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Aizawa flipped the thin folder open and lifted his eyes to meet the dead gaze of the young man sitting across from him, acutely aware of the fact that a single word could kill him. His superiors didn’t believe him and thought he was wasting their time, but he knew there was something wrong. He knew these seemingly random suicides were connected – and they all came back to Shinsou Hitoshi with his innocent smile and dark circles under his eyes.
“You witnessed your neighbor fall to his death when you were fourteen?”
The smile faded from Shinsou’s face, but he didn’t appear upset. “I didn’t actually see anything. I heard him shout and found him on the ground when I went to check on him.”
“A kind thing for you to do considering he’d threatened to have your cat put down,” Aizawa pointed out.
“I didn’t like the guy, but the noise still caught my interest.” Shinsou shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Not that it mattered since he was dead as soon as he hit the ground – broken neck, I think. His head was twisted all weird.”
“You’ve got a good memory.”
“Something that fucked up tends to stand out.”
As far as records went, Shinsou’s was almost perfectly clean. No speeding or parking infractions, no criminal history, no debt. He was a model citizen who attended university for pre-law, lived in a modest apartment, and worked a night job at a radio station. Yamada probably would’ve liked the kid. There was nothing about him that suggested he was a cold-hearted murderer.
Except perhaps for his quirk, but Aizawa wasn’t an idiot. Most people believed quirks were inherently tied to personality. He thought it was bullshit. Society categorized quirks by their usefulness: whether they were heroic, civilian, or, in worst-case scenarios, villainous. With a quirk like brainwashing, Shinsou was undoubtedly in the latter category in most people’s eyes. All someone had to do was respond to him verbally while he had it activated, and he could trick them into doing whatever he wanted.
Of course, as a civilian, he wasn’t legally allowed to use his quirk against other people – at least aside from harmless jokes. It must’ve been frustrating to have a quirk that could only be used against people. It would always be perceived as bad, which was probably why he never stepped a toe out of line. Such a shame. Brainwashing would’ve been a clever gimmick for an underground hero.
Shinsou tapped his fingers along the table. “Is there something else you wanted to discuss with me other than an accident three years ago?”
“Yes.” Aizawa pulled out ten pictures and laid them on the table in two rows of five. There were a few more he was on the fence about, but he kept those in the folder. He was almost positive these people’s untimely deaths at least were tied to Shinsou. “Do you recognize anyone?”
Leaning forward, Shinsou examined the photos closely, his blank expression unchanging. “I think I’ve seen the third girl in a coffee shop a few times?” He tapped the seventh photo. “This guy looks familiar, but I don’t know where from. Oh, wait, the tenth guy – I think he goes to the gym I did last year. I, uh, kind of quit going. I should cancel that membership.” He raised his eyes. “Should I know them?”
“They all committed suicide within the past three years.”
“Wow.” Shinsou grimaced apologetically. “That’s...tragic. I’ve never understood it myself, but there’s a lot of pressure in society these days.” He frowned. “I don’t see what that has to do with me. Is it some sort of epidemic? Contagion? An issue with the brain?” His eyes lit up fractionally, and he sat upright. “Does it have to do with a cult? That would be spooky. Some people are just suckers for that bullshit when they’re in a desperate situation.”
Aizawa leaned in his chair and folded his arms. “They’re labeled as suicides, but I think that’s incorrect.”
“Oh?” A grin quirked at Shinsou’s face, so unlike his expression before. He didn’t appear sad in the least; he looked intrigued, his eyes focused and sharp. “You think they were murdered and their deaths were framed to look like suicides? Well, that would certainly change things.” He whistled as he looked over the pictures, soaking in the smiles that would never be seen again. “If you’re right, that would make for one prolific killer.”
That grin was sharp too, every word he said pointed. Was his quirk activated now? Was it always activated just in case? Could he do that? There was so little information on civilian’s quirks, and his, as a mental quirk, was even worse.
