Chapter Text
Hizashi let the back door slam shut and slumped against the wall; shoving his glasses into his hair to push the palms of his hands into his eyes, desperate to relieve the burning behind his lids. He was going to cry. He was going to straight up cry in an alleyway that smelt like piss and trash juice at seven in the damn morning, like the complete and utter mess he was.
His Put Your Hands Up! Radio t-shirt bunched beneath his jacket, the worn material riding up and digging into his back. He’d loved the thing to literal pieces; the fabric faded and buttery soft, the threads holding together the handmade patches clinging on for dear life.
He’d worn it as a good luck charm and to give himself some comfort. He made it for the first episode of his podcast back in high school and he’d hoped it would be with him to see the beginning of his radio career too.
So much for that.
“‘We’re so sorry, Mic, we just don’t see what your pitch could bring to our station’,” Hizashi repeated mockingly, shifting his voice down to mimic the station manager. “‘So sorry, we just don’t think you understand how time-consuming radio is and you already have another career. So sorry that your life’s work is shit and a complete waste of everyone’s time’.”
He let his hands fall away with a low groan and dropped his head back. God, he wanted to scream. Just open his mouth and shriek at the clear blue sky that felt like it was mocking him directly. The universe could’ve at least made it rain for him so it would match his mood but no, he was the lone thundercloud raining on his own damn parade.
He really thought this was the one. He liked this station well enough; it wasn’t his first or even his fifth choice but at this point, he wasn’t about to be picky. He’d cleaned up his pitch, made all the improvements the other stations had suggested.
He was sitting on a banger of a program; he knew so many people would find happiness and enjoyment in it but no one would give him the chance to put it out there.
“‘We just don’t think you have enough experience’, blah, blah, blah.” He shook his head. “How am I supposed to get experience if no one will hire me, huh, genius?”
Hizashi dragged a hand down his face, a few strands of hair tickling his cheek and he froze.
He’d leaned his head against the wall. He had leaned his head against a goddamn wall and now his hair was crushed and coming down and he was going to lose it.
He squeezed his eyes shut; a few traitorous tears burning a path down his cheek. Great, this was just perfect; Mr. Big Shot Hero, crying in an alley because his hair got messed up.
He was just so tired. He’d been pulling double shifts all week - something he was pretty sure his agency wasn’t actually allowed to do - but he didn’t have much of a choice. He’d been late on his last two rent payments and he swore his old hag of a landlady had it out for him personally and only the tiniest shreds of his dignity kept him from taking up day drinking.
“Ugh,” Hizashi groaned then slammed a hand over his mouth as his Voice leaked through. The trashcans at the end of the alley rattled, one of the emptier ones tipping over and he blew out a relieved sigh when it did nothing more.
He sniffed, swiping a hand over his cheeks to clear his tear tracks and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe... maybe it was time to throw in the towel. To finally admit that he might not be as cut out for heroism as he thought. As he’d always hoped.
It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it. Lately, after long, fruitless patrols or getting passed over on case delegations, when he was alone and the doubt crept in, it was all he could think about. Every year, dozens of people debuted their hero careers; at the same time, dozens more burnt out and were forced into retirement. Not from injuries, but because they weren’t popular enough.
Hizashi refused to become another flunked out Hero and become some desk jockey. He’d poured his blood, sweat and tears into his training at UA, pushed himself to his limits and beyond to become someone people could look to for protection; to ensure they felt safe enough to have fun and live their lives to the fullest. He refused to fail himself, refused to fail...
He dropped his hand. Even if he did, what was he supposed to do? Get a job washing dishes somewhere? Go back to school and listen to lectures like the last time he was in a classroom he wasn’t learning how to fight villains and save lives? How was he supposed to live with that?
He sighed and pushed off the wall, smoothing the fallen strands of hair back up into its crest. As much as he wanted to continue wallowing in his misery, if he was late to patrol again his boss would kick his ass.
“C’mon, Present Mic.” He slapped his cheeks and plastered on his trademark smile before shooting finger guns at the wall. “Showtime!”
Hizashi brought his hands together in a loud clap and froze as something knocked against the fallen trashcan down the alley. It hadn’t rolled any further; the same old papers and discarded demo CDs spilled in an arc around the top. He took a few tentative steps forward, straining for any other sounds but the alleyway was silent.
