Chapter Text
Izuku doesn't like to steal.
He's more than skilled at doing so, of course. He just prefers not to.
With each stolen item, he looses another shred of the precious morality his mother ingrained into him since birth. Every half-sandwich, spare part, and weapon melds together to create a monster that hovers over him with a leering face of disappointment, following his steps like an unwanted shadow.
He's learned to ignore it.
He has to stay alive somehow, and while his survival isn't necessarily dependent upon these particular stolen items, they sure do help.
Of course, there are drawbacks to stealing - aside from the looming monsters that send shivers down his spine - which is why Izuku hates doing so in the first place.
Like right now, for example.
Being chased isn't a new development for him, although it is a surprising one considering the amount of prep work he put in for this particular mission.
His hands fumble on the fire escape, sweaty fingertips slipping against cold metal as he swings his body up and over the railing. There's a rush of wind as he drops down a couple of levels, a fluttering against his hood and the sensation of free-falling until he extends his hands once more and catches himself on another bar. His body is jarred slightly from the sudden halt of movement, but he ignores the pain in his shoulders and continues his descent down the fire escape.
"Get back here, brat!"
The voice sounds from the very top of the building, and Izuku feels a grin spark its way onto his face. The two sidekicks chasing him may be fast, but they're no match for him when it comes to agility. His body is made to twist and slide and scurry, maneuvering through tight spaces like a mouse chased by a cat.
Izuku glances back, laughter bubbling up in his chest as he sees one of the sidekicks attempt to climb down the fire escape. "I have a name, you know, and I'd like you to use it."
One of the sidekicks shoots him a glaring look. He's a short, stubby thing with green scales glinting in the light; not the best suited for pursuit, if Izuku must say so himself. A quirk like that is more useful in an open battlefield setting, good for the frontline as a first defense.
But for following a sneaky vigilante around back alleys? Not so much.
"Jade," he growls, voice echoing in the alleyway. "I'm warning you-"
Izuku laughs. "So you do know it! I was getting a little worried for a second there!"
He reaches the very bottom of the fire escape, hefting the bag of stolen goods over his shoulder as he peers over the railing. It's a good ten feet to the pavement, but there's a retractable drop ladder at the edge of the escape.
Izuku's eyes light up with an idea. He could lower the ladder, climb down, and then disconnect it, leaving both sidekicks stranded on the fire escape and giving him plenty of time to disappear into the shadows.
He's just managed to unhook the ladder - damn, this thing is heavy - when he notices a chilling silence. Izuku looks up, eyes widening in surprise as he sees two long, extended arms hurtling towards him.
Screw the ladder, just jump! A voice shouts in his mind, and Izuku agrees. The ladder hurtles towards the pavement as Izuku lets it drop, its momentum forcing it off its normal track and sending it crashing to the ground.
The arms close just inches behind Izuku as he flips over the railing. The ground rushes up to meet him, pavement looking rough and unforgiving, but Izuku has trained for this. Ten feet may be pushing his normal drop limit, but he's done it before and came out with little more than a few scratches and friction burns.
The moment Izuku feels the pavement under his feet, he bends his knees, tucking himself into a tight ball and rolling out the impact so it spreads through his entire body, not just his legs. He comes to a full stop, chest heaving with a mixture of exertion and adrenaline.
Despite having just looked severe injury in the face and come out triumphant, Izuku's much more focused on the intriguing quirk of the sidekick chasing him. He pauses for a moment, readjusting where the bag sits on his shoulders.
It's an elasticity quirk, his brain supplies. It could allow for some interesting fighting techniques, if the man used it correctly. How far can his arms stretch? Is it just his arms, or can he extend other parts of his body too? What are the drawbacks of using this quirk, in battle and in general life? If I wrap his arms around a pole and tie them together-
He hears one of the sidekicks crash into the fire escape on their way down behind him.
"Ah, shit." Izuku starts running again, nearing the alley's entrance. Now is not the time to get distracted, even if his quirk is interesting.
