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Had you told Shouta one week ago that he would be hunting down the number one hero for murder, he would have laughed in your face. Well, not laughed, since he hates people knowing what his real laugh sounds like. Maybe scoffed derisively, then slid back into his sleeping bag and passed out in preparation for another mind-numbing night of patrol. All Might – voted number one blond ten years running – would sooner cut his own arm off than willingly hurt a person. Literally anyone picked off the street could tell you this in total confidence – even Endeavor, voted number one All Might hater ten years running.
And yet, here Shouta stands, in an abandoned building that reeks of mildew and mold, across from the former Symbol of Peace, who still wears his garish costume, stained with days-old blood.
It's been two days since All Might, the number one hero, the Symbol of Peace, took down a Yakuza sect with violent force, killing every official member. Three days since he destroyed an outlying village of civilians that later investigations will deem a burgeoning reemergence of the MLA. Six days since he brought a city block of abandoned buildings to the ground with such strength that there was nothing left but dust - and the remains of two men, one identified as a local doctor and the other still unknown.
In less than one week, the Symbol of Peace turned violent, and no one had a single idea why. No one had any idea where he was, either. All of Japan was looking for him and any explanation that could offer up some semblance of calm to their newly disrupted lives. There were no leads, no witnesses, and no one close to the hero could offer up a single idea what happened to make him snap. There was no hope of finding him.
His sidekick couldn’t be found anywhere for a comment – he was deep undercover and had been for several weeks, something Shouta found suspiciously convenient. None of his staff knew where he was or what had made him snap. Detective Naomasa, known to be familiar with All Might and his agency, had absolutely no idea what was happening and was running from site to site, trying to figure out where everything was unraveling from.
Even Nedzu – the smartest hero in the world and one of All Might’s own teachers during his time at UA – didn’t know what had happened. He confided in Shouta several days prior, when the news came out about the first attacks, that he thought someone with a powerful mimic quirk may have been imitating the hero, or perhaps the hero was being possessed by someone with a body-snatching quirk. In either case, the principle could find no evidence for his theories, leaving him puzzled and worried. And when Nedzu, the being who ran through puzzles like a grandma through a particularly complex intersection (At 90 mph without a care for pedestrians), was at a loss, then the entire world was at a loss.
So, of course, two hours into his usual nightly patrol, Shouta ran into the newest and most dangerous villain in Japan – likely the entire world. Alone. Just minutes after his phone died, leaving him with no way of contacting literally anyone for backup. Plus ultra.
Were he a religious man, he would start praying right about now. As a matter of fact, he finds himself regretting not knowing a single prayer, especially as someone who went to Christian summer camp for one week in middle school. Not by choice – his mothers made him, since it doubled as a band camp and they thought it would help him make friends. It didn’t. His clarinet skills improved immeasurably, though.
So, instead, he tries his best not to show any fear and hopes that his life insurance payout will help Hizashi pay off the rest of his student loans.
He takes a step forward, letting the floorboard creak horrendously beneath his booth. There’s no point at playing stealthy with a man who could demolish his ribcage with a single flick. Shouta knows when his reaction time is beat.
The former number one hero doesn’t react whatsoever. He continues staring out window that he blocks with his terrifyingly large body.
It’s odd, how one week ago seeing this mountain of a man would’ve brought some sense of reassurance (and annoyance). Now, Shouta has to force his breathing steady. He glances around the room once more, checking what he already knows. The wallpaper sits in peeled off clumps on the ground; the floorboards creak beneath even the lightest foot; and the windows are shaded with grime and muck older than Shouta. No entryway other than the windows – which are too small for All Might to go through, unless he brings the whole wall with him. But that would be too destructive – even for a tank like him. Each of his most recent kills have been quick and clean, except for the city block he decimated six days prior.
Shouta glances back to All Might, checking his person. No weapons, bags, equipment. Nothing. He didn’t come here to rest and regroup. He didn’t come here to scout. He came here to talk.
After a long moment, the hero looks back, and Shouta stares into haunted, piercing blue eyes. Their weight makes him want to throw his capture weapon out and hope for the best, but he holds steady. It doesn’t matter if Shouta erases his quirk. The man is still a mountain of muscle and could tear his capture weapon to shreds, enhanced fibers be damned.
Shouta had never felt such apprehension and fear of the Symbol of Peace before. Any time the blond man came to mind, it was usually accompanied by some sort of derision, disappointed that society would choose the emulation of a quirk doing all the work to be their best hope. Yes, yes, Shouta knew that All Might was good at what he did – the best among anyone able to call themself a hero. There was no hero who saved more people, had lower on-site destruction rate, or inspired more confidence than All Might. But one pillar supporting society was an unbalanced load, ready to fall at any moment. Plus, Shouta has always hated bright colours and spandex with a passion.