He could brush it off as having imagined it - his ears were practically accessories at this point - but he could’ve sworn he heard something. A stray cat maybe? Or a rat?
Please don’t be a rat, please don’t be a rat, he begged. He had nothing against rats - they were chill little dudes just trying to live their best life - but if one jumped out at him, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from screaming it into orbit.
He took a deep breath and rounded the trashcan, tensed and ready to throw himself out of the way of any flying rodents. Instead, the breath froze in his lungs.
Well, it’s not a rat.
It was a guy; face down amongst the trash like a stack of old newspapers. Had he been out here all night? It was freezing, was he even-?
Hizashi threw himself onto his knees and checked his pulse, slumping in relief as he found it steady and strong. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his mediocre breakfast down if he found out he’d been having a breakdown a few metres away from a corpse.
“Sir? Can you hear me?” he asked but the man didn’t so much as twitch.
Gently as he could, Hizashi flipped him onto his back, placing a hand in front of his mouth and scooted back to rest his head on his chest. He flinched as the guy let out an unconscious moan at the weight of his directional speaker but stayed put and he fell still once more. A shaky stream of air hit his hand and his chest stuttered beneath his head as it struggled to expand with his next inhale.
He’s damaged his ribs then, he surmised as he sat up. His breath’s clear; no gurgling or rattling, so his lungs probably aren’t punctured. He pulled his phone out, giving the rest of his body a once over and couldn’t help but grimace.
Someone had given this guy a major beatdown. He was a mess of bruises and blood, his eyes and nose purple and swollen and judging by the cuts on his lips, a few teeth had been knocked out. Bands of bruising wrapped around his arms and throat as well, as if something had been tied around him.
He scooped his hand under his, tilting it up to get a better look. His knuckles were scrapped to hell, bloodying the tattoo on the back of it; at some point, he’d fought back. Hizashi chewed on his lip and set it back down. Clearly not well enough. His clothing was loose; typical athletic wear and was torn and bloodied. Had he been expecting the fight? Or did he get jumped mid-workout?
“Someone had it out for you, huh, listener?” he murmured and opened the Hero Network.
“This is the Hero Network Emergency Assistance, please state your name, ID number and situation,” came a bored voice.
“Present Mic, ID no. 130377, requesting medical assistance for an injured civilian,” he reported succinctly, never looking away from the unconscious man. “Civilian unresponsive. Nothing appears life-threatening.”
“Is the villain still on the scene?”
“No, I found him as I was heading out for patrol,” he replied. “Pretty sure he was dumped here.” There wasn’t nearly enough blood or damage to the environment for the fight to have gone down here.
“An ambulance has been dispatched to your location, please stand by,” they said and hung up the call.
Personable as ever. Hizashi put his phone away and heaved himself up, kicking aside the trashcans to make room for the paramedics but there wasn’t much else he could do for his mystery victim. He kept his eyes on his chest, watching the faltering rise and fall; he doubted the guy’s ribs would get any more broken in the next few minutes but it paid to be vigilant.
The rumble of the ambulance pulling up outside the mouth of the alley broke his stare down. He put his fingers between his lips and let out a sharp whistle, catching the paramedics’ attention as they hopped out of the truck.
“Hey, Mic,” one of them called out as he lowered the gurney. “You’re pretty far from your usual beat.”
“Just taking care of some business, yo.” Some failed business, his mind hissed. “I’ll be back on tour after you finish taking care of my opener.”
Hizashi stepped aside and watched as the medics got his guy stable and strapped onto the gurney; restlessly tapping his foot as his uselessness chaffed at him. He considered himself fairly skilled when it came to crowd control and comforting victims but that didn’t mean all that much if the victim was unconscious.
Another car squealed to a stop outside the alley and he didn’t even need to look up to know it was a beat cop; no one else drove that bad with that much confidence. Finally, something I can help with.
But as he faced the man at the mouth of the alley, it took everything not to hang his head and just give up. He plastered on his best media smile instead and pressed forward with the knowledge that at least this would be just as painful for both of them.
Of all the cops in the city that could’ve rocked up, did it have to be the president of his hate club?
“Mic.” Officer Iwai spat his name like a curse and Hizashi bit back a scoff; he could’ve at least pretended to be civil. “Surprised to see you’re not the hurt one for once.”
He gasped, clutching where his speaker sat over his heart. “Well, now I am,” he pouted. “Words can be just as painful as fists, listener.”