One of the elastic arms grabs for him again. He barely sees it from the corner of his eye, though his quick reflexes work on their own. He sidesteps, then dodges the next grab by dive rolling into the bustling street. His shoulder gives a slight twinge as it smacks the gravel, having already been sore from earlier, but he's used to it. The pain only heightens his senses.
Straightening, Izuku adjusts his clothes, keeping his head down so his hood hides most of his face. Wearing a mask while out and about is not uncommon for the people in Musutafu - the rising pollution in the air is practically visible at this point - but Izuku's voice modifier is more than just a simple surgical mask. It's complex, a bit clunky (he's still working on it, sue him), and covers from his cheekbone to his chin in metal. It's the kind of thing that would raise some questions if spotted.
He meanders across the street, looking up through his eyelashes to make sure there are no cars speeding past. It's around six thirty; rush hour traffic is in full bloom and pedestrians are doing some before-dinner shopping. It's dark, but the street is well-lit with neon signs and bright store lights. Izuku can easily get lost within the crowd, especially since his outfit is made to blend into the darkness.
Izuku slips between people, barely brushing past them to slink into another alleyway. This one is much smaller than the others, with only enough room for a couple of trash cans and some side doors leading into a shop or two.
"Where'd they go?"
Izuku hears the frustration oozing from Elastic Man's voice from across the street. He stifles a giggle; they must've just made it down the fire escape. Too bad. If they were faster, they may have stood more of a chance.
"I think I saw them go this way." That's Scaley Lizard Dude, no doubt. The protective armor clinks slightly as he walks, growing louder the closer he gets to Izuku's hiding spot.
From where he stands, Izuku can see the sheen of scales reflect the neon signs, making the guy look more like a disco ball than a sidekick.
A shadow passes over the small opening to the alleyway, and Izuku presses himself against the arch of the nearest doorway, blending into the shadows and breathing as shallowly as he can manage.
The Human Twisty Tie lets out a loud curse. "We lost them." A piece of gravel tumbles past, no doubt from the boot of the sidekick as he realizes Izuku got away. "Damned Jade. I hope Endeavor roasts 'em one of these days."
Izuku stays pressed against the wall until their voices fully fade. His heart is beating out of his chest from the chase, but a smile has plastered itself onto his lips from the thrill.
He sidles from his hiding spot and merges deftly into the flow of the crowd, weaving his way around them until he splits off at yet another alleyway.
Sandwich in hand - yes, he swiped it from a street vender along the way - Izuku traverses the back alleys to get back home. He takes longer than usual; those sidekicks could still be searching for him and there's this prickling feeling in his skin that he's being followed. He makes sure to double back more than once, going through the hidden space between 4th and Grand, and even slipping through buildings using their back doors and emergency exits.
He makes it to the border of the tenement district with no other issues. He lets himself relax a little; from here, it's smooth sailing to his apartment. He still can't shake the feeling that someone is watching his every move, but the warehouse district is pretty sketchy in general, so he chalks it up to slight paranoia.
Izuku's apartment isn't so much a livable, homey space as more of a dilapidated old building that has no real value and should probably be demolished.
It's a shock it hasn't been torn down already, though Izuku's not really surprised. Musutafu City may be the go-to tourtist spot in New-Age Japan, but that's only for the city. The government couldn't care less about the districts on the outskirts. Hell, there are roads in the tenement district that look like trenches.
He climbs the fire escape up to the tenth floor - he vows never to take those awful stairs again - and nudges the window open, flicking on a low-light lamp.
The building had no electricity when Izuku discovered it two years ago. He had found a run-down generator amidst the trash at Dagobah Beach and dragged it up ten flights of creaking, unstable steps just so he could work on his creations without ruining his eyesight. He needs to see, thank you.
Since then, he's fixed up the place using spare parts he finds at the beach. Running water, couch cushions, even a faded WiFi signal. It's not much, but it's home to him.
The process of changing out of his vigilante gear is unnecessarily long, but he doesn't mind. He won't be getting much sleep tonight anyways.
