The recordings were difficult to watch.
Detective Taneda scrolled through them one by one, his finger hovering over the keyboard, his eyes dry and burning. He had been watching for hours. The faces blurred together after a while. The excuses blurred too.
Haruto Fujimoto was first. Founder of orphanages. Funder of the Eden Project. His suit was expensive, his hair was grey, his voice was calm.
"We only wanted a better Japan." He said it like a prayer. Like a justification. Like saying it enough times would make it true.
"Stronger heroes meant fewer casualties. Fewer deaths. Fewer families torn apart by villain attacks. What we did, yes, it was wrong. I can see that now. But it was for the right reasons."
The detective asked a question. Off-camera. The recording did not catch his words.
Fujimoto's composure cracked. Just slightly.
"The mothers and fathers," he said, "the ones who abandoned their children so easily, they are the ones who are truly evil. The ones who are truly wrong. They gave up their children because they were misbehaving. Or because they were born with traits they never wanted. Or because they simply died and left no one behind to care."
He leaned forward.
"Why were their children so easily acquired? Ask them. Not me."
Taneda paused the recording. Rubbed his eyes. Played the next one.
Ichiro Kawabata. One of the architects. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow. He had not slept well since the arrest. He looked like a man who had been running for years and had finally been caught.
"The children were volunteers," he said. "Their parents signed forms. We did not kidnap anyone."
Another question. Off-camera.
"The parents did not read the forms. That is not our fault. We provided the information. They chose not to review it."
He paused.
"We wanted a better Japan. That is all. A better Japan."
Taneda stopped the recording.
Mariko Hisakawa was next. Her voice was sharp. Defensive. She answered questions with questions, deflected, dodged.
"Everyone wanted stronger heroes. Everyone. After All Might's rise, the expectation became the standard. Every country wanted their own Symbol of Peace. I seriously doubt we were the only ones willing to do the work."
The detective asked something. She laughed. A brittle, broken sound.
"The parents? The parents were happy to be rid of their children. Do you know how many of them never called? Never tried to visit? Never asked a single question about what their children were doing?"
She leaned back in her chair.
"We did not create those children's suffering. We just inherited it."
Taneda stopped the recording. He stared at the blank screen for a long moment. Then he played the next one.
Daisuke Ishimura. The last of the architects. His face was blank. His voice was flat. He answered every question with the same three words.
"No comment."
The detective asked again.
"No comment."
Again.
"No comment."
Taneda stopped the recording.
He sat in the dark, the glow of the monitor the only light in the room. He thought about the children. About the fire. About the ones who escaped and the ones who did not.
He thought about the parents. The ones who signed the forms. The ones who never called. The ones who were probably, right now, watching the news and feeling nothing.
He rubbed his eyes.
Then he played the next recording.
___
The morning was cold.
Saeko Himura stood in front of her bathroom mirror, a cigarette between her fingers, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling. Her reflection stared back at her. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair pulled back in a loose bun. The same face she had worn for decades, now lined with things she did not want to name.
The news was on in the other room. She could hear it. The same headlines. The same outrage. The same calls for blood.
People wanted the worst to happen to the Commission members. To the architects. To the financiers. She understood the impulse. She even shared it, a little.
But what would it change?
The people were still angry. The attacks were still happening. All Might was still dead. And the world was still looking for someone to blame.
Who will the Commission point to next? she thought. Another easy target? Or the president herself?
She took a drag of her cigarette. Exhaled. Watched the smoke dissipate.
Her eyes drifted to the dresser. To the drawer she never opened. To the letter tucked inside, yellowed with age, the edges soft from years of handling.
She opened the drawer. Picked up the letter. Did not unfold it. She did not need to. She had read it enough times. She had memorised it.
The handwriting was messy. Childish. Desperate.
My name is Akari. My sister's name is Ayumi. Men in suits took her. They said she was special. They said she would help Japan. I do not believe them. I want you to help me find her. Please. I am sorry for bothering you. I did not know who else to ask.
Saeko had been young then. Just starting out. Hungry for a big case. Hungry to make a name for herself.
She had read the letter. Set it aside. Told herself it was a prank. Told herself it was not worth her time. She was working on something bigger. Something that mattered. Something that would put her on the map.
She had ignored it.
She had ignored a child.
The cigarette burned low. She stubbed it out in the ashtray.
She had seen that girl on the news. Only a year ago. She was a villain then. Burned to death by Endeavour. Hero kills were rarely reported, but that one had been. The public had been afraid of her. They had wanted her gone.
