Chapter Text
The League’s base had settled into a kind of quiet that felt almost unnatural. Dust hung heavy in the air, and the usual dim lights cast long shadows that stretched into the corners, the silence amplifying every small sound. Aika leaned back against the wall, watching the others as they shifted listlessly, each one as if waiting for something, anything, to break the monotony.
Dabi was the first to disrupt the silence, tipping his chair back on two legs, idly twirling a flicker of flame in his hand. He looked utterly unbothered by the stillness, as though he could drift off at any moment. Spinner sat nearby, flipping through an old magazine, his frown deepening with each page as if he’d found something insulting hidden between the lines.
“Ugh,” Toga groaned, sprawled across the couch, her eyes glazed over with boredom. “Why is everything so dead lately, Tomura? It’s like the whole city just went to sleep.” She shot a desperate look toward Shigaraki, as if expecting him to snap his fingers and summon excitement.
But Shigaraki, standing near the doorway with his hands buried deep in his pockets, merely shrugged. “If I had something for you to do, I’d tell you. Maybe the city’s just finally realized how pointless it all is.”
The quiet suited Aika just fine, though she didn’t voice it. She could see how the others were itching for action, how even the walls seemed to breathe restlessness. But she could find her peace here, in the silence, if only because she’d learned long ago how fleeting it could be.
“Starting to feel like a vacation we didn’t ask for,” she said to Tenko with a faint smile, hoping to lift his mood. The emptiness had its weight, though, and it seemed heavier on him than the others. He stood stiffly beside her, eyes fixed straight ahead as he absentmindedly scratched his neck. It was a tell she’d noticed in him—a kind of restless tick he seemed unable to control, like his own tension was itching to break free.
Shigaraki turned to look at them, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as if considering their next steps. “There’s a task, at least,” he announced, though his tone was far from enthusiastic. “Supplies are low, so someone needs to get them. The usual necessities. And keep your eyes open while you’re out; I’ve heard the yakuza’s making moves again.”
Aika made a face, shooting a playful glance at Tenko. “So, groceries and surveillance. Doesn’t get better than that, huh?”
Dabi snickered from his corner, letting his chair clatter back onto all four legs. “Try not to get lost, kids,” he said with a smirk.
“Right,” Aika replied, giving him a mock salute. “We’ll bring back snacks for the team.”
Shigaraki’s expression remained blank, but he shrugged, his posture shifting into something almost weary. “Just don’t draw attention. Last thing we need is heroes poking around.”
Tenko’s expression barely shifted as he followed her to the door, his hands still firmly buried in his pockets, his head held low as though he’d rather be anywhere else. She could sense the frustration simmering beneath his quiet exterior, though he never spoke of it openly. She knew his master’s instructions well enough to guess the source: hold back, stay hidden, and wait —words that, to her, felt like they held him hostage.
Once they were outside, the night air was cool and sharp, prickling at her skin. She breathed in deeply, letting the quiet press in around her, each step muted against the empty streets. The stillness out here wasn’t the same as the base’s—it felt like a thin veil stretched over something unseen.
“Doesn’t this feel strange to you?” she asked softly, more to herself than to Tenko. “The League was all spark and movement a couple months ago. Now the city feels… still. Like it’s holding its breath.”
He walked beside her in silence, his face set in a rigid expression. She didn’t expect a response, but a glance at him confirmed the restraint written in every line of his posture. His hands had tightened into fists in his pockets, and every so often, he would scratch his neck again, as if trying to relieve some invisible itch.
Aika stayed quiet, sensing that this was one of those moments when silence served them better than any attempt at conversation. Tenko’s face was a blank slate, yet she could almost feel the weight he carried, and she knew better than to press him, at least for now.
They walked on, letting the quiet settle in, each step measured against the empty spaces around them. But as they moved deeper into the streets, the silence began to shift, sharpening into something heavier, almost expectant, as though the city itself were waiting for something to happen.
