Chapter Text
“Quirks cannot be broken.”
“First time for everything,” Aizawa said, the edge of his voice sharp like a drawn blade. “You know as well as I do. He’s lying.”
Tsukauchi threw up his hands. “I’m not lying, though. It’s what my quirk fed back to me. He believes he is quirkless.”
“Believes,” Aizawa repeated. “So, as long as he believes it, your quirk bends to it? Fat good that does for us.”
“I don’t know,” Tsukauchi admitted. “I’ve never tested it. Never needed to.”
“You saw the footage. You saw what I saw. That boy used not one, but three distinct quirks. Three. He is as far from quirkless as you or I. He’s lying.”
Tsukauchi sighed. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I asked him what his quirk was. He told me he didn’t have one. And he wasn’t lying.”
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “He said he didn’t have one,” he corrected, slow and deliberate. “Could that slip past your quirk? A technicality?”
Tsukauchi’s lips thinned. He shook his head softly. “No. Not like that. Those sorts of half-truths, they fall into the middle. There would be a sliver of truth, but a lie beneath it all. My quirk would pick that up… This wasn’t that.”
Aizawa dragged a hand down his face. “But it’s wrong,” he said, more to himself than to Tsukauchi. “It’s provably wrong.”
“That it is.”
The acknowledgement sat like a stone in his stomach. Aizawa’s fingers pressed briefly at the bridge of his nose. “Go back in,” he said. “We start somewhere else. Ask about All For One. Establish his risk. Then, we circle back. Change the phrasing. Push him. There’s a way through this. We just haven’t found it yet.”
Tsukauchi lifted a wry brow, the faintest trace of dry amusement playing at his lips. “This is my office,” he reminded him. “You don’t usually get to give the orders.”
Aizawa scoffed. “Just do it.”
“Of course,” Tsukauchi said lightly, already turning toward the door. “Whatever you say, boss.”
—
Tsukauchi kept one eye fixed on Itadori Yuuji as he resumed his seat.
Silence, he had long learnt, was not an absence but a tool. So, he let it linger. Stretch. Settle into the corners of the room. He smoothed the lapels of his suit as he sat. He adjusted the papers in his file. He brushed at a speck of dust that may or may not have been there at all. Small, careful rituals. Anything to regain the upper hand in a conversation he was clearly losing.
Itadori yuuji was not quirkless.
That much was certain.
Regardless of what his quirk had told him.
Tsukauchi’s quirk was not infallible.
But neither was it foolish.
And neither, he reminded himself, was he.
“Apologies, Itadori,” he said at last. “I trust I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”
The boy shrugged, nonplussed. “‘S fine.”
Tsukauchi nodded. “Good. Is there anything you require? Has anyone offered to top up your water? A hot drink, if you’d like?”
For a moment, Itadori only looked at him, a faint crease of puzzlement pulled at his scarred brow. “No, I’m fine,” he said, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Thank you.”
Then, as if to prove a point, he lifted his glass, taking a small, careful sip of water.
Tsukauchi leant forward, pressing the recorder once more.
Three measured, overly loud beeps cut cleanly through the stilted silence.
“Interview resumed. The time now is 20:25 PM.”
He settled back again, crossing one leg over the other, hands resting lightly atop his knee. His pose was intentional. Constructed to suggest a man completely calm, in control, at ease within his own domain.
Whether it convinced anyone, least of all himself, was another matter entirely.
“Itadori Yuuji,” Tsukauchi began, the formality returning to him like a well-worn coat. He paused, just briefly, considering the shape of his next words. “You are aware of the man known as All For One?”
A question disguised as a statement.
A tactic.
The boy looked at him.
Tsukauchi held his gaze.
Both men working hard to figure the other out.
“Yes,” Itadori said slowly. “I am aware of him.”
Beneath the table, Tsukauchi shifted the toe of his shoe.
Right.
True.
It was not, in itself, remarkable. There were few left in the country who did not know of All For One.
Not after what he did.
