Chapter Text
The words drop like a stone into deep water.
“Don’t call me that.” You spit the words out like poison, “Don’t ever call me by that fucking name.”
Your ears ring as memory fragments begin to claw their way up from places you’d buried years ago.
“I mostly worked behind the scenes but I was still one of your handlers.” Tanaka’s voice cuts through the fog, unfazed.
The older man studies your face carefully, almost thoughtfully.
“They brought you in not long after your sixth birthday.” His tone disturbingly reflective, as though recalling an old training report rather than the dismantling of a child’s life.
“Your parents were cooperative once they realised what you were.”
Your fingers curled slightly where they rested in your lap.
He had phrased it so politely— Cooperative.
But everyone in the room knew what he meant, you were sold.
Your parents had seen your quirk manifest, seen the power behind it, and decided you were worth more as an asset than as a daughter.
“The New Dawn specialised in acquiring children like you.” Tanaka continues calmly, “Powerful quirks. High growth potential. Minds still malleable enough to shape.”
His gaze lingers on you then, studying the minute changes in your expression like a scientist observing an experiment.
Behind you, Katsuki shifts.
It’s subtle, but the movement carries weight. His jaw tightens, teeth grinding as his eyes stay fixed on the older man across the table.
“You know,” Tanaka continues as if the tension means nothing, “you were frightened at first. Most of the children were.”
All of a sudden, the air feels thinner.
“But we broke that fear out of you quickly.”
Your breathing falters.
“When the instructors first noticed how quickly your quirk was evolving, they began adjusting the training almost immediately.”
“…Stop” Your voice comes out thin, but Tanaka carries on like you hadn’t spoken.
“You remember how discipline was reinforced, don’t you?” Tanaka’s voice remains steady.
Your jaw clenches hard enough to ache. You don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to.
“We wore the children down by making them compete— Food rations. Sleeping quarters. Privileges.” His fingers tap lightly against the armrests, “Everything had to be earned through performance.”
A cold weight settles in your chest.
“And when performance alone wasn’t enough—” His gaze shifts back on you, “—We had you fight.”
The words scrape through your mind like broken glass.
Mental images of harsh lights glaring down from metal rafters surge uninvited; dust clinging to the air of concrete training rooms, rows of children standing stiffly in silence while instructors observed from above.
“At first the matches were supervised. Skill assessments. Controlled combat exercises.”
His eyes darken slightly with recollection.
“But eventually the instructors stopped intervening. They wanted to see what would happen.”
“Shut your mouth!” You warn him ferociously, but Tanaka’s calm never wavers.
“You were exceptional. You adapted quickly, faster than anyone expected.”
A pulse of anger cuts through the nausea, familiar scenes flash violently behind your eyes.
Blinding heat. Sun-fire bursting from your hands. The roar of power too large for a child’s body to control.
“I remember the first time you defeated someone twice your size.” Tanaka says thoughtfully, “He was twelve. You were barely seven.”
Your nails dig into your palms.
“The instructors were impressed.” He tilts his head, “Not because you won—”
A beat of silence passes.
“—but because you didn’t hesitate.”
The memory slams into you with brutal clarity; standing across from a boy taller than you, blood already running from his lips and nose. The instructors shouting from the sidelines. The command echoing again and again.
Fight!
Smash him!
Win!
“And once they saw that,” Tanaka says, “they began grooming you more carefully.”
Your breathing grows uneven.
“Your training became more intense. More isolated. They wanted you sharper than the others. Stronger. More obedient.”
His voice lowers slightly.
“They made sure you understood you were better.”
A sick feeling coils through your chest.
“They told you the other children were weak. That they were obstacles. That your purpose was to surpass them.”
Tanaka watches the impact ripple through your expression.
“You were remarkable. You defeated trainees older than you, stronger than you. Sometimes two at once.”
The room feels like it’s tilting beneath your feet.
“And every victory reinforced the lesson,” He adds quietly, “strength earns survival.”
Katsuki’s posture has gone rigid. His arms are no longer wrapped around you, his fists are clenched at his sides now, tension coiled through his entire frame.
Still, Tanaka continues.
“You adapted to the system exactly the way it was designed. You learned to fight without hesitation. To eliminate obstacles. To ignore weakness.”
Your breathing shakes.