“Yeah?” he grunted. “I guess you’d know; how’s our guy’s ears?”
He let out a snide chuckle and he suppressed a flinch. He cleared his throat and shrugged; drumming his fingers on the side of his speaker. “They might be the healthiest part of him. He’s a civi; found him about fifteen minutes ago.”
“And you let the villain go?” he scoffed.
Yelling at police officers is frowned upon, Hizashi reminded himself. “There was no villain,” he said and followed the gurney as the paramedics loaded it into the ambulance. “I was running an errand and heard a noise. Turned out to be him.”
His phone started wailing in his pocket, signalling the beginning of his patrol and he took great pleasure in Iwai’s violent flinch at the sudden noise.
“Would you look at the time? I’m afraid it’s the beginning of my set, listener,” he said faux apologetically, cancelling the alarm and tucking it back in his pocket. “These streets won’t patrol themselves.”
“Not that you make much of a difference,” the officer muttered under his breath.
Hizashi ignored him, spinning on his heel and waving a hand over his shoulder. “See you at the afterparty!”
Distracted was a generous word for how Hizashi felt throughout his patrol. It was hard to concentrate on empty, repetitive streets when all he wanted to do was rush to the police station and ask about the guy he found. It was his duty of care as a hero to find out how badly injured he was and his attacker deserved to be brought to justice! It certainly wasn’t to sate the burning curiosity eating away at his insides.
He would’ve been bouncing off the walls as he counted down the hours if he didn’t simultaneously feel run off his feet. The adrenaline from his morning discovery had long faded into the boring reality of patrol and the exhaustion from a week’s worth of double shifts nipped at his heels.
But he refused to show it; shooting confident smiles and waves to the civilians he passed and clinging to the knowledge that he’d saved someone just hours before. He also might have potentially found his own case that he could work on and solve. This was exactly what he needed; something to get the wind back in his sails.
His head buzzed with it; Voice Hero: Present Mic’s first independently sourced case. On the job from the moment he encountered the victim, working tirelessly to pursue the villain behind it all! The victim could feel safe again knowing the villain would never harm him again because he had Present Mic in his corner!
Sure, technically it wasn’t his jurisdiction; assault definitely fell more in the vein of police work but there was nothing stopping him from investigating it himself. Besides, he hated the thought of just leaving someone in the lurch after helping them. He found him that meant it was his responsibility to follow it through.
It was dark by the time Hizashi walked his exhausted body into the police station. It was screaming for rest, every step sending a pained jolt up his body. Almost done, he comforted himself; he just needed to look through his guy’s case file then he could go home to his janky bed and-
Oh, fuck me drunk.
Iwai was working the front desk.
Shouldn’t your shift be over by now? he whined.
Hizashi and cops didn’t exactly have the best track record; many of them held grudges against heroes for having a job they saw as edging theirs out but Iwai...
He didn’t even know what he did to piss him off in the first place besides just existing. The guy acted like a jilted lover but Hizashi wouldn’t touch his craggily ass with a ten-foot pole.
Just in and out, Hizashi, he promised himself. One last thing and you’re done.
He steeled himself and strode up to the desk, grin fixed in place as he leaned over it. “Iwai! We just keep running into each other today, listener!”
Iwai closed his eyes like he was begging for patience. “Unfortunately.”
And people call me dramatic. “That aggravated assault I called in this morning; I was hoping to check out his incident report.”
Iwai sighed and shot him a dark look; as if asking him to do his job was the most unreasonable request imaginable. He shoved his chair back and pulled over a thick stack of case files.
For the nth time, Hizashi thanked the mirrored tint of his glasses for hiding the roll of his eyes. He had to sign off on the report as the hero that called it in; if Iwai wanted to actually file the stupid thing, he had to give it to him anyway.
Iwai thumbed through the stack and pulled one free, slapping it down in front of him. Hizashi took it with a too-wide grin and slid down the counter before flipping it open.
“Okay, let’s see; da, da, da, da,” he ran his finger down the page, skipping all the filler and bureaucratic nonsense until he got to the actually useful information. “Victim name Fukami Hisoka, found by hero Present Mic, given medical attention at Musutafu General Hospital, interviewed by Officers Takao and Sakai... refused to disclose information on his attacker.”
A frown tugged at his lips. That was weird. Not having any recollection of who attacked him was one thing, but refusing to give information altogether? So he knew something about who did it and he just- what, wasn’t talking? Was he afraid of spilling information and putting a target on his head?
