Not completely.
But he knew enough to ask why his mother had not followed him.
Now Mitsuki stood in the Bakugou spare room, filling a bag with clothes Izuku had left behind.
A green shirt.
Two pairs of trousers.
Socks.
His All Might pyjamas.
She stopped with them in her hands.
Inko had washed those pyjamas while staying with the Bakugous.
She had complained that the cape attached to the shoulders became twisted inside the machine.
Mitsuki had told her to cut it off.
Izuku had overheard and behaved as though she had proposed removing one of his arms.
Inko had laughed.
The memory struck without warning.
Mitsuki sat on the edge of the futon.
She pressed the pyjamas against her face.
“I should have made you stay.” The room did not answer.
She had argued with Inko.
She had demanded extra locks, cameras and daily telephone calls.
Then she had helped pack the bags.
Two days later, Inko was dead and Izuku was alone in the city.
Masaru appeared in the doorway.
“The car will be here in five minutes.” Mitsuki lowered the pyjamas.
“I let her go.” “You respected her decision.” “I should have ignored it.” “You could not imprison her.” “I could have tried harder.” Masaru entered and sat beside her.
His grief was quieter.
That did not make it smaller.
“Rampart entered her home,” he said.
“Rampart threatened Izuku.
Rampart killed her.” “I knew she wasn’t safe.” “You knew she was frightened.” “I told her not to leave.” “And she wanted her son to have a home.” Mitsuki looked at him.
“She thought going back would prove they could live normally.” “She was wrong,” Masaru said gently.
“Being wrong did not make her responsible for what he did.” Mitsuki folded the pyjamas.
“When Izuku sees me, what do I say?” “The truth.” “That I failed his mother?” “That we searched for him.” “I should tell him I’m sorry.” “Not until he understands you are not asking him to comfort you.” The words stopped her.
Masaru rarely raised his voice.
He did not raise it now.
Still, the firmness carried.
“He has spent three days believing he failed Inko,” he continued.
“Do not hand him your guilt as well.” Mitsuki stared at the bag.
“What do I do?” “Sit with him.” “That’s all?” “Let him decide what he needs.” From the hallway came the sound of drawers opening and closing.
Katsuki appeared carrying his school bag.
It bulged at every seam.
“What is in there?” Mitsuki asked.
“Stuff.” “That answer has never improved a situation.” Katsuki opened the bag.
Inside were four hero figures, two notebooks, a box of crayons, three packets of snacks, one sock and a bent cardboard shield.
Mitsuki stared at the shield.
“You kept that?” “It’s Deku’s.” Izuku had made it before the park.
The green letter H remained visible beneath several strips of tape.
Katsuki pulled out the All Might figure that had waited beside Izuku’s futon.
“He’ll want this.” “Probably.” “And his notebook.” “Yes.” “And snacks.” “The hospital will feed him.” “What if the food is bad?” Masaru looked towards Mitsuki.
“Sound reasoning.” She ignored him.
Katsuki shoved everything back into the bag.
“Is Deku scared?” Mitsuki hesitated.
“Yes.” “Of the men?” “And heroes.” Katsuki frowned.
“But heroes found him.” “A hero killed Auntie Inko.” “He isn’t a hero.” “He has a licence.” “That doesn’t count.” Mitsuki looked at her son.
Katsuki’s world remained organised around simple categories.
Strong and weak.
Hero and villain.
Winning and losing.
Rampart had broken those categories for Izuku.
Sooner or later, Katsuki would understand the fracture too.
“What do I say to him?” he asked.
Masaru knelt.
“You do not have to say anything clever.” “I can tell him I found his notebook.” “That would be good.” “And I can say I’m not angry.” Mitsuki’s throat tightened.
“He might think you are.” “I’m angry at him a little.” “Katsuki.” “He got lost.” “He was being chased.” “I know.” Katsuki looked towards the floor.
“I’m angry because he wasn’t there.” Mitsuki sat in front of him.
“You thought he was dead.” He nodded.
“I shouted for him.” “I know.” “He didn’t answer.” “He couldn’t hear you.” Katsuki tightened both hands around the straps of the bag.