Fragments are breaking loose in your mind now, violently and all at once.
You only ever remember pieces of that place once a year. On the one day your mind inevitably drags them back up— Your birthday. Memories you spend the rest of the year burying as deep as you possibly can are clawing free all at once.
The smell of scorched metal.
The sound of your fellow trainees screaming during matches.
The instructors watching from above like judges, measuring who would survive and who would break.
Tanaka studies you carefully.
“You’ve buried it well,” He tilts his head slightly, “but conditioning like that never truly disappears. It simply waits.”
“You don’t get to talk about that.” You say roughly, your throat tightening painfully.
Tanaka doesn’t raise his voice, “But you should remember something.”
Your eyes narrow.
“You weren’t merely surviving back then.”
His gaze locks onto yours.
“You thrived.”
The word lands like knife to your heart.
Your vision burns, the memories roaring too loudly in your head now— Children crying, flames spreading through the training halls, your quirk erupting in blinding bursts of heat.
“Ultimately, it all came to an end when the Commission received a tip about our underground training centers.” He continues without rest, “The Organisation’s leadership evacuated immediately.”
Hawks’ expression tightens slightly.
“But not without issuing a final command.”
Your vision swims as you recall that particular day.
It was a death sentence.
Your handlers had locked the compound and left the children inside with a final instruction to you to slaughter the weak, and when no one else was left, to erase the last survivor— A final act of obedience.
“Unexpectedly, the raid came sooner than we anticipated.” Tanaka shrugs.
Sirens flash through your mind; alarms blaring somewhere deep underground, the distant crash of doors breaking open, bright white light pouring through corridors that had never known daylight, heroes shouting commands as they stormed the compound.
“And you were found just before you could carry out the final act.”
Your throat tightens painfully.
“You survived, child.”
Silence spreads across the room, heavy and oppressive.
“When the Organisation learned that the Commission had taken you into custody,” Tanaka says, “they adjusted their strategy.”
You stare at him, numb.
“They realised their greatest weapon had not been destroyed.” His voice lowers slightly, “It had simply changed hands.”
You feel something inside your chest fracture, a sharp, invisible crack spreading through everything you’ve spent years building to stay whole.
You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second, trying to steady yourself and Katsuki notices immediately.
His hand comes down firmly on your shoulder, grounding. The weight of it is solid.
Real.
“Enough.” His voice cuts through the room, rough with irritation.
The single word slices cleanly through the tension.
Tanaka finally shifts his gaze toward him.
Katsuki’s expression is dangerous now— Eyes burning, jaw locked tight.
“You done jerking yourself off to what they did to her?”
The blunt hostility shifts the atmosphere immediately.
His grip tightens slightly on your shoulder, steady and immovable. He’s keeping you anchored to the present because Tanaka was not just recounting history, he was dragging it back to life.
And the damage it’s doing to you is something Katsuki can see clearly.
Across the room, Hawks lets out a quiet sigh. Not the easy, teasing one he usually wears like armour, this one carries a sharper edge.
He had let Tanaka speak, long enough to get the truth.
But the moment the old man’s tone started slipping into that almost nostalgic admiration, Hawks had noticed the way your breathing changed. The way your shoulders stiffened, and the way Katsuki’s patience evaporated.
“Dynamight’s right, story time’s over.” He says, pushing off the wall where he’d been leaning.
Without his wings, the movement looks almost deceptively casual, but the authority in his voice cuts through the tension immediately.
Hawks pulls out the chair across from Tanaka and sits down with a soft scrape of metal against tile. His elbows rest lightly on the table, fingers loosely laced together.
“Let’s redirect the conversation.” He says lightly, though his golden eyes stay sharp, “Because while the history lesson was… Illuminating, it’s not why we’re here today.”
Tanaka regards him calmly.
Hawks tilts his head slightly.
“Why now?”
The question hangs in the air.
Katsuki’s voice follows, low and rough with barely restrained anger.
“You’ve been watching her for seventeen years, been part of her life for almost ten.” His fingers tighten slightly on your shoulder.
His red eyes burn towards the man across the table.
“You had access. You had opportunities.”
The crackle of heat sparks briefly across his palm before fading.
“You could’ve made a move anytime, so why the hell are they suddenly crawling outta the woodwork now?”
