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“You could turn yourselves in,” Eraserhead pushes, taking turns to look all six of them in the eye. “You’re all publicly renown and well-liked enough that the commission can’t immediately arrest you without sound public outrage of any sort. And we also can’t prove anything-” He pauses here to give Seizou a serious look, even as they match his eye contact unflinchingly. “-so as far as we know, you’re not unnecessarily aggressive - more heroic than villainous. The commission would probably be willing to initiate you into the programme.”
Trickster scoffs, voice tinny due to the voice modifier and sounding eerily like Eraserhead himself. “And why should we trust the HPSC? They’re biased, corrupt assholes.”
Bluescreen stares blankly at him. “That’s not all there is to it though. Being a hero has so many restrictions. Being a vigilante has far fewer, don’t you think?”
They’re both right, but Eraserhead is legally not allowed to encourage that. But perhaps, the ensuing silence speaks for itself. “You’re just kids,” he says, weakly. “You shouldn’t be…”
They look at him pityingly, exchanging looks amongst themselves. Joukidan smiles softly at him, which is a shock in itself, even if it’s not with her mouth but with her eyes.
“Here,” she says. “Let me show you something.”
- - - - -
1. Joukidan
- - - - -
“You don’t have to do this,” Eraserhead repeats, feeling awfully like a broken record.
“I trust you,” is Joukidan’s simple reply. Her teammates have dispersed, each offering their own little shows of support before heading back to their various acts of vigilantism. “Wait here?” She asks. “I’ll be back soon in civvies.”
Eraserhead nods and waits, because what else can he do? He waits, and eventually catches sight of the vigilante’s distinctive bright blue hair, let down instead of pinned half-up in two buns. “Joukidan-“
She shakes her head. “Call me Yumi right now.”
“Yumi, then,” Eraserhead corrects, even though he knows this isn’t Joukidan’s true identity, not with that face mask, not with the clothes a couple of sizes too big for her, and definitely not with that half-trusting look in her eyes. “What is it that you wanted to show me?”
-
Shouto did not mean to become Joukidan. Truth.
Shouto did not mean to become a vigilante. Lie.
Shouto set out that week to piece together a vigilante identity as well as to get a feel of the skills needed, because he knows that using either his fire or his ice as it is will eventually be traced back to him. Probably. Sue him for being paranoid, alright?
It’s not like Endeavour teaches anything useful for being a vigilante either, what with all his flashy moves and property damage that do more to harm than to help. Endeavour is… not the kind of hero that Shouto wishes to be, even if he doesn’t quite know what he does want to be. And to find out… well, they say experience is the best teacher, isn’t it?
Making a vigilante identity is- well, not exactly hard? All Shouto does is to take the most distinctive parts of himself and hide them - his heterochromatic eyes hidden under grey contact lenses, two-toned hair under Touya’s electric blue wig, his burn scar under layers of makeup. Whatever hides him best. If the wig is long-haired and he carefully embellishes his eyes with eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara- Well, that only helps distinguish himself more, doesn’t it?
It spirals from there - an accidental new way of using his quirk, playing a little more into the circumstances with his hair and makeup, the likes.
Then, just like that, Joukidan is formed.
…Made? Created? Shouto’s not quite sure about the terminology.
Either way, Joukidan exists out of spite for Endeavour, and isn’t that all that matters?
-
“This,” Yumi says simply, before shedding her cardigan.
Eraserhe- Shouta, because it’s Shouta, not Eraserhead who reacts. Shouta pushes down his initial shock in an attempt to maintain a neutral face.
Yumi’s upper arms have large, ugly burns decorating them. “They aren’t from being Joukidan,” she admits softly. “They’re from being me. From being a civilian.”
Shouta takes a step forward. “Can I…?” Yumi lets him, offering up her arms for him to take a closer look. He cradles one of them gently, poking one of the burns on it carefully and muttering an apology as the vigilante - the teen, as he’s reminded of every now and then - hisses in pain.
“Who did this to you?” Shouta all but snarls. Who do I have to arrest? He doesn’t say.
“…my father,” Yumi admits, near-silent. “You like to mention how I’m good at being stealthy…?”
Shouta nods in a slightly questioning way before a realisation strikes him. “You learnt it out of necessity.”
“Yes,” Yumi looks him in the eyes, a certain sort of determined hardness in them. “But the point of this wasn’t to let you feel sorry for me, Eraser. We wanted to show you that we’re not just kids anymore.”