Izuku thanks whatever gods are looking down at him that the apartment's water is running properly today. He did not want to go all the way to the basement just to bang on some rusty pipes.
He gives himself a quick rinse in the shower, unsatisfied with the way the room temperature water feels over his tense muscles. He doesn't own soap or shampoo, so he uses an old rag to scrub at his skin. It's effective only in rubbing off the sweat and top layer of dirt from his skin, but at least he feels a little less gross afterwards.
Once he's content with his level of cleanliness, Izuku lets himself air dry as he munches on his stolen sandwich. Turkey never was his favorite of the sandwich meats, but it's not like he has any other option. His fridge is stocked with a single box of takeout and a small pudding cup. The takeout is so old it has mold growing along the creases, and Izuku would rather eat processed turkey than out of a container with its own civilization of microorganisms.
Finally, finally, Izuku sits in front of the collection of half-finished support tech and metal scraps he'd stolen.
He'd swiped this particular haul from one of the support sections at the number eight hero agency. The Washer Hero, Wash, always keeps spare parts and unfinished gear lying around for their own hero costume - or is it a mutation? Izuku's always been facinated by the Pro Hero with a washing machine for a body - and their agency has never had a particularly good security system in place.
Those two sidekicks came from Wash's agency as well. Most of the daylight heroes and sidekicks had gone home for the night, which is why Izuku felt comfortable raiding the support section in the first place, but he miscalculated the patrol routines just slightly and nearly ran headlong into the two low-level sidekicks.
He'll have to revise his notes.
Scanning the organized chaos around him, Iuku catches sight of his notebook. It's a worn out old thing, one he's had for at least two years and filled to the brim with everything Izuku has learned in his time as a vigilante. Patrol schedules, costume sketches, combat combinations, case studies, even a map of the most popular spots for criminal activity in each district. The notebook is completely spilling out from every side, sticky notes and envelopes and extra pages taped together stuffing the journal to twice its normal size.
Izuku presses his thumb to his teeth, chewing softly on the tip as he flips through the pages, jotting down quick tidbits of information here and there. The contstruction along 7th street was wrapped up this morning, so Izuku will have to avoid it for a while until the novelty of a newly paved road wears off. Best Jeanist won another battle earlier this week against a villain named Leopard Legs, solidifying his place as the number four hero. And just yesterday, a civilian spotted an 'All Might shaped figure' flying over Hosu.
It's all coded, of course. Letters to numbers to symbols, it may look messy and incomplete, but Izuku can read it just fine. He'd be in deep trouble if this notebook went public. Better to be safe than sorry, and Izuku is nothing if not thorough.
He finally flips to the correct page, pencil scratching furiously as he erases the incorrect schedule for Wash's agency and scribbles in the new and improved one. Along the side of the page he adds in a few details from the sidekicks' quirks and costumes he managed to pick up during the chase. It's not much - he was running away most of the time - but it's a start.
His vigilante gear is spread out around him as well; weapons on one side, harnesses and holsters on the other. Izuku grins to himself. He's formed quite a nice setup over the past two years. He still has that sketch of the first draft of his costume from when he was just starting out. It was hardly anything to even blink at; a simple black hoodie with darkwash jeans and a black face mask. Sure, it made flipping back to 'regular citizen' a lot easier, but Izuku's glad he traded up.
Izuku tosses the notebook off to the side as he surveys the stolen parts in relation to his gear. He takes his time, palming up each piece of scrap metal, turning the harnessess inside out and upside down, even taking apart and rebuilding some of his own support gear, making corrections here and there.
The left shoulder strap on his harness has been scratching at the side of his neck as he moves. He noticed the skin there was left red and rubbed raw from his outing today. A spare piece of black fabric wrapped around it and glued tight should do the trick. He remembers swiping a bottle of extra-strength glue from the support team's workbench before taking off. If he glues it tonight, it should be dry by his next patrol.
For a better pullback on his throwing knives, the thin reel of fishing wire would make do, at least until he gets his hands on some nylon cord or metal cables. At least he won't lose half his supply of knives this time.