Aizawa didn’t take his eyes off Shinsou, unblinking and unrelenting, and Shinsou returned the stare back. For a moment, neither one of them said anything as they considered the other. It was odd. For just a moment, Aizawa saw himself in the kid – tired, hungry, angry, bright. When the world had turned its back on him, Shinsou had a few options: push through it, ignore it, or push back. If Aizawa was right, he had pushed multiple people over the edge instead.
Shinsou laid a hand against his chest. “You think I had something to do with this? What? Like I’ve been operating as a serial killer for three years?”
“Longer, if I had to hazard,” Aizawa said. “Your mother is listed as a witness to an accident involving a child being struck by a car when you were five. It could be a coincidence – or a start.”
A bark of laughter slipped from Shinsou. “Cool, I was a kindergarten serial killer. That’ll make a good headline.”
It was admittedly a jump, but one that Aizawa couldn’t ignore. He had built his entire hero career out of relying on his gut instincts. He wasn’t always right – sometimes, it was paranoia – but when he was right, he was fucking right, and he knew there was something wrong with Shinsou. As sharp as his gaze was, his eyes still had that dead look about them.
Propping his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, Shinsou played with the photo of the fourth woman, idly sliding it around the table with a finger. “Say, if I was the person you’re looking for, what’s stopping me from killing you? It doesn’t sound like anyone believes you even though you’ve been working so hard on this. Maybe it would validate your case if you vanished – or simply end it.”
Aizawa thought for a minute. He could activate his quirk to ensure he wouldn’t get captured by Shinsou’s brainwashing, but he didn’t want this little shit to think he was scared. He refused to give him any power and squashed the defensive urge when he finally answered, “Boredom. You’ve gotten away with this for a long time, but it’s lost its thrill. It’s not much of a game when the other side isn’t playing.”
Shinsou stopped toying with the photo and looked him in the eyes. “Sounds dangerous.”
“And stupid.”
“I don’t know.” Shinsou slid the photo back to him. “If you’re right, whoever killed these people has gotten away with it for this long, haven’t they? Maybe they’re moving on to bigger targets.”
Aizawa didn’t react. Maybe so – and maybe his idea of a bigger target was a hero. After all, his suspected victims so far had been civilians, weak and unused to having quirks used against them. They wouldn’t even consider it except in the case of a villain. And this kid was definitely one, a wolf in sheep’s clothes hiding in plain sight. The question was whether or not Aizawa could prove it without becoming a part of the photo lineup.
*
Contrary to whatever Aizawa believed, the first time Shinsou killed someone, it had been an accident.
He was five. How the hell was he supposed to understand the complexities of brainwashing? All he knew was that he could tell people to do things as long as they responded to him. He turned it into a game with his parents, forcing them to use sign language and handwritten notes, but they still slipped and were tricked into cleaning his room or letting him stay up late. It didn’t occur to him that his quirk could be evil. Quirks were simply heroic or non-heroic, and Shinsou had a decidedly non-heroic quirk.
And he thought that up until he got into an argument with a kid at the playground and snapped, “I don’t wanna play with you! Go play in traffic for all I care!”
His quirk had activated in the middle of the fight. It was hard to control when he was young, hence why his attempts to get out of bathtime didn’t always work. Sometimes, it activated without him realizing it, and he was left to stare at the blank, dumb looks on people’s faces. He eventually grew amused by them, but at that age, it always left him frustrated.
There had been a dumb look on Kenji’s face then. Shinsou had watched in silence as Kenji stood, dropped the toy he’d stolen, and walked into the street. He hopped two times on one foot like he was playing hopscotch before a car struck him. The vehicle bounced over his body like a speedbump, and Shinsou swore he could hear Kenji’s bones crunching and blood squelching.
A shriek rang in the air, frantic cries and pleading echoing after them as the car skidded to a halt. Shinsou stared at the blood pooling underneath Kenji’s broken body. The ambulance and police arrived, even a hero, but nothing could be done. Kenji was dead – had been dead the moment of impact – maybe even the second Shinsou brainwashed him.