Shouta feels a wave of sadness wash over him, because that doesn’t make it any better. (It does explain Joukidan’s speculated treatment of some other criminals - the abusers - and how no mercy is shown to them.)
“We haven’t been just kids for a while, Eraser.” She shrugs her cardigan back on, wrapping her arms around herself and looking smaller and more child-like than Shouta has ever seen her. He lets her be. “We’ve all had to grow up faster than we would’ve liked.”
“Yumi, that doesn’t make it any better.”
“So maybe it doesn’t,” she shrugs. “It is what it is at this point. We don’t intend to stop just yet, Eraser.”
And that is that.
- - - - -
2. Seizou
- - - - -
“Eraserhead-san!” A familiarly modified voice calls out. Eraserhead stops, and allows Seizou to catch up. “You waited!” The pink-clad vigilante grins, visible even behind their helmet.
“Of course I did,” Eraserhead says simply. “Did you need something?”
“I don’t need anything right now,” they answer slyly. “But if you need information…”
Eraserhead rolls his eyes. “I get it. Anything else?”
“Oh, yeah!” Seizou chirps, fumbling with their bag before pulling out a simple black box. “A present from the Vigicrew. Happy birthday Eraserhead-san!” Their voice is wobbly, and they don’t seem to be standing properly, swaying a little.
He takes the box and puts it aside for the time being. “Are you alright?”
“Never been better!” Seizou says cheerfully, like a liar, then promptly tips over. It’s a matter of luck, a miracle, and Eraserhead’s quick reflexes that his capture weapon captures the vigilante before they can fall right off the roof of the building to certain death or injury. “Your scar is super cool, Eraserhead-san. I don’t know much about it but Strike-kun would know a lot. He could tell you all about it.”
“Let me ask you again,” Eraserhead demands, adrenaline still pumping through him and filing away the information given for later. “Are you alright?”
Seizou has the nerve to smile brightly at him and lie to his face. “I’m fine!”
“You nearly fainted and fell right off the roof.”
“But I didn’t!”
He pulls the smaller closer, depositing them closer to the centre where they can’t fall off the building, then sits opposite them. “You’re shaking,” he observes. “Explain.”
-
People pay well for information. That is something Ochako knows by heart.
If you have ears in the right places, you can gain a lot of information. That is something else she also knows.
Ochako hears a lot.
Information is an easy commodity, something that people love to give away, even without a price tag attached. This is the case, in the world of the waking, at least. In the world of the night…? Well, there’s a reason why Seizou exists.
Information is a treasure in the Underground - those who know more are those with more power.
Seizou knows a lot, because no one thinks twice about hiding information when the only one around is a nondescript, poor twelve-year-old girl. Ochako may be powerless, but Seizou is so, so powerful.
Seizou, like most information brokers, trades in money and favours, even if she has more use for money. Still, favours are versatile, even if they’re for the desperate. So, even if it isn’t money, the power that Seizou wields in hand with her favours... Well.
Seizou may not be the most powerful information broker in the Underground, but she certainly is a powerful enough figure.
(Almost everyone knows that you don’t mess with her, for if you do, you will suffocate to death slowly and painfully, dying mid-scream. Your body will be left crushed, and you will be lucky if it’s recognisable.)
(No one knows how it’s done.)
-
Eraserhead knows of Seizou’s reputation. Anyone involved well enough in the Underground does. Still, looking at their small figure, curled up as best as they can, Eraserhead can’t help but wonder.
“I started selling information for the money, for my family,” the vigilante admits. “Information pays really well, you know.” Eraserhead nods, because that is the truth. “But no matter how much I love being a vigilante and helping people, it really doesn’t pay well. It doesn’t pay at all.”
Eraserhead takes some time to think it over - the words, the implications and the effects.
“Let me buy you supper,” he offers, standing up and holding out a hand. “Also, this is the point in time where I bring up the vigilante rehabilitation programme again.”
Seizou chuckles, taking his hand and letting themselves be pulled up. “Thank you,” they say gratefully. “For the meal offer. Because I hope you already know our answer to the programme.”
-
“Also,” the vigilante says, as they head to the place that Eraserhead has in mind for their late-night meal. “Call me Rara while we’re not on patrol.”
-
(And if Eraserhead packs food and drinks to pass to the Vigicrew whenever he can? Well, don’t mention it.)
(Seriously, don’t.)
(He has a reputation to maintain.)
