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The shopping centre was loud, noisy, and far too full of people, but Kai persevered nonetheless. It was his day off, and he was determined to spend it exactly as planned, damn it.
“Excuse me,” he muttered sullenly, pushing through a group of high school girls blocking the way to the escalator.
“Oh, did you see him? He was cute!” one of them said, pointing shamelessly at Kai.
“Shush, Uri, he can hear you!” exclaimed another, and they all broke into giggles like a group of chittering monkeys.
Kai ignored them.
He loathed the mall with every fibre of his being. It was crawling with disease and bacteria—a petri dish of quirk germs, human germs, and the less tangible, but no less serious, stupidity germs. So infectious they seemed impossible to avoid in any gathering.
Normally, he wouldn’t be caught dead in this infested hellhole, but he had a weakness —an unfortunate one at that.
A slight fondness for foxes.
Only Hari and the Boss knew about his appreciation for the creatures, and fortunately neither thought it wise to destroy his image as the brutal right hand of the Shie Hassaikai, so his secret had been well kept.
Just to be sure, Kai had aligned his day off with a training day at the base—which had mandatory attendance—lest he run into any subordinates and compromise his cover.
As it happened, this mall was hosting a woodland animal event with a petting zoo featuring a delightful cast of forest critters, including the Insta-famous fox, Momo-chan. Kai would brave an airport at Christmas time just to pet Momo. He could already picture his fingers buried in that peach-orange fur.
He had decided the night before to do some light reassembly to refresh her lifespan. It aligned with his personal philosophy—the world needed more Momo-chan, and less people.
He patted his pockets on the way down the escalator to confirm that he had his hand sanitiser, tissues, and selfie stick.
Scouting for the least crowded route through, he caught sight of a familiar mop of green hair.
“No,” he thought. “Can’t be.”
But the closer he got to the ground, the more obvious it became that it was, in fact, Izuku Midoriya—sitting on a bench next to some vagabond in a black hoodie who, upon closer inspection, was leaning far too close into Izuku’s personal space.
Although he loathed to admit it, Kai hadn’t been able to forget that quirkless boy from a year ago.
It wasn’t entirely his fault.
Fate seemed determined to remind him.
Only a day after Kai had deposited him safely outside his apartment building, he switched on the news—and there he was, charging into a fight with a sludge monster that looked like something out of Kai’s worst nightmares.
The unhygienic brat seemed to have no qualms about throwing himself at what was essentially a sentient sewer.
He clearly had no regard for the gift Kai had bestowed upon him by bringing him back to life—or so it seemed, given how quickly he tried to throw it away again.
In any case, All Might saved the day, and the kid must have scored some brownie points, because the next time Kai saw him on TV, he was half-dead at some U.A. sporting event, facing off against a kid with a fire quirk… or maybe ice.
Honestly, Kai didn’t care enough to remember.
The only thing that stuck in his mind was that Izuku had been beaten black and blue—and that he had been propelling himself forward with remarkable speed that could only be the result of a powerful quirk. When he saw that, he recalled a feeling in his chest.
He told himself it was disappointment.
Watching the pair on the bench now, Kai noticed Izuku’s head droop forward. That was when he saw the hand at the back of his neck.
It didn’t look friendly.
If Kai didn’t know better, he would have assumed this was a clandestine meeting between a schoolboy and his dealer—or a rent boy and his pimp. But this was Izuku — a clingy crybaby...and honestly, how much could someone change in a year?
The boy he remembered had wanted so desperately to be a hero that he had been willing to die for it. Once he entered the hero program, Kai doubted there was anything that could tempt him to break the rules—and risk being expelled.
Kai glanced at his watch. If he didn’t want to get stuck in line with screaming children and giggling schoolgirls, he needed to be at the venue in less than fifteen minutes. He had already called ahead and bribed the keeper into letting him in first—before all those grubby hands had a chance to sully Momo.
He stepped off the escalator and glanced back at the frightened boy and that junky scarecrow.
And made his choice.
“Excuse me,” he said, walking over and leaning down to make eye contact with the boy. “Izuku, is that you?”
Izuku startled. He stared at Kai, speechless, body visibly shaking under the hand of his companion.
“K…Kai-san?”
“That’s me.” Kai changed his tone to match the excitement of someone meeting a long-lost friend. It suited him about as well as smiling—which is to say, not at all—but his companion seemed to buy it.
The man let go of Midoriya with a cheerful laugh and melted back into the crowd.
“Are you alright?” Kai asked.
Midoriya was still staring after the man, as though he might return at any moment.
“Izuku?” he prompted when he received no reply.
