Chapter Text
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"It hurts, sometimes."
Denki bore holes in the ceiling, relaxing his eyelids as he dived into the void of his mind.
He melts into the couch the same way his conscious travels through the rifts of the universe. It's embarrassing― the humiliation resonating in his head. His leg hangs off the couch, the other lazily propped up on the arm despite her dismay, but he's found himself between these four walls more times then he can count with his fingers, long enough for her to let it past.
"I mean, it sucks, y'know?" his throat bobbed as he continued. His gut is whelming with pity and hints of frustration, at the same time a familiar soreness tingled down his cheek. "Who's best defense is a frozen fish? You're rich as shit, the least he could've done was fight back with a proper weapon."
Tears swelled in his eyes at the thought, or maybe it was the pain of his swollen cheek, Denki refused to tell. He readjusted the frozen pack of peas against his aching cheek, the throbbing welt continuing to blossom and bruise.
It was only last night he was viciously attacked, giving his wound time to get more ugly than this which he didn't appreciate.
"I see," His therapist, May, spoke. Her voice was soft and calm. She didn't take him for a joke, at least she showed no signs of it. There was no telling what she truly thought with that poker face of diligence and professional compassion. "You must've felt humiliated?" She asks, posing it as a question as if it wasn't anymore obvious.
"You don't hafta call me out, y'know." The fissures of his expression morphed into a deep frown, the widest he could form painlessly anyway. Whatever people want to do in the dead of night is there own business, Denki would much rather go on his life not knowing his target waddled around his house drinking from the jug of milk, it was much less a sight he wanted to see.
Still, his job was calling, so he slipped into the spacious abode oblivious and wishful that this would be an easy night. So, when he found his target, and his target found him with the kunai rightfully tucked in his palm― like any person he freaked out.Denki let him reach for whatever he pleased.
He could have a Katana and be less of a threat. The fact that he even thought of reaching for a fish wasn't only insulting, but he found out frozen fish could be insanely painful.
For fucks sake, the fin even landed a cut on his delicate skin and he's pretty sure he has a concussion from the blow. If he was going to give him a scar, the least he could've done was feed his ego with a cool story behind it.
"I apologize if I made you uncomfortable but that is my job." May offers in her defense, not putting up much of a protest. He'd argue it's a weak defense.
"Have you had our medical staff take a look at you?" She asks instead of talking about everything that is and isn't in her job description.
"Yeah." Denki gave a nonchalant gesture to the ice pack in his hand. His shoulder begins to drop as the humiliation of the incident nullifies. "At least here, health care's free." A flicker of amusement and irony bubbled in his gut. He's a contract assassin after all.
"Right, as long as you're contracted under Cepheus, and you meet your quota."
"And I met my quota." He echoes after her.
She fixes her glasses and setting them on the coffee table beside her as the reached some sort of conclusion.
"Well, Denki, I don't see anything we need to address, so that will be all for this session. I'll see you at the same time next week." Denki hummed along, kicking himself off the couch. It took him a second to find his balance, and then the ice pack he had abandoned on the coffee table when his cheek got too cold.
"Take care, May. See ya," he flashed her a natural grin before making his way out of her office. He was a contract killer for Cepheus, and May was like a contract therapist assigned to attend to his emotional needs, since they can't have unstable assassins working for them, at least that's how the commission phrased it.
His phone pinged with a familiar chime. His thoughts drained as he swiped through his lock screen, facing the icon of the email. He took a second before unpackaging the face of his newest target, but the problem was that it wasn't just his target.
Every time he received a work-related email, a few key traits remained the same within each email. He was given a name, a face, their data if they had gotten their hands on it, and a due date.
And as a contract assassin, he had two things in his job description. One, he kills his target, and two, he doesn't attract attention when he kills them. They're pretty simple orders, but Cepheus wasn't giving him an order this time. This was a mission.
The picture staring back at Denki was a student, maybe the same age as himself. It's not often he's assigned to people around the same age as himself, but this wasn't his first either. That wasn't the issue here, with more to entail.