But it was a start.
A foot in the door.
Tsukauchi inclined his head slightly. “And, are you aware,” he continued, “of the nature of his quirk?”
Again, not a confession. It wasn’t necessarily common knowledge. But if a member of the public cared to look, it was information that was readily available.
It was not a demand. Not yet.
Merely an invitation.
“I… partially. I think.”
Tsukauchi’s foot stayed in position. Right. Still.
True.
“All For One possessed the ability to take quirks. And, to bestow them upon others. With or without consent. Over time, he accumulated quite the collection.”
He paused, studying the boy for the slightest flicker. Any surprise. Any recognition. Any fear.
But Itadori only nodded. Entirely calm.
Tsukauchi pressed his lips together.
“Ordinarily, the human body is not designed to withstand multiple quirks. The consequences tend to be… severe,” he paused. “Unless very specific requirements are met.”
Itadori cocked his head. Intrigued or confused, Tsukauchi couldn’t tell.
“I need to ask you something very important, Itadori.”
Tsukauchi straightened in his chair. He brought his hands together, elbows resting on the table before him, fingers laced together.
“Did you work for All For One?”
Itadori blinked back at him. For once, Tsukauchi had caught Itadori by surprise.
“No,” Itadori said, plainly. “I didn’t work for or with All For One.”
Tsukauchi’s boot shifted right.
True.
He opened his mouth to ask the next, very important follow-up question.
Itadori answered it for him before a word left his lips.
“And he didn’t do anything to me. Never met him. Never had anything to do with him. Not even close. I promise.”
Again.
Right.
True.
For a moment, Tsukauchi didn’t know what to feel. To know that they had not missed one of All For One’s associates, had not let a villain as strong as Itadori could be slip through the net. That was relief.
But the feeling, he found, was fleeting.
Because the tidal wave of thoughts that followed was far worse.
If not All For One, then what?
Three quirks.
Three.
Flaunted so freely. No sign of the mutation that, by all known precedent, should accompany such a thing. A Nomu, by all respects.
And yet not.
Tsukauchi’s first thought was a copycat, perhaps.
The second coming. Another power like All For One. Another hand distributing quirks as though they were currency.
Or, and this thought all the more terrifying, something else entirely.
Something naturally forming.
All For One and One For All were very special cases. Anomalies that proved the rule.
But if that limitation no longer held.
For something like that to become commonplace.
Quirks were already mutations on the human body.
The possibility for the next evolution was a dizzying thought.
Tsukauchi swallowed thickly, grasping onto his composure with white knuckles.
“And you are not aware of any… incidents in your childhood that might connect you to him? Any unusual medical procedures, any doctor's visits that seemed out of place?”
“No?”
Even through Itadori’s unsurety, Tsukauchi’s quirk still screamed at him.
True.
This boy had nothing to do with All For One.
It couldn’t have been more clear.
Which, Tsukauchi admitted, might have been the most troubling truth of all.
“Sorry,” Itadori said quietly.
Tsukauchi studied him closely, frowning. It appeared he had not masked his emotions quite as well as he’d imagined.
“Why are you apologising?”
“I, uh… can’t give you the answers you want?”
“You believe I want to discover you’re tied to the greatest villain of the century?”
Itadori shrugged. “That's why you brought me in, right? Thought I was a villain.”
Tsukauchi couldn’t necessarily deny it. But it was generally uncouth to admit that to your interviewee.
“It’s alright,” Itadori continued, as if he was trying to comfort Tsukauchi. Which was a sentiment that threw him entirely off kilter. “I’m used to- ah, no. Nevermind, it’s alright.”
Tsukauchi’s brow arched. “No,” he said, trying for comfort in his tone. “What were you about to say?”
Itadori ducked his head, suddenly boyish. “It’s just… I’m used to it, I guess.”
“Used to what?” Tsukauchi probed.
“Being villainised.”
It was an honest admission. Vulnerable. Painfully so, given the warble in Itadori’s voice.