- - - - -
3. Sakaeru
- - - - -
For someone who spends most of her time either on making support items or on information gathering, Sakaeru is surprisingly stealthy. Not so much so to Joukidan’s extent (and now that Eraserhead knows the reason…) or that Eraserhead (a trained Underground Pro Hero) can’t notice, but more than enough. More than most common nighttime criminals.
“Good evening, Eraserhead-san,” she greets, the grey-green theme of her vigilante gear giving more of her identity away than anything else. One of the thugs that Eraserhead had been working on apprehending spins around, clearly shocked by the sudden arrival of someone else. Unfazed, she delivers a swift slap to the face, and a kick to the stomach, promptly taking him down.
“Sakaeru,” he returns, not looking away from the criminal whose quirk he’s erasing. “How has your night been?”
“Oh, the same as usual.”
They continue working together in a comfortable rhythm of calm conversation and systematic takedowns.
Then, Eraserhead hears a soft gasp as he apprehends one of the last criminals. He picots around, eyes landing on the vigilante, curled up, outfit stained with blood and a knife protruding out of her side.
“Sakaeru!” He leaps over to her, using his capture scarf to bind the last villain - the one who stabbed her. “Do you need medical attention?”
She blinks at him, then looks back at her wound. “That would be preferred, yes.”
-
Tsuyu really didn’t set out with the intention to start selling her works.
It starts like this: Sami picks up an interest in mechanics.
It might have come slightly out of the blue, but Tsuyu likes to think that, if nothing, she’d at least be a good sister. So, she picks up mechanics as well, accompanying her younger brother on whatever he tries, figuring out little tricks and workarounds for their larger hands. It honestly comes as a surprise to her that she has some sort of skill in it, picking the little tricks up with ease.
It’s even more surprising that someone seeks her out.
“I’m sorry,” Tsuyu frowns. “You want me to… what?”
The other girl shifts her weight across her feet, a simple face mask obscuring her mouth, and goggles her eyes. “…Help me make something to disguise my face?” At Tsuyu’s sceptical look, she rapidly waves her hands about and continues. “I can pay! Or we can work out an agreement or something, it’s just that I heard that there’s someone my age who’s really good at making stuff and easy to work with.”
“I feel like I should be more concerned about how you found me.”
“Ah,” the girl - Seizou, as she’d introduced herself earlier - rubs the back of her head sheepishly. “I’m an information broker. People come to me for information - it’s kinda my job to know things. Some people owed me a couple of favours, and I called them in to find someone who could make me what I needed.”
“And you found me.”
“Yes.”
See, the thing is, although Sumi might have been the first one to pick up an interest in mechanics, Tsuyu enjoys the simplicity and straightforwardness of working on her mechanics too. And, challenges are always welcome. Regardless of how dubious the means, Seizou seems like someone she can trust like this.
“…Give me an idea of what you have in mind, and we’ll see.”
-
“Your teammates are on their way,” Eraserhead frowns, passing her back her communications device. “I would still very much rather that you work with a professional to heal this.”
“Don’t worry,” Sakaeru says dismissively, taking back the device and wincing as Eraserhead carefully applies more pressure to her wound. “We’ve done this before.”
It’s really not all that reassuring, not that Eraserhead tells her that.
“If I took off my disguises,” she says. “Would you recognise me?”
“The implications of me recognising you would not be good.”
She doesn’t blink, staring at him. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know,” Eraserhead responds tiredly. “I hope not, because with what I think your age is? I wouldn’t like the paperwork that comes with it. But at the same time, I hope so, so I would know how to best deal with you.”
Sakaeru hums in acknowledgement, adjusting her gaze to somewhere past his shoulder. “I heard that the others were giving you more personal names. Call me Suki, won’t you?”
- - - - -
4. Bluescreen
- - - - -
Shouta blinks, startled, as he receives yet another email from Bluescreen - the vigilante hacker dropping off even more information for another series of investigations and potential arrests. It’s a lot, probably the fourth email in this single week - twice as many compared to their typical rates.
He doesn’t question how the other got his email address - he stopped doing that a while ago. Instead, he drafts his usual email of thanks. Then, almost as an afterthought, inquires after the younger’s health. Bluescreen is usually the best of their team at taking care of themselves, after all. This burst of overwork is… atypical, to say the very least.
It’s barely a few minutes later when a reply comes, the vigilante responding with a simple “I’m alright, thank you for asking.”
Shouta frowns, then sends another email.
“You’re allowed to take breaks too. You know that, right?”
-
They say curiosity killed the cat, though satisfaction brought it back. Tenya thinks that’s a lie - curiosity brought him nothing but doubt and fear.