Yet here the number one stands, wearing a costume scuffed from his recent violent excursions and stained with blood from the numerous – the exact number still unknown – people he has killed, and Shouta really, really wishes he told Hizashi he loved him one more time before he left for patrol.
“Ah.” All Might smiles. “Aizawa-kun. I was wondering when you’d get here.”
One time, Shouta had a particularly difficult case – a woman, going around and stealing valuables from a series of neighborhoods. Never seen by a single witness, never let a single trace. Stealing valuables like watches and electronics isn’t the worst crime Shouta has come across – and not for the worst reason either. The woman needed money for her sister’s cancer treatment, and her three part-time jobs weren’t going to get her enough to cover it.
However, she had a quirk called “Terror.” If she could see a person, she could summon up their worst nightmare – but only to herself, initially. She could see everything that terrified you – things that would keep a person up at night. Somewhat counterproductive, making herself experience the nightmare – but the closer she got to a person, the more interactable it became for her target. One kilometer away, and you would have no idea a quirk was even being used. One meter away, and you were living it, and you would never have seen it, or her, coming.
Shouta had thoroughly buried (then worked through with his therapist) that entire experience deep down inside, but he can still recall the horrific calm that came upon him. The sort of calm a downed baby bird gets when faced with a hungry wolf. You know there is absolutely nothing you can do, nothing you can say or hope or plea for to get you out of the mess you’re in. Death will find you, and it will have you. All that you can do is wait for it, suspended above you on piano wires, ready to drop when it sees fit.
That sense of serenity, thin and taught and pulling at his seams, comes over him, as All Might continues speaking, saying things that only a few people incredibly close to Shouta should know.
“It’s your second year teaching now, right? You’re mainly teaching underground electives to some second-years, but next year you’ll be teaching homeroom, I think. Nedzu is making you – said his personal student will get him some grand-students, right?” All Might chuckles, tired and with barely any humour. “Don’t worry, Aizawa-kun. Nedzu has always had a good sense of when people are ready for the next step. You’ll do fine. Scare some kids shitless in the process, but they’ll be all the better for it.”
All Might fully turns around now. The light filtering in through the grimy windows flickers behind him. The part of town they’re in is pretty poor. Mostly full of boarded up buildings. Not many people see a point in the upkeep of the streetlamps and roads when no one comes by anyway.
He doesn’t smile again at Shouta, thankfully. That would be pants-shittingly terrifying – seeing that grin right before a punch strong enough to make it rain finds its way through his skull. Instead, he looks Aizawa up and down, and says, “I know it won’t mean much, but you don’t need to be scared, Aizawa-kun.
Shouta quickly stopped himself from stiffening at the familiarity, but apparently not fast enough. Instead of the usual bright, toothy grin, a sardonic smile crosses All Might’s face. He shakes his head, and said, “Sorry – Eraserhead. I forgot myself. Or… well, I guess you forgot me. Everyone, really. I…”
He shakes his head again, suddenly looking as tired as Shouta after following up a day at the school with a double shift at patrol. He looks back up at Shouta, offers up a fake smile, and says, “I’m not going to hurt you, or anyone else again, Eraserhead. I can promise that.”
Shouta swallows quickly, trying to wet his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, and says, “So those murders really were yours?”
“Ah. Yes. Those were mine.”
“Would you be willing to say that on recording?”
“Ha!” All Might’s smile gains some sincerity. “No, Eraser, but thank you for the offer. No, I don’t intend to have a paper trail much longer.”
“Why is that?”
“Because my work is done. I’ve finished everything I came back for – all the cleaning, that is. I have other plans, but… that will be for me, rather than ‘All Might.’”
“Is that what you call it – ‘cleaning’? And what other plans are you talking about?”
“You don’t remember, but we were actually somewhat close.” He smiles, a sincere one, as he ignores Shouta’s questions. “Though I never did stop annoying you. I think the whole, uh, ‘Number One’ performance annoyed you quite a lot, but we became… friends, I think. I would’ve liked to say we were friends.”
“You think you and I are friends?”
“Oh, well, no – not now. But we were, in the past.”
“The… past.”
“Yes – the past timeline. I, uh, well, I’m not the best to explain this. I – I always had a hard time explaining things, teaching… things. Or, in general… I… Well,” he shrugs, “Maybe Nedzu will explain it to you better. He was always a good lecturer.”
“Nedzu knows about what you’re doing?”
“Oh – no, he doesn’t. Don’t worry, Aiz-Eraser. He hasn’t betrayed your trust at all. No, I just mean that he – he will pick up what information I give you, and he’ll put it all together, like he usually does. Hopefully he can explain the history to you, too. The things that he should normally know, and then you can add on what I give you, and hopefully that will help things clear up, a little bit.”