Tsukauchi took it for what it was.
An invitation. An opening to exploit, if he was to be cynical about it.
“Because of your quirks?” he asked, deliberately stressing the plural.
Itadori shook his head. “I told you already. I don’t have any quirks.”
Almost unconsciously, Tsukauchi’s boot shifted to the right.
Everything in his body wanted to rally against it.
Such an objective lie.
Yet, he couldn’t deny his own quirk.
He exhaled slowly, the last of the pretense slipping from his posture. If subtlety would not serve, then perhaps clarity might.
Tsukauchi reached for his folder again, and pulled out several print-outs. More CCTV images. He laid them all out on the table, facing each one towards Itadori.
Action shots.
There was no ambiguity in them.
Each one showing Itadori, clearly and without defence, utilising his quirks.
Blood Manipulation. As Aizawa had described.
Strength Augmentation. Or, however he could categorise the fire of energy swirling around Itadori’s pixelated fist.
The third, the healing quirk, was harder to capture.
But if he could get Itadori to admit to two of them, the third would not be far behind.
“You shouldn’t lie to me, Itadori.”
“I’m not lying.”
Tsukauchi’s boot stayed right.
“And you know I’m not,” Itadori finished.
Tsukauchi’s throat went dry. “What do you mean by that statement, Itadori?” he said, voice lower now.
“Your quirk,” was all Itadori said.
He didn’t need to say anything more.
The room seemed to narrow, Tsukauchi’s heartbeat in his throat.
“How do you know what my quirk is?”
Now, after such a brash admission, Itadori had the heart to look ashamed. He dipped his head, his hand coming to rub at the back of his neck. “It’s complicated.”
“This is a dangerous time to get cryptic, Itadori,” Tsukauchi warned. “How do you know?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“No,” Itadori said, voice settling with terrifying certainty. “You won’t understand.”
Tsukauchi stilled. He ignored the voice of his quirk whispering in his ear that, no, he wouldn’t understand. That what Itadori was saying was, somehow, still true.
He wouldn’t understand.
“Your quirk agrees with me, doesn’t it?”
Tsukauchi sighed. “Yes,” he admitted. “It does.”
“I get it. I understand why you’d be suspicious. But I’m not a danger to you. I’m not going to… do anything. I just- Instinct kicked in. I got involved again where I shouldn’t have. That was stupid.”
“It was,” Tsukauchi allowed. “But it was also brave. That counts for something. You’re a good man, Itadori.”
A short, humourless laugh escaped Itadori’s lips. “I’m not a good man.”
This time, the answer came differently.
Tsukauchi moved his boot left.
He raised an eyebrow as he met Itadori’s gaze. “Lie.”
Itadori turned his head, the motion abrupt, as if he wasn’t prepared for such an answer.
Tsukauchi glanced upward, toward the unblinking eyes of the camera in the corner, towards Aizawa watching from beyond.
“Interview terminated.”
He reached forward and stopped the recorder. Three measured tones sounded again. An ending.
Itadori blinked. “That’s it?”
“Officially, yes,” Tsukauchi replied. “We can’t hold you much longer without cause. I’d prefer not to manufacture one.”
A beat passed.
“So, you’re letting me go?”
“You’re free to leave, if you wish. My quirk confirms you have no connection to All For One. It also confirms that you pose no immediate danger. However…” Tsukauchi’s voice trailed off. “You remain an anomaly. For entirely selfish reasons, I-” he paused, gaze flicking to the camera once more, then back. “we would like to continue this conversation.”
Itadori shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the thought.
“Off the record,” Tsukauchi added, not yet pleading but not necessarily against doing so. “And not necessarily here. Somewhere more comfortable, if you’d prefer.”
The boy seemed to consider the offer.
“And the we? That includes the hero, I assume.”
“Eraserhead,” Tsukauchi confirmed with a small nod. “He’s… invested.”
Itadori leant back, his head tipping against the back of the chair, gaze drifting somewhere distant. “You won’t believe me.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. You know what my quirk tells me.”