Aika kept her pace easy, her gaze moving from side to side, taking in the empty alleys and narrow, dimly lit streets. They were headed toward a rundown dingy little store a few blocks away—a place that sold everything they’d need without the prying eyes or inflated prices of the bigger shops.
They stuck to their quieter paths, weaving through back alleys and side streets, letting the cover of shadows keep them hidden. It wasn’t an unusual routine; the League had taught them early on to stay out of sight, to avoid attracting attention. Especially with the city on edge and rumors of the yakuza floating around, they didn’t need any unnecessary trouble.
Beside her, Tenko moved in silence, his shoulders slightly hunched as his hands stayed buried in his pockets. His fingers twitched now and then, and every so often, he’d scratch at his neck, the movement almost unconscious. She didn’t say anything, letting him keep his thoughts to himself, feeling the faint tension simmering between them.
They passed a crumbling old building covered in graffiti, its windows broken and its walls lined with grime. The streets here were nearly deserted, the few scattered lights flickering weakly as they walked beneath them. She couldn’t help but feel a faint sense of satisfaction at the silence; the lack of crowds and busy chatter let her breathe a little easier, though she knew the others wouldn’t agree.
The store was just around the next corner, a small place with peeling paint and a neon sign that buzzed intermittently. Aika glanced at Tenko, lifting a hand in the direction of the shop. “Just need to grab some basics, then we’ll be on our way.”
He grunted in response, his face still set in that rigid, almost brooding expression. She knew his thoughts were elsewhere, likely still simmering with the frustration of being held back, restrained by his master’s orders. His silence wasn’t new, but tonight it felt heavier, weighted down by the same restless energy that had been festering in the League’s base.
They reached the door, and as Aika stepped forward to push it open, a faint sound reached her ears—a quiet, muffled sound coming from somewhere off to the side. She paused, her hand hovering just above the handle, her eyes narrowing as she turned to listen.
“What now?” Tenko muttered, irritation coloring his tone as he watched her.
Aika held up a finger, signaling him to wait. There it was again, a thin, trembling sound barely audible over the distant hum of the flickering neon light. It was coming from somewhere nearby, tucked away in one of the alleys behind them. She frowned, glancing over her shoulder, instinctively moving a step closer to the sound.
Tenko rolled his eyes, clearly uninterested. “Come on,” he said, a faint edge creeping into his voice. “We’re here for supplies, not distractions.”
But she was already moving, slipping past him as she followed the sound, her steps careful and measured. She could hear the soft, choked sound more clearly now—a whimper, maybe even a sob. Her stomach tightened, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling as she approached the shadowed alley.
“What are you doing?” Tenko’s voice came from behind her, low and exasperated, but she didn’t respond, her attention locked on the narrow path ahead. Her mind raced with possibilities, and though she tried to remain calm, there was a gnawing sense of urgency tugging at her. It wasn’t a rational decision, maybe not even a smart one, but something compelled her forward, a feeling she couldn’t quite name.
She heard him sigh heavily, the scrape of his shoes following her as he trailed behind, though she could tell he had no interest in whatever had caught her attention. She could feel his impatience pressing against her, but she ignored it, her focus narrowing as she stepped into the alley, the faint sound growing louder with each step.
Tomura lingered at the edge of the alley, his figure barely a shadow against the wall as Aika moved forward. A faint whimper echoed through the narrow space, muffled but raw, each sound trembling with exhaustion and fear. He watched as Aika’s silhouette shifted closer, her hand reaching out in that hesitant, cautious way of hers. For a moment, he thought about calling her back, telling her to leave it—whatever this was, it wasn’t their concern. But something in the scene before him kept him rooted, watching.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he made out more of the shadows' shape. It was small, barely more than a crumpled form huddled against the cold stone wall, shoulders shaking as it sobbed. Her , he noticed, clothes were torn, dirt smeared across skin, and thin arms wrapped tightly, as if trying to disappear into the shadows. He caught a faint glimmer above her head—a small, twisted horn jutting from her forehead, strangely unblemished amid the dirt and grime. She was like a wounded animal, cornered and desperate, her body language screaming that she had nowhere left to turn.
