Chapter Text
Apparently in Japan, any rescuing of people without a “hero license” is “illegal” and known as “vigilantism.” It’s even vigilantism if you don’t kill people, I guess. Which is why my very short attempt at relaunching my career has landed me here, in apparent;y one of the most secure buildings in the country, across a table from a very large mouse-man and a very tired Eraserhead --as he announced himself when arresting me-- both of whom apparently have some kind of “Bring-Your-Own-Hot-Drink” party invitation that they don’t seem inclined to share with me.
Alright, this isn’t a great first impression to make with anyone, but in my defense, I got really bored.
“This is Miss Taylor Hebert,” says the mouse principal to Eraserhead, “and she’s going to be your teacher’s assistant and sidekick from now on.”
From the way Eraserhead coughs into his coffee -- heh, coughee -- I guess this isn’t something that was discussed before this very moment.
“I- what- she’s- Nedzu!” he sputters.
“No, I’m Nedzu. I’d think that after nearly two decades you’d know that, Aizawa.”
“Nedzu, you can’t just assign this girl to be my sidekick,” says Eraserhead -- Aizawa? -- who apparently has decided to ignore “this girl’s” presence in this conversation. What a wonderful start to our working relationship.
“Actually,” I butt-in, “from the way Nedzu-, uh, sensei-- explained it to me,” and this gets another glare sent to the principal, cool, “Since technically this school is an agency, and you work for this agency, and he runs this agency, he kind of… can?”
Aizawa takes a few minutes to think about this, which leaves Nedzu staring at me across the table like I’m a painting and he’s trying to figure out if my image is something floral or something phallic.
I don’t know why that’s the simile that pops into my head, but here we are.
Finally, Aizawa groans and puts his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he says, which is kind of rude.
“Think of it this way, Aizawa! Now you’ll have someone to lighten both of your loads, and you get more time for your little naps!” And with this, he leaves us to bond. Oh joy.
Aizawa sighs and removes his face from his hands. He grabs a sheet of paper left on the table, which from context clues seems to be a list of interview questions that the principal has helpfully left for us.
“First question, I guess. What’s your quirk?”
“...Do you want to know what it currently is or what it should be,” I say, “because currently the answer is basically nothing.”
With a larger sigh than earlier, his face falls back into his hands.
“Explain.”
Oh, this will be interesting.
“Well my… quirk used to be insect manipulation. Then I was involved in a… villain attack and I got shot in the head,” twice, I don’t say. “The most I can do now is tell if there are bugs in the room. There aren’t,in case you were wondering, it’s oddly clean in here.” Really, that’s the most truthful I can be without people getting “concerned,” usually.
It doesn’t work.
He now seems to be attempting to push us hands through his face, and is making a noise that almost makes me want to find a doctor for him. He mumbles something and all I can catch is “broken quirk” and “my problem” before he looks up at me again, right in the eye as he slams back the rest of his coffee in a way that people who aren’t me probably find intimidating.
“Normally,” he starts “I wouldn’t suggest someone recovering from a traumatic brain injury to the extent that they lose quirk functionality becomes a hero, but since Nedzu thinks you have potential and I’m stuck with you, I’m going to save the time I would’ve spent trying to comprehend your situation and just come back to it later.”
“Moving on -- do you have any heroic experience besides your recent vigilante escapades?”
Do I have any heroic experience?
Do I have any heroic experience?
Short answer is yes, long answer requires more half-truths.
“Well, I was part of a teen heroics program” after being a supervillain and subsequently turning myself in “back in the states” in another dimension “from ages 15 to 18.”
Nailed it.
“Do you have a contact number for this program?”
Nevermind.
“I do not.”
“And why not?”
Because it was in another dimension, and oh yeah, “It was destroyed.”
“The contact number was destroyed?”
The world was destroyed.
“The program was completely destroyed in the attack where I was injured. My dad and I moved to Japan for its medical technology.” That’s what I assume, anyway. I have no idea why Contessa would’ve dropped us here otherwise, besides her damn “path to victory.”
Fucking thinkers.
“Of course it was. And you’re how old, now?”
“21,” I say, and hey, a whole truth! At least, if you ignore the fact that this world is 200 or so years ahead of mine. It took forever to get my “correct” birth year down, but a TBI makes a very convenient excuse.
He sighs. I wonder if he gets enough oxygen with how much air he expels. He looks at his list again, sighs, again, and asks,
“Why do you want to be a hero?”
And I just
Stop.
It’s like, I know why I wanted to be a hero at 15. I was the bullied girl, the naive kid who’d had some hurts, which got me a power, and there was really barely any consideration for a path besides becoming a superhero, until one was forced onto me. And I know why I wanted to be a hero at 18, because I’d done some shitty things and I’d atoned, a bit, and just wanted to keep doing good, be good, and of course save as many people from the oncoming apocalypse as possible.
But now?
Now, I could just… stop, if I wanted. I could live a relatively normal life, get a safe job, spend time with Dad. There’s no apocalypse or endbringers anymore, that I know of, and there are so many other heroes to deal with them if there are.
Am I just bored?
Do I not know how to be normal anymore?
I don’t think that’s it.
“I guess… I guess I got a second chance. I know really well how rare those are,” I start. “I tried, for a while, to just do nothing, but I don’t think I can. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to stand by and do nothing, y’know? It wouldn’t be fair.” I look up at Aizawa, and he still looks exhausted, but he also looks… sad, I guess. A pretty familiar kind of sadness, of a guy who’s seen some shit. A sadness I think I’ve felt before.
“Life’s not fair, kid. And nothing’s forcing you to make this choice, but it seems like nothing will turn you away, either.” He drops the questionnaire back on the table before standing and stretching. “Welcome to the team, I guess.”
I stand as well.
“I think Nedzu-san already said I was in, but… thanks.”
He rolls his eyes at me before turning to leave.
“C’mon, kid, I’ll get someone to drop you at your place.”
Wait, no, already? Shit.
“Should- uh, shouldn’t we talk more about the position?”
He looks back at me and grins in this really wide, disconcerting way.
“No.”