Tsukauchi's point of view:

The phone was still warm in my hand, the echoes of Hawks' chaotic energy lingering in my ears. It was almost 2:30 a.m., and I was running on little more than adrenaline and sheer determination. After everything—Endeavor's stoic resolve, Hawks' unpredictable enthusiasm, and even Midnight's drunken incoherence—I was beginning to feel like I might actually have a shot at helping this kid, especially since I had one of my best friends Aizawa helping in on this as well.

But the problem was, I needed to think three steps ahead. If I slipped up now, even with all these powerhouse heroes on board, it could unravel everything. The wrong move, the wrong word in the wrong ear, and this whole delicate situation could implode before we even had a chance to act.

Which brought me to a name I'd been circling in my mind for the last few hours: Present Mic.

Now, don't get me wrong—Yamada's a good man. He's dedicated, passionate, and has a strong sense of justice. 

But there was one glaring issue: he doesn't know how to shut up.

I sat back in my chair, massaging my temples. 

Yamada's booming voice announcing our plans to the entire block was not the kind of help I needed right now. Sure, he could be useful in certain situations, but when subtlety was the key to everything? 

Not so much.

Still, the thought nagged at me. Yamada had connections, and he'd worked with Aizawa on countless missions. He knew how to handle unconventional cases and was fiercely loyal to his friends. Maybe he'd surprise me and keep a lid on things for once.

Or maybe he'd accidentally broadcast the whole operation over the airwaves.

I grimaced. The latter seemed far more likely.

 ....Come on,....You're exhausted and overthinking. The last thing you need is Yamada showing up to this like it's some kind of rock concert.

Still, the thought persisted. 

What if I was wrong? 

What if Yamada could be an asset?

I drummed my fingers against the desk, weighing the pros and cons. 

On one hand, he could potentially help rally public support if it came to that—his charisma was undeniable. 

On the other hand, we weren't at the stage where I wanted any kind of public involvement. And let's be real: the man couldn't whisper to save his life.

And then there was the sheer unpredictability of Midoriya himself. The kid had been living in the shadows for years, surviving who knew how and pulling strings from behind the scenes. He was clearly cautious, calculated, and probably hyper-aware of every single move we made. If he caught wind of Yamada's involvement, it could spook him—and the last thing I wanted was for the kid to disappear again.

I leaned forward, staring at my phone like it held the answers to the universe.

Would he help, or would he just blow this whole thing wide open?

The clock ticked on, the silence growing heavier with every passing second. Finally, I sighed and put my phone back on the desk.

Me: Not worth the risk....

As much as I hated to admit it, Yamada was a liability in this particular situation. I couldn't afford to gamble with Midoriya's life—not when I'd already failed him once before.

I stood up and stretched, trying to shake off the tension that had been building in my shoulders all night. There were still so many unknowns, so many pieces of this puzzle that didn't quite fit. 

This wasn't just another case. This was redemption—a chance to right a wrong that had been haunting me for over a decade. And I wasn't about to let anyone, not even a well-meaning loudmouth like Yamada, jeopardize that.

With that thought firmly in mind, I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. I was finally making progress on that case and that was worth every sleepless hour.