That at least seemed to pull the boy back to the present.
“Sorry!” Izuku jumped to his feet and bowed. “Thank you, Kai-san!”
“Kai is fine.”
Izuku nodded, fidgeting nervously.
“What was that?” Kai asked.
“Ah—well, that was Shigaraki Tomura, from the League of Villains. He’s… like the head villain.”
“Aha.”
Kai really wanted to go see Momo.
But it wasn’t like he could just leave the boy here now that he knew that. No matter how unlikely it was that this Shigaraki character would reappear, Kai felt he at least needed to commit to the “long-lost friend” act—just in case they were being watched.
Really, there was no way around it.
Sighing, he rubbed his eyes.
“Do you like animals?” he asked.
“Animals?”
Kai stared at him.
“Ah—yes. I love animals!”
“Great. You’re coming with me.”
“Where?”
“To a petting zoo event. We need to stick together for a bit in case your villain friend is keeping an eye on you.”
He grabbed Izuku by the sleeve of his hoodie—because God knew he was liable to wander off and get himself into trouble again—and dragged him through the atrium to a quieter side lane of the centre. They passed a strip of bookstores and miscellaneous shops, a florist, and a chocolateria—which Izuku eyed greedily—before arriving at a small board game shop. Next to it stood Momo’s sanctuary.
A line of excited children and their parents had already formed, waiting to get a photo with Momo and her entourage of adorable companions. Kai spotted the keeper exiting the little cottage where Momo was being kept. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message. The keeper checked his phone, looked up, and spotted Kai at the back of the crowd. He replied quickly before slipping back inside. Kai checked his phone, then tugged Izuku to the side.
They followed the perimeter of the small fence, until they heard a short whistle. Looking up, they spotted the keeper at the back of the cottage. He was holding open a door marked Staff Only.
“Come quickly, this way,” he said, waving them inside.
Kai and Izuku followed him in. He led them through to the back, into a small, brightly painted room. Inside, green fuzzy carpets made to look like grass covered every inch of the floor. An assortment of toadstools, logs, and fake boulders lay scattered about for children to sit on and pet the animals.
And there were so many animals…
Hopping and waddling about were guinea pigs and rabbits in all shapes and sizes—at least a dozen of them.
“Where’s Momo?” Kai cut straight to business.
The keeper smiled and led them through the petting zoo of critters to the back, where a separate enclosure stood on a raised platform. He lifted the dark curtain of a box carrier, and inside, curled on a round velvet cushion, was Momo—sleeping peacefully.
“Do you want—”
“I don’t want to disturb her,” Kai interrupted. “She’s sleeping.”
The keeper smiled.
“Come on, she’ll be up soon enough,” he said, gesturing around the room. “Go on, take a seat. I’ll bring her around.”
Kai’s eyes remained firmly glued to Momo, so Izuku had to gently tug him back by the sleeve of his jacket and pull him toward a nearby toadstool.
“Sit here,” he said softly.
When Kai dropped into the seat, Izuku settled on the floor beside him.
Bunnies quickly congregated around Izuku, Kai observed. It seemed fitting somehow, but it took him a moment to realise why. There was an uncanny resemblance between the guileless boy and the soft, furry creatures.
The keeper returned a few minutes later, a drowsy Momo in his arms. He carefully deposited her into Kai’s lap.
Kai froze instantly.
Momo circled his lap a couple of times before curling into a ball. She looked up at him and gave a tiny, sleepy yawn. Kai could have sworn he felt his heart implode in his chest. Luckily for him, he was the master of reassembly.
From beside him, he heard Izuku laugh softly.
“She’s pretty cute,” he said, from within a circle of worshipping rabbits who had clearly elected him as their god. “Do you want me to take a photo?”
Kai nodded numbly, his eyes still glued to Momo, who had already drifted back to sleep.
Izuku stood and pulled his phone from his jeans. He snapped a few pictures from different angles, prompting Kai a couple of times to look up so he could actually get his face in the shot.
“These came out really cute,” he said, laughing softly as he scrolled through them.
He had just turned the phone around to show Kai when it rang.
Izuku glanced at the screen, and his eyes widened.
“Oh no!”
He answered immediately.
“I’m sorry, Ochako!” he said in place of a greeting. “I know I’m late—I completely lost track of time! I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?”
He held the phone to his ear a moment longer, then hung up with a sigh.
Kai observed all of this in his peripheral vision, his attention still fixed on Momo. He had finally built up enough courage to run his fingers through her plush fur.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Shhh…” Kai interrupted softly.
Izuku fell silent.
Kai focused on Momo.