Instead of scolding him or taking him to the police, his mother swooped in and took him home. She let him eat as many sweets as he wanted and stay up watching TV with her until he peacefully fell asleep under the kotatsu.
Shinsou had killed a kid with his quirk – and he got away with it.
By the time he was fourteen, he had eight kills under his belt. Careful observations taught him that killing a person required something abrupt. Telling them to slit their wrists or throat didn’t work because they snapped out of it at the first sign of pain. He had to be short and to the point.
Tie this rope around your neck and jump off the chair. Stick this gun in your mouth and pull the trigger. Stab this knife in your neck. Jump off that building. Lay down on the train tracks. Walk across the street.
For some things, there was no going back or snapping out of it.
Six were perpetrated out of interest and observation, but the last one was due to irritation. It pissed him off. He didn’t brainwash people he knew personally. It was better if he had no connection to them at all in case they could be traced back to him. He hadn’t planned to kill his neighbor, but when the old man threatened his cat, Shinsou snapped.
“Go jump off the roof!” And so his neighbor did – climbed up his ladder onto the roof and jumped off, breaking his neck and dying instantly. Shinsou spent a solid minute staring at the body before he called 119, stating his neighbor fell off his ladder and was injured. Nope, he was definitely dead.
After that, he knew it was time to leave. He couldn’t stay here, not with his mother constantly bringing up how tragic the man’s death was and how upsetting it must’ve been for Shinsou to find him. He couldn’t stand to live another day under her gentle touch. She was so soft, so weak. Even after ten years, she still fell for his tricks. It would’ve taken nothing to kill her – absolutely nothing.
The urge was too strong to ignore, so he applied for high schools far from home. He chose the farthest one that accepted him, wrapping his mother in a strong hug while she cried and shaking his father’s hand. When they said goodbye at the train, it was so tempting to tell them to leap in front of it, but he didn’t. He waved them off and left, essentially freeing them from him. His father knew it at least. The relieved expression on his face as the train pulled away was almost enough to make Shinsou regret not saying anything.
*
Moving opened up many doors. People didn’t know his quirk, which left them oh-so vulnerable. He could’ve used it in school to make a name for himself, but he preferred people being in the dark. Sometimes, he even let them think he was quirkless. A few kids mocked him, but he always got back at them later. One girl threw chemicals in a boy’s face while another boy stripped during assembly. He even tricked some rich girl to give him her money every day for a month.
Such things were entertaining, but they weren’t enough, and so Shinsou slipped into old, familiar habits. The temptation was too hard to resist. Some kids played sports, but he liked to play god. All it took was someone bumping shoulders with him in the street and responding to his half-assed apology or smart remark, and boom , they couldn’t wait to die.
That was the fun of it. Was it truly murder if they killed themselves? Not everyone responded, and he didn’t brainwash people every time. He had to get creative, space out the experiments, strengthen his quirk. The trick was getting people to take their time. A chill shivered down his spine whenever he saw their deaths on the news hours later. He’d done that. He turned them into a grenade and waited for them to pull the pin.
The bloody deaths were the most exciting, but there wasn’t the same thrill if he didn’t see them happen. It had been so long since he’d properly experienced a death. At this point, he didn’t even feel like his hands were stained with blood. Not that tricking people into ending their lives wasn’t fun, but there wasn’t any risk in it. The fear that had clutched his heart when he accidentally brainwashed Kenji or his neighbor into killing themselves was gone.
Maybe that was why he brainwashed a coworker into hanging himself in the supply closet. They barely talked and didn’t work on the same floor, but he was an asshole. No one liked him, not even the girl who found him all purple and bloated with piss dripping from him. Shinsou had to stifle his laughter during the funeral while the people that used to talk shit about him cried. Like they cared.
