Eraserhead's point of view:

I stared at my phone, Tsukauchi's voice still ringing in my ears. He'd sounded... off. Desperate in a way I hadn't heard in years, not since the day that damn case had been shut down.

Midoriya.

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. The quirkless kid—the one who slipped through the cracks, the one Tsukauchi never stopped carrying with him.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Memories of that time flooded back, memories of Tsukauchi drunk and broken on my couch, mumbling about how he'd failed.

"They trusted me," he'd said, slurring every word. "I was supposed to help... and I couldn't do anything."

He didn't cry, but the look on his face back then? It was worse. He looked hollow.

No matter what I said, he couldn't let it go. That case haunted him. Hell, it still did.

And now, after all these years, the kid had reached out to him. Sivax. A name, a voice from the past.

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or worried.

On one hand, maybe this was the closure Tsukauchi needed. He could finally do something for Midoriya, something he couldn't do back then. On the other hand, if this kid—no, this vigilante—was reaching out now, things had to be bad.

Really bad.

I frowned, sitting up straight.

The kid had been through hell. That much was clear from the little Tsukauchi told me. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a quirk...a quirk that likely manifested under extreme stress. A vigilante now, trying to survive.

I didn't want to imagine what he'd gone through to get here. But knowing how quirks like that worked, it wasn't hard to guess. Survival wasn't pretty and for a qurikless kid.... yeah no chance he is still quirkless. I've seen too much to know this much.

And Tsukauchi?

The man carried too much on his shoulders. Always had. He was the best detective I'd ever worked with, but he took everything personally. This case wasn't just another file to him—it was a weight he'd been dragging around for years.

I still remembered how bad it had been when the case went cold.

He'd burned himself out chasing dead ends, then drowned himself in whiskey when there was nothing left to chase. I'd never seen him so wrecked. He showed up at my place one night, bottle in hand, and stared at the floor for hours.

"They just forgot about him," he muttered at one point, voice shaking. "Like he didn't matter."

I'd tried to reassure him, told him he did what he could. But it didn't help.

And now?

Now that fire was back in his eyes, and I didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

A part of me was glad—he needed this. He needed to feel like he could still make a difference.

But another part of me worried he'd throw himself into it the same way he had before, and I wasn't sure if he'd come out of it unscathed this time.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

This wasn't just about Midoriya anymore. It was about Tsukauchi too. He wouldn't admit it, but he needed this more than anyone else. He was my friend and I was there for him no matter what as he was for me when I started going to UA and wanted to get into the hero course. He and Hizashi were the only one believing in me.

And I'd be damned if I wasn't going to help.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and let out a slow breath.

Me: ....Midoriya...

 I muttered to myself. The name felt heavy, like it carried the weight of everything that had gone wrong.

I didn't know the kid, but I knew enough. He'd been desperate enough to reach out to the very people who'd let him down. Brave enough to step into the light after years in the shadows.

That kind of courage wasn't something you saw every day.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. If Tsukauchi needed me, I'd be there.

For him, and for the kid we all failed.