“Fukami refused to speak during interrogation; only statement given: ‘I broke the rules’.” Hizashi’s fingers began tapping out an anxious beat against the counter. Rules? What rules could he have possibly broken that deserved such a severe beating?
This was turning into more than a random assault; if he had been attacked because he’d ‘broken the rules’, then that suggested something bigger… something organised. Some criminal organisation could have set up shop somewhere in the prefecture; maybe even Musutafu itself.
He couldn't believe it. He actually found something.
Hizashi started vibrating as he skimmed the rest of the report, relieved to see he was right that the guy hadn’t done major damage to his lungs. Most of it was superficial; he’d be in pain for a while but he would heal. He gave a sympathetic cringe at the broken ribs; he could confirm first-hand that those sucked.
He was getting excited; as the person who’d discovered the victim, he had a prior claim over the case. He’d have to work in conjunction with the police, of course, but as a hero, he ranked higher on the pecking order. It would be up to him to run point instead of being at an officer’s beck and call.
His eyes skittered back up to the top of the file and looked for who’d been given the case. He hoped it was someone he’d worked with before and not one of the condescending officers who thought they were better than him just because he-
“What the fuck?” Hizashi blurted.
‘Case closed.’
Block red print, clear as day.
They’d already closed the case.
That didn't make sense. Anyone with eyes could see this was part of something bigger. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think he was smarter than the entire police department - maybe just one or two people - but they were overworked and perpetually understaffed. He’d ask for a case revision and when he pointed out his observations, it would be reopened and they could get started.
Hizashi slid back up the counter and levelled a grin at Iwai. “Yo, yo; I had a question about this case file.”
“Good for you,” he replied without looking up.
His eyebrow twitched. “I’m just wonderin’ who’s heading it?”
“What case?”
He cannot be for real. He dropped his grin and tapped the file he’d given him not five minutes ago. “The battery case? The vic I reported this morning, Fukami Hisoka? Who’s looking into his attacker?”
“He’s been arrested,” Iwai replied dismissively.
Hizashi slumped against the counter, shoulders attempting to curl in under his speaker. “You already found the guy?” he asked, trying to squash his rising disappointment. He wasn’t about to be upset that all his daydreaming had been in vain; Fukami’s justice was his priority, not his own struggling ambition.
But why hadn’t they included an arrest report in the incident file? Had they questioned him yet? If they hadn’t, he might be able to weasel his way into the observation room and see if his theory held any water.
He scoffed out an annoyed grunt and finally looked up from his computer; leaning back heavily in his chair. “No, the man who was attacked had been arrested,” he explained like he was talking to a toddler.
Hizashi blinked. He waited for Iwai to start laughing. For him to go, ’Ha, you almost fell for it! Like we would arrest someone for being assaulted!’ but he didn’t crack. He just kept glaring at him with growing irritation. “What? Why?”
Iwai had the gall to look aggravated that he wasn’t letting this go; rolling his eyes as he reclined further. “Fukami’s wanted for repeated public quirk usage, unlawful assembly, rioting and assault of an officer,” he listed like it excused everything. “He’s a known public nuisance.”
His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, tension pulling his shoulders rigid. He could read between the lines; the second, ‘unlawful assembly’, came out his mouth, he knew what he was up against. Whatever kind of activism Fukami was fighting for, the police clearly didn’t want to deal with it.
For a selfish moment, he entertained the thought that the whole thing could be a cover-up but scrapped it. They wouldn't have dumped him in a random alley; they would've just arrested him and claimed he resisted, that they had to use advanced tactics to detain him.
“So, what, he’s committed a few crimes and that gives anyone free reign to attack him?” Hizashi asked incredulously. “He’s still a citizen.”
“And how do we know someone wasn’t attempting a citizen’s arrest?” he replied, a grimacing smile scoring his face.
He crossed his arms and cocked his hip out. “I dunno; the three missing teeth are a bit of a clue.”
Iwai let out an aggrieved sigh. “Look, Mic,” he said placatingly and sat up to put a hand on his bicep. It took everything in Hizashi to not sneer at it and shrug him off. “A scumbag attacked another scumbag. End of story. We don’t need a hero here; go find someone worth saving.”