It had been curiosity that prompted him to look through the Team Idaten files. It had been curiosity that encouraged him to read and research them. It had been curiosity that pushed him to keep going when the information didn’t line up with what he knew. Satisfaction didn’t make an appearance, didn’t do a thing, didn’t come and quell the gaping chasm left behind by curiosity.
They don’t just say that curiosity killed the cat, or that satisfaction brought it back. They also say that ignorance is bliss. That’s more along the lines of something that Tenya can agree with.
He does what he always does when something confuses him. He goes to Tensei-nii. The answers that he gets are also unsatisfactory.
So Pro Heroes have restrictions. So what? Do those restrictions really justify standing to the side while more people suffer?
Now, Tenya is a simple person. He sees a problem, and he seeks to solve it. The simple solution to this oversight in the restrictions surrounding Pro Heroes is to do their job (or at least what little he can do of it) without acting as a Pro Hero.
And if he uses all the resources that he has on hand - the Team Idaten databases and contacts are surprisingly simple to access, other agencies even more so - so what? He’s only using what he has. And if he embraces it…? Well, it’s always easiest to do your job if you like it, after all.
-
It takes longer than necessary before Shouta receives his response.
“I’d forgotten. I suppose I must’ve been too caught up in the need to do what I’d set out to do, even at the expense of my own well-being. Thank you for helping me to see the light, Eraserhead-san.”
Shouta sighs, the over-formality slightly uncomfortable but fondly familiar. It’s like a breath of fresh air, especially after a long day of dealing with Class 1-A’s unique brand of teenage chaos. Formalities are a welcome constant.
“Don’t fret it, Bluescreen. Just remember to take care of yourself as well. Digging up dirt can wait for another time if you’re not up for it.”
“You can call me Sora.”
Sometimes it’s so easy to forget that the Vigicrew is made out of teenagers about the same age as his students. At other times? It’s simply impossible to.
“Alright. Take care of yourself, Sora.”
- - - - -
5. Trickster
- - - - -
How did it get to this point? Eraserhead thinks desperately. For one, it’s still daylight. He’s not on patrol and neither should any of the Vigicrew be. So, why-
“What are you going to do, Eraserhead?” Trickster demands, voice harsh. Eraserhead tries his best not to think about the address, about how it was the harsh, impersonal Eraserhead, not the familiar, affectionate Raze. The most publicly mysterious of the group stares at him dispassionately, body angled to shield a smaller girl.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Eraserhead probes gently.
“You’re a teacher, aren’t you? What sick game are you playing at?”
“All Trickster-san did was fight off a couple of my bullies,” the girl cries as the tension rises. “Please don’t blame him.”
“Thank you for telling me,” he tells the girl. “Do you need someone to escort you home?”
“There’s no need,” the girl rushes, scrambling to her feet. “Thank you so much!” And she leaves.
Trickster stands stiffly at the same spot.
“Are you alright?” Eraserhead asks the vigilante.
“I don’t get it,” Trickster mutters. “You’re a teacher.”
“Yes, I am. Why don’t you explain it?”
-
Hitoshi never thought about vigilantism as an option. Just like most other people, vigilantism - regularly breaking the law to help people - never crossed his mind, especially not with his so-called “villainous” quirk. He never thought…
“Hey!” Someone yells down the alleyway as Hitoshi curls up and shields himself. “Go pick on someone else your own size! Or better yet, don’t pick on anyone at all. That’s not very nice of you.”
His bullies scoff and titter amongst themselves. The ringleader takes a heavy step in the direction of the voice, and Hitoshi flinches at the thump. “What? Would you rather we hit you? You look like you’re barely nine, kid - go back home and play with your toys. Stop playing hero and you won’t be next.” Hitoshi peeks out in-between his arms, just in time to see the other’s cruel smile. “Besides, a villain like him deserves it.”
“Now, the thing is, not only do I doubt that,” is the dry response. “Especially since you’re the ones acting more like villains, but if this is another quirk thing… I have no words. Besides, no one deserves to be beaten up in an alley like this.”
It’s over in less than ten minutes.
“Do you want something from me or something?” Hitoshi asks cagily. “I don’t have anything.”
His cyan-clad saviour stares at him behind their goggles. “I don’t want anything from you. But, uh… Do you need me to walk you home?”
He stands up, eyeing the other warily. “I’m fine. Who are you, anyway?”
“Oh!” They smile - at least, Hitoshi assumes so, since it’s hard to tell with his face mask on - body language sheepish. “I’m Striker, a vigilante.” Their whole body droops. “Please don’t call the police on me.”