“Can I be angry and happy?” “Yes.” “At the same time?” “That is usually how families work.” The car arrived outside.
It was unmarked, sent by an investigator Eraser Head trusted outside the local police department.
The driver gave the phrase Present Mic had provided.
“Hospital jelly is a menace.” Mitsuki stared at him.
“I’m beginning to dislike that man.” Masaru opened the rear door.
“You haven’t met him.” “I’m preparing.” They climbed inside.
Katsuki sat between his parents with Izuku’s bag on his lap.
The car pulled away.
Mitsuki watched familiar streets pass.
Somewhere among them, Izuku had spent three days hungry and afraid.
They passed a railway bridge.
A narrow alley.
A public screen displaying Rampart’s face beside an advertisement for a charity rescue fund.
Mitsuki’s nails pressed into her palms.
“They know it was him,” she said.
Masaru followed her gaze.
“Present Mic said Izuku identified him.” “Then why is he still on television?” “Because they need proof.” “A child watched him murder his mother.” “A frightened four-year-old’s testimony against a famous hero.” Mitsuki’s voice became cold.
“They will tear him apart.” “That is what the heroes are trying to prevent.” “They’ll call Izuku confused.” “Yes.” “They’ll say Inko caused everything herself.” “Possibly.” “They’ll protect Rampart because admitting the truth would embarrass them.” Masaru did not answer.
Katsuki looked between them.
“Can’t Eraser Head make him tell the truth?” “His Quirk only stops other Quirks,” Mitsuki said.
“Present Mic could shout until he talks.” “That is not how investigations work.” “It should be.” For once, Mitsuki found no fault in the argument.
Her telephone vibrated.
A secure message from Present Mic.
Police representatives have arrived unexpectedly.
We are verifying them.
Do not enter through the main desk.
The driver has instructions.
Izuku is safe.
Mitsuki read the final sentence twice.
Safe.
The word had become dangerous.
Inko had been safe with new locks.
Izuku had been safe in hospital.
Promises of safety seemed to attract disaster.
She typed a response.
We are ten minutes away.
Do not leave him.
The reply came quickly.
We won’t.
Mitsuki closed her eyes.
She wanted to believe him.
Back at the Hospital Three detectives entered the hospital room.
All carried genuine police identification.
That did not mean they were honest.
The tallest introduced himself as Detective Nakamura from the Metropolitan Special Investigations Division.
Beside him stood Detective Shinohara and a younger officer carrying a recorder.
Eraser Head examined their authorisation twice.
The seal was valid.
The signature belonged to a real magistrate.
The order permitted an interview with the surviving witness to Inko Midoriya’s death.
It did not explain how the detectives knew which hospital to visit.
“Who gave you the location?” Eraser Head asked.
Nakamura closed the folder.
“That information is operationally protected.” “So is the child.” “We are investigating a murder.” “You are entering a room containing a traumatised four-year-old.” “We know his age.” “Your approach suggests otherwise.” Present Mic stood beside the window.
Midnight remained on the edge of Izuku’s bed.
One of Izuku’s hands was wrapped around two of her fingers.
“You have fifteen minutes,” Eraser Head said.
Nakamura frowned.
“You do not control a police interview.” “I control who approaches the child I am currently protecting.” “You are not his legal guardian.” “Neither are you.” The detectives entered.
Eraser Head remained beside the door.
Present Mic moved closer to the bed.
The younger officer activated the recorder.
Nakamura sat opposite Izuku.
“Hello, Izuku.” Izuku looked at Midnight.
“You don’t have to answer anything you don’t understand,” she said.
Nakamura’s mouth tightened.
“We know how to interview children.” “Then demonstrate it.” The detective opened his folder.
“You have already told these heroes that Rampart entered your apartment.” Izuku’s fingers tightened around Midnight’s.
“Yes.” “Did he introduce himself?” “No.” “Then how did you identify him?” “I know his face.” “From television?” “Yes.” “Posters?” “Yes.” Nakamura nodded as though Izuku had confirmed something important.
“The apartment was dark.” “There was light.” “Had you just awakened?” “Yes.” “Were you frightened?” “Yes.” “Were people shouting?” “Yes.” “Was there dust or debris in the air?” “After Mum…” Izuku stopped.