“‘Worth saving’, huh?” he muttered. He looked back up and gave Iwai a bright Present Mic smile; injecting his voice with as much sickening sweetness as he could muster. “What a wonderful idea, listener! I’d like to start with a copy of Fukami Hisoka’s criminal record as well as every aggravated assault report that has occurred in this prefecture in the last twelve months!”
He blanched, his hand falling slack from his arm. Good, touch me again and I’ll rock your shit so hard, I’ll give your grandchildren tinnitus. “You want what?”
“Huh; I could’ve sworn we were running live. This thing on?” he said, tapping his speaker. He twisted the volume lock dial, increasing it until he got a loud squeal of feedback and Iwai’s face curdled. He gave a satisfied nod before turning it back down. Nothing like a gentle reminder that his speaker was more than an accessory. “Twelve months of aggravated assaults. I also want any criminal records since you neglected to add Fukami’s to his file. I imagine it will take you a few minutes to collect them all, so I’ll just wait here.”
His lip twitched, an enraged flush creeping up his neck. “I don’t think you understand what you're asking for,” he stalled.
“And I don’t think you've realised that this is a formal request from a hero regarding an independent investigation.” He tilted his glasses down and allowed some bite to edge into his voice. “I’m waiting.”
Iwai blubbered, this time waiting for Hizashi to call his bluff but he didn’t move; smile held perfectly in place. The officer finally sneered and shoved away from his desk, not even trying to muffle his complaints as he headed to the record room.
“Dick,” he scoffed, pushing his glasses back up and stuffed the file under his jacket. Everyone’s worth saving.
“That’s going to be quite the mountain of paperwork.”
Hizashi flinched, spinning around to see a plainclothes officer standing behind him with a pleasant smile. Going off the trench coat and world’s politest customer service face, he’d guess the man was a detective; he was even wearing the hat he didn’t think existed outside old black and white film noir.
He plastered on a grin and posed. “The one thing they never warn you about. Some days, I’d take a villain over the paper cuts.”
He let out a measured chuckle. “Ah, the exciting and glamorous life of a pro,” he said and bowed his head. “Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa.”
“Present Mic,” he returned.
Tsukauchi gave a small ‘Ah,’ as understanding crossed his features. “You’re the one who sent in Fukami Hisoka this morning.”
Hizashi didn’t let his smile slip even as his hackles started rising. His last conversation about Fukami hadn’t exactly gone well. “Yeah. Surprised something like that would ping your radar.”
“I’m the type to stay busy,” he shrugged. “Being nosy is kind of in the job description.”
Well, better a nosy detective than a dismissive one. “Seems we have that in common.”
He gave an affable hum. “Can I ask why the backlog of files?”
He hesitated, tongue playing over the back of his teeth. He didn’t know this guy from Adam but he wasn’t picking up skeevy vibes. If he could get just one person in his corner, maybe he actually stood a chance of solving this. “A hunch.”
He waited for Tsukauchi to blow him off but the detective just nodded like he understood perfectly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s to trust a hero’s gut. If you find something concrete, send it my way; I’ll see what I can do.”
Hizashi did a double take. “Are you for real?”
He let out a good-natured chuckle. “I won’t be able to do much,” he warned, pulling out a business card and handing it to him, “not without opening an official police investigation and I won’t be able to do that without more to go on. You’ll be on your own for the most part.”
He held back a snort; he wasn’t exactly a stranger to that. He looked over the card, simply sporting the detective’s name and phone number, before walking it over his knuckles and putting it in his pocket. “Can’t say no to that.”
Tsukauchi looked over his shoulder and Hizashi turned to see Chief Tsuragamae, inscrutable as ever, waiting outside his office. The detective nodded to him before bowing. “Be careful, Mic,” he offered. “We still need heroes like you.”
He bowed back as much as his speaker would allow. “Same to you, detective.”
He watched him slip into Tsuragamae’s office until Iwai came back to the front desk, slamming down a box of case files. He sneered at him but Hizashi just grinned back until he went for his next trip.
He ran his hand over the lid; the dust coating his glove not exactly filling him with confidence. If this was just the first of who knew how many boxes, carrying them back to his place was going to be a pain. Hizashi breathed in and felt Fukami’s case file press against his chest.
He could do this. He was no stranger to investigation; he’d closed cases before. This would be the exact same! Yeah, he didn’t have access to police resources but he had a few contacts he could tap. How hard could kicking it on his own be?