He had a unique style. His hair was evenly divided down the middle, one side a snowy white, the other a deep crimson. His eyes were murky in a way that gave them depth, like the deep blue of a calm tide and the grey stones buried motionless at the bottom of the water. The way he stared at the camera gave Denki chills, but that wasn't all; there was a big, splotchy scar on his face dominating the left side of his face.
Kind of cool, like a trademark of tragedy. Denki snickered quietly to himself, he did believe he was quite the comedian, that was before he continued to scroll.
Todoroki Shoto ― that's his name. It's annoying, the name seems so familiar to him, yet he can't pinpoint where he heard it from.
He scrolls deeper into the overload of data and complete breach of privacy, the file could be interpreted in any way.
He's a sixteen-year-old ―so they are the same age― hero-in-training at Yuuei. Denki trills. He's never taken out a hero student before, let alone a Yuuei student.
Aren't those guys, like, super tough?
He has two quirks, completely polar to one another. Denki can't imagine what that's like. Then there's other trivial information listed, like his height and blood type. All that is in the best interest of assassins who work with poison, not him.
Then it hits Denki. He should've known this kid wasn't ordinary, beyond the whole hero thing, but that was the problem― the hero thing, because of course this kid was the son of a member of the Elite.
A community founded by the most skilled people Japan has to offer. Whether that was surgeons, chemists, or heroes.
They're not just an intimidating few. They're someone you really don't want to get roped in with, not as an assassin aiming to avoid unnecessary attention.
To make matters worse, this isn't just a hit-and-run job. He can't just show up in the dead of night and slit a throat, or get hit by frozen fish and then slit a throat. It's not that he expects all his assignments to go smoothly; most of them take weeks to complete, but only an hour or less to execute.
This?
Well, this is new. Especially considering he's never enrolled in the best hero school Japan has to offer, Yuuei, for a job. No, this wasn't a job, this is a whole ass mission.
It didn't take long before Denki stood inside a bookstore a few blocks from where he lived, tapping his fingers at the cashier's desk as he waited for her to appear from the backroom.
The lady who walked out had short blonde hair tied into a pigtail, leaving her sides and bangs stray. She greeted him with a simple, knowing smile. "Looking for Nanako, again?" It's weird to hear his handler being addressed by her real name. Denki tries not to rub off as impatient when he nods, following up with a quick― "Where can I find her?"
"I'm pretty sure she was stocking the kids' books last, might've finished up already, not sure. You know how diligent she could be." The young worker smiled before watching his dash off without another word, so much for subtlety, but he'd pretty much call this an emergency. Especially when Shins isn't returning any of his messages.
He finds her exactly where her coworker said, standing on the small ladder, stalking the shelf with fairy tales, her long brown hair dangling as she tucked them into place. Denki knows how much she values the serene atmosphere of her job, side job, or whatever, it let her escape the chaos of underground business and experience a sense of normalcy, not that she didn't value her job as a broker. She was a manager in both worlds.
"Shins," he breathes out, like her presence was relief alone.
"Kaminari?" Her head tilted, her hair swaying with her, dark against her pale green eyes, a little more dim than the average person. "Is there an issue?" She raises an eyebrow, speaking in a quiet voice, even though this part of the bookstore seemed vacant in the later hours of the day, Shins was a cautious woman.
"Yuuei–" he's cut off by his lungs suctioning for air. "Am I really going?" He asks, but not as hopeful as most kids are. Her eyes round as she develops an understanding of the situation.
"So you read the brief for your assignment?" She hummed, turning her back to him to continue restocking the rest of the books in her hands. "That's good and all, but honestly, I don't see why you came to me asking that. I don't make you're decisions for you."
"You should, you're basically my handler, right?" She huffs with a hint of annoyance, shaking her arms out now that they're free from books. She doesn't give him a response until she's off the ladder and smoothing out the green apron and makeshift work uniform.