“I won’t,” Hitoshi assures, and they both head their separate ways.
It happens again, Striker bringing a friend - Joukidan - and saving Hitoshi from some late-night thugs.
And again, when Joukidan steps in and stops him from being mugged.
The next time he meets them, it’s because he searched them out.
-
“Teachers stand to a side, or turn a blind eye, or they encourage the bullying, or they provoke it,” Trickster rambles, reminding Eraserhead eerily of a certain student. That’s illogical. Trickster has a completely different build compared to Midoriya. “Teachers don’t step in, and they definitely don’t side with the victim.”
“Your teachers were terrible,” Eraserhead says flatly. “If I ever get a hold of their identities, I’d get their teaching licenses suspended.”
Trickster stares at him, purple eyes unblinking. “I see.”
They disappear, and Eraserhead finds himself unable to find them for a while, until a simple paper note finds itself on his table in the staff room. He tries his best not to think too much about it as he reads it.
“Call me Toshiko.”
- - - - -
6. Striker
- - - - -
It’s one of his few nights off when he gets a notification - a location drop from an unknown number to his direct one, a simple “Sora” as a sign-off.
Shouta slips out of bed, taking care not to wake Hizashi up, slings his capture scarf over his shoulders, picks up his emergency first aid kit, and leaves for the rooftops, adrenaline and worry pumping through his veins. Cryptic messages from Bluescreen to his personal phone? Something has to be wrong.
He sees it and nearly reacts on pure instinct before he can fully process it. He doesn’t react on instinct, however, knowing that the smaller would simply dodge and- Well.
Shouta doesn’t shoot out his capture weapon, doesn’t tug the other back from the ledge, instead choosing to land carefully behind them - loud enough that the other knows that he’s here, but not too loud or too suddenly that he might startle the younger vigilante.
“Striker?”
The vigilante doesn’t visibly react beyond a slight tilt of their head - not that Shouta would be able to tell, with their mask and goggles hiding their features, and their head facing away from him. “Eraserhead-san.”
Their legs kick at empty air, and Shouta tries his best not to focus on how close they are to falling. “Care to come closer here?”
They turn their head towards him, digital gaze unblinking. “You’re worried that I’m going to fall. ...No, that isn’t all, is it? You’re scared that I’m going to jump .” Shouta nods - it would be useless to deny it. “Don’t worry, that’s not why Blue-chan called you here.”
He sees the loophole in that almost instantly.
“Just because it’s not why I was called, doesn’t mean that it’s not something I should be worried about.”
“Fair enough!” Striker’s voice is cheerful as they turn around fully, feet firmly on the concrete of the rooftop. “But I just wanted to ask you a question.”
“Ask away,” Shouta says. The faster this is over and done with, the sooner he can get Striker away from the edge.
“You keep talking about the vigilante rehabilitation programme. That’s nice and all, but do you really think that someone without a quirk could ever dream of becoming a Pro Hero like you?”
-
Izuku never planned to become a vigilante, let alone to form a group of them.
Sure, he wants to help people, but that doesn’t equate to being a vigilante, does it? He really just started with helping people, but one day he found himself with a costume, a couple of weapons, a patrol route, several contacts, and people were calling him a vigilante.
The team part came later still, after he and Joukidan started bumping into each other a lot. Then, again, when they picked up Trickster (or rather, Trickster asked them to pick him up). Again, when they sought Seizou out for information. Once more, when Seizou introduced them to Sakaeru. One final time when Eraserhead complained about a hacker-vigilante named Bluescreen that Sakaeru wanted to meet.
It was far less expected that they would all end up in the same heroics class in the same heroics school.
A happy series of coincidences, probably. They keep in contact, have more in-person meet-ups, and decide to start to introduce everyone to all sides of their vigilante duties as additional training for heroics.
Everything just… starts to fall apart from there.
School is… a mess. There’s no other way to put it. The constant villain attacks on top of the demands of schoolwork? That’s not even factoring in their vigilante activities, which they do cut down on - or rather, learn to delegate.
Dealing with the League of Villains is tiring enough as regular hero students. They didn’t need to deal with the information that Dabi is actually Todoroki Touya on top of that - Shouto didn’t, at least. They didn’t mean to get involved in the League’s tangled web.
And now…
Well.
Izuku supposes that they might have gotten themselves into something that they can’t quite untangle on their own.
-
“The quirk doesn’t make the hero,” Shouta answers flatly, after a moment of contemplation. Is that why- “As long as anyone works hard enough, they can become one.”