Across the table, Tanaka exhales slowly through his nose.
“Because,” The old man shrugs simply, leaning back in his chair, “it was never the right time before.”
Hawks’ gaze narrows.
“Cute answer.” He says, “Try again.”
Tanaka’s eyes flick briefly toward you— just for a moment— before returning to Hawks.
“As I’ve mentioned, when New Dawn gave Solerios her final order that night,” He says, “we had expected her to die with it.”
Katsuki’s hand tightens again on your shoulder.
“However, when we learnt of her survival, we knew that any attempts to reclaim her then would be impossible.”
“Why?” Katsuki demands.
“Because they would’ve undone everything we’ve conditioned into her.” Tanaka answers without hesitation.
“Brainwashing requires isolation and reinforcement to remain effective.” He explains, “The Commission specialises in the opposite; rehabilitation, psychological reconstruction, emotional grounding.”
Your pulse drums faintly in your ears as he rambles on.
“The hero who found her during the raid.”
Mirko.
“Usagiyama Rumi.” Tanaka says calmly, “The one who broke through the training compound doors and rescued the girl who was meant to die that night.”
A faint flicker passes through Hawks’ eyes.
“She insisted on overseeing the child’s rehabilitation personally.” Tanaka recounts.
You remember fragments of that time; hospital rooms, long nights, someone loud and relentless refusing to treat you like a monster.
“She worked closely with the Commission to dismantle the conditioning we built into her.” Tanaka nods slightly to himself.
His voice holds no bitterness— Just fact.
“And she succeeded.”
The silence that follows feels strangely heavy.
“After that,” Tanaka continues, “we shifted from recovery to observation.”
“You mean stalking.” Hawks’ eyes narrow slightly.
Tanaka doesn’t bother correcting him.
“We followed her development carefully.”
His gaze flicks briefly to you again.
“Her new life with her aunt and cousin.”
A faint twitch crosses your jaw.
“Her enrollment at Shiketsu High School.”
Katsuki’s grip tightens slightly on your shoulder.
“The volatility of her quirk as it continued to evolve.”
Your mind flashes briefly to training grounds cracking under heat and pressure.
“In her third year,” Tanaka continues, “we noted her absence from the war effort to avoid the possibility of her quirk being stolen by All For One.”
“It was a smart call.” Hawks lets out a quiet hum.
“Then came graduation.” Tanaka nods as his eyes flick towards you again, “And her rapid ascension through the ranks of Japan’s pro heroes.”
He flexes his hands loosely as he recounts it all.
“We watched.”
Years of silent observation.
“We tracked her patrol patterns.”
“Her mission reports.”
“Her public appearances.”
“Her growing popularity with civilians.”
He pauses.
“And we waited.”
Katsuki’s eyes narrow dangerously.
“For what?” He scowls.
Tanaka looks directly at him.
“For her to develop a weakness.”
The word lands with quiet finality.
“A weakness.” Hawks leans back slightly in his chair.
Tanaka nods.
“Public image. Hero rankings. Political pressure.” He gestures vaguely with one hand, “All valuable leverage, of course but those alone are rarely enough to control someone like Solerios.”
His gaze shifts slowly back to you.
“The New Dawn required something far more reliable.”
A small pause again.
“An Achilles’ heel.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightens.
“But she was remarkably disciplined in avoiding one.” Tanaka continues, the words matter-of-fact.
“You kept everyone at arm’s length. Colleagues were respected but rarely trusted, friendships remained limited. Even family was kept at a distance.”
Tanaka tilts his head.
“Your aunt. Your cousin.” He muses, “You rarely visited them.”
The observation lands heavier than it should.
“And then there was your home.”
Something cold crawls down your spine.
“An hour outside the city, surrounded by forest, no neighbours within sight. I drove you there and back nearly everyday for years.”
The memory flashes sharply—
The winding road through dark trees.
The silence of solitude.
The enormous house sitting alone against the hills.
“A beautiful structure, truly.” Tanaka’s tone remains thoughtful, “Open space. Minimal obstruction. The landscape incorporated into the architecture.”
Another quiet beat.
“It was also incredibly isolated.”
The meaning sinks in slowly.
“You chose a home that removed you from the world, reflecting your preferences perfectly, but from the Organisation’s perspective, this presented a problem.”