"I'm not you're handler, Denki. You're your own person, not some dog or little kid I have to babysit anymore." She stated what should've been obvious to him by now. Maybe it was denial or the inability to make decisions for himself, something along those lines that kept Denki pinned to Shins.
"I don't know, I mean, what if I don't take the job? Or if I mess up, who will take the blame?"
Or a scapegoat, he shamelessly relied on as a backup plan.
"Then you don't take the job." She answered simply, picking up the crate of aged books, either ruined or scribbled on from irresponsible lenders and their children.
"Then how will I meet my quota?" He asks, his tone dipping into that as a lost kid.
"Simple, you can't. Either you take the job and deal with the hardship, or breach contract with Cepheus. But.. I wouldn't do that if I were you, you're already on your second strike. Then.." Her voice tapered off, her eyes running along the colorful mats shaped as puzzle pieces, picking up a fallen book from them.
"Then?" Denki asked promisingly.
"I don't know, whatever the company decides to do with you, I guess." She waits a moment, carrying the crate off to the back as he follows her like a lost puppy waiting for his answer, even though it was pretty obvious there wasn't much room here for options to begin with. "Sell you, maybe?" She suggested, looking over her shoulder with a teasing smile.
"Don't joke around like that!" He says in a hushed voice, his eyebrows furrowed as he gives the idea a moment of contemplation. He doesn't want to leave the company, he's happy with his life now. It was easy and freeing.
"Didn't you just say I wasn't a dog?" He pouted, she shrugged. So then, he stuck with one option here, and both of them knew. If he wasn't on his last straw with the company, he'd be willing to take his chances, but that isn't the case― Denki had no choice, he's going to Yuuei.
"You should be excited, this is every hero's wet dream." She added that the longer he remained silent, internally accepted his fate. "Besides, it's different from the regular job, don't you want something new?" Denki frowned, shaking his head.
"No way, I'm comfortable as is."
She hummed in forfeit, dunking the crate into a bin of recycling before plopping the crate itself in a stack of others.
"On a different note. Cepheus is altering your identity as we speak. Your name, age, and birth date will all stay the same. Right now, all they're doing is giving you a history in the form of documents. Past schools, medical history, parents― you should go get ready to memorize those and stop bothering me." She switches up, speaking in the same tone she had when she mentored him.
"Don't be so cold, Shins, you know this place has been dull without me." he smiled before his mind darted back to the thought of rehearsing a fake history, and in some way, identity. His identity itself was already whipped from existence when he was first contracted with Cepheus. He has to admit the company works magic with it's connections, but that's the point of the whole underground organization shit.
"Oh, and Denki, before you leave. A word." Denki turns on his heel, facing Shins soft jade eyes. "It's not an easy ride into Yuuei as a transfer student, get ready."
Denki had an idea that he knew where this was going.
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The city was a disgusting place.
At least the slums of Musutafu were. It was an urban area dubbed Ashgrove, a part of Musutafu that was rundown and forgotten, the neighborhood fostered deadbeats, dominated by old factories and black market deals. Occasionally, a striving vigilante, and occasionally, a tragic death of that very vigilante.
Unfortunately, this is where a lack of education and a missing quirk gene get you in society. The streets are as littered as the slums in the countryside, with the vast absence of maintenance. The grass grew over the sidewalks, the trees unattended, that's what made the streets dirty, only to drive down the value by more.
There are three types of people in this neighborhood, as far as he knows, and he's lived here for a long time. The diligent kind, the hopeless, and the passionate.
The diligent strive to get out of this place, aiming for new goals and putting the hours in to get it done, even if the work industry will hit them with another devastating setback sooner or later. The hopeless were maybe drunks levitating above absolute poverty, or people who accepted the bare minimum, happiness was another foreign topic.
And the passionate was the category his mother fell under. Her restaurant never took off, but if he had any say, that would've never been the case. Her fish were fresh, cut clean, and cooked to perfection. He means that without a hint of bias. She loved to cook.
Her business was enough to keep Nao, his mother, afloat even before he was born. It was enough for a two-bedroom apartment, and while the neighborhood wasn't kid-friendly, it was enough for Denki. That's how things have always been for them― just enough.