And then Aizawa appeared after the funeral and pulled him in for questioning. That danger, the risk, the fear of staring into the eyes of a hero who viewed him as a villain – now that was exciting.
That rush lit a fire inside of him. Now that a hero was on his tail, keeping a low profile should’ve been a priority, but he wanted to do more. What could that hero do? Catch him in the act? He’d need a recording of him brainwashing a person with actual audio and video or no one would be able to prove what he said. Aizawa knew how his quirk worked more or less, so there was a chance that Shinsou would have to kill him. Make it look like a suicide because no one believed him. Talk about what a tragedy it was since he was a great hero.
He’d never killed a hero before. That could be thrilling.
Tailing an underground hero was a terrible idea, but he was curious. Most heroes were in it for fame, fortune, and glory, even if they proclaimed good intentions, but Eraserhead couldn’t be further from that ideology. He might as well not have been ranked considering how few people knew him, and it was obvious the police didn’t like him insinuating they’d missed something. His job was thankless, difficult, and dangerous, but aside from splurging on an insane amount of coffee, he didn’t seem to lose focus or determination.
It was interesting. No matter how much the world tried to beat him down – and judging by the black eye he was currently sporting, it did – Aizawa never gave up, which meant the likelihood of him dropping this suicide-turned-murder investigation was low.
Good. Shinsou wanted to have some fun. Going up against someone worth his time might be just what he needed to go beyond, as the kids at U.A. said.
By sheer chance, both of them happened to frequent the same coffee shop, the same one where a barista had tragically hung herself after a bad shift. When Shinsou realized it, he almost laughed. He and Aizawa really did have a lot in common. If only there had been someone to pull him out of the dark.
Aizawa regularly frequented the coffee shop before school started. A hero and a teacher – it must’ve been exhausting. It forced Shinsou to get up about thirty minutes earlier, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Not like he slept much anyway. Aizawa was at the counter ordering a drink when Shinsou stepped inside. He smiled. Perfect timing.
Slipping in line behind him, Shinsou peered around him and piped up, “Three shots of espresso can’t be healthy for you.”
Aizawa turned to comment, his brow furrowed and mouth open, when he caught sight of Shinsou at the last second and promptly stopped himself. Shinsou’s smile widened. The mere threat of his quirk must’ve caused the pro-hero to hesitate.
Finally, like he was carefully wading in shark-infested waters, Aizawa asked, “Concerned for me?”
“Well, there’s only so much the human heart can take before it gives out,” Shinsou said airily, waving a hand about. He shrugged. “And the mind. Fragile things, in the end, aren’t they?”
Honestly, Shinsou had to give it to him. Aizawa’s blank expression did not change one iota as he simply replied, “They are.” He would be either terrible or incredible to play poker with. Shinsou didn’t play many card games himself, but it was funny to trick people into going all in and watching them snap out of it in confusion when their entire pot was taken away. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, you probably think I’m scouting for potential victims,” Shinsou said, stepping up to the counter, “but I’m here to get a coffee before class.” He handed a few bills to the barista, a young man who had been casually seeing the girl who killed herself. “Just a black coffee.” Tilting his head back to look at Aizawa, he added, “Late night.”
“Picking out potential victims?”
Shinsou chuckled. “The only victim, I’m afraid, was myself. Pre-law is murder.”
Aizawa stirred a straw slowly in his cup. “You’re focusing on criminal law, aren’t you?”
“Don’t you have a detailed file on me? You should know that.” Shinsou took the coffee and thanked the barista. “You know, if I really was the person you think I am, I could take you out any time during this conversation. Even the start of a word counts as a response, sometimes just a grunt of acknowledgment.” He tapped his finger against the hot styrofoam cup. “What if I have my quirk activated now? Talking to me is a risk, isn’t it?”
“How do you know I don’t have my quirk activated?” Aizawa countered smoothly before taking a sip of his drink.