Striker stares at him for a couple of blinks, then looks away, chuckling. “I wish I’d asked you that before all of this. I think I would have needed to hear that when I was younger.”
“Are you…” Quirkless , he doesn’t say. He doesn’t need to.
“No,” the vigilante answers, though it sounds more like an uncertainty than an actual answer. “Not in the way that matters anymore.”
“Stri-”
“Aoi,” the other corrects. “I heard everyone else has been giving you semi-names, figured this is probably an appropriate time to give mine.”
“Aoi,” Shouta hesitates. “Would you like a hug?”
“...that would be nice.”
- - - - -
+1. Vigicrew
- - - - -
Joukidan is waiting for him, like she usually tends to do, but it feels different tonight.
“Something’s changing,” she tells him.
“Something’s always changing,” Eraserhead says. “That’s not very specific at all.”
She cracks a smile at that. “That’s true,” is her easy agreement. “But this change is going to involve a significant number of people that you know, I believe. You should prepare for it, Eraser. I’d rather you not be caught off-guard.”
He looks at her, really looks . She looks tired. “Why do you say so?”
“You’ll see,” she answers cryptically, and refuses to elaborate when further prompted.
-
Eraserhead sees them before he hears them, dark and faded pink elbow-length cape bobbing as they bounce across rooftops towards him. “Eraserhead-san!”
“Seizou,” he greets. “Is there something wrong?”
“Nothing that you should be worried about just yet,” they tell him, before handing him a notebook. “Here! Information.”
He blinks, then pockets the notebook, exchanging it with a box of snacks that he hands off to the smaller. “Thank you, but is there a reason Bluescreen couldn’t just send me an email like they usually do?”
“Sensitive information,” Seizou chirps. “I have to go, but just between you and me, I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other from now on.”
-
“Eraserhead-san.”
Eraserhead doesn’t glance at her. “Sakaeru. What brings you here today?”
She tilts her head. “Could you elaborate on what would happen if we agreed to join the vigilante reform programme?”
He blinks, then turns to properly face her. “We’d take down your identities and check your criminal records. Assuming everything is in order, you would be paired up with a hero mentor, or put into a heroics class.”
“And what if there’s a pre-existing commitment?”
He takes a while to think about it. A pre-existing commitment…? Does that mean-
“Individual arrangements would have to be made.”
She stares at him unblinkingly, then drops into a bow. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”
-
“What happens when witness protection and the vigilante reform programme overlap?”
Shouta reads the email once, then reads it again. Trust Bluescreen to come up with the hard questions, as much as he doesn’t like what this means for the teenage vigilante group.
“It depends on the details of the circumstances,” Shouta types, then hesitates. If there’s anyone who will give him a straightforward answer… “Is there any reason in particular why you’re asking me this? Or if the cryptic hints that your teammates have been dropping have anything to do with this?”
“I can’t say,” is the simple reply, and Shouta can feel the apology radiating from it. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
-
“Raze,” Trickster all but whines as the other drops in on his patrol. “Raze!”
“Yes, Trickster?’ Eraserhead sighs fondly.
“I know Sakaeru asked you about the reform programme,” they say seriously, and Eraserhead thinks back to how Trickster was the one to call the HPSC corrupt and biased. Which is true, but that doesn’t mean Eraserhead can explicitly agree with it.
“What about it?” He asks, carefully. Is there an internal group conflict over this topic? He understands that it must be a sensitive one to tread, and he really doesn’t want to make it any worse, not when he’s this close-
“We’ll still be allowed to patrol as vigilantes after it, right?”
“Not as vigilantes, because that defeats the purpose of the programme,” Eraserhead corrects gently. “But yes, you’ll be allowed to patrol with hero supervision.”
“Even if we’re in the hero school instead of the mentor system?” There’s some sort of anxiety and worry conveyed through the question. Is patrolling that important to Trickster?
“Even then.”
-
Striker stares at him, digital goggles turned off and no longer revealing any bit of information on how they’re feeling. “Vigilante reform programme.”
“I was wondering when you’d hint at it,” Eraserhead muses out loud. “What about it?”
“Witness protection.”
“Yes, Bluescreen brought it up.”
The vigilante looks away. “What happens to our families if we’re under threat?”
The more Eraserhead hears the questions they ask and the hints hidden in them, the more worried he is about their circumstances. And the notebook… It’s taking a while to decode, but with what he understands so far... “They’ll be protected too.”