It was as he had suspected—she was getting on in years, and her faculties were beginning to slow. As gently as possible, he reassembled her organs and cleansed her blood. The little fox jolted awake, but remained curled in his lap, watching him quietly through strangely knowing eyes. Kai stroked her again, then glanced over at the keeper, who was idly scrolling on his phone.
“I think we’re done here,” he said.
The man looked up, startled. He quickly pocketed his phone and came over to gently remove Momo from Kai’s lap. She went easily, but just as his hands were about to part from her, she stretched out her neck and gave Kai’s cheek a quick lick.
Both Kai and the keeper stared at Momo in alarm.
Kai, because his germaphobia was suddenly locked in a violent battle with his love for all things Momo.
And the keeper—Kai suspected—because he was aware of Kai’s condition and was now wondering if he had enough money saved to relocate to another country before the yakuza came looking for him in a dark alley.
“She… she’s never done that before,” the keeper stuttered.
Kai waved him off.
His internal battle had concluded in Momo’s favour.
“It’s fine. We’re done here,” he said, rising from his seat.
Izuku wandered over, a procession of rabbits following in his wake.
Kai reached the door, but just before stepping out, he turned back to the keeper.
“Take care of her,” he said. “I happen to know she’s in perfect health. So if anything happens to her… you won’t be. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said the keeper, clutching a sleepy Momo like a shield. “I will treat her like my own child!”
Given how Kai treated children, this impassioned promise did not reassure him.
Still, he hummed, nodded, and left—with Izuku hot on his heels.
“That was fun!” Izuku exclaimed the moment they stepped outside. “Can we do that again sometime?”
“Momo doesn’t usually do public appearances, so no,” Kai replied.
He was faintly amused at the boy’s immediate drop in enthusiasm.
“Oh…” Izuku muttered, trailing after him listlessly as they passed the sizeable crowd of Momo fans and moved down a strip of quaint little stores. Kai let him stew for a moment before adding—
“But if our paths should cross again, I suppose I could take you to the zoo. Kids like that, yeah?”
He thought Eri would enjoy the zoo, and he wouldn’t have minded testing that theory—if he wasn’t so confident that she'd try to make a break for it.
“Hey, I’m not a kid!” Izuku protested, in that loud, grating whine that immediately proved otherwise to every nearby shopper.
“Yeah, okay, sure, whatever,” Kai said quickly, hoping to avoid a headache. “Didn’t you have somewhere to be? That call with Ochako sounded urgent.”
The boy had no reaction to Kai casually dropping the callers name, and once again he was stunned by how trusting this nitwit was.
“Oh yeah! I accidentally stood her up!” Izuku cried, looking around frantically. “I have to run, sorry! Do you know which way Starbucks is?”
“Go straight and up the escalator,” Kai replied, already turning to head the other way.
“Oh, great, thanks! And thanks for today!” Izuku called after him—far too loudly. “And about the zoo, I’m totally up for it! Can I have your number?”
“No,” said Kai—and was immediately frustrated when he realised the boy was still following him. “Hurry up and go, you idiot. You’re going to get dumped, and I wouldn’t even blame her.”
The boy blushed scarlet.
“It’s not like that!” he stammered.
Kai sighed.
“Does it honestly look like I care? Just go.”
“Fine, okay—you don’t want to give me your number. I understand. Kinda creepy, right? Adult man asking for a teen’s number,” Izuku laughed awkwardly. “So how about I give you mine instead?”
Kai paused and stared at him in disbelief.
“And that’s better how?”
“Well…” Izuku hesitated, clearly having not thought that far ahead. “I mean, if I give you my number, then you’re not the creepy adult.”
“Because you’re the creepy kid?”
“I… what?”
Kai rubbed at his temple.
There it was—the headache.
“Izuku, just go. You’re such a persistent annoyance in my life that somehow I’m certain God would not be so merciful as to keep our paths from crossing again.”
Izuku frowned, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully.
Kai decided he had already given this interaction far too much of his valuable day off and began looking for an escape.
“Izuku!”
A light, feminine voice called from somewhere behind them. Izuku turned toward the sound—and, as if on cue, a large family passed between them, cutting off their line of sight.
Kai took the opportunity immediately. He slipped into the flow of human traffic and disappeared. He thought he heard Izuku call his name, but he ignored it. The despondent note in his voice was harder to ignore.
Kai adjusted his gloves and walked faster, and that was when he noticed it—a piece of folded notebook paper stuck to the side of his sleeve. He paused to unfold it.
On it, scribbled in messy handwriting, was a phone number.
…of course.