Itadori scoffed. “This is a terrible idea,” he said to himself quietly.
Tsukauchi said nothing. Only waited.
At length, Itadori exhaled. “Yeah,” he said. “Alright.”
“So, you’re willing?”
Itadori nodded. “Let's just get this over with.”
—
Aizawa watched as the interrogation room door opened and Itadori was led away. Flanked, though thankfully not restrained, by a couple of Tsukauchi’s men.
They would settle him in a waiting area. Somewhere not yet pleasant, it was still a police station, there was little room for pleasantries, but somewhere better. There would be no cuffs, no two-way mirrors, no ever-watching eyes.
For now, it would suffice.
Aizawa folded his arms just as Tsukauchi stepped through the doorway.
“I thought you were too by-the-book for something like this.”
Tsukauchi gave him a wry smile. “First time for everything, didn’t you say?”
Aizawa’s scowl deepened, unamused.
“But you’re not wrong,” Tsukauchi admitted. “A different approach seemed appropriate. Treating him like a criminal…”
“He’s still suspicious,” Aizawa cut in. “Dangerous or not doesn’t change that.”
“I’m well aware. But I thought you would appreciate the shift. You weren’t exactly thrilled with how we brought him in. He saved your life. He’s a good kid. We might get more out of him if we treat him like one.”
Aizawa’s lip curled faintly. “I know. That’s part of the problem,” he dragged a hand down his face. “I’m not happy with any of this. The whole situation feels off.”
Tsukauchi hummed in agreement. “The implications aren’t comforting,” he admitted. “If these powers of his aren’t quirks…”
“I know,” Aizawa interrupted sharply. “That’s exactly it. You put on your politest smile, made him feel like he had a choice. But we both know that’s not entirely true. We’re not letting him walk away without answers.”
Tsukauchi studied him, quiet for a moment. “And that’s what’s bothering you?”
“Yes. In an interrogation, at least it’s honest. You know where you stand. This-” he gestured vaguely with his hand, “playing nice, pretending this is anything other than what it is. It feels dishonest. It… doesn’t feel very heroic.”
“It’s more my line of work than yours,” Tsukauchi shrugged, almost apologetic. “But sometimes necessity outruns principle. If we can keep him comfortable and get what we need… that’s a fair trade.”
“Yeah,” Aizawa sighed reluctantly.
Tsukauchi’s gaze sharpened, narrowing slightly as it fixed on him. “You’re protective of him already. That’s new.”
“You’re imagining things.”
Tsukauchi didn’t look convinced. Not even slightly. “You’ve never hesitated like this before. Not for anyone we’ve worked on. So, why him?”
The question struck deeper than Aizawa cared to admit. He looked away, if only for a moment.
“I don’t know,” he muttered.
“Who does he remind you of?”
“It’s not that,” Aizawa denied quickly, speaking before the thought had fully taken shape. He frowned, searching for something more accurate, something that better explained his feelings. “I think- I think it’s his eyes.”
Tsukauchi said nothing. He left Aizawa the space to find his own way through the thought.
For a time, it seemed like there would only be silence. But then, Aizawa kept speaking.
“You can see it too, right? How young he looks, but how… old his eyes are.”
Tsukauchi’s expression fell grim.
“Something has happened to him,” Aizawa continued, suddenly impassioned. “Something he’s too young to have gone through. Something not right.”
“Your teacher’s side is showing,” Tsukauchi said.
Aizawa didn’t deny it. He only gave a small, solemn nod.
“He’s a suspicious kid, but a kid all the same,” Tsukauchi added. “All the more reason to do this properly. If there’s something there, something we’re missing… this way, we might actually reach it. Perhaps even help him.”
Tsukauchi’s gaze flickered briefly toward the direction Itadori had been taken, before landing again on Aizawa. “More your style, isn’t it? More heroic?”
There was no mockery in his tone this time.
—
Aizawa left the location of their conversation up to Itadori. The point was to make him comfortable.
Aizawa was surprised that Itadori’s idea of comfort was the top of the police station.
“It’s high,” Itadori offered as an explanation. “The fresh air. The distance. It feels safe.”
Aizawa kept his thoughts to himself. But he couldn’t help the sinking feeling at the admission that Itadori’s definition of safe was the roof of a highrise. That he enjoyed the distance.
The slow climb up the stairwell was silent. Aizawa kept a measured distance behind Itadori. His attention never left Itadori’s back. He watched, noted, and catalogued every shift of Itadori’s shoulders, every change of pace, every breath. Itadori’s pose was relaxed, but Aizawa couldn’t shake the fear that one wrong move would make the kid bolt.
Because something about this still felt too easy.
At the final door, Aizawa moved ahead. The heavy lock bolt slid free with a sharp, echoing clang, and the door gave way to a rush of cold night air.
The rooftop was bare and utilitarian. Antennas cut jagged shapes against the moonlit skyline, ventilation units hummed low and constant, and the ground was a rough patchwork of shingle tiles and bare scaffolding. A thin wire fence traced the perimeter, trembling faintly in the wind.
And then, Itadori moved. Too sudden. Too fast.
Aizawa’s breath caught as Itadori surged forward, closing the distance to the edge in terrifying speed, his hands already reaching, already climbing.
For a split second, thought failed him. Then, instinct took over.
His capture weapon catapulted forward in a blur of motion, coiling tightly around the boy’s ankle, yanking him short with enough force to almost topple him.
“Wait!” Aizawa yelled, the words tearing from him sharper than intended.
Itadori froze, one leg already slung over the fence, body suspended between one side and the other. He turned, eyes wide.
“What?”
Behind them, the door slammed open as Tsukauchi stumbled through. The sound rang out across the empty roof, swallowed quickly by the wind.
Aizawa didn’t look to greet him. He couldn’t take his eyes off Itadori.
“What are you doing?” Tsukauchi wheezed. “Whatever you’re thinking, jumping won’t fix it.”
“Step away from the edge,” Aizawa demanded, voice strained. “Now.”
The wind whistled through empty space, the gentle jingle of the wire fence the only sound punctuating the awkward silence that settled over the group.
“I’m… not going to jump?” Itadori said slowly, more of a question than a statement of fact.
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “You’re halfway over a suicide prevention barrier.”
Itadori blinked, glancing down as if only just now registering the position of his own body. Then, he leant slightly, peering over the edge of the building as it dropped off like a straight cliff beyond.
“There’s a good spot to sit here,” Itadori said, as if explaining something painfully obvious. “I do stuff like this all the time. It’s nice.”
“Forgive me,” Aizawa said flatly. “For not finding that convincing.”
A flicker of irritation crossed Itadori’s face. He slipped back down from the fence, shaking his leg free as Aizawa cautiously released his scarf.
“A fall from that height wouldn’t even kill me, anyway,” Itadori muttered.
Tsukauchi frowned. “Do you have any idea how high up we are?”
Itadori shrugged, unbothered. “I’ve fallen from higher.”
He said it too lightly, like it meant nothing at all.
Aizawa and Tsukauchi just stared at him. Itadori had the nerve to look uncomfortable under their attention.
“What?” Itadori grumbled, brows knitting. “It’s true,” he jerked a thumb vaguely towards Tsukauchi. “C’mon. You’d know if I was lying.”
Tsukauchi exhaled through his nose. “My quirk doesn’t quite work like that.”
Itadori hummed. “Huh. So, you’ve got to actually ask the question. Guess that makes sense. Would be kind of broken if it was always on.”
Tsukauchi’s gaze sharpened. “You know what my quirk is. But not how it functions. Interesting.”
Itadori shrugged again.
“How?” Tsukauchi pressed.
Itadori waved away the question. “Yeah, yeah, we’re getting there,” He glanced between them, something shifting behind his eyes. “Can we sit down for this? Might be better. For you, at least.”
Aizawa glanced sideways at Tsukauchi.
Tsukauchi turned on his heel. He crossed the rooftop, stopping near the fence on the opposite side. Crouching, he pulled at a warped section of wiring, revealing a narrow gap. Just big enough to slip through.
He looked back over his shoulder. “No funny business.”
Itadori nearly rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to jump. Now, you can tell I’m not lying, right?”
“We’re still sitting close,” Aizawa said, already moving.
He ducked under the fence, holding it open for Itadori to follow.
“Forgive me,” he added, “for wanting to keep you alive.”
Itadori ducked his head, hiding a small, private smirk in the collar of his hoodie.
As they settled, Aizawa found himself thinking. From the ground, they must make a curious picture.
Three men perched at the edge of a high rise roof. A pro hero. A detective. And a boy who, by all appearances, belonged nowhere. Sitting close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. Intimate, if not for the circumstances.
The city stretched out beyond them in a wash of colour and motion, a maze of twinkling car lights and neon signs, the people of the night coming to life with the setting sun.
The din disappeared into the wind this high, leaving it peaceful and quiet. The distance, as dizzying as it was, was almost a comfort. It made one feel above it all. An observer, not a participant. It was calming.
Now was far from the right time to voice it, but Aizawa realised Itadori may have been onto something.
Paradoxically, legs dangling from a death-defying drop, did, somehow, feel safe.
Silence reigned. Aizawa breathed in the night air, relaxing. Until, slowly, the quiet grew awkward and tense.
“So…” Itadori said, cutting through the silence. “You’re the ones that wanted to talk.”
Aizawa straightened slightly. He drew in a slow, steadying breath.
He nodded. Though, truthfully, he had no idea where to begin.
So, he decided to get straight to the point.
“You’re still claiming you’re quirkless.”
Itadori didn’t hesitate.
“Yep.”
The pop of the p was almost obnoxiously casual.
“Tsukauchi has already verified that. But I’d prefer to confirm it myself.
Itadori raised an eyebrow but showed no resistance.
“Go ahead.”
Itadori lifted his hand. And Aizawa watched with morbid fascination as a pool of blood welled from his palm. Moving. Shaping. Forming. Until a perfect sphere of blood hovered, smooth and controlled, in the air above his hand.
“Go on,” Itadori said, with terrifying certainty. “Erase my quirk.”
Aizawa didn’t have the time to contemplate how Itadori understood his quirk too. It was a hurdle to cross when they got there.
His eyes ignited as he activated Erasure. Hair lifting, strands shifting in the invisible current of his power, held back only by the tie at the nape of his neck.
And then-
Nothing.
None of the usual resistance. None of the familiar pull of something being shut down.
Complete absence.
The sphere didn’t falter. It simply remained, untouched.
Aizawa blinked, Erasure falling away.
Still, there was no change.
“See?” Itadori said lightly. “No quirk.”
Itadori closed his fist. The sphere collapsed instantly, dissolving into a fine red mist that lingered only a second before the breeze carried it away into the night.
Aizawa trusted in Tsukauchi. He trusted in the man’s quirk, trusted that he would never lie to him.
But being told the truth and witnessing it firsthand were two vastly different experiences.
Aizawa’s gaze hardened on Itadori. “What is it?” he asked. “If not a quirk.”
Itadori shifted. A breath left him slower than it came. “... This is where it gets complicated.”
Itadori leant back slightly. He tilted his head up, staring up at the sky, at the brief snapshots of stars that peaked through the city smog and blanket clouds.
He stared at them like he was trying to remember something long buried.
“People don’t remember it anymore,” he said softly. “That’s… kind of on me. Purposefully.”
Aizawa said nothing, scared to interrupt.
Itadori’s gaze dropped again, past the edge, down into the city. At the countless lives moving below, unaware.
“It used to exist,” he continued, quieter now. “Before quirks. Before all of this.”
Itadori let out one last, long suffering sigh.
“Cursed energy. It’s called cursed energy.”