There's a taser in the pile of stolen goods that calls out his name. The minute Izuku saw it half-finished in the shop, he just couldn't help himself. He could make the electricity green to match his aesthetic! Plus, it would be nice to have a trump card on the battlefied. Knives and batons are nice and all, but nothing ends a fight like eighteen watts of electricity.
Mind already buzzing with ways to make his aesthetic dreams come true, Izuku sifts through his growing pile of parts to look for the green LEDs he found while rummaging through a dumpster.
Sometime around midnight, while Izuku is tinkering with his voice modifier - there's an odd lag with the amplified voices that he just can't seem to place the cause of - he accidentally tugs a loose wire a little too hard, pulling it out of its very important place in the base of the mask. He fumbles with it for a second or two before watching it fall quite unceremoniously into the glass of water sitting in between his crossed legs.
Shit.
His voice changer is now completely out of business until he's able to find a replacement wire, which he knows for a fact he does not have. And his glass of water is tainted, too.
"Guess I'm taking another trip into the city," he grumbles, dumping the water down the drain.
Detective Tsukauchi is turning red.
Perhaps it's the fact that Shouta came back empty handed. Or maybe it's because the case file for Jade is getting thicker by the day thanks to their most recent thieving account at the number eight hero agency. Maybe it's both. It's probably both.
In any case, the sight before him is quite comical. From Shouta's perspective, Tsukauchi looks like a tomato just seconds away from bursting.
"Settle down, Tsukauchi," Shouta chides. "You're going to explode."
"Two years, Aizawa. Two years!" Tsukauchi flings his hands into the air, exasperation written all over his face. "I thought putting you on the kid's case would lend a better result."
Shouta knows that Tsukauchi isn't mad with him, but the implication still stings. The police have been trying - and failing - for two years to get the vigilante off the streets; they can't very well expect Shouta to capture Jade on his first go-around!
The kid was good, too. Managed to shake Shouta from their trail within thirty minutes. Jade can slip into the shadows as easily as breathing. One minute they were strolling leisurely with the flow of the crowd, and the next they were gone.
"Give me the file on Jade," Shouta offers. He has yet to see the infamous vigilante case file, though he's heard plenty through Tsukauchi. He stifles a disbelieving scoff when the detective plops two folders, packed full of papers and reports, onto the desk. "You must be joking."
"Nope, and I haven't even written the report of their miniature robbery from earlier today." Detective Tsukauchi sinks into his chair, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. "This kid makes me want to retire."
Chuckling softly at Tsukauchi's dramatics, Shouta flips open the first folder, staring at the topmost piece of paper.
Alias: Jade
Name: Unknown
Gender: Unknown
Age: 12-16
Height: 157-166 cm
Quirk: Unknown
Appearance: Dark, curly hair, green eyes, fair skin, skinny
Shouta makes a face. "That's it? There's hardly anything here."
"Exactly." Tsukauchi pulls out a fresh sheet of paper. "None of my guys have gotten close enough to Jade to distinguish more than a few general descriptions."
"Not even their gender?" Shouta stares at the list again. "And this age range is pretty drastic. You really think there's a twelve year old out there able to evade police capture?"
He gets a simple shrug in return. "Like I said, nobody's gotten close enough to tell." Tsukauchi sighs. "Keep reading."
Criminal Record: Vigilantism, Thievery/Robbery/Shoplifting, Possible Public Quirk Usage, Assault and Battery, Carjacking, Disturbing the Peace, Disorderly Conduct, Forgery, Aiding and Abetting a Criminal, Refusal to Comply, Outside after Curfew, Vandalism
Shouta lets out a low whistle. "All this from one kid?"
Tsukauchi nods, gaze trained on the newest report he's busy writing. Shouta can make out 'Thievery' and 'Wash' in bold kanji. "And that's just the things we've traced back to them. I'm sure the kid has plenty more surprises hidden around the city. Did you know one of my officers found a spray paint rendition of Death Arms plastered on the outside of a building?"