Thinking back on it, Denki wouldn't have it any other way. He loved watching her in the kitchen, watching the way her knife flew as she diced the chives. Her wind quirk helped her juggle multiple ingredients at once. It was magical to watch firsthand.
It wasn't just the ingredients that dashed around; her hands flew too, carving out the perfect cut of fish. After every show, Denki could eat to his heart's content. That was the best part about having a chef for a mother.
Now, the bistro was cold and abandoned. The only thing alive was his imagination and the flurries of memories of what was, but he never thinks about what it could've been. He likes his life now. If he had a choice, he wouldn't want it any other way.
Yet, he's dragged back to the same beanery. The rotten wood creaked under his feet as he pushed open the glass door, inviting himself back into his old home. He didn't miss the crowded space, he didn't miss his old standard of living of taking whatever he could, the bare minimum, and rolling with it.
He could never find his old home repulsive either.
His nose scrunched at the mildew baking in the ceiling. The windows are covered with thin sheets, diluting the horizon that dared to peek through. It cast an orange glow on the furniture that remained in contact, covered by a sheet just like the window, not preserved, just buried as if the state had forgotten about the estate on the corner of a street in the slums.
The place had been cleared out, except for the furniture. The kitchen was empty of the ingredients it used to host, which was a relief since he wasn't looking forward to opening a fridge full of rotten, moldy, four-year-old fish. He doesn't know where the food ended up, maybe Cepheus took care of it after he contracted with them, or maybe someone had broken into this place and went shopping, free of charge.
The stairs creaked under his weight, he prayed the wood didn't snap with every step of the way. He is taller now, he weighs more too, he couldn't stomp around these stairs like he did when he was a kid, but he felt a familiar kick to do so.
The upstairs hosted two bedrooms, a bathroom and laundry room merged into one. Everything was the same physically, but the residence felt vastly different without her presence. Denki shook his thoughts, it took more force than necessary to peel back the window in his childhood room and climb onto the roof like he used to do as a kid.
Relief overcame him as he left the stuffy inside, crashing onto his back as if the roof was a bed and the concrete surface was as comfortable as a bed the way he threw his body like a starfish, an exhausted yawn tearing through him.
Unfortunately, it wasn't long before he was forced to confront reality. Even a trip down memory lane can't prevent that, and his mission weighs heavily in his mind. He'll have new parents soon, temporary ones, hired by Cepheus most likely but they won't cut him sashimi or make him steamed dumplings for every minor achievement, like a good test score.
That reminds him― school work. He has a lot to catch up on. It's been a while since Shins forced him to study academics, but he doesn't see the need to; it's not like he'll have to calculate the degrees he should hold the knife to his target's carotid artery.
With that said, he dropped schoolwork when he was roughly― maybe thirteen?
That's two years to catch up on, not to mention this is the school for the elite. Denki already knows he isn't getting in by conventional means; he has that part covered, but what comes next makes him nervous.
Denki deflates with a breath, taking a few moments of silence and the cool night air to clear his mind. His phone vibrated, shaking him from his short-lived peace, and this notification was between an update from Cepheus or was duo-lingo warning him about his streak. At least he'll excel in English class.
Surprise, no surprise, it was the former linking a picture of what Denki would've assumed was a homeless man. That's how he was dressed anyway, his clothes dark and baggy, plain and worn through like he only goes shopping for clothes when they have gaping holes and fat stains that can't be avoided.
His hair was dark, deeply contrasting his skin, a sickly pale with the addition of eye bags that failed to support his case. Stubble discolored his jaw, some longer than others, patchy around his chin specifically. Apparently, this guy was an underground hero, his new focus for the next week, and his ticket into Yuuei.
Denki never would've thought a little quirk-play would get him into the dream school of millions. This is either the best or worst idea Shins has had yet, and he'll find out how he feels about it after he executes the plan.