Hawks leans forward slightly, “…No leverage.”
“Exactly.” The old man nods.
“A hero with no personal attachments is difficult to manipulate. You did an excellent job at enforcing that.”
The compliment feels like poison.
“No family. No long-term partner. No dependents.”
Tanaka’s gaze remains fixed on you.
“There was not a single weak link in your personal life.”
Your fingers curl tightly, the words sinking deep.
Tanaka leans back in his chair, the faint creak of the metal legs against the floor echoing softly in the room.
“So we continued to wait.” He says, voice calm and measured, “For the moment when Japan’s strongest hero would finally give us something to break.”
Silence settles over the room, but it isn’t quiet.
Not inside your head.
Your thoughts feel like they’re spiralling inward, tightening around a realisation that makes your stomach twist.
Seventeen years.
Seventeen years of believing you were free.
You thought the shadows of the organisation had vanished the night the heroes tore through those steel doors. You thought everything that came after— the rehabilitation, the training, the life you built piece by piece— was finally yours, but Tanaka’s words unravel that illusion with surgical precision.
They never left.
“The trafficking ring.” Hawks lists, his gaze sharpening, “The network operating out of the ports. The bait.”
“You set that up for her.”
Tanaka doesn’t deny it.
“We did. We accelerated an existing operation.” He nods, inclining his head.
The words hit you like ice water.
Hawks leans forward now, elbows resting loosely on the table, though there’s nothing relaxed about the tension in his posture.
“You said you were waiting.” He mentions, “What changed?”
“Well, seventeen years is a long time for anybody.” Tanaka exhales slowly, “The organisation grew impatient. We decided to give her a nudge.”
“A nudge?” Katsuki’s voice is sharp now.
Tanaka nods slightly.
Your mind flashes immediately to a face.
Cold, delirious, eyes.
That crooked grin.
“Halo.” Hawks says flatly.
“Precisely.” Tanaka smiles faintly.
“Yotsubashi’s actions were calculated to peak your interest. His references to the doppelgänger wife, the request for a meeting, the cryptic message, it all ensured that you would discover a connection to the trafficking ring, and therefore, the organisation on your own. That is how the plan came full circle.”
You breathe sharply, the memories of that chase— the thrill, the terror, the helplessness of watching children caught in the crossfire— replaying vividly. Your eyes dart between Tanaka, Hawks, and Katsuki. The enormity of what the organisation has done hits you like a physical blow.
“But that still doesn’t explain everything.” Hawks tilts his head, amber eyes narrowing in quiet calculation.
“Oh?” Tanaka’s brows lift faintly.
Hawks leans forward just a fraction.
“None of this would have given you the answer you were looking for.”
A small smile spreads slowly across Tanaka’s face.
“Very perceptive.”
The air grows heavier.
“The trafficking operation was only one of several catalysts,” He explains calmly, “We required a scenario that would push multiple variables at once.”
Your throat tightens slightly.
“And so,” Tanaka continues, “even before the breadcrumbs and the children, we had already introduced different stimulus.”
He pauses deliberately.
“Yorumi Riku.”
The name hits the room like a shockwave.
Beside you, Katsuki’s posture snaps rigid instantly.
His hand tightens around your shoulder, fingers digging slightly into the fabric of your sleeve.
“…What?”
The word leaves him low and dangerous.
Tanaka glances at him briefly.
“The boy during the finals of the U.A Winter Games.”
The memory hits all at once.
The stadium. The roaring crowd. The moment everything spiralled out of control.
Tanaka continues speaking with clinical calm.
“His quirk had already been flagged within several underground intelligence circles.” He says, “A rare shadow-based ability with significant expansion potential.”
Your stomach twists faintly.
“But more importantly,” Tanaka continues, “his quirk type presented a natural counterpoint to hers.”
His gaze flicks toward you again.
“A power rooted in shadows, opposing a power that draws energy from the Sun.”
Understanding dawns slowly.
“So you expected her to step in.” Hawks says quietly.
Tanaka nods.
“The probability was extremely high.”
He shifts slightly in his chair.
“The boy’s match occurred during peak daylight hours. With his quirk destabilised, the resulting escalation would create a threat level far beyond what the faculty or attending heroes could immediately contain.”