Shouta shrugs. "So the kid thinks they're an artist. What's the harm?" Shouta himself certainly isn't judging. He was a teenager once, too.
"It was on the thirteenth floor of the Musutafu Broadcasting Building!" Tsukauchi just about throws his pencil down in defeat. "How Jade even got up there in the first place is beyond me."
Thirteenth floor, huh? Shouta stifles a laugh, turning his attention back to the large stack of papers. I'm actually impressed.
"Despite their extensive criminal record, we still known next to nothing about them." Tsukauchi forces his shoulders down, a struggle with how tense they are. "Jade must be hiding their quirk, or they have a non-offensive one. With the little video we have of them, there's no physical tell that they are using a quirk at all. At this point, with all the Pro Heroes I've sent after them, it wouldn't surprise me if they have a minor luck quirk turning the tables in their favor."
Shouta's eyes scan the papers, letting Tsukauchi know he's listening through quick nods and grunts.
"We have to be missing something important," Tsukauchi continues. "How else can a teenager slip through the cracks of the law so easily?"
Shouta begins leafing through the reports, finding hidden gems within the pages. He holds up a throwing star sealed tight in a plastic baggy. "A Shuriken?" he asks, almost incredulous.
"Where Jade's getting their gear is another mystery," Tsukauchi answers, weariness seeping into his tone. "That's why I brought you in." With a flourish, Tsukauchi signs his name at the bottom of the page, shoving it as far away from himself as possible while still keeping it on his desk. "There's no room for failure here. You're my last resort before I send Endeavor to bring him in. Commission's orders.
Shouta shudders. It's not as though Endeavor is a bad hero - he wouldn't be Number Two if he wasn't good at his job. The Flame Hero just tends to rough up the criminals a bit too much before turning them in. If the kid really is as young as twelve years old, Shouta would prefer Endeavor not be involved in their capture for as long as possible.
"I'll do my best. How long do I have?"
"Six months."
A groan flies through Shouta's teeth. "That's pushing it," he grits out. While Shouta has full faith in his ability to find and capture the kid, he's not sure if six months is enough time, especially with how slippery the vigilante has proven to be. Damn the Hero Commission and their fickle time frames.
"You're one of the best Underground Heroes, Aizawa. If anyone can get this kid, it's you."
There's a small shuffle as Shouta grabs the paper from Tsukauchi's desk and adds it to the very back of the second folder. He catches a glimpse of another case report, this one titled 'Egged Endeavor's House'. He chuckles. "I have to admit, the kid's got guts."
Tsukauchi grabs a handful of his hair. "I may only be thirty-five, but I swear I'm getting grey hairs from this kid."
Shouta glances up at the clock. It's nearly midnight. He should go if he still wants to sleep tonight. He has an early morning meeting with Principal Nezu at the school and he'd rather not be asleep for it. Coffee only does so much.
"You mentioned you had some recordings and footage of Jade," Shouta begins. "I have to go, but I can at least watch a video or two on my way home."
Tsukauchi waves a hand in his direction, closing his eyes for some well-needed rest. "I'll email you the file. Thanks for doing this, Aizawa."
Shouta sighs. "Anything to get this kid off the streets."
The biggest problem that working with the police brings is that Shouta's apartment is on the other side of the city. So instead of just 'swinging by' the police station, he has to make it a round trip.
He supposes it can be a good thing as it allows him the opportunity to catch a criminal or two on his way there, but overall it becomes a hassle to hop back and forth.
He's considered moving to a closer apartment, but that would mean he's farther away from his job at UA High School. Besides, the apartment has already been paid for by UA, and Shouta hates the idea of moving again. He and Hizashi just got all of their boxes unpacked, too.
So he sucks it up and deals with the long journey home. Usually he'll take a shortcut - climbing his way onto a roof and parkouring his way back to the apartment - or hop on the night train, but tonight he feels as though he should keep to the streets. His gut tells him that's the right idea, and he's never been one to ignore his intuition.