The assassin buzzes back to life when his phone does, the screen dimmed from inactivity, before the familiar contact takes over his screen. Denki quickly sits up, a little too fast that he gets lightheaded, answering the call with eagerness.
"Shins," he grinned, and he knew she could sense his smile from the other side of the line. "You never call, what's up? Cepheus reassigned me a new mission?" He asks enthusiastically. She doesn't bother to match his energy or let him down easily with a tone of pity, something he'd never expect from her in the first place.
"Better," she says, that's when he knows it won't get any better. "We found your ticket in Yuuei." She keeps it brief, offering an air of suspension.
"Your target's name is Shota Aizawa. He's an underground hero teaching at Yuuei. On the weekends, he patrols around the Midori Terrace, a green space full of gardens and a popular spot to host all types of festivals. Your goal is not to kill or harm him anyway. Matter of fact, you'll be arrested by him."
"What?" Denki perked up, almost dropping his phone as he jumped. "I don't wanna get arrested! What's the point of that?" He gushed on, knitting his eyebrows to the point they almost touched as he ranted into the phone.
"Kaminari.."
"Do you know what they do to people like me in jail?" His sleep schedule is already poor enough, he could barely catch a full night of rest on his king-sized mattress now― he can't imagine trying to sleep in jail without going crazy.
"Kaminari, relax! Let me finish, will you?" Her voice almost burst through too static on the other end. Denki winces before huffing, leaning his cheek on his palm, the one that wasn't currently bruised and swollen.
After a moment, she sighed, recollecting herself. "Are you listening now?"
He remained stagnant, but the line kept running, queuing her to continue.
"For this mission, you're not just an assassin, you're an actor. You control the situation so you can get to your target. This is nothing you haven't done before, so take a breath and calm down. I know the thought of Yuuei is scary, the stakes are higher this time, but you're skilled and more than prepared." Denki mulls over her words for a short moment while she forms her words.
Maybe he was afraid to get out of his comfort zone, but he didn't see any issue with that. He liked his simple life, simple missions, and simple kills. The pressure of anything else― well, it wasn't something he wanted to deal with.
"You're first step is getting in, and to do that, you need to attract attention― become the source of a power outage. You're a walking storm, there's no ignoring you, and when you've caught the media's attention with your inability to keep your quirk tame."
She wants him to pretend to be a liability?
Denki blinked, clueless of where this was going, letting Shins continue on.
"By being in the right place at the right time, the yuuei teacher will arrest you, but you won't go to jail. If you execute this right, you'll wind up in Yuuei's quirk support program; your case has to be severe, otherwise you'll miss your ticket into Yuuei," she sighs. Denki can hear her set a cup down in the background. "You get it, now?" She asked, slightly pleading.
"Yeah, whatever." He deflates, accepting and miserable, as the plan runs its course through his mind again. There are so many variables he can't control, because Denki doesn't have absolute control over his quirk, which means he can't cause a power outage flawlessly, without any injuries promised.
Shins used to have him train his quirk, but it wasn't a prominent factor for assassination besides disabling electronics like cameras and digital locks. He doesn't try to execute his targets to death and create an M.O. for the police to investigate.
Not that he was worried about being caught, but it was a rule to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention.
Denki shifts against the rough concrete under him. He's hyper aware of the friction and the cool compress it becomes against his palms. He phone is abandoned in his lap after the call, and he's left absorbing the night air. Clear, probably not clean, but fresh.
The wind holds new beginnings. At least, that's what his mom always told him, nudging him towards the table with a gust of air where he gave up on his math homework.
Denki took one glance at his phone, a link to a festival ticket and a cash app notification, before lying back down on the concrete and closing his eyes.
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He tried to keep calm in the wake of all the heroes. Electricity still buzzed under his skin, even now as his wrists were confined with a chunky technical looking cuffs.
Denki was doing a good job so far, he silently praised himself, trying to distract himself with anything that lets him forget the bright crimson eyes boring into his back.
He took a deep breath, soothing his raging heart. Then another, because it's only natural to be nervous.
This was his first time getting arrested after all.
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