“Touché. You know more about me than I do you.” Shinsou raised his cup. “Anyway, I don’t want to be late. Good luck with your case, Eraserhead! I’m rooting for you.”
Throwing up a hand, Shinsou weaved his way through the crowd and slipped out of the shop. His heart thundered in his chest as he wandered down the sidewalk, his vision tunneling and his mind racing. This was way more fun than bumping into someone random on the street and telling them to walk in front of a bus. It was terrifying and enlightening all in one. He’d spent so long being careful, but maybe it was time to take some risks. What was the sense in holding himself back? No, if he was going to do this, he wanted to go all the way.
Heroes truly were inspiring.
*
The first thing Aizawa noticed upon coming to was that he was tied up but not gagged or blinded. Most criminal organizations did all of the above. They didn’t want their captives to make any noises that might alert others or see their faces – unless they were in a secluded area and their plan was to kill no matter what. However, he wasn’t simply tied to a chair. A rope was wrapped around his neck, holding him upright just enough to choke him if he moved forward. His hands and feet were bound as well, forcing to stay still unless he wanted to pass out again.
“Ah, you’re awake!” a familiar voice exclaimed. “You hit yourself in the head with that pipe a lot harder than I anticipated. Should’ve expected that from a hero, I suppose.” Aizawa bit his tongue to refrain from responding, but that only made Shinsou laugh as he dropped into a chair across from him. “You can talk. I’m not gonna use my quirk on you. That part is over. We’re in the next stage.”
Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “Next stage?”
“He speaks!” Shinsou sat upright and clapped his hands together. “You were right. About me being bored – and killing all those people. I mean, technically, they killed themselves. All they needed was a little push.” He sank into the chair, draping an arm over the back and spreading his legs out like this was nothing more than a casual conversation. “It was too easy. People are so suggestible even without my quirk, but with it, nothing mattered. I could have whatever I wanted.”
“That doesn’t sound boring to me.” Aizawa moved his head, tugging on the ropes. It was no good. Had it been his scarf, he might’ve been able to do something with it, but Shinsou had wisely set that in the corner out of his reach.
“It was. I was lost. I didn’t know what to do.” Shinsou sighed, his body utterly relaxed as he stared off into the distance. “I read a lot of true crime novels growing up. Never checked them out of the library so there wasn’t a record or I’d buy one using cash along with a few mangas. The cashier was usually too busy scorning me for the obvious fanservice than questioning my taste in nonfiction.”
“You were curious.”
Shinsou shrugged. “I considered it research. I wanted to know about other killers – if I was alone or could connect with someone, what mistakes they made, habits they had that I did too. I had all these questions about why I did or thought certain things, and they had all the answers. It was preparation for something more, but I didn’t know it until I met you.”
“I’m honored,” Aizawa said with a grunt.
“You should be,” Shinsou replied without a hint of sarcasm. “You helped me find myself. I realized what I was missing – that I was holding myself back out of fear and insecurity.” He smiled brightly, a twisted version of the smile Aizawa gave. It was strange seeing it on this young man’s pale face. “I kept thinking I was a regular person born with this terrible ability, but now I know.” Resting his forearms against his knees, Shinsou leaned forward and looked him dead in the eyes, a strange glow in them for the first time. “Thanks to you, I can be the villain I was meant to be.”
No, that was the opposite of what Aizawa wanted. He hadn’t been foolish enough to believe that he could save Shinsou. The interview with him weeks ago had confirmed his suspicions. Not only had he been more than certain that Shinsou was directly involved in the deaths, but there had been a distinct lack of remorse. He’d been more amused than anything else. Dead as his gaze was, he was lively and talkative. He was intrigued. No one had probably ever spoken to him about the murders before.
As from the coffee shop and walking past a few other locations of the suicides, Shinsou didn’t linger in the scene of the crimes. They were simply en route on his daily routines. He didn’t take any special souvenirs. His family history was pleasant and boring. He held a good job and went to school. Aside from the suspected use of his quirk, there was no special M.O. as most of the victims killed themselves in different ways and some of them even waited until they got home. There wasn’t even a pattern in the victims; some were connected by a few degrees but never directly or with reason.