Shouta stops by a twenty-four-hour convenience store a couple of blocks away from the police station. His stomach has been nagging him for the last two hours, and he figures now is a good a time as any to pick up a quick snack for the rest of the walk home.
The cashier attempts to make idle chit-chat with him as he's checking out, but Shouta simply tosses a couple crumpled bills on the counter and pulls out his phone, sending a quick text to Hizashi.
While Zashi knows he can handle himself, Shouta still likes to let his husband know when he's on his way home. Zashi is a chronic worrier; Shouta knew that when he married him.
Taukauchi sends him an email soon after he leaves the convenience store. Shouta thumbs through it as he munches on the chips he bought, clicking the folder attachment and selecting the very first video.
The video starts with a black screen, so dark Shouta wonders if he accidentally shut off his phone. Finally, shaky hands turn an unfocused camera to the street, lit by a single, flickering streetlight.
It looks like the start of a horror movie, and the more he watches, the more he thinks so.
Halfway down the alleyway, a figure limps as quickly as they can away from the camera. Shouta assumes that's the target; the sparkly handbag on their shoulder doesn't really match their aesthetic.
Shouta almost doesn't see Jade in the video, but there's a slight ripple in the darkness that catches his attention. It isn't until Jade passes under the streetlight that the cameraman sees him. The video fumbles for a second or two, most likely in surprise, then focuses again, zooming in as the vigilante does a running jump, pushing off the hood of a parked car before launching themself into the air in a modified barani - where the hell did this kid learn parkour? - and whipping an arm out. The audio is muffled, but Shouta can hear the soft thuds of the Shuriken hitting its mark; pinning the thief's pant leg to the wooden fence they were attempting to climb.
Shouta gapes at his phone. He's never seen anyone throw a Shuriken with that much accuracy while standing still, much less in mid-rotation of a difficult flip.
Impressed is an understatement.
The rest of the video is simply Jade strolling up to the criminal, snatching the stolen handbag from the thief, and disappearing into the shadows.
Clicking on the next link, Shouta immerses himself in another amateur video of Jade parkouring their way across a roof. The footage is shaky and zoomed in so far it's blurry, but Shouta can still make out the vigilante's general movements.
Jade's push off is strong, but their landing is even better. Perhaps the result of a balance quirk? That could explain their throwing accuracy. Their reflexes are quick, too, he notices during the next video as Jade slides under an oncoming bo staff during a chase with a Pro Hero, hair fluttering as the metal just brushes the tip of their hood.
It seems as though Shuriken isn't Jade's first choice when it comes to weapons. Shouta's eyes are drawn immediately to the two glittering daggers that Jade unsheathes during the fight.
On top of it all, the kid is an ambidextrous fighter.
Shouta watches the vigilante's fighting technique, but the blurry footage makes it hard to pinpoint a specific style of fighting. He'll need to see it up close to be able to properly identify it. Narrowing down Jade's technique in both weapon and hand-to-hand combat could be crucial to discoveirng the kid's true identity.
The faster he learns about the kid, the faster he and Tsukauchi can get them off the streets and somewhere safe.
Preferably as far away from Endeavor as they can get.
A loud clunk followed by several colorful swears garners Shouta's attention just as he's passing a closed electronics store.
His interest piqued, Shouta slows to a stop, head tilting slightly as an indecipherable mumbling starts up from around the side of the building.
Shouta checks his phone; it's nearing one in the morning, far too late at night for anyone other than heroes and criminals to be hanging about. He slings his capture weapon loosely around his fist, ready for a fight if necessary.
He clearly has the upper hand. The element of surprise may be an old trick, but it's dependable, and Shouta is nearly silent thanks to the years of stealth training under his belt. Only the slight rustle of his clothing can be heard as he creeps his way around the side of the building, and even then it's covered up by the growing clangs and incessant mutterings of whatever lies ahead.
The closer Shouta gets to the source of the ruckus, the more confused he becomes.
First, the voice sounds incredibly young, no more than twelve years old. It's a few hours past curfew for anyone under eighteen years of age, and the closest neighborhood is several blocks away, past the train station. What is this kid doing so far from home? Do his parents know where he is?
