Mitsuki lasted eleven minutes.
For eleven minutes, she listened as Nezu asked about digital access, hospital contractors, police credentials and security overrides.
She listened as Tsukauchi explained that they could not raid Rampart’s agency based solely on Izuku’s statement.
She listened as Eraser Head described the need to preserve the detectives’ recording.
She listened as Present Mic listed companies linked to the hospital transport system.
Midnight listened too.
She sat in a reclining medical chair with fluids entering one arm and Izuku’s All Might figure in the other hand.
She had not stopped looking at it.
Then Mitsuki struck both hands against the table.
Izuku’s empty paper cup jumped.
“Enough.” No one spoke.
“You are sitting here discussing records while he has my nephew.” Tsukauchi closed his notebook.
“We are identifying how he was taken.” “I know how.
The heroes ran away from the room and someone carried him out.” Present Mic flinched.
Midnight’s face drained.
Mitsuki saw both reactions.
She continued anyway.
“Where are the patrols?” “We cannot use ordinary patrols,” Eraser Head said.
“Why?” “Rampart may see their movements.” “Then use heroes he does not control.” “We do not know which agencies are compromised.” “Call everyone.” “That tells Rampart we are closing in.” “Good.” “No,” Tsukauchi said.
“It tells him to move Izuku or kill him.” Katsuki looked up sharply.
Masaru covered his son’s ears.
Too late.
Mitsuki’s face emptied.
“Do not say that in front of him.” “You asked why we are not moving openly.” “He’s four.” “So is the child Rampart has.” The sentence landed heavily.
Nezu placed his cup down.
“Detective.” Tsukauchi closed his eyes.
“My apologies.” Midnight stared at the table.
The words or kill him repeated inside her.
Her fingers slipped on the All Might figure.
It fell into her lap.
Present Mic reached towards her.
She recoiled.
“Do not.” “Nemuri.” “I cannot hear that and be touched right now.” He withdrew.
Mitsuki pointed towards the evidence.
“You know who did it.” “Yes,” Eraser Head said.
“You believe Izuku.” “Yes.” “You know Rampart’s brother attacked us.” “Yes.” “You know police reports were falsified.” “Yes.” “You know his men chased Izuku.” “We know men chased him.
We do not have proof connecting their payment to Rampart.” “You know.” “Knowing is not proving.” “I am tired of hearing that.” “So am I.” Eraser Head’s voice cut through the room.
Mitsuki turned towards him.
“You think I enjoy sitting here?” “I think you are very good at looking calm.” “I am not calm.” His hair shifted faintly around his face.
“I made the decision that allowed them to take him.” Midnight looked up.
“No.” Eraser Head glanced towards her.
“You divided us,” she said.
“I told you I could protect him.” “That was my decision.” “I agreed.” “You did not know the hospital systems were compromised.” “Neither did you.” “That does not absolve me.” “Then stop trying to absolve me.” Their voices sharpened against one another.
Present Mic stepped between their lines of sight.
“This is not helping.” Midnight laughed bitterly.
“Nothing I have done since meeting Izuku has helped for longer than an hour.” “That is not true.” “I found him so he could be taken again.” “You kept him alive.” “For one night.” “You gave him someone to trust.” “And taught him why he shouldn’t.” Present Mic stared at her.
Midnight pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes.
“He asked whether I was bad.
I told him I could only show him through my choices.” Her voice trembled.
“This is what I showed him.” Mitsuki’s anger faltered.
She had wanted the heroes to feel the weight of their failure.
Midnight was being crushed by it.
Nezu spoke.
“Blame asks who deserves pain.” Midnight lowered her hand.
“What?” “Analysis asks what must change.” Mitsuki glared at him.
“You are doing it again.” “Doing what?” “Talking like this is a lesson.” “It is.” Mitsuki stood so quickly her chair struck the wall.
“My best friend is dead.
Her child has been kidnapped.
This is not one of your classrooms.” “No,” Nezu replied.
“In a classroom, failure is usually survivable.” Present Mic looked away.
Midnight’s fingers closed around the arms of her chair.
“That is precisely why they must learn now,” Nezu continued.
“You think they need teaching while Izuku is missing?” “I think repeating the same mistake out of guilt will not rescue him.” Mitsuki crossed the space between them.
“What lesson makes this acceptable?” “None.” “What lesson brings him back?” “Perhaps the one teaching heroes not to behave predictably.” Nezu looked towards his former students.
“You were trained to move towards visible danger.