Striker’s shoulders visibly sag in relief, and Eraserhead wonders how much this has been weighing on them. They must really care about their family. “That’s good,” he mutters, before he shakes himself out of it. “We’ll see you really soon, in that case.”
-
Trickster’s chuckle is weak as the group of vigilantes follows behind Eraserhead, letting him lead them to the police station. “We’re really doing this, huh?”
He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t watch them respond, but he hears the way their support items clink against each other, and assumes that they drew closer to each other for comfort.
“I combed through the coded notebook,” Eraserhead says, tiredly, if only to fill the silence. “That’s a lot of information about the League of Villains that you have written there. I see why the extra security was needed.”
“Yeah, well,” Striker’s voice is sheepish, even with the modifier. “We might have meddled a little too much in places a little too dangerous for us to safely handle on our own.”
“And now the League is threatening your civilian identities and your families,” Eraserhead recites, from what he has deduced over the past week of random occurrences. “Hence why you’re turning yourselves in now.”
Seizou laughs. “That’s about right. But you missed out the part where they tried to recruit us first. That was amusing, to say the very least.”
The others laugh with them, and Eraserhead can’t help but wonder what makes this so amusing. It seems like a logical train of thought, especially since vigilantes are considered morally grey, even if the Vigicrew tend towards being lighter. Note the usage of the word “tend’. Seizou has a rather ambiguous threat to the information that they give and the people who try to double-cross them. There’s no concrete proof of course, but the Underground is good at spreading warnings.
Before they enter the station, the entire group pauses.
“Last chance for anyone to back out,” Joukidan says mildly.
Eraserhead can feel Bluescreen’s deadpan, without even having to turn around. “You do know that if even one of us turns ourselves in, the rest will soon be caught as well, right?”
“It’s the thought that counts,” she shrugs, nonchalant.
“Thought doesn’t-”
“For what it’s worth,” Sakaeru cuts in smoothly, before the duo can devolve further into their bickering. “We’re sorry in advance, Aizawa-sensei.”
It’s not Eraserhead, it’s Shouta who snaps around to look at them, startled. Because the implications of them calling him by that name instead of anything else related to Eraserhead-
They’ve already walked in.
-
Shouta sighs tiredly, then looks over the vigilante sextet. With how all six of them are in the same heroics class - in his homeroom class - in the top heroics school, the paperwork has not been fun.
“I know these few days have probably been very draining, but I have a lot of things I would like to cover as well,” he tells them, and they nod. “First of all, Asui?”
The green-clad vigilante tilts her head. “Yes?”
“I remember that stab wound. I thought it was Midoriya’s job to be stupidly reckless and refuse to take care of himself, not yours.”
She shrugs apologetically. “We had to work with what we had.”
“I also would like to know how many times you’ve been stabbed and had to treat yourselves.”
Five of them turn to look at Midoriya, who sinks a little. “Yeah, um- I might have gotten stabbed a couple of times.” Unimpressed, Shouta stares at the small teen. “Sorry?”
“Don’t apologise for being stabbed,” Shouta sighs, rubbing his nose bridge. “Fine. While we’re talking about you, you had plenty to say about being quirkless.”
“...I forgot about that,” Midoriya mutters. Then, louder, “I was a late bloomer. Really late. No one thought I would get a quirk at all kind of late.”
“When.” It’s not a question, but a demand.
“...the day of the entrance exam?” Midoriya squeaks out, then rushes to elaborate. “Uh, I know I broke an arm and both legs, which is bad, but uh, we’re theorising that if I manifested it any earlier, it would’ve made my body explode and-”
Shouta stares at him. “Stop,” he shakes his head. “I’m mentally filing away that information and we’ll talk about it later.”
“...Okay.”
“Iida, Uraraka? Stop overworking yourselves. Really. Take a break if you have to - eat, hydrate, rest, whatever. Just. Don’t overwork yourselves.”
“Will do, Aizawa-sensei!”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Sensei!”
“Great. Todoroki, the staff have been informed not to let Endeavour near you at all, not that we intend to invite him for any guest lessons or anything, but for the time-being, this is what we’re working with.”
Todoroki’s eyes are glassy as Shouta meets them. Oh no, emotions. “Thank you.”
“And Shinsou?”
“Yes, Raze-sensei?”
Shouta glares at Shinsou’s cheekiness, then schools his expression to something milder. “I’d like the name of your schools and your teachers, thank you.”