The report had named her. Silent Swan.
Saeko had not connected the dots until later. Until she saw the photograph. Until she recognised the eyes. The same eyes that had looked up at her, all those years ago, pleading for help she had refused to give.
She had tried, since then. To make up for it. She volunteered with children's organisations. She took on pro bono cases. She donated money she did not have to causes she barely believed in.
It was not enough. It would never be enough.
Now a big case was coming her way. The Eden Project. The Commission. The lawyers would be lining up to defend them, to prosecute them, to make their names off the suffering of children.
She could take it. She could refuse it. Either way, she would not be sacrificing anything.
She lit another cigarette.
How selfish.
The smoke curled toward the ceiling. The news played on. The world kept turning.
She did not know if she would take the case.
But she knew she would never forget the letter.
___
The lab was cold, as always. The incubators hummed along the walls, their pale blue light casting shadows across Dr Ujiko's hunched form. He stood before a monitor, his glasses thick, his smile thin.
All For One's voice came through the speakers, smooth and unhurried.
"The news is rather entertaining, do you not think?"
Ujiko chuckled. "The Commission's disgrace. The public's outrage. It is almost poetic."
"Almost."
Ujiko adjusted his glasses. "Did you ever get the quirks off those children? The ones from the Eden Project."
All For One was quiet for a moment.
"I took some. The ones worth taking. But I preferred to save most of the top ones. Numbers one to three were the best."
He paused.
"I never liked the creativeness of number two and number three. Unrefined. Messy. But I could still take them. Work with them. Shape them into something useful."
Ujiko tilted his head. "And number one? Daiki Tenma."
"Ah." All For One's voice warmed. "Number one was certainly more my speed. Raw. Uncomplicated. Power focused entirely on power."
"Then why not take it now? He is with the League. You could call him in. Take his quirk. Be done with it."
All For One laughed. A low, rumbling sound.
"I am almost certain Daiki joined the League to find me."
Ujiko's eyebrows rose.
"He must have figured out I was the head of the Eden Project. The children were not stupid. They may not have known the names, but they knew someone was pulling strings. Someone with resources. Someone with reach." All For One paused. "Daiki wants to fight me. For his quirk, perhaps. Or for something else. Resentment, maybe. The chance to prove himself."
He chuckled again.
"If the two of us were to fight, I assume he has planned a way to actually harm me. Which could harm the League. So I will wait."
Ujiko nodded slowly. "And the girl? Saya Kurotsuki?"
"She is just following Daiki along. She has no interests. No real care." All For One's voice was dismissive. "Like most of those children. Just resentment and a deep-seated fear of nothingness. That is why the majority go on a crusade of violence in their own way. Trying to become something. Even in the hero world they claim to hate."
Ujiko's fingers tapped against his keyboard. "And number two? Kobe Arakawa. He is the one who surprised you."
All For One was quiet for a moment.
"He is on a journey to become a hero."
Ujiko blinked. "Truly?"
"Nezu could have done something. Influenced him. Offered him something the Commission could not."
"That is not possible," Ujiko said. "The boy's psyche was shattered long before Nezu entered the picture."
"Then either Kobe genuinely believes herodom will fill the ever-expanding hole in his soul," All For One said, "or he has found something to obsess over at that school. Something that drives him."
Ujiko frowned. "Should we be concerned?"
"Concerned? No. Interested? Yes." All For One paused. "But he is not our priority."
Ujiko glanced at a secondary monitor. A live feed of the League's hideout. Shigaraki was in the corner, alone, his knees drawn to his chest.
"Tomura has been quiet," Ujiko said. "Angry. He has barely spoken in days."
"The others?"
"They say he just sits. Stares at the wall. Does not eat unless someone puts food in front of him."
All For One was quiet.
"Is the project with him done, then?" Ujiko asked. "Have you extracted everything you need?"
"Not at all." All For One's voice was calm. "The heroes still view him as the new age leader of this... thing. The League. The movement. Whatever they are calling it this week. As long as they see him as a threat, he has his uses."
Ujiko nodded. "And the two quirks you want?"
All For One's voice sharpened.
"Safeguarded by UA. Both of them."
Ujiko's fingers stilled.
"Izuku Midoriya. One For All. The last embers of that cursed legacy." All For One's smile was audible. "And the girl. Eri. Rewind. The quirk that could undo everything."
He laughed.
"But we will wait. Patience is a virtue, doctor. And I have had centuries to practise."