“Help things? What things? Those people you killed won’t be getting any help.”
“Nor should they. I – well, that…” he sighs, shakes his head, and Shouta has to stop a hysterical laugh at how his bangs bounce like rabbit ears, nearly scraping the ceiling. “Maybe they could’ve been helped, but I didn’t go back far enough to help them. All I could do now was damage-control…”
He trails off, looks down at the cracked floor. He lifts his wrist and pushes back his sleeve – looks at his watch – and frowns. “I’m sorry to say I don’t have much time, Eraser. I have other places to be – don’t worry, no more violence. Just… tying up loose ends. I was hoping we could speak for a while – so I could explain things, but… well, I’ve always been bad at explaining things, haven’t I?”
He looks up with a sardonic smile at that, which flattens out. “Ah, yeah, you wouldn’t know. Well, anyway – I’m going to reach into my pocket now, and pull out a notebook. Is that okay?”
Shouta watches him for a long moment, how he keeps his hands up where he can see them, face too calm for Shouta to feel the same. He nods, and the former hero slows pulls a notebook from his back pocket – however that was able to be sewn into the skin-tight spandex, Shouta will never know and never wants to know. All Might holds the notebook out to him, the cover facing up. Shouta steps forward slowly, keeping his capture weapon ready, and carefully takes the notebook from him. He steps back, floorboards creaking beneath his heel.
The notebook is… admittedly childish, like one you’d find in a school supplies store. The edges are frayed, like someone flipped through them a thousand times, and the cover is worn with age. It had a title at some point, but the letters are nearly all faded away, leaving what Shouta assumes is the word Analysis in careful handwriting. He looks back up to All Might, who looks at the book with a wistful expression that Shouta wishes he had the tools to dissect.
“That has the majority of the information you’ll need. Please, give it to Nedzu when you’re done reading it. He’ll know what to do with it. He’ll probably need your help too, with all the work that’s going to need. I… I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be forthright from the beginning, but the villains I fought – they needed to be dealt with, quickly.”
“If the number one hero needed help,” interrupts Shouta, “Any number of heroes, limelight and underground, would’ve been there in a moment.”
“Yes, and they all would have died doing so.” All Might smiles, not his 100-watt smile, but a stretch of the lips that looks more like a skeleton’s eternal grin. “I know when force is necessary. And I know when it’s time to make a sacrificial play. Something I’m certain you’re familiar with too, Aizawa.”
Shouta stares at the book a beat longer, then says, careful to keep his voice level and empty, “Past timeline.”
“What?”
He looks up at the hero. “You said ‘past timeline.’ Are you saying you’re from the future?”
All Might tilts his head, those stupid bunny bangs flopping over with the motion, and says, “You know as well as I do that Nedzu wouldn’t like me spilling any secrets, especially about certain allies he has. But, yes, Aizawa. I’m from the future. Everything in that notebook will explain. Or, well, Nedzu will be able to extrapolate form it.”
“Prove it.”
“… Excuse me?”
Shouta lifts his chin slightly, as he tucks the notebook into his back pocket and replaces its weight with that of the knife he keeps hidden on him. Knives are somewhat of a necessity when your main weapon is a length of fancy cloth that can be turned on you. They are especially important when you’re just starting out with a capture weapon, as they are one of the weapons you are most likely to accidentally choke yourself out with. Shouta knows this very well, as does Nemuri, since she made sure to film each of his first attempts at using the capture weapon for “future use.”
He looks All Might up and down, gaze flat. “You said you’re from the future. Prove it. Prove to me that you aren’t just going off the deep end and finishing your career with a murder spree. And while you’re at it, tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t march over to your agency and arrest every person there for collaboration. I’m certain you couldn’t have made it this far without some help, not someone as flashy as you.”
“Ah, Aizawa-”
“Eraserhead.”
All Might’s mouth clicks shut. He swallows, then nods, and says, matter-of-factly, “Not to be rude, Eraserhead, but I’m much older than you. Yes, you have some skills, but I’ve done my fair share of work in the underground as well. Those tricks have gotten me far. No one at my agency – none of my colleagues, assistants, friends – none of them know a thing of what I’ve been doing. It’s all me. Just… me.”
“Naomasa, Nighteye, Nedzu – some of the most controlling and nosy individuals I’ve met – and none of them had a thing to do with this?”
“Nothing. Naomasa keeps a good distance with his work – I just didn’t reach out as much, let him stay busy. I pushed Nighteye to take an undercover job, didn’t tell him why. And Nedzu… he would have stopped me. Would have suggested waiting, when there was no time to waste. They don’t know anything. I made sure of that.”
