Nezu perched atop his oversized desk in the principal's office, the vast room a testament to his eccentric intellect, walls lined with towering bookshelves crammed with tomes on strategy, quantum mechanics, and behavioural psychology, a holographic display flickering with real-time campus feeds, and a chessboard mid-game against himself, pieces poised in a labyrinthine stalemate that would baffle grandmasters.
The sun slanted through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting elongated shadows that danced like potential threats across the polished floor. His tiny paws gripped a stylus, jotting notes on a digital tablet with the precision of a surgeon, each stroke a calculated advance in a grander scheme.
Security first, he mused, his beady eyes narrowing as his mind raced ahead, envisioning the Sports Festival arena like a chessboard where every pawn, knight, and queen had a role, or a vulnerability. UA's response must be an unassailable fortress, projecting invincibility while anticipating every feint and gambit.
They were struck at once.
He began with the perimeter, advanced sensor arrays from Yoshida Tech, a donor he'd cultivated through years of subtle alliances, chess move one, calling in a favour owed from a quirk research grant UA had facilitated. These weren't mere cameras, they were driven neural networks capable of detecting anomalous quirk signatures in real-time, cross-referencing with a database of known threats.
This wasn't something he would gain such quick clearance to use, especially with the commission being at his throat.
Jotting swiftly, Deploy 360-degree coverage, integrated with facial recognition and behavioural anomaly detection. False positives minimized to 0.1% via machine learning trained on past incursions.
Next, aerial surveillance, drones from the Igarashi Foundation, another donor whose heir Nezu had personally tutored in advanced game theory. Swarm formation, 50 units, equipped with EMP countermeasures. Programmed for predictive pathing, anticipate crowd flows, flag deviations before they escalate.
But tech alone was a rook without support; he needed living pieces. Heroes as queens, mobile, lethal. All top-ten had pledged attendance, but Nezu orchestrated beyond that, favours from Crust's agency for underground seismic monitoring. Position Mirko on rooftops for rapid response, Wash in utility zones for crowd control.
He sketched a grid, entry points vetted with biometric scans funded by a silent partner in biotech, each attendee's quirk profile logged and flagged if volatile. Vetting process, cross-check against villain databases, social media sentiment analysis for radicalization risks. Ticket cap at 30% capacity, fewer variables, tighter control.
As his stylus flew, Nezu's thoughts pivoted seamlessly, the plan coalescing like a checkmate in three. But the festival itself... that meathead on the news had a sliver of a point, buried under his bluster. Standards have slipped, not in talent, but in rigor.
The debate in Class 1-A replayed in his mind, Bakugo's elitism, Tsuyu's storm-out, the undercurrents of division. Raising the bar isn't about exclusion, it's evolution.
He jotted a sub-section, Event overhaul, introduce adaptive challenges.
They would be made to weed out complacency, reward versatility, and send a message. UA doesn't just endure, it excels, turning tragedy into triumph.
The first years were incredibly promising, only few of the current third years had as much promise as them.
As that thought came into mind he thought of Izuku Midoriya and the reports that he had went over of the USJ incident. He suspected something greater there but All Might had told him that it was just a slight worry and that he would take care of it.
But Nezu's instincts were off when it came to that. He trusted All Might sure, but he also didn't want to take chances that weren't completely his choice.
But with so many people coming at him from so many different sides he didn't want to potentially antagonize the number one hero.
A knock was heard and his assistant Karuizawa Keiko came into the room. She wore a short bob of hair and a simple black suit.
In her hands were a bouquet of flowers, a pair he had picked out and sent along with a note sharing his condolences.
It was meant for the parents of his now dead student, Koji Koda. Even though he had sent them out they had been returned, with many of the petals burned or cut up and a new note on the inside this time... it read,
.
.
.
[YOU KILLED OUR SON.]
____
The sterile corridors of Musutafu General Hospital stretched out like veins in a vast, impersonal body, the air thick with the mingled scents of disinfectant and faint illness.
All Might, in his towering muscular form, walked beside Detective Tsukauchi, his cape folded neatly over one arm to avoid drawing too much attention, though even without it, his presence turned heads among the nurses and patients they passed. Whispers followed them like ripples in a pond, but All Might's focus remained laser-sharp, his blue eyes fixed ahead.
Tsukauchi adjusted his tie as they turned a corner, the doctor's directions leading them to the palliative care wing. "Kanemura's books are clean as a whistle," the detective said, voice low to avoid echoing. "Good at his job, property appraisals, legal admin. No major run-ins with the law, just a few minor tenant disputes that never escalated."
All Might nodded, his massive frame filling the hallway. "A landlord. One that rented a property to the Abara siblings."
They arrived at Room 417, the door slightly ajar. Tsukauchi knocked lightly before pushing it open. The room was dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, the only light coming from a bedside lamp that cast a jaundiced glow over the occupant. Shigeo Kanemura lay propped up in the hospital bed, a small, tubby man whose flesh sagged like deflated dough around his frame.
Tubes snaked from his arms to IV stands, monitors beeping rhythmically in the background. His round face was pallid, framed by a disconnected beard that did little to conceal his double chin, and his small, sharp eyes darted toward the door as they entered.
At the sight of All Might's imposing figure, Shigeo coughed, a wet, rattling sound that shook his body, and then let out a breathy laugh, weak but laced with dark amusement. "Heh... didn't expect my time to come so soon. The Symbol of Peace himself, here to drag me off to the afterlife?"
All Might stepped forward, his voice warm and encouraging, a stark contrast to the room's gloom. "No such thing, Mr. Kanemura. The doctors say you've still got a fighting chance. Don't give up yet."
Shigeo waved a limp hand, his lips curling into a wicked grin that lingered too long, eyes arching with false mirth. "Fighting? Against what? I welcome it. Death's just the final eviction notice, can't dodge that one forever."
All Might frowned but held his tongue, the optimism in his expression faltering. Tsukauchi cleared his throat, pulling out a photo from his coat pocket, a school ID of Yoshi Abara.
"Mr. Kanemura, this isn't about your health. We're here about a former tenant of yours."
Shigeo's eyes flicked to the picture, his small frame tensing beneath the thin hospital blanket. He took it in his trembling hands, staring for a long moment before sighing deeply, tilting his head back against the pillow in a mix of annoyance and weary acceptance.
"Ah... the boy. Knew this would catch up eventually. My time's coming, all right."
All Might leaned in slightly. "What do you mean?"
Shigeo handed the photo back, his sharp eyes locking onto theirs with a calculating gleam. He shifted in the bed, the monitors beeping faster for a beat before settling. Then, in a voice raspy from illness but steady with conviction, he began.
"You know, the world runs on power. Always has, always will. The kind that keeps the wheels turning, the lights on, the weak in their place. I wasn't born with much of that. No strong quirk to make folks bow or scrape, no chiselled looks to charm my way through doors, no genius skills that'd have crowds clapping. I was a crafty little worm in a world full of long-beaked birds, always pecking, always hungry for the next wriggling thing. Got into sales young, hawking trinkets on street corners, learning how to spot the desperate, the ones who'd pay extra. But I remembered something from my own kid days, the landlord who came knocking on our door one rainy night. Treated my mother like dirt, threatened eviction over a week's late rent, made her beg while he stood there, smug as a king. Terrible memory, that. Stuck with me like a bad smell. But then I learned what those folks pull in, steady cash, properties appreciating like fine wine, tenants lining up to hand over their hard-earned yen. Didn't care about the ugliness anymore. Saw the opportunity. So I scraped together what I could, got certified in property appraisal and legal admin. Learned the loopholes, the fine print that could bury a family under fees or boot them out on a technicality. Became a landlord. Simple as that.
Exploitation? That's just business. Tenants come and go, always thinking they're entitled to more than they pay for. I'd jack up rents on flimsy pretexts, 'market adjustments,' I'd call it, or delay repairs until they begged. Leaky roofs, busted heaters in winter, mould creeping up walls like a living thing. They'd complain, sure, but what could they do?
Eviction notices were my favourite weapon, dangle that threat, and suddenly they're scraping together extra cash, signing away rights they didn't know they had. I got good at it, reading people like open books. The single moms, the immigrants fresh off the boat, the quirkless folks society already kicked to the curb, they were the easiest. No one listens to them anyway.
Then there was Hana Abara. Spotted her right away, a young kid, in her late teens, dragging her little brother along, looking for a place.
She was a beauty, the kind that turns heads without trying. Long braided hair, thick and dark, sometimes with streaks of white dyed in after winter, said it reminded her of fresh snow. Taller than average for a girl her age, with a full figure that filled out her simple clothes, curves in all the right places, bright purple eyes that sparkled when she smiled, like crystals catching light.
First thing I felt when I met her?
Lust. Pure, burning want. Here was this vulnerable thing, desperate for a roof, and I held the keys.
So I started small. Rent was 'just a bit over budget,' I'd say, but I could 'work something out' if she was nice. Delayed fixing her leaky faucet until she came begging in person. Then the visits got more frequent, unannounced inspections, always when the brother was at school. I'd offer to be her 'handyman'.
She resisted at first, polite but firm, but money was tight. Raised the rent 'due to utilities,' knowing she couldn't pay. Eviction notice followed, standard procedure, but I timed it when she was most desperate. 'We can arrange a payment plan,' I'd say.
Quid pro quo, they call it in fancy terms. Rent forgiven for 'favours.'
But she made sure to never allow me to go further, cunt never got my cock wet.
Guess that's karma is finally circling back."
All Might's face twisted in disgust, his massive fists clenching at his sides, knuckles white. Tsukauchi's expression darkened, a storm brewing behind his calm façade.
"That's a crime," All Might growled, voice booming in the small room despite his effort to contain it. "Exploitation, assault..."
Shigeo coughed violently, the sound wet and hacking, phlegm rattling in his chest as he doubled over. He waved a hand weakly, catching his breath.
"Heh... looks like I'm suffering for it now, doesn't it? My son's cut me off, hasn't spoken to me in twenty years. Wife left way before that too, at least she couldn't take what was mine in the divorce.
But here I am, fifty and rotting from the inside. Cancer's a bitch, gentlemen. If that's not payback, what is?"
Tsukauchi stepped forward, his voice steady but edged with steel. "If you survive this, Kanemura, you'll be spending a long time behind bars. That's a promise."
Shigeo shrugged, the motion feeble under the blankets. "If I survive, I'll fight it tooth and nail. What's another battle? Lived my life on my terms, got what I wanted, squeezed every drop. Regrets? Maybe. But not enough to lose sleep over... assuming I make it through the night."
All Might's jaw tightened, his presence filling the room like a thundercloud. "Is there anything more you know about Yoshi Abara? The boy."
Shigeo thought for a moment, his small eyes drifting to the ceiling as if searching for memories in the water-stained tiles. "The runt? Quiet kid. Weird look in his eyes whenever he saw me, like he knew something dark, something I couldn't place. Dark eyes, not like his sister's. Comfortable around her, though, always glued to her side. After she died, he holed up in that apartment alone for a month, scraping by on whatever cash she left. Negative equity for me, keeping him there. Waiting for the system to sort aid or whatever. But when I heard him ranting about some hero killing her, Stinger, was it?... I saw my out. Called it in, played up the 'crazy kid' angle. Heroes are gods in this society, easy to paint him as unhinged. Got him evicted quick, cashed in. Contractors swooped in, tore the place down, turned it into some museum or exhibit space. Prime real estate, once cleared."
All Might's disgust deepened, his massive frame tense as if ready to shatter the bedframe. Tsukauchi sighed, rubbing his temple. "If you pull through, expect me back. Soon."
Shigeo smirked faintly, eyes half-lidded. "I'll be waiting... Or not."
The two men exchanged a glance, the air thick with unspoken revulsion. As they turned to leave, Shigeo added one last thing, his voice a croak.
"One more bit about the sister's death, strange happenings around that time. Presences loitering outside the apartment, watching the kid's every move. Not the usual riffraff from that neighbourhood, well-dressed types, out of place. Clean shoes, pressed suits. Didn't fit with the working stiffs or strugglers. Like they were keeping tabs, waiting for something."
Tsukauchi paused at the door. "Any idea who?"
Shigeo shook his head. "Nah. But it wasn't normal. That's all I got."
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Shigeo alone with the beeps of his machines. In the hallway, All Might's fists unclenched slowly, his voice a low rumble.
___
The corridor outside Shigeo Kanemura's room felt colder than the rest of the hospital.
All Might and Detective Tsukauchi walked side by side in silence at first, their footsteps echoing off the linoleum like slow, deliberate accusations.
All Might broke the quiet first, his voice low and rough, still carrying the weight of his muscular form.
"We should arrest him now. Right now. That man, he confessed. Assault, coercion, exploitation. He preyed on her when she had nowhere else to turn. And think of the many others he could have victimized."
Tsukauchi exhaled through his nose, his expression grim but steady. "There's a process, All Might. His confession was verbal, in a dying state. Defense lawyers will tear it apart if we rush. We build the case properly, then we lock him away for good."
All Might's massive shoulders sagged slightly, the fire in his eyes dimming to something quieter and more pained. He stopped walking, staring at the floor as if the tiles held answers he couldn't find.
"Out of all the evils in the world... that's the one I can't wrap my head around. Villains with quirks that level cities, monsters like All For One, those I can fight. I can punch them, I can stop them. But a man like that, ordinary, just greed and cruelty, he destroys lives without ever raising a fist. How do you fight something that hides in paperwork and smiles while it does it?"
Tsukauchi stopped too, glancing at the taller man with quiet understanding. "I don't understand it either. Never have. I've seen the worst quirks can do, but the things people choose to do with the power they run into... that's the part that keeps me up at night."
He placed a hand on All Might's arm, a small gesture of solidarity. "We did learn useful information. The loiterers, the strange presences around the apartment, someone was watching Yoshi after his sister's death. That's a lead. And Kanemura? He'll do his time. I'll make sure of it. I've already got the best doctors I can source lined up. If he survives long enough, he'll face justice."
All Might nodded slowly, a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips. "I'll help with that effort too. Whatever resources I can pull. He doesn't get to slip away."
Tsukauchi gave a small, grim nod. "And he won't."