Rampart exploited that.” Eraser Head nodded.
“You trusted authorised systems.
He exploited that.” Present Mic’s jaw tightened.
“You believed professional status carried a presumption of honour.
He exploited that.” Then Nezu looked directly at Midnight.
“You believed remaining physically beside Izuku was enough to protect him.” Midnight’s face twisted.
Nezu did not look away.
“They prepared specifically for your Quirk, your training and your attachment to the child.” Her breathing became unsteady.
“You think my attachment made me weak.” “No.” “Then why say it?” “Because they knew you would place your body between them and Izuku.” “I did.” “And while you focused on becoming the barrier, they attacked the systems around you.” Midnight looked down.
“This is not punishment,” Nezu said.
“It is analysis.” “It feels like punishment.” “Because you have already decided you deserve it.” Silence followed.
Mitsuki looked at the three heroes.
They were already blaming themselves more brutally than she could.
Nezu had not come to absolve them.
He had come to stop guilt from controlling their next decision.
Masaru uncovered Katsuki’s ears.
“What must change?” Nezu turned towards him.
“Our assumptions.” “Such as?” “That Rampart will hide Izuku in a property directly connected to him.” Tsukauchi spread documents across the table.
“That he will use his own men for every task.” “That official evidence has not already been altered,” Eraser Head added.
Present Mic looked at the hospital logs.
“That an obvious clue is accidental.” Midnight raised her head.
“That he wants Izuku dead.” Everyone looked at her.
Mitsuki’s face tightened.
“What else would he want?” “Information.” Midnight’s voice remained weak but steady.
“He took Izuku alive.
The kidnappers repeatedly said their boss wanted him unharmed.” “You heard them?” “Yes.” “What information?” “What Izuku told us.
Whether Inko left evidence.
Perhaps where Hisashi is.” Tsukauchi nodded.
“Rampart may want to discredit Izuku publicly before harming him.” Mitsuki gripped the chair.
“That means we have time.” “It may,” Tsukauchi said.
“May?” “No false promises.” The phrase had become a rule.
Mitsuki hated it.
She understood why it mattered.
Katsuki climbed onto his chair.
“What are you doing right now?” The adults looked at him.
“You’re talking.
What are you doing?” Nezu’s ears lifted.
“A fair question.” Tsukauchi answered first.
“I am identifying which officers accessed Izuku’s case.” Eraser Head pointed towards the records.
“I am tracing the transport route.” Present Mic held up an independent telephone.
“I am contacting small agencies outside Rampart’s patrol network.” Midnight looked at Katsuki.
“I am remembering everything they said.” Katsuki examined her.
“Is that enough?” “No,” Midnight admitted.
“What else?” She looked at the All Might figure.
“I’m going to remember the things they hoped I would forget.” Katsuki nodded.
Nezu smiled without humour.
“And I am determining what Rampart believes we will do next.” “What does he think?” Katsuki asked.
“That we will either act publicly and warn him, or remain trapped by the law and give him time.” “What are you going to do?” “Something else.” Mitsuki sat.
For the first time, the conversation sounded less like waiting.
An hour later The first useful clue came from a bottle no one had considered important.
Hospital staff found a discarded vial beneath the bed frame.
It contained traces of the sedative used on Midnight, but the label had been removed.
The pharmacy director identified the drug by smell and colour.
“Somnurel-B.
Fast acting.
Usually used when a patient’s Quirk makes ordinary sedation dangerous.” “Do you stock it?” Tsukauchi asked.
“Two vials.
Both accounted for.” “So this came from outside.” “Probably.” Midnight stared at the vial through the evidence bag.
Her arm began aching where the injector had entered.
The pain was mostly psychological.
She rubbed the patch anyway.
Nezu turned the vial beneath the light.
“Who manufactures it?” “A small pharmaceutical company in Yokohama.
Distribution is restricted.” “To whom?” “Specialist hospitals, veterinary mutation clinics and high-risk hero treatment centres.” Tsukauchi exchanged a look with Eraser Head.
“Rampart operates a rehabilitation centre.” The director shook her head.
“They would require approval to hold it.” “Can we see the distributor list?” “That requires a warrant.” Mitsuki made an angry sound.
Tsukauchi looked towards her.
“I can obtain one without naming Izuku.” “How long?” “Hours, not days.” Nezu placed the vial down.
“Or we ask whether any shipments were reported lost.” The manufacturer’s emergency officer checked their records.
One shipment had been reported damaged three months earlier.
