A few days had passed since the incident at the festival. The news cycle didn’t drag the story out into a spectacle. It was framed as just another villain attack, one that was luckily contained by brave hero course students who happened to be on the scene. No names were mentioned in the reports, leaving the details of their struggle to fade into the background noise of a chaotic society.

  Mirai Kaminari stood by the door to her son’s room. The wood was cold against her palm, and the door remained firmly shut. Her shoulders carried a tired slump, her expression solemn as she stared at the grain of the wood.

  "Denki?" she said, knocking softly. She waited a few seconds for a reply. When she heard nothing but the hum of electronics from within, she rested her hand on the doorknob. "I’m coming in," she added, turning it slowly.

  The room was a cavern of shadows, illuminated only by the harsh, flickering glow of a computer monitor. Denki sat slumped at his desk, his face washed out in blue light as he stared emptily at the screen. He didn’t look up as she entered.

  "I’m sorry if I gave you bad advice," she started. Her son barely turned his gloomy face toward her, his eyes heavy. "And I’m sorry for not being there to help you when you were in trouble... again." Her voice began thinning out at the end, her gaze dropping to the floor as the weight of her perceived failure settled in her chest.

  Kaminari’s eyes softened as he recognized the specific, brittle tone in his mother’s voice. "Mom, it’s not-" he started, but she cut him off with a sharp, self-deprecating breath.

  "I’m a hero. I should have been there to save you," she said. She knew the logistics were impossible; she couldn't have reached the festival in time from where her agency was located, but the logic didn't stop the guilt from gnawing at her.

  Kaminari looked at his mother with uncertainty. He wasn't sure how to process the tangle of his own feelings, but seeing her lapse into this familiar spiral made him want to move. He stood up from his chair and turned the computer off, closing out whatever game he had been loosely playing to distract himself. He walked up to her and hugged her with all the force he had. It was comforting to be the one doing the comforting for once.

  Momo was just leaving the Jirou household when she heard her name called from behind. She turned on the sidewalk to see Kyoka’s mother standing in the doorway, framed by the warm light of the home.

  "Thanks for being there for Kyoka," the woman said with a genuine smile.

  Momo didn’t reply instantly. She nodded on instinct, her brain momentarily stalling before her voice finally caught up. She had expected some sort of resistance or interrogation from Jirou’s parents, so the warmth caught her completely off guard.

  "I... it was no trouble at all. Truly," she said, waving a stiff goodbye.

  She walked toward the street where her driver was already waiting, the black car idling silently. He greeted her with a formal bow as he opened the door, and she stepped into the back seat. As the door clicked shut, the silence of the luxury interior felt heavy.

  She sighed, her expression dropping into a deep frown the moment she was out of public view. Even in the privacy of the car, she sat prim and proper, projecting an image of extreme stability that was the exact opposite of her internal state. Telling her parents about Kyoka felt like an impossible mountain to climb. She wasn't one to lie, but this truth felt like it needed to stay hidden in the dark for a while. Leaning on others or helping them was the only thing she felt she could trust herself to do right now.

  ---

  It was evening when Robinn found herself in the living room, splayed out over the couch. She was staring at a blank spot on the wall, her mind miles away. The peaceful silence was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. After the muffled thud of shoes hitting the floor, All Might peeked into the room. His thin, skeletal frame seemed to fill the hallway, and the look on his face made it clear that a heavy conversation was looming.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "I'm home," he said in a quiet, cautious voice.

  He walked up to her slowly, looking down at her. Robinn met his gaze with an annoyed glare that would have withered a lesser man. "Feeling better?" he asked.

  She slung herself upright, sitting nearly at attention on the cushions. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, her voice flat.

  "You sure?" All Might pressed.

  Her eyes grew sharp, and her next words came out with a serrated edge. "I’m completely fine, okay? I didn’t get hurt. There’s not a cut or bruise on any inch of my body. I just passed out, that’s all."

  He nodded carefully, weighing his next move. Before he could find the right words, Robinn took the initiative. She stood up, looking him almost eye-level.

  "How did your emergency meeting at U.A. go?"

  All Might looked at her hesitantly for a solid moment. She didn't wait for him to find an answer.

  "You’re putting surveillance on me again, aren’t you?"

  His expression flickered through several emotions, guilt and duty clashing, until he finally found his voice. "Yes. I’m hiring someone to watch over you. Again."