His voice remains eerily neutral.
“And given the fundamental incompatibility between their abilities, she would be the most logical person to intervene.”
You feel your pulse thudding faintly in your ears.
Katsuki’s jaw tightens.
“You’re saying you—”
“We accelerated the instability of his quirk shortly before the match.” Tanaka finishes calmly.
For a moment, there is silence.
Then Katsuki snaps.
“Hah— I fuckin’ knew it!”
The words explode out of him, raw with fury.
He lets go of you to slam a hand down against the metal table, a sharp clang echoing through the interrogation room.
“I knew something was wrong.” He snarls, eyes blazing, “That kind of meltdown doesn’t just happen outta nowhere!”
The memory is vivid in his mind now— The moment Yorumi lost control on the field. The sudden, violent escalation that had made no sense at the time. The way the boy’s power had erupted far beyond anything they’d ever seen from him before.
It hadn’t felt natural.
It had felt forced.
“You pushed a kid into a meltdown just to see what would happen?!” Katsuki snaps.
Tanaka remains unfazed.
“We needed to observe her response.”
Katsuki looks like he might actually launch himself across the table.
“Don’t play fuckin’ word games with me.”
“The expected outcome occurred exactly as predicted.” Tanaka simply continues, “She intervened.”
Your chest tightens.
The memory flashes sharp and bright in your mind; the surge of power, the clash between blazing sunlight and devouring shadow, the moment your quirk pushed past its usual limits as you forced Yorumi’s power down.
“She subdued him decisively.” Tanaka’s voice cuts through the recollection, “Pushing her own body beyond safe limits.”
You remember the aftermath too, the way your vision had gone white, the crushing exhaustion that followed.
“You wanted to see how far Solerios would go.” Hawks says quietly.
Tanaka nods.
“How far she would go when confronted with a threat she felt personally responsible for stopping.”
His gaze returns to you.
“The results were… Enlightening.”
Katsuki exhales slowly through his nose.
The anger rolling off him now is almost palpable.
“You’ve been using her whole damn life.”
“We conducted a long-term observation.” Tanaka regards him calmly.
Katsuki’s lip curls in disgust.
Tanaka’s attention settles back on you.
“For years,” He says, “she avoided forming meaningful attachments.”
Your throat tightens faintly.
“But the data from that incident suggested something had begun to change.” He leans back slightly in his chair, “And that was precisely the development we had been waiting for.”
Tanaka studies you with quiet satisfaction.
“Because once someone like her begins to form emotional ties—”
His voice softens almost imperceptibly.
“—they finally become vulnerable.”
The room grows still again.
The realisation is unavoidable; every action, every investigation, every risk you have taken, has been manipulated. Yorumi, Halo, the trail of breadcrumbs, the kidnapped children— All part of a long-term plan designed specifically to exploit you.
The Organisation has been patient, watching and waiting, knowing exactly how far to push before striking.
The full weight of that knowledge settles on your shoulders, heavier than anything you’ve felt in years. This is bigger than your anger, bigger than your vengeance. This is a battle that has been brewing your entire life, and you were never truly free from their reach.
A quiet laugh slips from you before you can stop it.
“…Fuck this.”
The sound is hollow. You drag in a sharp breath, chest tightening as the stale, metallic air of the interrogation room presses in on you.
Across the room, Hawks shifts immediately, sensing the sudden change in the atmosphere, but before he can intervene, before Katsuki can even speak, you summon one of your Seven Suns.
The sphere compresses midair, collapsing inward as it descends into your waiting hand— And reshapes.
Fire folds over itself, plasma condensing into a blade of living solar energy. The temperature in the room spikes instantly as the air around the weapon hisses and shimmers.
You feel the familiar weight of it settle into your grip, the immense, volatile power thrumming through your arm like a heartbeat.
“I’m done with you wasting my time.” Your voice cuts through the room, cold and lethal.
The sun blade lifts in one swift motion, the glowing edge stopping just short of Tanaka’s throat. Heat rolls off the weapon in waves, close enough that the skin along his neck begins to sizzle faintly, underscoring the ruthlessness now radiating from you.
“Where is he?” You demand as you step forward, your tone leaving no room for evasion or excuses.
Tanaka swallows, his face remains unreadable.
