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The sky is dark and the world is quiet. Nothing moves, but no one is sleeping. They all watch the news: with the headlines, who could not? 

Everyone in that little city is watching. All but one girl, who's in an alley beside a hospital, searching for her long-lost phone. 

The headlines no one ever wanted to see. The headlines no one thought they ever would. Four words, that strike dread in all those who hear them. Villain or hero. Child or elderly. Alive or deceased.

𝐏𝐑𝐎-𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎, 𝐃𝐄𝐊𝐔, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃.

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Shit, you think, where is it?

You have to find your phone. The pictures of Deku don't matter to you anymore; you just need to prove to the police that you didn't kill Hiroto. You have to prove that he didn't kill himself.

The alley is empty, but you're sure it's the same one. The window is still open, its curtains fluttering in the soft wind, and the same fire escape you climbed is as you remember it.

You handle the knife in your pocket, your forehead sweating. You have nowhere to go. You can't go back to your apartment; that's where your brother was murdered. You can't go back to the police, at least not until you have some proof.

"I've got to find my phone," you growl to yourself, for whatever reason. You want to punch someone. You want to scream.

You almost do when you hear a voice behind you.

"Looking for this?" It says, teasing and dripping with boredom.

For a second you stop, because you know that voice. The voice you've heard on countless interviews. The voice belonging to one of the most famous heroes in the world. The voice you admired for the past ten years.

But that voice is supposed to be dead. You saw him. Bandaged, broken, and bedridden. You heard him die.

It must be a poser.

You swivel around, quickly and skillfully pulling out your knife and pointing it at the figure. You can't see him, only the outline of his body, due to the darkness and the shadows cast by the buildings around you. He does, however, dangle your phone in front of him.

"Does this belong to you?" The man says, void of any concern. It's clear there's something else going on. He seems to have noticed the knife in your hand, but doesn't even take a second glance.

You're not sure what to say, but you need your phone, so you tell him the truth. "Yes."

He tilts his head, unlocking your phone and taking a look at the most recent thing you had on the screen.

The pictures.

You can't see his expression. You can't tell what he's thinking.

"Can I have my phone back?" You say, trying to sound as threatening as you can. Truth is, you're terrified, because who knows who this man is. He could have a weapon. He could have a plan, which is ten times more than you have.

You will your hand to stop shaking, but despite your efforts, the man seems to notice. You hear him chuckle. He takes a step towards you, dangling your phone in front of him.

"Don't . . . Don't come any closer!" You shout, clutching the knife in your hand. The man smirks, his voice tinted in mockery.

"Then how am I supposed to give you your phone?" He counters.

You're not sure what to do, but your gut tells you there's something wrong with this person. 

"I-I'm warning you!"

"What are you going to do, my dear?" The familiar man hums, taking a step towards you, "stab me?"

Finally, it hits you. You immediately recognize the man when he steps into the light, and you know what to do.

You press the knife to your own neck, hand shaking in fear, praying to god you're not wrong.

The man stops, his lips pulled down in a scowl. "Now, now," he says, treating you like a frightened animal, "Don't be stupid. Put it down; you don't want to die, do you?"

"That depends," you reply, not hiding the fear in your voice, "by whose hand?"

Dread settles in your stomach. Your hunch was right; pity it didn't feel any better. This was not some random man in an alley.

The voice, the stance, the hair.

You were right. It's Deku, and there's still a little hero left in him after all.

"D-Deku?" You say, loosening your grip on the knife. He laughs, a sharp, tortured noise, shoving your phone in the pocket of his torn hero costume.

"I'm not Deku." He grimaces. "Not anymore."

He takes another step towards you. And another. 

You don't move. You can't. Your hero is here, leaning over you in an alley, and he's so close you could count the freckles on his face.

He leans closer, his face inches away from yours. He carefully places a hand on the knife you're holding, tugging it away from your neck. Gives you a smile. Leans to your ear. Whispers:

"Call me Midoriya."

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