He steps forward, and Aizawa snaps his capture weapon up, letting the knife stay hidden as back-up while he activates his quirk. All Might side-steps the stretch of fabric without much effort, and says, “There’s no use trying to trap me, Aizawa. I’ll be on my way. No more fighting for me.”
“You’re not done.”
“Oh?” All Might raises a brow, amused. “What else is there, young Eraser?”
He bristles at the moniker, and at the twinge in his eyes, but says, “You haven’t proven that you’re from the future. Your defense of your colleagues means nothing if you’re just a raving lunatic.”
“Oh, that’s fair. Alright, well – I don’t have much time, so I… apologize, for how harsh this will sound. I don’t mean to be rude – but, well, I think you’ve always favoured a bit of bluntness-”
“I do – talk.”
All Might smiles again, indulgently, like Nedzu when Aizawa flips the chess board after one too many comments about his “inferior strategy.” The smile turns sad as he says, “His name was Shirakumo Oboro – your friend.”
Silence rings in Shouta’s head, and if he didn’t know any better, he would think he was dreaming. He doesn’t even notice his quirk turning off and his hair falling back down.
“You thought he died while on an internship – in a collapsing building. It wasn’t a freak accident – and it didn’t come down because of Yamada-kun. It was orchestrated. His body was taken, and… well, I’m not sure if he really died or not – he might have – but he’s alive again. There… was a lot done to him, in the meantime. Experimentation. The information about who orchestrated his death, his reanimation, the experimentation done to him – they’re all in that notebook. Some hard drives are in there too. Nedzu will be able to get through them all.”
Shouta’s heartbeat thuds in his throat, so loud he thinks All Might can hear it. He has to force his own hands to open, unclench from his capture weapon, before his nails cut through his palms.
The hero continues, voice almost clinical in its blankness, “I can’t tell you everything that happened to him – like I said, not enough time… But, his memories were warped, but not fully deleted. I… uh, I already gave Kuro – Shirakumo,” he corrects himself, “I gave him the number of an up-and-coming hero with a quirk who can help him, with his memories. That number is in the notebook too… Nothing can be done for his physical form, as far as I know. But, his mind is salvageable.”
Shouta works his jaw for a moment, trying and failing to get words out. It takes him a long moment, which All Might patiently waits through, before he can say, “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes,” Shouta snaps, quirk flaring to life again. “You are.”
All Might sighs, like a tired father, and says, “I am not lying, Aizawa-kun. What should I tell you to prove it to you? That you’re married to Yamada-kun? That you’ve recently adopted a seven-year-old boy named Shinsou Hitoshi whom you love dearly? That you have five cats, all of which are named ‘Bastard’, except for Hitoshi’s, which he has named ‘Dumpstercat’?” He shakes his head, and says, “Shirakumo’s address is in that book – along with a description of his charge.”
Shouta blinks slowly. His eyelids drag, like they’re made of cement. He doesn’t bother reactivating his quirk. He croaks out, mind tripping over itself, “His charge?”
“Also in that book. I need to leave, Aizawa.” He steps forward again, and Shouta can’t find it in him to try and stop him. Not when his hands shake, curled up in his capture weapon. It’s a wild story – like something he would think up while drunk to try and explain away the horrific truth of heroics. It can’t be real. He can’t believe it. Not when there is so much logic saying otherwise. He doesn’t want to pain of false hope. Especially from a murderer. But the only people who know any of what he’s said are Shouta’s family, no one else.
All Might steps past him, immense bulk making the floorboards shriek. As he passes, Shouta says, voice cracking, “If you’re lying to me, I’ll find you. I’ll make you pay.”
“Oh, I know you will, Aizawa-kun. But I’m not lying. I… I’ve lied far too much in my life, but I wouldn’t lie about something like this.
Shouta swallows, throat dry, and forces out, “Why tell me any of this?”
If Shouta had the nerve to, he would laugh at the expression of pure confusion that crosses All Might’s face at his question.
“Why?”
“Yes – you – you’ve killed so many people. Why help me?”
“That – everything I did was for the better. I know I – I sound like some comic book villain, like I need some superhero to give me an uppercut, but truly, it was for the good of us all. And what I’m telling you now is something I know you can help with, in a way I can’t. I… I held up society for a long time. But I didn’t really help it change the way it needed to. Your generation and the next one will do that. You just… needed a push. I’m the push.”
He stands still for a moment, letting Shouta digest his words. Then he nods and moves past him. The door creaks open, and Shouta calls out, not looking behind him, “What’s your next move, All Might? Who’s next?”
The hero chuckles. Shouta can imagine that horrifically toothy grin on his face as he says, “I’m retiring, Aizawa. Officially, since All Might will be going missing after tonight.”
“And unofficially?”
“Unofficially, I’m going to see my son.”
The door shuts behind him.