Twelve vials supposedly destroyed.
The carrier had filed photographs.
Ten minutes later, the images arrived through a secure facsimile.
A damaged refrigeration box lay beside a roadside barrier.
Broken glass covered the interior.
Tsukauchi counted.
“Eight vials.” The report claimed twelve.
“Four missing,” Present Mic said.
“Who transported it?” Seiei Medical Logistics.
Eraser Head looked towards the partial blue lettering visible in the basement footage.
The kidnapping van displayed two blue curves and part of a white character.
Present Mic enlarged both images.
The shapes matched the company logo.
Mitsuki leaned over the table.
“That’s their van.” “Perhaps,” Tsukauchi said.
“It is.” “We need confirmation.” “More proof.” “Yes.” Mitsuki closed her eyes but did not argue.
Midnight leaned closer to the photographs.
The van logo.
The refrigeration box.
Blue paint.
Something moved at the edge of her memory.
“The worker’s sleeve.” Everyone looked towards her.
“There was blue paint near the cuff.” “You mentioned that during the interview,” Tsukauchi said.
“No.
I remember more.” Midnight closed her eyes.
The hospital room returned.
The transport worker lifting Izuku.
His arm around the child.
A blue mark.
Not a streak.
A curved shape.
“It wasn’t paint from a wall.
It was transferred.” “From what?” Eraser Head asked.
“The van.” Midnight opened her eyes.
“He braced his arm against something painted blue before entering.
The mark had white underneath it.” Present Mic compared the image.
“The logo.” Midnight nodded.
Her hands began shaking.
“I saw it.” “You were drugged,” Present Mic said.
“I saw it and did not understand.” “You understand now.” “If I had…” “No,” Nezu said.
Midnight turned on him.
“Do not.” “No punishment.” Her eyes filled with fury.
“You keep saying that as if I can switch it off.” “I say it because every time you remember something useful, you immediately bury it beneath something impossible to change.” Midnight looked towards the evidence bag.
“I want him back.” “Then remain in the present.” She pressed both palms against the table.
The trembling weakened.
Tsukauchi contacted Seiei Medical Logistics.
No vehicle had been scheduled at the hospital.
One transport van had been stolen six weeks earlier.
The theft report had been filed with Musutafu police and later marked resolved after the vehicle was supposedly recovered.
“Where?” Eraser Head asked.
“An industrial estate in Naruhata.” “Who signed the recovery?” Officer Sugimoto.
The room changed.
Sugimoto had falsified Izuku’s death.
He had accessed Inko’s address.
Now his name appeared on the van used in the kidnapping.
Tsukauchi’s anger did not explode.
It condensed.
“Where is Sugimoto?” He had not reported for duty.
His wife believed he was working overnight.
No assignment existed.
His telephone was off.
His vehicle remained inside a police garage.
“He may be running,” Present Mic said.
Tsukauchi shook his head.
“Sugimoto was greedy, not brave.” “You know him?” “We worked together eight years ago.” Tsukauchi stared at the forged report.
“He complained about money.
Resented every promotion.
But feared consequences too much to disappear voluntarily.” Mitsuki understood.
“Rampart killed him.” “We cannot assume that.” “You believe it.” Tsukauchi folded the report.
“Yes.” The word carried more anger than shouting.
An officer had sold Inko’s address.
He had declared a living child dead.
Then, when his usefulness ended, the organisation likely erased him.
Tsukauchi had believed corruption could be isolated.
A bad officer.
A compromised unit.
A supervisor who looked away.
Now the rot crossed police systems, hospitals and hero communications.
“If this came from inside my department,” he said, “I will identify every person involved.” Nezu studied him.
“Anger is useful when attached to discipline.” “I am disciplined.” “I know.” That was why Nezu warned him.
The van was supposedly recovered in Naruhata.
Tsukauchi requested property records for the surrounding blocks.
Most belonged to manufacturers and storage companies.
One warehouse had changed ownership four times in two years.
The current owner was a shell company called Eastgate Civic Renewal.
One director.
Deceased.
No employees.
Its legal filings were handled by a firm representing several charities.
One belonged to the Rampart Relief Foundation.
Mitsuki pointed at the page.
“There.” “A legal firm can represent hundreds of clients,” Tsukauchi said.
“But it is a link.” “Yes.” “Enough to search?” “No.” Her chair scraped.
Tsukauchi raised one hand.
“Enough to observe.” Eraser Head understood.
“No marked cars.” “No police dispatch.” “Small teams,” Present Mic added.