Something unpleasant twisted deep within him, an instinctive pang he immediately resented. The scene had a disturbingly familiar edge, too close to memories he’d rather keep buried. He forced himself to remain still, swallowing down the sickening feeling. It was as though he were staring into a ghost of his own past, an image he thought he’d long since erased. It clawed at his chest, scraping at half-forgotten emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge.
From his place at the alley’s edge, he watched Aika crouch down slowly, her movements gentle, her voice low as she spoke to the girl. He couldn’t make out her words, but he could hear the softness in her tone, an almost instinctive warmth that reached across the distance between them. He didn’t need to hear it to know what she’d say: the reassuring phrases, the soothing tone—whatever comforts she thought she could offer to this miserable child.
But he felt none of her sympathy, only a hollow emptiness. To him, the girl was just another castaway, a pathetic creature crying in the dark for someone who’d never come. He’d been there himself, once, clutching the pieces of his shattered world in his own small hands. And no one had reached for him; no one had whispered those kind, pointless words.
He knew what Aika was trying to do, but it all felt… hollow. Detached. There was nothing to gain from this; they were only wasting time. He tried to push the scene away, to turn his gaze elsewhere, but his eyes stayed fixed on the girl, the image boring into his mind.
Aika glanced back at him, as if sensing his thoughts, her eyes catching the faintest glimmer of light from the alley’s entrance. He didn’t move, standing rigid with his hands still shoved deep into his pockets, fingers curled tightly into fists. Her gaze held a flicker of something he didn’t want to interpret—pity, maybe. Or disapproval. Either way, it prickled at his skin, irritating him, stirring a faint anger he couldn’t quite place.
The sound of crying had drawn her in, tugging at something instinctual, a feeling she couldn’t ignore. As she leaned closer, Aika watched the small figure tense, the quiet sobs faltering at the proximity. The girl’s hands clenched tightly, her arms wrapped around herself in a desperate attempt to shrink away, to make herself disappear. She refused to look up, pressing her head down, her face hidden beneath the tangled strands of her blueish hair.
Aika swallowed, feeling a mix of sympathy and apprehension. She didn’t know what she could say to make this girl feel safe, didn’t even know if anything she could say would matter. All she knew was that leaving her here, broken and alone, felt wrong in a way she couldn’t ignore.
She reached out tentatively, her hand hovering in the air, uncertain. “Hey…” she murmured softly, trying to keep her voice gentle, reassuring. “It’s okay. I’m here to help—”
Before she could finish, the girl flinched, jerking back violently as if even the offer of comfort was a threat. Aika’s hand dropped instantly, and she stole her hand back, heart pounding as she watched the girl’s reaction. The harshness of it startled her, and she felt a strange sting, an uncomfortable reminder of her own helplessness in this moment. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the child’s reaction made her realize just how out of her depth she was.
She glanced over her shoulder at Tenko again, searching his expression for some kind of guidance, but his face was unreadable, his gaze fixed distantly on the scene with a hollow look that unsettled her. His mouth was set in a hard line, his posture rigid and detached, as if he were only half-present, unwilling to let himself be drawn into the girl’s pain. He stood there in silence, his hands buried deep in his pockets, watching with the kind of indifference that made her heart twist uncomfortably.
Aika turned back to the girl, her gaze softening as she took in the details: the faint glow of a small, twisted horn jutting from her forehead, catching the alley’s sparse light; her thin, frail frame trembling under layers of dirt and grime; her skin streaked with tear tracks, her cheeks raw from crying. She looked painfully young, lost in a world that had no place for her, and Aika’s heart ached with an urgency she couldn’t quite explain.