Nakamura continued.
“You spent three days alone after the incident.” Midnight’s posture changed.
“What does that have to do with his identification?” “We are establishing the condition of the witness.” Nakamura looked at Izuku.
“During those three days, you saw your mother in places where she was not present.” Izuku recoiled.
Eraser Head stepped away from the door.
“That information came from a confidential clinical conversation.” “It was included in the emergency psychological assessment.” “Which was sealed.” “We obtained authority.” “Show me the release.” Nakamura ignored him.
“You also believed you might be dead.” Izuku looked towards the blanket.
Midnight moved between him and the detective’s direct line of sight.
“That is enough.” “We have barely begun.” “You are using symptoms of trauma to humiliate him.” “We are evaluating whether those symptoms affected his memory.” Nakamura shifted sideways to see Izuku.
“Rampart is a famous hero.
His image is displayed throughout Musutafu.
Is it possible you saw an unfamiliar man and your frightened mind gave him a face you recognised?” “No.” “You were confused.” “No.” “You were hallucinating during the following days.” “Not at home.” “How can you be sure?” “Because it was him.” Nakamura sighed softly.
Not frustrated.
Patient.
The manner of an adult correcting a child.
“Memory changes after frightening events.” “Mine didn’t.” “Everyone’s does.” Present Mic’s voice became quiet.
“He answered you.” Nakamura opened another section of the folder.
“We also need to discuss the explosion.” “Mum did it,” Izuku said.
“You believe she did.” “She told me to run.
Then she pulled everything.” “Your mother’s registered Quirk allowed her to attract small objects.” “She was strong.” “No previous record suggests she could generate the amount of force required to destroy the apartment.” “She did.” Nakamura placed a medical document on the table.
Eraser Head saw the hospital consultant’s name at the top.
His expression darkened.
“We reviewed your Quirk assessment,” Nakamura said.
Izuku stared at the paper.
The doctor’s office returned.
The X-ray.
The extra toe joint.
The word Quirkless.
“The doctor said I don’t have one.” “Doctors can be wrong.” “Mum said he was wrong.” “Perhaps she was correct.” Hope appeared for less than a second.
Then Nakamura twisted it.
“Some Quirks manifest during extreme emotional distress.
You were frightened, angry and trying to protect your mother.” “I didn’t do anything.” “You may not remember.” “Mum made the blast.” “Or you did.” “No.” “A powerful repulsion or telekinetic Quirk could explain the structural damage.” “I don’t have one.” “You might.” Izuku looked towards Midnight.
“What if I do?” Her answer came carefully.
“Having a Quirk would not make their theory true.” Nakamura leaned forward.
“Did you want Rampart to go away?” “Yes.” “Did you feel angry?” “Yes.” “Did you feel pressure inside your body?” “I don’t know.” “Did objects begin moving after you became frightened?” “Mum moved them.” “Did you scream?” “Yes.” “Did the apartment explode when you screamed?” “No.” Nakamura’s voice hardened.
“How do you know?” “Because Mum did it!” The monitor beside the bed began beeping faster.
Eraser Head watched Nakamura.
This was not questioning.
It was construction.
The detective was assembling a new memory one piece at a time.
“You ran before the final blast,” Nakamura said.
“You could not see who caused it.” “I saw Mum.” “You saw her before you left.” “She was using her Quirk.” “Or she was standing near you when yours manifested.” Izuku pressed both hands against his ears.
“No.” Nakamura continued.
“The blast killed your mother.” “No.” “If you caused it…” “I didn’t.” “You may have killed her without meaning to.” “No!” Midnight stood.
“Stop.” Nakamura did not look at her.
“You need to tell the truth, Izuku.” “I am!” “Your mother died in an explosion centred on the room where you were standing.” “She saved me!” “You killed your own mother.” The sentence struck the room silent.
Izuku stopped moving.
His mouth opened.
No sound emerged.
Then his face collapsed.
“I didn’t.” Midnight reached him first.
Izuku grabbed the front of her jumper with both hands and buried his face against her.