“People Rampart will not recognise.” Nezu’s eyes brightened.
“We need heroes whose work depends upon not being noticed.” Eraser Head thought of underground professionals and former classmates with no connection to Rampart’s agency.
“I have names.” “Contact them through U.A.,” Nezu said.
“Our internal system is independent.” Mitsuki looked at the warehouse address.
“Is Izuku there?” “We do not know,” Nezu said.
“Then what did we find?” “A direction.” It was not enough.
It was more than they had possessed before.
Tsukauchi marked three additional properties linked through the same legal firm.
A disused Quirk clinic.
A former disaster-training facility.
A storage building near the river.
Four possible locations.
Four places Izuku might be held.
Or none.
Midnight stared at the red circles.
“Which one has medical facilities?” The others looked at her.
“Rampart wants information.
Izuku is sedated and malnourished.
If he needs the boy conscious, he will need someone able to monitor him.” Tsukauchi reviewed the properties.
“The disused clinic.” “Too obvious,” Eraser Head said.
“Unless obvious is what we dismiss,” Nezu replied.
Midnight leaned over the map despite the monitor line pulling at her arm.
“The warehouse may contain equipment from the logistics company.
The training facility could have medical rooms.
The clinic has existing beds.” Present Mic watched her.
For the first time, guilt was not paralysing her.
It was driving attention.
Nezu arranged the locations by accessibility, security and medical capability.
“Rampart expects official searches.
He will watch roads, warrants and dispatch.” “Then we do not use them,” Eraser Head said.
Mitsuki looked towards him.
“What happens when you find Izuku?” Eraser Head’s expression hardened.
“Then the law can catch up.” Midnight looked at the four red pins.
One might mark the place where Izuku was crying.
One might mark an empty building.
She wanted to tear the map apart until it became an answer.
Instead, she began memorising every road.
They moved to a sealed conference room after sunset.
Midnight was ordered back to bed.
She refused.
The doctor threatened sedation.
Midnight’s face went white.
Present Mic stepped between them before she could respond.
“Find another word.” The doctor realised his mistake.
“I meant medically supervised rest.” “I am medically supervised.” “You are ignoring your own symptoms.” “I can ignore them from a chair.” They compromised on a reclining seat, intravenous fluids and continuous monitoring.
Midnight hated every tube attached to her.
Each one reminded her of the line through which Izuku had been sedated.
She kept tugging at the tape until Present Mic placed his hand over hers.
“Stop.” She looked at him.
“You’re bleeding.” A thin red line had appeared where she scratched the skin beneath the tape.
Midnight withdrew her hand.
“Sorry.” “Do not apologise to me.” “Then who?” Present Mic’s expression tightened.
“No one right now.” Nezu placed a city map across the table.
Four red pins marked possible holding locations.
Blue pins showed Rampart agency patrol routes.
Black pins marked police units that accessed Izuku’s case.
The patterns overlapped too often to be coincidence.
“Rampart’s patrols create blind intervals around three properties,” Tsukauchi said.
“Other heroes are redirected during those periods.” “He has been protecting them,” Present Mic replied.
“Or someone using them.” Mitsuki stood behind Katsuki’s chair.
Masaru wanted to take their son home.
Katsuki refused.
“No one tells me anything when I’m not here.” No one had the energy to argue.
Nezu outlined the plan.
Small observation teams would approach each property separately.
No uniforms.
No agency vehicles.
No electronic communication within range.
Tsukauchi would seek warrants through a national judge with no connection to Musutafu police.
Eraser Head and Present Mic would lead the Naruhata team.
Midnight would coordinate from U.A.
once medically cleared.
“I am going with them.” “No,” Nezu replied.
Midnight’s expression hardened.
“I was in the room when Izuku was taken.” “That is not a medical qualification.” “I know the kidnappers’ faces.” “You can identify them remotely.” “You are keeping me behind because I failed.” “I am keeping you behind because you were injected with enough sedative to stop your breathing.” “I’m awake.” “Your hand has trembled for the last hour.” Midnight curled it into a fist.
“I can still fight.” “You could barely stand twenty minutes ago.” “I can improve.” “Not through determination alone.” Midnight pushed herself upright.
The room tilted.
She gripped the table before anyone could help.
“I am going.” Eraser Head stood opposite her.
“No.” Her eyes flashed.
“You do not get to order me away from him again.” “I am not ordering you away from Izuku.” “That is exactly what this is.” “You will compromise the team.” The sentence struck harder than he intended.