She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there was anything she could say to make this better. But standing here, watching the girl curl further into herself, Aika felt a fierce, almost desperate need to try.
“Hey,” Aika murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay… no one’s here to hurt you.”
The girl didn’t respond. She stayed huddled against the wall, arms locked around her knees, her head buried down as far as it could go. Aika could only make out bits of her face between the tangled strands of her hair—tear-streaked cheeks, red-rimmed eyes half-hidden beneath the shadows. It was as if every word Aika spoke pushed her deeper into her shell, her body shrinking impossibly smaller, folding in on itself like she could disappear if she tried hard enough.
Aika’s mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that might reach her. She’d always been good at drawing people out, lifting spirits with light-hearted words or a quick joke. But none of that seemed right here, in this quiet, trembling moment. Every instinct she had felt misplaced, out of touch, like she was walking through fog with no clear direction.
Aika swallowed, her throat tight with uncertainty. She tried again, her tone softer, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears. “I… I just want to help,” she said, unsure if the girl could even hear her. But the child stayed silent, her tiny frame curling tighter, pressing herself into the wall as if she could merge with it.
Aika felt her hands fall to her sides, a wave of helplessness washing over her. She didn’t know what to do—this kind of fear, this depth of hurt, was something she had never encountered.
Aika glanced back at Tenko, feeling her own uncertainty sharpen into frustration. He was still standing there, distant and silent, his expression unreadable as he watched.
“Tenko,” she called, her voice firmer than before, snapping him out of whatever thoughts had taken him away. He blinked, his gaze refocusing on her, his expression shifting slightly—an almost annoyed flicker in his eyes as he realized she expected something from him.
“Look, we should go,” he muttered, his tone flat and unbothered. “Leave it to the heroes. This isn’t our problem.”
The words struck her like a jolt, sparking something fierce and unrelenting in her chest. Her face shifted, brows knitting together as she stared at him, eyes narrowing with a look she had never given him before—a look he couldn’t decipher, but that stirred something uncomfortable, something foreign, deep inside him. He felt his chest tighten, the strange sensation gnawing at him, and he didn’t like it one bit.
“Fine,” she said, her voice edged with resolve. “Leave. I’m going to help her—with or without you.” She huffed, her gaze unwavering, her tone challenging as if daring him to argue. Without waiting for a response, she turned back to the girl, determination etched into every line of her face.
Tenko’s hands twitched in his pockets as he watched her, a hollow ache settling in his chest. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, only stared as she lowered herself to sit beside the girl, her movements careful and unhurried, her gaze softening as she leaned closer.
“It’s okay… you’re safe now,” Aika murmured, her voice soothing but strong, carrying a warmth he was quite familiar with. She stayed seated next to the child, her presence steady and patient, radiating a kind of reassurance he didn’t understand.
Aika glanced sideways at Eri, her posture relaxed, though he could see the effort it took for her to hold back her own worry. She tried to coax the girl out of her silence, her words gentle but persistent, small assurances that fell softly into the still air.
From a distance, Tenko watched her, a strange, nagging feeling settling into his gut as he took in the scene. He didn’t understand Aika’s insistence, couldn’t fathom why she would stay, or why the girl mattered. But as he continued to watch, the hollow ache deepened, unsettling him in a way that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried.
He felt the usual frustration gnawing at him, the urge to turn and leave—to avoid getting entangled in a mess that he was sure would bring nothing but trouble. But he knew Aika too well by now; he knew that once she set her mind to something, she wouldn’t back down. It was the same stubborn persistence that had pulled him in from the start, the reason they’d become friends in the first place.
With a heavy sigh, he took a reluctant step forward, each movement slow and deliberate, his irritation apparent. He didn’t say anything, but he closed the distance between them, standing close enough that Aika would know he wasn’t going to leave—at least not without her. His presence was silent but unmistakable, a small show of support he didn’t feel comfortable voicing.