“I didn’t hurt Mum.” “I know.” “I didn’t.” “I know.” Nakamura rose.
“This reaction does not answer the question.” Midnight turned.
The expression on her face stopped him.
“How dare you?” “This is an active investigation.” “He is four.” “He is the only surviving witness and may also be responsible for the fatal event.” “You walked into this room determined to replace his testimony with a confession.” “That is an outrageous accusation.” Eraser Head closed the door behind the detectives.
The quiet click drew every eye.
“You knew about his hallucinations,” he said.
Nakamura straightened.
“We had access to the medical assessment.” “You knew about the direction of force inside the apartment.” “Forensic investigators…” “The preliminary report has not classified the blast.” A pause.
Small.
Fatal.
Present Mic stepped away from the window.
“You also knew where to find him despite this ward being removed from the local police network.” “Our authorisation…” “Who told you?” Eraser Head asked.
Nakamura gathered his papers.
“This conversation is over.” “Yes,” Midnight said.
“It is.” “We will return with an appropriate child-interview specialist.” “No,” Eraser Head replied.
“You cannot block an investigation.” “I can block witness intimidation.” Shinohara reached towards the recorder.
Present Mic placed one hand over it first.
“That stays.” “It is police property.” “It contains evidence that three detectives attempted to implant a confession into a traumatised child.” Nakamura’s face hardened.
“You are making a serious professional mistake.” Eraser Head opened the door.
“You made yours when you knew too much.” The detectives walked into the corridor.
Eraser Head watched them reach the lift.
Nakamura looked back once.
Not angry.
Calculating.
The doors closed.
Eraser Head turned towards Present Mic.
“Copy the recording.” “Already doing it.” “Send it outside the police network.” “To whom?” “Principal Nezu.” Present Mic raised an eyebrow.
“We graduated years ago.” “He still owes me for the incident with the ventilation system.” “That was your fault.” “Not relevant.” Inside the room, Izuku continued crying against Midnight.
“I didn’t kill her.” She held the back of his head.
“No.” “What if they’re right?” “They are not.” “What if I have a Quirk?” “Then you have a Quirk.” “What if it hurt Mum?” “Your mother told you to run before the apartment came apart.” Izuku’s sobs faltered.
“She knew what she was doing,” Midnight said.
“The detectives wanted you to doubt that because doubting yourself makes your memory easier to attack.” “Why?” “Because you told the truth about someone powerful.” “Rampart.” “Yes.” “Will he come?” Midnight looked towards the door.
“We won’t let him walk into this room.” It was not the same as saying he could not reach them.
She had learned from Eraser Head’s honesty.
Outside, Present Mic ended the copy.
“The detectives’ credentials are genuine,” he said.
“That’s worse,” Eraser Head replied.
“You think Rampart sent actual officers.” “I think someone did.” “Can we arrest them?” “Not yet.” Present Mic’s jaw tightened.
“We know Rampart killed Inko.” “We know Izuku identified him.” “Same thing.” “Not in court.” “He sent men after a four-year-old.” “The two men from the market claim they were hired anonymously.” “Convenient.” “Designed.” Eraser Head looked through the observation window.
Midnight rocked Izuku slowly.
The boy held onto her as though the room might open beneath him.
Someone had falsely declared him dead.
Someone had hunted him through the city.
Now actual detectives had tried to transform him from witness into suspect.
This was not corruption around the edges of an investigation.
The corruption was shaping the investigation itself.
“We stop using their channels,” Eraser Head said.
Present Mic understood.
“No local police.” “No shared case files.” “No official requests.” “Rampart will call us vigilantes.” “He can call us whatever he likes.” Eraser Head looked towards the lift where the detectives had disappeared.
“We build the case where he cannot see it.” A message appeared on Present Mic’s telephone.
Bakugou family arriving in six minutes.
He showed it to Eraser Head.
Inside the room, Izuku whispered something to Midnight.
She leaned closer.
“I want Auntie.” Midnight kissed the top of his hair before thinking about whether she should.
The gesture surprised both of them.
Izuku did not pull away.
“She’s almost here,” Midnight said.
For one fragile moment, that was enough.