Midnight went still.
Present Mic looked towards him.
“Shouta.” Eraser Head did not retract it.
“If you enter the field in this condition, we will have to protect you.
You may miss something.
You may make decisions based on guilt instead of evidence.” Midnight stared at him.
“You think I am useless.” “I think you are injured.” “I was injured in the room and still almost stopped them.” “Almost is not enough now.” Her face collapsed.
Eraser Head closed his eyes briefly.
The truth had been necessary.
The cruelty had not.
Midnight turned her chair away from the table.
“I understand.” “No, you don’t.” “I understand perfectly.
You made the correct calculation this time.” She tried to move away.
Present Mic caught the chair.
“Nemuri.” “Let go.” “We need you.” “That is what people say when they want someone somewhere safe and quiet.” “No.” He moved in front of her.
“The kidnappers built the hospital trap using false reports, altered traffic and stolen medical identities.
You heard their voices.
You saw their faces.
You remembered the solvent and the paint.
We need someone coordinating who understands how their operation feels from inside.” Midnight’s eyes were wet.
“You can do that without me.” “No.” “You are lying.” “I am not.” Present Mic crouched.
“You think the only valuable role is the one that lets you physically grab Izuku.” Her jaw tightened.
“He reached for me.” “I know.” “I did not reach him.” “I know.” “If I stay behind again…” “This is not the hospital.” “It feels like it.” Present Mic did not deny that.
“You will not be waiting without power,” he said.
“You will be controlling information.
No false reports reach the teams without passing through you.” Midnight looked towards the map.
“You trust me with that?” “Yes.” “After what happened?” “Because of what happened.” Eraser Head stepped closer.
“I should not have said you would compromise us.” “You meant it.” “I meant your injuries would.” “That is not different.” “It is to me.” Midnight looked at him.
Eraser Head rarely apologised.
“I am sorry,” he said.
The room stayed quiet.
Midnight wiped her face.
“I don’t forgive you yet.” “Fine.” “I may never.” “Also fine.” Present Mic released the wheelchair.
Midnight turned back towards the map.
“I’ll coordinate.” Nezu nodded.
Not forgiveness.
Not reassurance.
A job.
Mitsuki pointed towards the map.
“What about us?” “You remain at U.A.
under protection,” Eraser Head said.
“No.” “Mitsuki.” “You do not get to put us in another room and promise to return.” “This is not punishment.” “It sounds like that when heroes tell civilians to stay behind.” Masaru placed one hand on the table.
“We cannot join a raid.” Mitsuki turned.
“You too?” “I want Izuku back.” “Then help me.” “I am helping by not forcing them to protect three additional people.” Katsuki raised his hand.
“Four.” “You are one of the three,” Masaru said.
“I can fight.” “You are four.” “So is Deku.” “That is not an argument.” “It is.” Nezu intervened.
“The Bakugous are already part of the investigation.” Eraser Head frowned.
“How?” “The surveillance vehicle may return.
Rampart’s people may monitor or approach them.” Mitsuki’s expression became dangerous.
“Good.” “No,” Nezu replied.
“Useful.” “You want us as bait.” “I want the appearance that you remain uninformed and unprotected.” Masaru looked towards the map.
“What would that involve?” “A visible return home under an ordinary-looking escort.” Tsukauchi shook his head.
“No police we have not cleared.” “Precisely.” Mitsuki leaned forward.
“And if they follow?” “We identify them.” “If they enter my house?” “They will not reach the door.” “You sound sure.” “I am describing a plan, not guaranteeing reality.” Mitsuki studied him.
She disliked Nezu’s calmness.
She was beginning to understand it.
“Fine.
Katsuki stays somewhere else.” Katsuki erupted.
“No!” “You are not bait.” “Neither are you.” “I am your mother.” “That doesn’t make you invincible.” Mitsuki went quiet.
Masaru crouched beside him.
“You will stay at U.A.” “With who?” Nezu looked towards Midnight.
“Nemuri.” Midnight’s face changed.
Katsuki examined her.
“You lost Deku.” “Yes.” “Then don’t lose me.” “I won’t.” Every adult stiffened.
Midnight closed her eyes.
Another promise.
The word had escaped too quickly.
She opened them again.
“I will do everything within my power to protect you.” Katsuki nodded.
Better.
Midnight looked at him.
“What happens if I am hurt?” Katsuki frowned.
“You fight.” “And if I cannot?” “You call someone.” “And if I tell you to run?” His face tightened.