And second, the voice is coming from inside a dumpster.
Izuku's jaunt into town is relatively undisturbed. He knows it's risky, being out in his civilian clothes after curfew, but as long as he sticks to alleyways and shady buildings like he's used to, he'll be alright.
He runs into a small scuffle near the border of the tenement district. Well, he hears it first. Shouts, mostly slurred speech, and the unmistakeable sound of a fist hitting its target, the impact jarringly loud even from this distance.
Sounds like a bar fight.
As much as his body twitches to leap in and diffuse the situation, Izuku knows he can't. He's not in costume, first and foremost. What if someone sees him fight and traces his skills back to Jade? It's too risky.
Second, he prefers to steer clear of drunks. They're hard to reason with, and their movements are too sloppy and random for Izuku to properly analyze the best possible actions to take.
So he goes around.
It takes a bit longer and he has to step over a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk, but he gets to where he needs to be eventually.
He's a bit sad he wasn't able to even witness the fight, as he always loves watching a good hand-to-hand squabble, but deep down he knows he made the right choice.
The closest electronics store is near the center of the city district. It's one Izuku has frequented many times, though recently it's been to swipe a piece or two from the dumpster behind the building rather than to browse the items inside. Nowadays, he only enters the store if he has enough money saved up to buy something; no point wasting time perusing the shelves in longing if he can't afford to leave with what he wants.
The store is closed, of course. The only places that are open at this time of night are bars, strip clubs, and twenty-four-hour convenience stores. There are, however, a line of televisions propped in the store's front window. All four are on and playing the same channel - some sort of unpopular news station - but they garner little of Izuku's attention. Without sound, it just looks like mindless entertainment.
He has better things to do with his time. Like digging through trashcans to find a tiny scrap of wire.
Just as Izuku is about to turn the corner towards the dumpster he knows is waiting for him, a familiar color palette flashes across the television screens, drawing his attention.
It's an old video of All Might, taken from footage from the movie 'All Might: The Early Years'. Izuku remembers the slight difference in All Might's costume; in his younger years, All Might's hero costume was more remeniscent of his time spent in the United States, copying a look from the American Hero, Stars and Stripe.
The video itself is of All Might saving a young girl from falling debris, signature smile plastered across his face as he takes the brunt of the blow on his shoulders, effectively protecting the girl from serious injury.
Izuku smiles to himself. He's watched this portion of the video countless times before; seeing it again after so long gives him a sense of nostalgic comfort.
The smile stays with him as he continues making his way around the side of the building. He wishes he could stay and watch for just a little longer; television isn't a luxery Izuku can indulge in anymore. No more watching cartoons and All Might documentaries while his mom makes breakfast - he doesn't have time for that. Hell, he can barely manage the trek to the nearest café with free WiFi to watch fight footage and listen to news reports.
Aha! There it is. The very dumpster Izuku is looking for.
While Izuku has never been fond of digging around through dumpsters - he was chased a couple of blocks by a very angry butcher with a meat cleaver multiple times - he's gotten quite used to flinging open the lid and gremlin-crawling inside. At least this one doesn't smell like rotting vegetables and animal carcasses.
The dumpster is only half-filled with piles of broken devices, cords and wires tangled and bent to all hell, and every so often he stumbles across a full bag of actual garbage, most likely containing the store employees' lunch scraps and wrappers.
Izuku tugs the destroyed wire from his pocket for reference and gets to work searching.
I should've brought some gloves, he thinks as a piece of broken glass scrapes the back of his hand. "Shit," he fumbles, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt as far over his palms as they can go to protect himself.
He sifts through the contents of the dumpster. Every so often, he's sure he catches a glimpse of the wire he's looking for, only for it to be a variation of the thing and completely incompatible with his gear.
"I have to find it," he murmurs to himself, shoving the keyboard half of a snapped laptop aside. "Maybe if I take this apart?" He digs around in the inner mechanisms of a bluetooth speaker, eyes searching for the wire. "Damn it!"