Aizawa had hung this case by a very thin thread, and now it was tying itself around his neck.
“I was restless and unhappy, and I didn’t realize until I saw all those faces staring back at me that I’d grown stagnant. I wasn’t doing anything. I wasn’t going anywhere, just telling random people on the street to off themselves was nothing .” When Shinsou stood, Aizawa noticed the latex gloves on his hands and shoe covers to keep him from leaving any sort of defining prints at the scene. Intelligent, dedicated, thoughtful – the sort of things that could make either a great hero or a horrific villain. “I was a random face in the crowd like those people.”
Shinsou pulled something out of his pocket as he stepped to the side, but Aizawa’s attention was dragged to a blank-faced woman standing behind him on the second floor with a noose tied around her neck. It was loose now, but if she took a few more steps forward... He grit his teeth and dug his blunt nails into his palms. It was one thing if it was just him, but Shinsou had brought a civilian into this game.
“A double suicide then?” Aizawa surmised, trying to rein in his anger. “My death will only put more of a target on your back, you know. It’ll all but confirm my theories.”
“You’re right,” Shinsou agreed, “which is why that’s not my aim.”
“It’s not–?”
Aizawa cut himself off with a grunt when a thin, sharp knife slammed in between his ribcage. It caught him by surprise, but when he tried to jerk away, the rope tightened around his throat and choked him. Shinsou seemed caught off guard as well, his pupils blown out wide and his breath quickening, especially when he pulled the knife out and blood spilled onto the floor.
“Can’t connect your death to your theory of my M.O. if you’re outright murdered,” Shinsou announced, lifting the knife so that it glinted in the moonlight pouring through a window. Aizawa’s vision swam as he watched his own blood drip from the knife’s edge as Shinsou angled it towards him. Unlike before in the interrogation room, his eyes were vibrant and alive when he grabbed him by his hair and stabbed him again. “You really do make a great teacher. I needed to push myself in order to progress. You helped me see that.”
He jerked the knife out and roughly let go of his hair, forcing his head to drop. After setting the knife down on the table, he dragged it closer to Aizawa. With his hands bound in front of him, he could reach out and grab the knife, but he knew just by eyeballing the distance that it was too far away. If he pushed himself further, he’d choke himself in the process. It was a clever and terrible ploy.
“Oh, I wouldn’t waste long deciding what to do,” Shinsou said, pointing to the woman above them. She took a single step forward and stopped, staring dead ahead and unaware of the fall in front of her. “I told her to take a step every two minutes right before you woke up. I’d say she’s got about, eh, three more steps before she goes sailing in the wind.”
Aizawa jerked on his bonds, tearing his eyes away from the woman. “Shinsou–”
“I’ll be back in about half an hour to check on you. I’ve got some homework I need to do.” Shinsou lifted two fingers to his forehead and saluted him mockingly. “I actually wouldn’t mind if you made it out of this alive somehow – it’d make things even more interesting – but…” A lazy grin tugged at his lips. “See you around, Eraserhead – or, you know, not. I’ll pick the best alley to dump your body. Have fun!”
“Shinsou!”
He didn’t respond, casually lifting a hand as he’d done in the coffee shop as he walked away. Aizawa reached forward to grab the knife, blood pouring from the two stab wounds. The rope pulled too tight around his neck, and he jerked back and gasped raspily for air. His vision darkened, but the pain brought him back to a more heightened state of awareness. The woman took another step forward. Sweat beaded down the side of Aizawa’s face as he panted.
It was either get the knife or die trying. Aizawa almost laughed. Even without Shinsou brainwashing him, he would likely kill himself in the process. The M.O. stood, but he was still learning. He still had time to truly become a monster that haunted the night.