“Like Deku?” “Yes.” Katsuki looked towards the cardboard shield.
“I run.” Midnight nodded.
“Good.” It was not a promise she would always remain standing.
It was a plan for what happened if she fell.
Perhaps that was more honest.
The discussion returned to the locations.
Naruhata remained the strongest lead.
Still, the building might be empty.
A raid without a warrant could destroy the case and let Rampart portray the heroes as unstable young professionals targeting a respected colleague.
Delay could cost Izuku his life.
The law and the child occupied opposite sides of the table.
Present Mic looked towards Tsukauchi.
“You know someone who could enter without a team.” Tsukauchi did not answer.
Nezu watched him.
Mitsuki understood first.
“All Might.” The room changed.
Even Katsuki became quiet.
All Might was not simply another hero.
His involvement would transform a hidden investigation into a national event.
Rampart could not easily overpower him.
Few people could.
But All Might arriving at the wrong location would alert Rampart.
Reporters, agencies and police commanders would begin asking questions.
Tsukauchi folded his hands.
“Toshinori could remove Izuku from almost any building once we locate him.” “Then call him,” Mitsuki said.
“He cannot search four properties without being noticed.” “Call him anyway.” Eraser Head studied the map.
“Rampart may panic if he learns All Might is involved.” “Good,” Present Mic said.
“Panic makes hostages dangerous.” Midnight stared at the red pins.
“Does All Might know?” “Not yet,” Tsukauchi said.
“Why?” “Every additional person who knows creates another possible signal.” “You trust him.” “With my life.” “Then tell him.” Tsukauchi looked towards her.
Midnight’s fingers tightened around the All Might figure.
“I told Izuku that a hero’s choices matter more than the title.
All Might deserves the choice.” Nezu tapped one claw against the table.
“Rampart’s greatest protection is his image.
All Might threatens that image before we possess enough evidence to control the result.” Mitsuki’s patience thinned.
“You are protecting Rampart’s reputation?” “We are protecting Izuku from what Rampart might do when he realises his reputation is already lost.” Masaru looked towards the Naruhata pin.
“When do we call All Might?” “When we have a location strong enough that his presence becomes rescue rather than warning,” Nezu said.
“And if the teams find nothing?” Tsukauchi stared at the compromised police units.
“Then we may have no choice.” Present Mic looked around the table.
Former students.
A grieving family.
A detective whose department might be helping a murderer.
The principal they had called because their training had not prepared them for an enemy hiding inside every institution.
“Should we tell him now?” Present Mic asked.
“Not deploy him.
Just tell him.” Tsukauchi’s hand moved towards his telephone.
Then stopped.
Outside, evening settled over Musutafu.
Rampart’s face still appeared on public screens.
His agency continued answering calls.
News reports described him as dependable and brave.
Somewhere beyond those lights, Izuku was alone with the people who killed his mother.
Midnight placed the All Might figure beside the Naruhata pin.
The plastic fist pointed towards the warehouse.
“Call him.” No one answered immediately.
Tsukauchi looked towards Nezu.
“Do we bring in All Might?” Izuku woke in darkness.
Something moved beneath him.
Not a bed.
A vehicle.
The floor vibrated against his cheek, and every turn pressed the straps tighter across his body.
His arm felt cold where the medicine entered.
His tongue seemed too large for his mouth.
He tried to lift his head.
A dark shape sat nearby.
“You’re awake,” a man said.
Izuku froze.
He did not know where Midnight was.
He did not know whether Auntie Mitsuki reached the hospital.
He did not know whether Eraser Head and Present Mic were searching.
The last thing he remembered clearly was Midnight on the floor, reaching towards him.
Another promise broken.
The vehicle turned.
Izuku’s shoulder struck the side of the stretcher.
He closed his eyes.
His mother’s voice waited inside the darkness.
Run.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
The man leaned closer.
“What did you say?” Izuku opened his eyes.
The dark shape became Rampart for half a second.
Then someone else.
He could no longer trust faces.
He could not run.
He could not fight.
He remembered Midnight telling him that heroes were defined by choices.
She had chosen to stay.
She had fallen anyway.
Perhaps trying was not enough.
Perhaps nobody could protect him.
He curled both hands into fists beneath the straps and tried not to let the man see him cry.
Ahead of the vehicle, something heavy opened with a metallic groan.
The van drove inside.
The doors closed behind it.
The last trace of the city disappeared.
And somewhere in the darkness behind Izuku’s fear, something inside him began to stir.