Strongest Esper

Accelerator walked in silence, his pale fingers flipping the card over repeatedly as he stared at it. His thoughts lingered on the hero he had encountered just days prior.

"Contact me in the future, for any reason at all," the man had said before turning and walking away.

Accelerator scoffed softly to himself. It was obvious the guy had wanted to stay, that he had more to say but chose to leave instead, unsure if Accelerator would ever reach out—or if he'd simply vanish for good this time. The restraint was something Accelerator begrudgingly respected. It wasn't often people left him to make his own choice, let alone someone who claimed to be a hero.

The man reminded him of a certain Anti-Skill officer he had spoken to once. Tough but straightforward, someone who understood when to push and when to back off. Accelerator let out a sigh, shoving the card into his pocket, more out of irritation than need.

"Accelerator!"

Eri's voice cut through his brooding, bright and clear as a bell. He glanced up to see her bounding toward him, her small legs pumping as fast as they could. Even now, her expression was still guarded—she hadn't yet learned how to smile—but her face was softer, more alive. There was a light in her wide red eyes, a glow of innocence she'd miraculously retained despite everything she'd endured.

Clutched tightly in her arms was the pink unicorn plushie he had bought her just days ago. "Game!" she exclaimed, tugging lightly at the sleeve of his jacket.

"Huh?" Accelerator raised an eyebrow, looking down at her with his usual blank expression.

She pointed down the street with unbridled enthusiasm. "Game! Let's play!"

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Eri beamed—or at least tried to. She didn't smile fully yet, but the spark in her eyes was enough for Accelerator. She clung to his sleeve as she led him down the street toward what was undoubtedly a rigged street game.

It had been almost a week since Accelerator's encounter with that hero, and he hadn't seen Asphalt or Velvet since they'd parted ways. The quiet was welcome, but not entirely expected. A day after their separation, Asphalt had called, breaking the silence in typical, obnoxious fashion.

"Aw! Were you worried about little ol' me?" Asphalt's voice had come through the phone, dripping with mock sweetness.

Accelerator rolled his eyes, already regretting answering. "I wanted to make sure you two didn't screw up and drag the kid and me into any more of your bullshit," he snapped.

"Hah! Nice cover-up," Asphalt teased, unfazed by his irritation. "Don't worry, Daddy Accelerator, you're off the hook for a while. Velvet and I have things handled. We're working with Yuki now."

"You told her?" Accelerator's tone was sharp, laced with suspicion.

"Kind of," Asphalt replied, her voice softening just a bit. "She's starting to understand why Jason had her. About her father, too—and the possibility that the man she trusted so much might've been the reason her father's gone. She's strong, you know. Stronger than she realizes."

Accelerator didn't respond immediately, his silence betraying the faintest hint of thought.

"Oh, and by the way, she wanted me to thank you for her," Asphalt added casually, like it wasn't a big deal.

"Huh?" That caught him off guard.

"She didn't explain much, just said you made her think differently. Something about the way you spoke to her—made her question herself in a good way, I guess. Anyway, she said thank you."

Accelerator scoffed, brushing it off. "Anything I did was for my own reasons. Manipulation, not kindness," he muttered dismissively.

"Geez! You're such a buzzkill!" Asphalt groaned, though the exaggerated exasperation didn't hide her grin.

"Whatever," he replied flatly. "Next time you're in town, call first. The kid wants to see you."

"Heh, sure thing," Asphalt said, her voice softening again. "Oh, and Velvet says good luck. She's off on her own mission now—she'll call when she can."

Accelerator raised an eyebrow, though he didn't press. He figured it had something to do with the aftermath at the hospital. As long as it didn't involve him or Eri, he couldn't care less.

"Fine. Whatever," he muttered before hanging up.

"Come on, hurry!" Eri tugged insistently at his sleeve, pulling him out of his thoughts and toward the scam artist's setup. Her determination almost made him laugh.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, letting her lead the way.

Things were peaceful for now—a rare reprieve he hadn't expected, especially with the chaos they had narrowly escaped. Accelerator glanced down at Eri, her small form bustling with energy. He hoped this peace would last, at least for a little while longer.

Aizawa carefully placed the last of his jelly packets inside the compact mini-freezer perched on the edge of his desk. The small appliance was stocked to the brim with all the essentials a sleepless night owl like himself might need during long, drawn-out nights. He closed the freezer door with a quiet click, mentally running through the checklist of supplies he'd brought to keep himself functional.

"Seriously?" Midnight's teasing voice broke the silence, laced with amusement as she leaned casually against the doorframe of his office. "Did you really need to bring your own freezer?"

"It's a precaution," Aizawa replied flatly, his tone as unbothered as ever. He didn't look up, instead adjusting the position of a stray jelly packet that had threatened to topple over.

Midnight raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Precaution? You know the faculty lounge has one, right?"

"Not the point," he replied without missing a beat, finally closing the freezer door. "Considering I'm taking this teaching job while still working an active case, I'd rather have everything I need close at hand."

Midnight arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Usually, heroes have the option to step away from their cases if they're taking on something like this. Did you not ask to be reassigned?"

Her observation hung in the air as Aizawa turned his attention back to organizing his desk, deliberately quiet.

Midnight's curiosity sharpened, her voice dropping slightly. "Unless… you didn't want to be reassigned. That means this case is personal, doesn't it?"

Aizawa froze for the briefest moment before he turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Not really," he said at last, though his tone was heavy with something unspoken. "It's just… there are kids involved."

Midnight smirked knowingly, her amusement returning in full force. "I knew it. You've always had a soft spot for kids. You're going to make a great teacher, you know that?" she teased, folding her arms and grinning at him.

Aizawa rolled his eyes but didn't argue, his gaze steady as he replied. "These kids… they're different."

Her smirk softened into something more serious as she stepped closer. "What kind of different? You got names?"

"Eri," he began, his voice quieter now. "A little girl who seems like she doesn't even exist in any system we've checked. No ID, no records—nothing. And a boy… white hair, red eyes. I never got his name." Aizawa's jaw tightened slightly as he leaned back against his desk. "I didn't push for it. I figured a fake name would be as good as having no name at all. With time, I'm hoping he'll come to me willingly. But if he doesn't..."

"You're gonna have to do things by the book," Midnight finished for him, her voice soft. Her brows knit together thoughtfully, "so, you need any help tracking them down?"

For a second, Aizawa didn't respond, his eyes distant. His mind wandered to the boy's piercing red gaze—cold, sharp, and burdened with a wariness beyond his years.

"It'd be better if he came to me on his own," he said at last. "But..." His dark eyes met hers, steady and serious. "If it comes to it, I might need your help."

Midnight tilted her head, her curiosity deepening. "Is the kid really that dangerous?"

Aizawa hesitated. His mind flashed back to the boy's piercing red eyes—unflinching, detached, and filled with a cold resolve that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. The boy had held himself with a confidence that wasn't born of arrogance but of knowing exactly what he was capable of.

"I don't think I want to find out," he said finally, his voice low but resolute.

Accelerator sat slouched on the couch, arms crossed, his sharp red eyes darting between the colorful chaos of My Little Pony on the TV and the card resting on the table in front of him. He hated how his gaze kept flickering back to it, almost as if it was calling out to him. It was like a mosquito buzzing in his ear—relentlessly annoying but impossible to ignore.

What was more pathetic? The fact that he'd watched Twilight Sparkle save the world for the third time this week or the fact that he was seriously considering calling that damned hero? He grunted in frustration and reached for the nearest throw pillow, aggressively jamming it under his head as if that would help him think.

Across the room, Eri lay sprawled on the floor, her legs lifted in the air and kicking idly as she cradled her chin in her hands. Her wide eyes stayed glued to the screen, transfixed by the sparkly ponies on their latest quest.

"C'mon, Twilight! You can do it!" she whispered under her breath, her tiny fists clenching with determination.

Accelerator's lips twitched at the sight. Ever since he'd left Saki in charge of babysitting her occasionally, the kid had turned into a miniature drill sergeant. Confident? Maybe. Bossy? Definitely.

Like this morning. She had marched right up to him with her hands on her hips, scolding him for trying to replace breakfast with canned coffee. Again.

"Accelerator," she had said, her voice unusually stern for a child her size, "that's not real food!"

"Didn't ask for a lecture, squirt," he'd grumbled.

But that face. She'd pulled that face—the one with trembling lips and wide, watery eyes that made him feel like he'd kicked a puppy. It wasn't fair. He didn't sign up for this emotional warfare.

And then there was the time she'd pointed at the coffee can itself and muttered, "Bad juice," under her breath like she was scolding it, not him. That had almost made him laugh—almost.

Now, she caught him moving, her instincts sharp as a hawk's. "Where are you going?" she asked, springing up and immediately ready to tail him.

Accelerator sighed, turning around with the card now in his hand. "Just for a walk. Need some cof—juice," he corrected himself mid-sentence, glaring at the ghost of her earlier lecture still ringing in his ears. "Saki'll be here soon. Sit tight til then. And don't open the door for anyone, got it?"

Eri nodded obediently, but her eyes lingered on him, filled with the quiet fear she hadn't quite managed to shed. He could see it, the flicker of hesitation like she wanted to ask him to stay but didn't dare. She was getting better—slowly—but moments like these still hit him in the gut.

"Don't wreck the place while I'm gone, squirt," he muttered as he stuffed the card into his pocket and made for the door.

"Okay," she said softly, sitting back down but glancing over her shoulder as he left.

As he stepped outside, Accelerator rubbed the back of his neck, gritting his teeth against the heavy weight pressing on his chest.

"Damn brat," he grumbled to himself, kicking a stray pebble as he walked off. "Making me feel like crap."

Aizawa stood silently on the rooftop, his scarf gently rippling in the cool night breeze. He checked his watch, the hands ticking steadily forward. If the boy didn't show soon, he'd call it a night—not that he was surprised. Trust wasn't built overnight, especially with someone like him.

"What's with heroes and rooftops?"

The dry, unimpressed voice carried through the night, startling him out of his thoughts. Aizawa turned toward the source, spotting a figure emerging from the shadows. The boy's pale, white hair gleamed under the dim moonlight, his crimson eyes narrowing as they fixed on Aizawa.

He didn't think the kid would actually show up. Relief flooded through him, though he kept his expression neutral.

"A trend of sorts," Aizawa replied calmly before softening his tone. "Thank you for meeting with me."

The boy shrugged, his posture casual but guarded. "It was the least troublesome option to take."

Aizawa allowed himself a faint smile, quickly masked by a cough as he straightened up. "Even so, you have my gratitude." He studied the boy, noting the stiff way he stood, as if bracing for betrayal. "I realized I never got your name."

For a moment, the boy didn't answer. The wind tousled his hair as he stared out over the city lights below, his expression unreadable.

"Accelerator," he finally said, his voice clipped.

Aizawa nodded. "Accelerator," he repeated, rolling the alias over in his mind. It wasn't unexpected that the boy would give him a pseudonym. From what little he'd seen and learned, trust didn't come easily to him. Aizawa suspected he'd witnessed things no child should ever have to endure, things that made him wary of adults—and rightly so.

Still, the fact that the boy had shown up, let alone entertained this conversation, meant there was a glimmer of hope. If Aizawa could work with him, maybe, just maybe, he could steer him—and perhaps his sister—away from whatever darkness they were entrenched in.

"It's nice to meet you, Accelerator," Aizawa said with a nod. It wasn't returned.

"What do you want?" Accelerator asked, his voice cold but curious.

Aizawa paused, carefully choosing his words. Earning the boy's trust meant honesty—anything less, and the kid would see right through him. "I want to know what happened at the hospital," he said evenly. "The night Eri was taken."

Accelerator's red eyes narrowed slightly, studying Aizawa before he sighed and closed them for a brief moment. When he opened them again, they were sharp and focused, locked onto Aizawa's face. "I left Eri with an... associate," he began. "Later, I found out they'd been intercepted by some crazy-ass cult. They learned about Eri's... abilities and decided she was key to whatever twisted nonsense they were planning."

Aizawa listened intently. The boy's words were clipped, carefully measured, as though he was holding back just enough to keep himself in control of the narrative. The boy had also avoided revealing the girls quirk, which was clever and showed that he was protective over the girl, the lie and secrets wouldn't make Aizawa's job any easier but still, part of the truth was better than a complete lie.

"I met up with another... acquaintance," Accelerator continued, his tone dripping with… annoyance? "who had her own history with the group. She gave me some intel on their operations, and we went in to get the kid back."

"Why not call a hero?" Aizawa interjected, his voice was steady but curious. "Or even the police?"

Accelerator scoffed, his expression unreadable. "I have about as much faith in the system as you would with leaving fucking mobsters in charge of toddlers."

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. An… interesting analogy, though the answer wasn't at all surprising, but the ease with which the boy said it intrigued him. He wasn't bluffing, and he wasn't reacting impulsively. This wasn't the kind of kid who panicked under pressure—he thought things through, however grim or unorthodox his methods might be.

"They were just a bunch of people playing god," Accelerator continued, his voice colder now. "I handled it. Things got messy, but we got out. After we left, there was some kind of explosion. No clue what caused it, and I didn't stick around to find out." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "The doc was there, but I don't know why—or whether he was there willingly."

Aizawa nodded slowly, his mind processing the boy's words. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. The situation was murkier than he'd hoped, and Accelerator's guarded demeanor suggested there was more he wasn't saying. