Hawks

Five minutes.

That's how long I gave it.

Five minutes of standing near the hospital entrance, pretending I wasn't absolutely expecting this exact outcome.

Then—

Gone.

No green-haired problem child.

No stubborn barista.

No anything.

"...called it," I muttered, already pushing off the ground.

Wings spread.

Air caught.

And I was up again.

Fast.

Scanning.

Because yeah—if I were a bleeding, quirkless kid who just escaped a hospital?

I wouldn't take the main road.

I wouldn't stay visible.

I'd cut through side streets.

Alleyways.

Familiar paths.

Somewhere I knew.

"...café," I said under my breath.

Obviously.

But on the way there—

I spotted something else.

Two figures.

Familiar ones.

Walking like they had nowhere urgent to be.

One talking.

One... existing.

I angled down, landing smoothly a few meters ahead of them.

"Yo," I called casually.

Hizashi Yamada lit up immediately.

"Heyyy, birdbrain—!"

"Still workshopping that nickname?" I shot back.

"Hey, it's a classic—!"

"Debatable."

I didn't slow down much.

Didn't have time for their usual back-and-forth.

"...you guys see a kid?" I asked, cutting straight to it. "About yay high—" I gestured vaguely, "—yay old, green hair, looks like he's one bad decision away from starting another incident?"

Mic blinked.

"...that is not a reassuring description."

"Accurate though."

A beat.

Then—

"...bleeding?" I added.

That did it.

Shota Aizawa didn't react dramatically.

Didn't need to.

His eyes shifted.

Just slightly.

Focused.

There.

"Yeah," he said.

Of course.

Mic snapped his fingers.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah—we just saw him!"

I straightened a little.

"...and?"

Mic pointed down the street.

"Went that way! Looked like he was trying to pretend he wasn't bleeding, which—spoiler—he totally was."

"Figures."

I glanced in that direction.

Already calculating.

Already moving.

"...he say anything?" I asked.

Aizawa answered this time.

"Refused help."

"Also figures."

A pause.

Then Aizawa added—

"He's not normal."

I looked back at him.

Raised a brow.

"...you don't say."

"No," Aizawa continued, tone flat but just a bit more pointed now. "I mean it."

Yeah.

I caught that.

Because I'd seen it too.

That same thing.

That same—

Off balance.

Wrong in a way that didn't have a clear explanation.

"He said he left the hospital," Aizawa went on. "Didn't want to be there."

"Didn't stay there," I corrected.

Mic frowned slightly.

"...okay, now I'm curious—who is this kid?"

I smirked faintly.

"...that's what I'm trying to figure out."

I stepped back, wings already shifting.

"Thanks for the direction."

"Hey—wait—!" Mic started. "You're just gonna leave us with that?!"

"Yep."

"RUDE—!"

I was already airborne.

Because now?

Now I had a direction.

A lead.

And a very stubborn, very suspicious, very interesting kid to catch up to.

"...round two," I muttered as the wind picked up around me.

We searched.

Not casually.

Not half-heartedly.

Actually searched.

I took the air—fast routes, wide angles, cutting across blocks and scanning every alley, every rooftop, every street that looked even remotely useful for someone trying to disappear without looking like they were disappearing.

Below, Shota Aizawa moved like a shadow—quiet, efficient, checking places most people wouldn't even think about. No wasted motion. No noise.

And Hizashi Yamada?

Loud.

Very loud.

But effective in his own way—drawing attention, asking around, making it impossible for anyone nearby to not notice something was off.

Still—

Nothing.

No green hair.

No blood trail.

No stubborn, sarcastic barista pretending he wasn't injured.

Just—

Gone.

"...you've got to be kidding me," I muttered, hovering mid-air as I scanned the same stretch of street for the third time.

"How does a bleeding kid just vanish like that?!" Mic called from below, hands on his hips, frustration obvious even from up here.

"Because he knows the area," I shot back.

"And we don't?" he challenged.

"Not like he does."

That was the problem.

This wasn't random movement.

This was intentional.

Every turn.

Every step.

Planned.

Aizawa stopped below, glancing up at me.

"...he's avoiding us," he said simply.

"No kidding."

"He's good at it."

"Also no kidding."

Silence settled for a second.

Not defeat.

Just—

Acknowledgment.

Because yeah.

We weren't finding him like this.

Not out here.

Not on his terms.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.

"...alright," I muttered.

Because if I were him—

If I was injured, annoyed, and trying to get back to something I cared about—

I wouldn't keep running.

I'd circle back.

To somewhere safe.

Somewhere controlled.

Somewhere—

"...the café," I said.

Mic blinked.

"...the what?"

"The café," I repeated, already shifting mid-air, turning direction. "That's where he's going."

Aizawa didn't argue.

Didn't question it.

Just nodded once.

"...makes sense."

"Of course it does," I said. "That place is his entire world."

And more than that—

It was his territory.

His rules.

His control.

Yeah.

He'd go back.

He had to.

"...I'm heading there," I added, already moving. "You coming?"

Mic threw his hands up.

"Are you kidding? I'm invested now!"

Aizawa just started walking.

Which, for him, meant yes.

I didn't wait.

Wings spread.

Air caught.

And I took off again—

Faster this time.

Direct.

Focused.

Because this?

This wasn't a chase anymore.

It was a return point.

And something told me—

When I got there?

Izuku Midoriya would already be exactly where he belonged.

Behind that counter.

Like nothing ever happened.

"...yeah," I muttered under my breath as the city blurred past again.

"Round three."