“Solerios—” Hawks steps forward, hand raised, voice measured.
You don’t flinch. The blade’s heat hums against the old man’s skin. Sparks dance faintly in the air.
You don’t care.
“You had a lot to say just now.” You snap, voice sharp, “So answer me.”
Katsuki exhales quietly, eyes never leaving you. His hand twitches, ready to intervene, but he doesn’t. He knows that touching you now could escalate the danger, and more than that, he sees the hollowness in your eyes— The same cold, merciless edge he’s feared resurfacing.
Tanaka’s lips press into a thin line as the silence stretches.
You take a step closer, sun blade inching upward.
“Where. Is. Yorumi?”
Hawks shifts, uneasy.
“Think, Tanaka.” He says carefully, “Or this doesn’t end well for you.”
The old man doesn’t flinch. Not an eyelid or a twitch.
The faint sizzle of your sun blade on his neck doesn’t make him sweat. His eyes are steady, almost bored. He’s the same man who’s spent ten years silently observing your routines, anticipating your movements, knowing your patterns better than anyone else.
He’s not going to break now.
“Solerios, don’t—” Hawks senses it, stepping forward slightly but you cut him off before he can say more.
“Cat got your tongue now, old man?” The sun sword shifts in your grip, the light humming louder, vibrating with your rising fury.
Tanaka opens his mouth, calm and measured. He doesn’t answer your question. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t smirk. He simply states, his voice even;
“I can’t tell you that.”
Your chest seizes. Every word feels like ice crawling down your spine. Your blade wavers— Not from fear, but from barely restrained anger.
You shift.
The tip of the sun blade dips slightly, then snaps forward, stabbing into the old man’s shoulder. His grunt is sharp, low, and even through the heat, he doesn’t crumble. His body tenses, but his face stays composed.
“Stop!” Hawks shouts, stepping in, hand out, “Solerios, you’ll regret it if you put him out before we get our answers!”
“Unless you’ve got a better idea to make this asshole talk, I don’t want to fucking hear it!” You growl, teeth clenched.
You yank the blade back, sparks scattering like embers, your breath hot and ragged.
Tanaka’s shoulder smoulders where the sun blade grazed him, but his face remains unreadable, composed as ever. Not a flicker of fear, not a twitch of panic.
“…You think pain will make me speak?” His voice is even, calm, like he’s stating a fact rather than arguing with a weapon poised to burn him, “It won’t.”
Your sun hums louder, heat cracking the air around it. You step closer, tip hovering over the wound, feeling the power of your quirk humming through your bones. The room feels tight, suffocating, yet the old man’s composure is suffocating in its own way.
“Then I’ll make you remember what fear is supposed to feel like.” Your voice is low, cold.
The part of you that’s been compartmentalising every ounce of yourself— the part you’ve used to survive, to dominate— is awake now.
Ruthless. Merciless.
“Enough!” Hawks shouts again, desperation threading through his tone, “I told you to stop, I’m running this interrogation—”
“I don’t give a shit about your authority!” You snap, every word sharp and unyielding, “I don’t have time for mercy, I don’t have time for fucking games. I just need one thing— One. Where. Is. Yorumi?”
The blade hums like a live wire in your hands.
You shove forward, the sun blade slicing through the air with a hiss, and drive it into the same wound on Tanaka’s shoulder again.
Sparks flare, heat radiating like a furnace against his skin. He cries out painfully this time, a raw, jagged sound that echoes off the walls. His paling face twists in pain, but still he doesn’t speak.
“Solerios!” Hawks steps closer, voice urgent, cutting through the tense, sizzling air.
You ignore him. The anger is a living thing inside you, coiling around your chest and spine, clawing at everything else. Every word, every revelation from Tanaka earlier has chipped away at the edges of who you are, leaving only this ruthless core.
Katsuki watches from behind you, eyes sharp. He knows just how far gone you are. He feels it in the rigid set of your shoulders, the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands as you grip the sun blade. The old Solerios— the brilliant, merciless hero— has returned, but he also sees the fragility beneath it, the way this moment is stripping away everything you’ve fought to hold together.
“You’re not thinking clearly.” Hawks tries again, voice rising over the sizzle of your quirk, “You’re letting your anger dictate your actions—”
You shift, the blade humming hotter, dangerously close to fully igniting.