Aika glanced up at him, a brief look of acknowledgment passing between them. There was no surprise in her expression, just a quiet understanding, a knowing look that said she’d expected him to stay all along. Without a word, she turned her attention back to the girl, her posture calm and reassuring.
“We’re not going to leave you here,” she murmured, her voice steady but soft. “You don’t have to say anything right now. We’ll wait with you, as long as it takes. And then… we’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Tenko’s jaw tightened as he listened, something churning uncomfortably within him. He knew this side of Aika well—the unwavering compassion, the way she could be fiercely stubborn even in the face of things that felt hopeless. He’d seen it countless times before, how she’d pushed past his defenses, broken through the walls he’d tried to keep up, and somehow managed to stick around even when he’d thought he wanted nothing to do with anyone.
And here she was again, offering that same persistence to a stranger, a child who couldn’t even meet her eyes. The scene was too familiar, echoing moments he tried to bury—memories of being small, abandoned, and utterly alone.
His gaze drifted, watching Aika’s steady resolve, the quiet warmth in her voice as she tried to coax the girl from her shell. He felt out of place here, like he was intruding on a kindness he didn’t quite understand. But he stayed, bound by Aika’s unyielding compassion, her stubbornness a force he couldn’t walk away from.
So he remained, silent and conflicted, letting his thoughts drift uneasily through the echoes of a past he rarely allowed himself to remember.
—
The minutes dragged on in tense silence, broken only by Aika’s soft murmuring as she spoke to the girl, her tone light and steady. She had settled into a comfortable position on the cold, hard ground, her legs crossed as she leaned slightly toward the girl, keeping a warm, gentle distance. Every so often, she’d say something quiet, as if filling the silence with her presence alone might help the child feel less alone.
Meanwhile, Tenko paced nearby, his steps echoing softly against the alley walls. The rhythm of his movement was both restless and steady, the kind of pacing that spoke of impatience barely kept in check. His hands remained shoved deep in his pockets, his head down as he stole occasional glances at Aika and the girl, though he kept his distance.
It felt like an eternity before anything changed. Aika had just paused mid-sentence, her gaze resting thoughtfully on the girl, when, slowly—almost timidly—the child lifted her head. Her wide, red eyes peeked up at Aika through tangled strands of hair, her expression wary but filled with a flicker of something almost hopeful. Aika’s heart skipped as she saw the first sign of acknowledgment, the faintest spark of connection breaking through the silence.
Aika offered her a small, encouraging smile. “Do you… want to go somewhere safe?” she asked gently. “Somewhere we can clean up, get you warm?”
The girl’s gaze lingered on her, hesitant, but after a moment, she gave a small, tentative nod.
A sigh of relief slipped from Aika as she looked over her shoulder at Tenko, who had stopped pacing to watch. The tension in his posture remained, though his gaze softened just a fraction as he took in the scene. But the flicker of softness faded quickly as he narrowed his eyes, a skeptical look crossing his face.
“You mean… the base?” he questioned, suspicion evident in his voice. He couldn’t imagine Aika wanting to bring someone so vulnerable into a place that even their own members often called a “death trap.”
Aika shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “No,” she replied, her voice quiet but certain. “My place. Uncle Kenji’s on a business trip in America right now, so we’ll go there. It’s safe, and… she can clean up.”
Tenko’s expression remained skeptical, but he gave a slight nod, clearly weighing her suggestion. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of taking this stranger—this child—into a place that Aika trusted, but he recognized her determination, that same unyielding persistence that had worn him down time and time again. And, with a reluctant sigh, he resigned himself to it.
Aika turned back to the girl, reaching out a hand. “What do you say?” she asked softly. “We’ll take care of you, and we can go somewhere that’ll feel safe.”
The girl stared at her hand for a long moment before, finally, she stood up, ignoring Aika’s hand. With a glance back at Tenko, Aika nodded, and together, they began to lead the girl out of the alley and toward a place that, for now, could be her sanctuary.