Tsukauchi's point of view:

The apartment was quiet—too quiet right now. Normally, the silence was a comfort after a long day of chasing down leads, but tonight, it felt suffocating. I dropped my keys on the table, shrugged off my coat, and collapsed onto the couch. The weight of everything sat heavy on my shoulders.

Izuku Midoriya. 

Sivax. 

The quirkless kid who wasn't quirkless anymore.

I couldn't stop thinking about him. About what he'd been through. About what came next.

Could he fit in at UA? 

The thought came unbidden, and I immediately felt a pang of guilt for even considering it. UA was supposed to be the place where kids learned to be heroes, where they were given the tools to succeed. But it wasn't some magical fix-all for trauma and hardship.

Midoriya might be brilliant—hell, his emails and the fact that he hacked into a police database proved that—but would he even want to be in a place like UA? From what I'd seen so far, the kid operated in the shadows. He wasn't afraid to use unorthodox methods to get results, and that alone would get him into trouble if anyone documented it in his files.

UA didn't exactly have a reputation for embracing vigilantes. If anything, his history of operating outside the law might paint a target on his back. A vigilante past wasn't something easily overlooked, even if it was born out of desperation.

But then again, wasn't that what UA was supposed to be about? Giving kids a chance to prove themselves? To rise above their circumstances?

I rubbed my temples, trying to push the thought aside. It didn't matter right now. What mattered was getting him out of whatever mess he was in. The rest—the future, the questions of where he'd go and what he'd do—would have to come later.

Still, the idea lingered, refusing to let go.

Midoriya at UA. 

Could it work?

 Could he find a place there?

I shook my head, standing up to grab a glass of water. As I walked to the kitchen, another thought hit me like a punch to the gut.

The kid's deaf.

The memory came flooding back, sharp and clear.

I'd noticed it when we were talking, but in all the chaos, I'd completely forgotten to share with everyone on the phone. He didn't just say he was deaf in the mail, but that he had a quirk now..... 

That part still felt surreal. Midoriya had a quirk now, but it wasn't just any quirk. According to his notes, it allowed him to hear—something he'd lost but somehow regained through desperate necessity.

Desperate necessity.

The words churned in my stomach, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

Quirks like that didn't just appear. They weren't the result of some happy accident or natural progression. They were survival quirks, born out of sheer willpower and an overwhelming need to keep going.

I stared into the glass of water in my hands, the ripples distorting my reflection.

What the hell had that kid been through?

How desperate did he have to be to manifest a quirk like that?

My chest tightened, the guilt clawing its way to the surface.

We'd failed him. Not just me, but the entire system. The police, the heroes, society as a whole. We'd all turned our backs on him when he needed us most, and now, years later, I was scrambling to fix a mistake that never should have happened in the first place.

The fact that he wasn't quirkless anymore didn't make things better. If anything, it made it worse.

Because now I knew just how much he'd suffered.

I set the glass down on the counter, my hands shaking.

Midoriya had been dealt a bad hand from the start. He was quirkless in a world that worshipped quirks, and when he tried to get help, we ignored him. He'd been forced to fend for himself, to adapt, to survive in ways no kid should ever have to. And now, on top of everything else, he was deaf—a reminder of the toll his life had taken on him.

But that quirk... it was proof of his resilience.

It wasn't much, and it certainly didn't erase the years of pain and hardship, but it was something. It was a sign that, no matter how bad things got, Midoriya never gave up.

And neither would I.

I walked back to the couch and sat down, staring at the pile of notes and files on the coffee table.

We'd failed him before, but I wasn't going to let that happen again.

Midoriya had reached out to me—me, of all people—and that meant something. It meant he still had hope, even if it was just a sliver. It meant he still believed, on some level, that someone out there cared.

And I did.

I cared more than I could put into words.

The kid deserved better than the life he'd been given, and if it was the last thing I did, I was going to make sure he got it.

But first, we had to save him.

I leaned back, closing my eyes.

Me: .....Hang on, kid,....We're coming for you....