-
“Alright, Problem Children,” Shouta announces dully. “Owing to how you’re halfway through your high school journeys, the school has decided that you should be capable enough to handle yourselves. Hence,” he sighs, because he can see this backfiring already. “There’ll no longer be any need for you to ask me for permission to leave school grounds. You’ll be allowed to leave campus as you please, as long as we’re aware of where you’re going and you’ll be back by curfew.”
He resists the urge to drop into his sleeping bag as Class 1-A - Class 2-A now, actually - cheers. Then, he sees the look on several specific students’ faces.
“Asui, Iida, Uraraka, Todoroki, Midoriya, Shnisou,” he adds flatly, letting the class quiet down as he lists off their names. “Whatever you’re thinking, no . The terms that we worked out previously still apply.”
There’s a glint in his eye as Shinsou raises his hand, not even waiting to be called on as he starts to speak. “Not even a little bit?”
He stares at his student. “No.”
Shinsou droops back into his seat. “Damn it.”
“You literally asked for that,” Todoroki says blankly, though Shouta can see the beginnings of a smile curl at his student’s lips.
“I know,” Shinsou whines into his arms.
Unsurprisingly, Kaminari is the one who raises his hand. “Aizawa-sensei? What do you mean by terms?”
“I wonder if it has anything to do with that one really weird month earlier this year…” Kirishima wonders out loud.
Shouta smirks, letting him bare his teeth into what his students like to call his logical ruse smile, and takes some level of satisfaction in how several students wince. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask them why they’re on house arrest?”
“House arrest?” Yaoyorozu asks, frowning. “Is that why they weren’t allowed to get the groceries last time?”
“But,” Ashido splutters. “They’re the Dekusquad ! The good kids! They literally never do anything wrong! Why would they be on house arrest ?”
Though he doesn’t outwardly react, he takes a sort of sadistic pleasure in watching the class turn on the self-proclaimed Dekusquad, eager for information. Heroics students or not, teenagers can be so simple-minded sometimes.
The ex-vigilantes don’t even flinch at the gazes turned at them hungrily, though Iida does throw Shouta a slightly upset look.
“But Eraserhead-san,” Asui says, even as she gets even more strange looks for using his hero name. “I was under the impression that we weren’t allowed to talk about it?”
“You’re allowed to, though discouraged to just tell any random person since that takes away your protection. I wouldn’t consider the class any random people though, they’re heroes-in-training- Uraraka, I see that look, you’re not allowed to sell the information.”
She droops in her seat, eyes shining. “But the demand would have made it so valuable . Don’t you think, Tsu-chan?”
“We really should stop talking about this.”
“The value would probably go up,” Asui agrees, ignoring Iida. “But that’s really more your thing, though. ...Are you alright, Izu-chan?”
Shouta watches in amusement as everyone turns to the green-haired boy, who seems intent on hiding as best as he can. “Don’t mind me,” he mutters into his desk. “If I try hard enough, I can probably convince myself that I no longer exist.”
“Mood,” Shinsou says, promptly.
Bakugou turns around and slams his hand against Midoriya’s table, thankfully without quirk use. Shouta really doesn’t want to have to replace another table. “Are you ever going to tell the class what your idiots are talking about, nerd?”
“Wrong order,” Todoroki corrects. “He’s our idiot, not the other way around.”
“You’re all idiots,” Bakugou declares, before looking around at the class. “Seriously, did no one else realise ?”
“Not all of us have the benefit of knowing Midoriya long enough to know, Bakugou,” Jirou says crossly, and Bakugou stares at her, looking bewildered and angry at the same time.
“Your quirk literally gives you fucking super hearing . How do you not know?”
“I guess that explains why he was acting so strangely back then,” Shouta hears Uraraka mutter.
“Indeed,” Iida responds. Then, louder, “Are we going to tell them or not?”
“I literally don’t care anymore,” Midoriya mutters. “Whatever.”
Bakugou scoffs loudly. “Seriously? They weren’t subtle about that shit at all! Did no one else even suspect that they were vigilantes?”
The class bursts into, well, an outburst of noise.
“That’s illegal!” Yaoyorozu protests. “Surely they wouldn’t do that!”
“Oops,” Uraraka shrugs unapologetically. “We disappointed the vice-prez.”
The confirmation only causes even more chaos, the ringing of the lunch bell almost going unheard. Almost. Midoriya perks up at that, though, and promptly slips out the window, even as some of his classmates screech. Shinsou and Todoroki race to be the next, the latter jostling the former in order to beat him to it.
Shouta sighs, then leaves.
Anything that happens after that isn’t his business anymore if he’s not in the class.