“Where is he?” Your voice is ice over fire, hollow, merciless.
“…There was a time,” Tanaka pants as he forces out the words, “when you were far more efficient than this.”
Steam curls faintly from the wound in his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt charred where your blade punched through. His breathing has grown heavier, uneven now, and his skin has taken on a sickly pallor.
“You didn’t hesitate.” He prods.
The temperature in the room spikes.
The sun blade trembles— Not from instability, but from the sheer pressure of the energy coiled inside it.
“Tanaka.” Katsuki growls lowly, a warning threading through his voice.
But the old man ignores him.
“You would have removed my arm by now.” Tanaka continues evenly, as if discussing weather, “Perhaps both.”
The corner of his mouth shifts just slightly.
“Pain was never something that slowed you down.”
The blade presses down, just enough for the sizzling to grow louder.
“You’re not answering my question.” Your voice when you speak is barely above a whisper.
The sun blade hums louder in your hand, the heat warping the air around it. Embers drift lazily down to the concrete floor.
“Where,” You repeat, lowly and hollow, “is Yorumi?”
Tanaka exhales slowly through his nose, the breath slightly shaky this time, but his eyes remain steady.
Still, he gives yo nothing.
Hawks steps in closer again, tension written all over his face now.
“Solerios, I’m not asking again.” His tone hardens, “You’ve made your point. Stand down.”
You don’t even look at him.
“I told you,” You click your tongue, “I don’t have time for this.”
Your arm shifts again.
The blade lifts slightly from Tanaka’s shoulder.
Hawks swears under his breath.
“Solerios—!”
But before you can move— A hand closes around your wrist.
You freeze.
The contact sends a sharp jolt through you. Your quirk flickers violently at the interruption, light flaring brighter for a split second.
Katsuki steps in beside you, his grip tightening just enough to halt the arc of the blade before it can come down again.
“Stop.”
His voice is low, but it carries an edge sharp enough to cut through the crackling heat in the room.
For a moment, neither of you move.
The sun blade hums between you, its light flickering against Katsuki’s face, reflecting in his crimson eyes.
He’s close now. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“Angel.” His voice drops lower, “Look at me.”
You don’t.
Your eyes stay locked on Tanaka, breathing shallow, blade still burning in your grip.
Katsuki feels it immediately.
How far gone you are right now.
The cold.
The detachment.
The way your body has gone rigid with that old, dangerous focus he’s seen only a handful of times before.
Tanaka’s revelations earlier— seventeen years of surveillance, manipulation, waiting— had hit every fracture in your already fragile mental state like a hammer, and now you’re slipping.
Right back into the version of yourself that survives by shutting everything else out.
Katsuki tightens his grip slightly.
“You’re done.” He says quietly.
The blade hums louder.
You finally glance at him.
Your eyes are wrong, they’re empty.
Focused only on the target behind him.
“He knows where Yorumi is.” You say.
“I know.”
“And he’s not talking.” Your wrist shifts in his grip, trying to pull free.
“I know.”
“Then let go.”
Your tone is flat. Matter-of-fact.
Like you’re discussing something simple.
Katsuki doesn’t move.
Behind the two of you, Hawks exhales slowly, tension bleeding from his shoulders just a fraction now that someone has physically stopped the escalation.
Katsuki steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you hear it.
“You stab him again,” Katsuki mutters quietly, “and he passes out.”
Your jaw tightens.
“Then we lose the only person in this room who knows where that kid is.”
Your fingers flex around the hilt of the blade, heat pulsing off it in sharp waves.
“I don’t care.” You snap.
The words come out automatically but Katsuki’s eyes narrow, because he knows that’s not true.
Of course you care.
Yorumi is the reason you’re standing here.
The reason you haven’t burned this entire building down yet.
“Sweetheart, you’re spiralling.” He murmurs as he leans in closer.
Your eyes flash towards him.
“Don’t—”
“Too late.”
For a second, something dangerous flickers behind your gaze but Katsuki doesn’t back off.
He doesn’t release your wrist either.
Tanaka’s gaze drifts between the two of you.
“Fascinating…” He mumbles, his voice weaker now, strained through pain.
Neither you nor Katsuki respond.
“This is precisely the complication emotional attachment introduces.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightens instantly.