  Robinn looked at him blankly and crossed her arms.

  "It’s for your own safety, and... you don't mind, do you?" he tried, offering a thin, hopeful smile.

  "Sure," she said, turning around and walking away toward her room. "Just don’t make it obvious."

  He sighed. His eyes didn't even follow her as she disappeared behind her door. Remembering the meeting and the frantic topics that had been thrown around, he knew this was the least drastic approach. He stood there in the silence of the apartment, feeling the lack of control. He had been neglecting his duties as a teacher to the next One For All holder, barely seeing young Midoriya over the summer.

  His thoughts were broken when Robinn peeked her head out of her room.

  "Hey, uh... did you get the fish food while you were out?" she asked, an unsure look flickering across her face.

  All Might looked at her, a tired wave of shame washing over him. "I forgot about it," he said simply. Her expression didn't even change as she began gathering her things to go out herself.

  "I'll be back in a bit," she said. She tied her hair into a ponytail at the entrance and stepped into her shoes. Before opening the door, she turned back to him, phone in hand. "You’re still using this to track me, right?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  He nodded, and she left soon after. The words from the meeting echoed in his mind: "U.A. is simultaneously the safest and most dangerous place for her to be."

  "How's your leg doing?" Robinn asked into her phone as she walked slowly down the street.

  "Much better! Thanks for asking. Recovery Girl paid me a visit and it healed in seconds," Tetsutetsu’s voice boomed through the speaker.

  She smiled softly. "Good. Thanks, by the way. For that, and for fetching the fish. I guess I owe you one then."

  There was a pause on the other end. "Don’t worry about it! My pleasure," he replied, his characteristic intensity vibrating through the line.

  "How does that feel, by the way? Being healed by her," she asked. Her eyes loosely followed the cars passing by on the quiet, suburban street.

  "Huh? You’ve never been healed by her? Not even after the festival?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

  She shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "Nope. And you should have seen that I wasn't hurt, right?"

  "Right..." Tetsutetsu replied, the flow of the conversation finally stumbling.

  Robinn stopped in front of a specialty pet shop. "Hey, I gotta go," she said simply. Her eyes scanned the variety of colorful items visible through the store windows. She hung up before Tetsutetsu could even finish saying it was nice talking to her.

  She stood outside the store for a moment, staring into the cool, air-conditioned environment. The white lights of the fish tanks and the bright, artificial colors of the decorations filled her vision, yet she couldn't quite find the will to step inside.

  "It… isn’t fair," Shigaraki muttered, his voice tight with restrained rage.

  He sat hunched at the bar, Kurogiri across from him, methodically wiping down a glass that was already clean. Shigaraki’s fingers dragged against his neck, nails scraping at irritated skin, faster and harsher with every passing second.

  "You failed again, Tomura."

  The voice came from the television mounted near the edge of the bar. Its sudden activation didn’t faze him. He didn’t even look up. His hand kept moving, scratching harder.

  "You must learn from your failures," the voice continued smoothly. "Stumble as much as you like. I will always be here to prop you back up."

  The screen flickered, then went still.

  Silence settled over the bar. Static hissed faintly from the TV. Glass rubbed against cloth. Nails rasped against flaky skin.

  From one of the booths at the far end of the room, a figure shifted. Mr. Compress rose to his feet, adjusting his posture with theatrical calm. "I did mention that relying on a mindless prisoner wasn’t ideal, now we're short on staff." he said lightly, one gloved hand resting against his mask.

  Shigaraki didn’t turn. "Shut your mouth, Mr. Compress."

  His scratching slowed, then resumed. Quieter now. More deliberate.

  "I need more Nomu," he added, almost to himself.

  The television flickered back to life.

  "Calm yourself, Tomura," the voice said, unhurried and indulgent. "It was not a poor idea. Planting a seed of fear in the public by attempting to erase the 'next Symbol of Peace' has merit." There was a pause. "However, I would prefer you focus your efforts elsewhere for now."

  Shigaraki finally looked up. His hand froze mid-motion.

  "Master," he said carefully, "why stop me now?"

  A low chuckle crackled through the speakers, distorted but unmistakably amused.

  "Because that girl," the voice replied, "is someone I intend to take care of personally."

  Mr. Compress turned his head toward the screen, one eyebrow lifting beneath his mask. It was rare for the unseen master he’d heard so little about to stake such a direct, personal claim.