In his haste, Izuku drops the speaker on his foot, the loud clang reverberating in his ears and echoing in the alleyway. "FUCKing fuuuuuck! MotherFUCKer that hurt! Holy shit!" he swears, grabbing at his foot to check for visible injury. He yanks off his shoe, nearly tumbling over as he attempts to get his balance.
There's already a visible bruise forming on the top of his foot. The veins there are throbbing, too, popping up from his skin in a spidery web of ache-yness.
"Goddammit," Izuku mumbles, rubbing his foot to ease the pain a little before gingerly tugging his shoe back on. "Just my fucking luck, huh? What's next, a seagull pooping on my head? What else is going to go wrong?" He resumes his search, muttering under his breath as he tosses pieces of a broken phone aside, albeit much more aggressively than before. "Fucking shitty night. I should just go home."
But deep down, Izuku knows he can't go back without the wire. He needs to fix his voice modifier tonight, or he won't be able to patrol tomorrow.
Finally, after what seems like hours of searching, but is actually only a couple of minutes, Izuku spots the frayed edge of a very familiar looking wire peeking up at him from inside a broken pair of headphones. It still looks intact, too.
Oh thank gods.
He reaches for it, fingers almost closing around the cord.
"What are you doing in a dumpster?"
Izuku jumps at a gruff, tired-sounding voice from behind him. His foot slips on a trashbag on his way down, and he pitches backwards, toppling over the edge of the dumpster and landing in a heap on the gravel.
Of course he does. That's pretty on-brand with how the rest of the night has gone. He's learning to accept and embrace it now.
"Fuck," he groans as he rights himself. Everything hurts, but there's a considerable amount of pain coming from his shoulders. "That's gonna leave a mark."
As he brushes himself off, several small pieces of gravel and dirt falls from his hair. Gross. I just showered, too.
It's strange; he wasn't aware of the man creeping up to him at all. Izuku knows he wasn't necessarily being quiet during his rumage through the dumpster, but he was alert enough to notice if someone was nearby. Yet his trained ears didn't pick up on any sound, his danger alarm laying dormant in his stomach.
Rolling out his aching shoulders, Izuku glances up at the stranger.
He's kinda scrungly, Izuku thinks. Like a homeless man. Eyes widening marginally, Izuku mentally backtracks. It may have been his first thought, but he immediately feels bad for it. He knows first-hand how much it hurts to be judged prematurely. The man's clothes are scraggly, sure, and he could use a shower and deep conditioning for that greasy hair, but Izuku figures he himself looks just as bad. He was just diggnig in a dumpster.
Izuku offers the man a smile. "H-hello."
An odd feeling of familiarity tugs at Izuku's brain. It's as though his facial recognition software is on the fritz, telling him he knows this stranger but not offering any information as to his name or where Izuku has even seen him before.
Scrunching his nose, Izuku trails his eyes over the man once more, taking in the big, looping scarf around his neck, and the yellow goggles playing peek-a-boo underneath it.
And just like that, Izuku pinpoints where he's seen him before.
Honestly, he's surprised he didn't realize it sooner. He's only got around five pages worth of study of the guy's quirk in his notebook. That's not including the information regarding fighting style, wins vs. losses, and even half a page dedicated to the functionality of his costume, either.
Izuku's eyes widen so much he's sure the whites are visible. Honestly, watching him patrol from afar is nothing compared to meeting him in person. He's taller than Izuku originally thought, though just as quiet. He hasn't said a word since the initial jumpscare earlier.
He should say something, right? Introduce himself? Or maybe he could get an autograph!
Scrambling to his feet, Izuku stoops into a low bow, arms tight at his sides. It's been a while since he's had to greet someone this formally, so he wants to make sure he's doing it correctly.
As he straightens, Izuku's eyes light up. "It's so nice to meet you, Eraserhead, sir!"
It's only then that Izuku remembers one crucial piece of information.
Eraserhead is an Underground Hero. Common citizens like him shouldn't even know he exists.
Shit.