Tanaka studies him with the same analytical focus he had turned on you moments earlier.
“It seems your partner appears to have developed a rather effective… Influence over you.”
Your grip on the blade tightens.
Heat spikes sharply.
Tanaka exhales faintly, still watching.
“Without him,” He continues, voice calm despite the blood slowly soaking his sleeve, “you likely would have—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
The words come out sharp enough to snap the air in half.
Katsuki doesn’t even look at him, his eyes stay locked on you but the warning in his voice is unmistakable.
Tanaka falls silent.
Katsuki’s grip on your wrist tightens once more— Not painfully, but firmly enough that you can’t twist free.
“Angel.” He says again, lower this time.
Your chest rises and falls unevenly.
“You want to save Yorumi?” He continues, voice rough now, “Then don’t break the one guy who can tell us where he is.”
The blade trembles slightly in your hand.
Behind you, Hawks steps forward again, more cautiously this time.
“Solerios,” He says, calmer now, “listen to him.”
The room is unbearably quiet.
Tanaka sits there bleeding into his shirt, breathing heavier now but still silent.
Still watching.
Still composed despite everything.
Your gaze drops back to the wound in his shoulder. Your blade is inches from the injury, still hot enough to cauterise bone.
One more push.
One more strike.
And he might finally break.
Your fingers tighten.
Katsuki’s grip tightens with it.
“No.” He says quietly.
Not a command or a threat, just a line drawn in the sand.
Every muscle in your arm screams to wrench free, to drive the blade forward one more time. Tanaka’s blood still smoulders on the edge of your quirk. The smell of burned fabric and flesh hangs heavy in the room.
But Katsuki doesn’t move.
Doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t try to overpower you.
He just stands there, grounding you with that same stubborn, unyielding presence he’s always had.
Your breathing comes out sharp through your nose.
Seconds pass, then your arm goes slack.
The sun blade dips and Katsuki loosens his grip slowly, carefully, like he’s releasing something volatile.
The moment his hand leaves your wrist—
You move.
With a violent snap, you drive the blazing blade straight down into the metal interrogation table.
CLANG!
The impact rings through the room like a gunshot. The metal buckles inward under the force, heat blasting across the surface as the blade burns through it. Sparks scatter across the floor.
You step back immediately, chest heaving once, twice, then the blade dissolves. The sun collapsing back into motes of light that drift towards you.
“Get him some fucking help.” Your eyes flick briefly to Hawks.
The Commission’s President exhales quietly, already moving towards the wall beside the observation glass. He reaches for the small control panel and presses the intercom button.
“Medical team to Interrogation Cell S.” He says into it, voice clipped but controlled, “Now.”
A faint confirmation crackles back through the speaker.
He turns back towards the room just as two Commission medics rush in moments later with equipment.
They move quickly to Tanaka’s side, his shirt soaked through now. The old man is pale, breathing heavier, but still conscious.
You watch them for half a second.
Then your gaze settles back on him.
“Enjoy the break,” You say coolly, “because they won’t always be here to stop me.”
You jerk faintly towards Hawks and Katsuki as the medics begin cutting away the burned fabric around the wound.
“Next time, I won’t ask again.”
You turn before anyone can answer, heels striking the floor in sharp, decisive steps as you head for the door.
Behind you, Hawks mutters quick instructions to the medics while they begin treating the shoulder wound, instruments clattering softly as gauze is pulled free.
You don’t slow.
The door slides open.
You step through—
“Miss Solerios.”
Tanaka’s voice stops you just as you reach the threshold.
The room stills again.
You pause, your shoulders stiffening at the familiar title.
Slowly, you turn your head just enough to look back over your shoulder.
Tanaka sits slumped slightly while the medics work around his shoulder, his breathing carefully controlled.
“You’re asking me the wrong questions.” He says as his eyes meet yours.
The words land like a stone dropped into still water.
Something sharp flashes across your expression.
For half a second, it looks like you might turn back, might demand more, but the anger rises faster.
Your jaw tightens.
“Save it for tomorrow.” You snap as you turn away completely, and walk off without another glance.
Behind you, the interrogation room door slides shut again.
Katsuki stares at the closed door for a long moment, jaw tight, already knowing exactly how badly Tanaka’s last sentence is going to sit with you.