Chapter Text
If Katsuki is being completely honest, he has no idea why he became a police officer—especially on nights like tonight. He’s been awake for 24 hours straight working on an interrogation, but is he sleeping? No. Instead, he let those idiots he calls friends, Kirishima and Ashido, drag him out to a bar to “celebrate” closing the case. The only way Katsuki wants to celebrate is with a 12 hour nap, fucking thank you.
“You should be more upbeat, man!” Kirishima smacks the linoleum bar hard enough to spill a drink. “You’re no fun to drink with.”
Katsuki knocks back a shot of whiskey before he can reach for his gun and shoot the moron. Being tired makes him much more irrational, and the only way he can chase it is with the burn of strong alcohol. That doesn’t stop him from being annoyed, though. “Shut the fuck up. I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”
“You’re the one who cracked the case, so you should be at least a little happy,” Ashido tells him, flagging down the bartender for another glass of soju. “For the agency’s top interrogator, you don’t seem to like it very much.”
She’s right: Katsuki doesn’t like it very much. It used to be fun—thrilling, even—to close case after case, and to be praised for his good work. When did it start to become so dull? Cases all seem the same, the days blending together until Katsuki is so frustrated that he wants to scream. At 23 years old, he feels like he’s hit rock bottom. He needs excitement—pretty much craves it at this point. Hell, he’d even prefer a gunshot to the chest over another 12 hours spent finding ways to make an unoriginal petty criminal crack like an egg.
“You’re not denying it.” Kirishima elbows Katsuki in the side. “If you’re so unhappy in interrogation, you should try switching divisions. Maybe undercover work? The chief is always begging you to do it.”
“I’m not interested,” Katsuki grumbles, taking another shot. He’ll have to stop after this one. He might get wasted at this rate, and the last thing he wants to deal with tomorrow is a hangover. “I don’t want to live a fake life where I always have to watch my back. It sounds like a drag. Let’s leave it at that.”
Kirishima, of course, doesn’t leave it. He’s incapable of having a conversation that isn’t annoying, it seems. “Well, I bet you wouldn’t last, anyway. You’re not patient enough for that sort of thing.”
Ashido snorts, nearly inhaling her drink. If Katsuki wasn’t annoyed enough already, he certainly is now. This is probably a trap, he knows, but he still can’t resist. There’s one thing he hates more than being tired, and that's being underestimated.
“Fuck you, shitty hair. I could handle it as well as I handed your mom last night.” Katsuki grabs the soju from Ashido and downs it in one gulp. So much for avoiding a hangover, but today it’s alcohol or violence.
“If you think so, then do it. I bet you won’t,” Kirishima challenges. He’s still stupidly annoying, even after pulling an all-nighter. That’s a very bad thing when it’s paired with Katsuki’s tremendous amount of pride. He won’t be able to back out of the conversation now that he’s been challenged.
“Fuck you! I’ll fucking go right now!”
Katsuki snatches his coat from the back of his chair, stumbling on his way to the door. He flips a smug Kirishima off as an afterthought, the action throwing him even further off balance. He stumbles into the brick wall outside, using it to right himself again. He definitely shouldn’t go talk to the chief like this. Ugh. Why’d he have to say he would go now?
How depressing, as well—getting drunk on a weekday, and in the morning at that. He’s a great adult, isn’t he? Fucking damn. He’ll have to sober up at least a little before heading to the department. He only left an hour ago, too. Aizawa will kill him if he walks in obviously hammered. Then again, Katsuki doesn’t really give a fuck. He’ll just get it over with now so he can go home and crash.
Or, wait… can’t he just call? He’s pretty sure he can pull off sober better over the phone than in person. He’ll sound more pissed than usual, but that’s to be expected after having had no sleep for over a day. Call it is.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Aizawa drones as soon as he picks up.
“Is that how you fucking answer the phone?” Katsuki grumbles irately. “What if it was someone else calling?”
“Caller ID exists for a reason, Katsuki. What do you want?”
“Shit.” Katsuki pauses to swallow the bile rising in his throat before it can turn into vomit. “Ugh… So. So, you know how you’re always bugging me to do sting work? Well, I finally decided to give it a shot.”
“Is that so?” There’s a long pause—probably Aizawa taking a drink of coffee. He basically lives off it. “I mean, I’d ask you why you suddenly changed your mind… but I don’t really care. I’ll send you a list of case files. Pick one and you can get started as soon as possible.” He hangs up, ending the call with his usual note of apathy. (He’s got what might be the most blasé personality in the world.)
Fuck. Oh well. At least Katsuki can finally go home and get some god damn sleep.
* * * * *
“You’re picking this one?” The tone of Aizawa’s voice pisses Katsuki off even more than his pounding headache. Fucking hangover.
“Yeah.” He pinches the bridge of his nose to relieve the pressure there, already regretting his decisions from last night. “Is there a problem?”
“It’s very ambitious for your first assignment. Nobody’s been able to crack this for months now.” Aizawa flips through the file with a sigh. “Tokyo’s underground arms business is incredibly tight-knit, Katsuki. What makes you think you can find an in as a rookie when so many veteran agents have failed?”
“I’m no rookie and you fucking know it.” Katsuki slams his hand on the desk with an acidic scowl. “I’ve closed more cases than any other fuckhead in this damn place. So what if I’ve never done sting before? I bet you I can make it in by Thursday.”
“That’s in two days.”
“Yeah. Your point is?” Katsuki stands, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair. “If you’re going to say no, then we’re done here.”
“Fine! Christ.” Aizawa slams the file down with a click of the tongue. “You’re way too cocky for a kid. I’ll have the sting guys brief you.” He looks at Katsuki skeptically. “But you are aware you’ll be assuming a new identity, right? Cutting off everything?”
“Obviously.” It’s not like Katsuki has much he’s leaving behind. A tiny one-room apartment with nothing but a bed and a half-broken coffee maker. Not exactly prized possessions.
“Alright,” Aizawa relents, sliding the file across the desk. “Go see Tougata on floor five and he’ll hook you up with an alias—tell you everything you need to know and give you a burner to keep in contact. After you go in, that’ll be your only way to reach me. Understood?”
Katsuki nods curtly. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” He gives Aizawa a lazy salute on his way out, just to piss him off. “See ya on the flip side, Chief.”
Aizawa mutters something about how he should just retire already before the door clicks shut. Katsuki rolls his eyes, tucking the sting file under his arm to smash the faded elevator call button. He’s only been to the fifth floor once before, to drop off a stack of papers. He never thought he’d be visiting for any other reason, but maybe a little change will be good for him. No paperwork when you’re working undercover. That’s a definite upside. No annoying coworkers, either.
The elevator dings, stopping to let Katsuki off at his destination. Officer Tougata, head of the undercover division, is leaning against a desk nearby. He’s chatting rather animatedly with the agency’s head hacker, Amajiki Tamaki. Katsuki had heard he’s friendly, but the way the blond talks is reminiscent of an excited middle-schooler. Gross.
“Yo.” Katsuki taps Tougata on the shoulder impatiently when he doesn’t notice his arrival. “Oi, Tougata, I came up from Interrogation. Bakugou Katsuki. I’m supposed to be shown the ropes or some shit like that.”
Tougata looks away from Amajiki—who returns to his work, obviously grateful for the lapse in conversation—and fumbles to accept the file Katsuki shoves into his hand. “Oh, oh… Hi. Well, welcome, I guess? I didn’t really expect you to be coming so soon.”
He’s still smiling. Gah. Katsuki really hates guys like him, all happy-go-lucky and extroverted. He’ll probably fit in better around shady mafia assholes.
“I just want to get to work.” Katsuki glances pointedly at the file. “Can we hurry this up? This is an urgent case.” It might not be, but the less time Katsuki spends with this moron, the better. Although he never thought he’d say so, thank god he reports to Aizawa.
“Oh, sure. Sorry.” Tougata beckons him down the hall to his office. It’s full of photos of a little girl—daughter or younger sister, maybe—and annoying inspirational posters. Tougata takes a seat behind the desk, half-drowned in picture frames, to open the file. “Oh, wow, you’re taking the Kemuri case? I thought that was restricted.” He shrugs before Katsuki can open his mouth. “Oh, well, let’s give you the run-down. I’ve had some alias’ in mind for this case for awhile, which you can pick from after we talk.” He glances up from the file. “Geez. You’re quiet, huh?”
It’s more like Tougata talks enough for the both of them, but Katsuki doesn’t say that. Instead, he grunts noncommittally. “Where do we start?”
“Right, of course. Where do we start?” Tougata pulls out a laptop and turns the screen to face Katsuki, tapping the spacebar with his thumb. It brings up a blurry image, clearly taken at a high magnification from a long distance. “See this guy?”
Katsuki squints, but all he can make out is half of a pale cheekbone and a few curls of white hair over the black door of an SUV. “Not really, no.”
Tougata laughs. “Yeah, that’s a common reaction. This is the best image we could get—which ties into the case, actually. This guy is an up-and-comer in the Yakuza. ‘Kouri,’ they’re calling him. He’s so careful at keeping himself hidden that nobody knows what he really looks like outside of his crew. They’re called the Kemuri. Very powerful, and getting bigger by the day.”
“Huh.” Katsuki sits back, crossing his arms. “And my job is to get in with Kouri’s crowd? Why hasn’t anybody else been able to do it?”
“Well…” Tougata winces. He turns the laptop back around, presumably to pull up another image. “Thing is, Kouri doesn’t trust easily. To get in his good graces, you have to pass a series of tests. The last person who tried ended up like this.” Tougata flips the screen, and Katsuki’s lips pull back in disgust. The man’s skin is dark blue and covered in frost crystals, as if he were dipped in dry ice.
“What the hell did that?”
“A cryogenic chamber. No idea how he got ahold of one, but that’s why they call him Kouri. Anyone that gets on his bad side is frozen alive.” Tougata turns the laptop once again. After tapping a few keys, the printer in the corner spits out two sheets of paper. Tougata staples them before handing them over. “This is everything we have on him so far. Not much, as you can see. Your job—using an alias and other agency-provided resources—will be to get as close to him as you can.”
Katsuki studies the sad excuse for a rap sheet, growing more regretful of his choice by the second. “This is seriously all I have to go off?” He only picked this case because nobody else wanted it. He’d assumed it would be difficult, but he thought he’d have more than a tiny list of names and a three-sentence bio to work with.
“Yep, that's all.” Tougata, unfazed, slides over another sheet of paper. “Here are your alias choices. Tamaki prepared them all ahead of time, so just pick whichever one you want. After that, we’ll get you properly briefed on protocol and set you up to go under.”
“And once I do get in, what’s the goal?” Katsuki questions. To be honest, this seems like a joke to him. How can he take on a case like this? It’s mostly his fault for not reading the file—but there’s barely anything to read. Something doesn’t sit right about this whole thing—Aizawa letting him accept the case so easily, and Tougata’s eerie nonchalance—but he just can’t quite put his finger on it.
“Get all the evidence you can, and then, when you think it’s enough, take him down.” Tougata smiles, but something about this one has a hidden, somewhat unsettling undertone. “Simple enough, right?”
If Katsuki said he was still confident in himself, he’d be lying. But fuck it: there’s no going back now. If he gets killed, at least he’ll do it in style.
“Let’s get started,” he sighs.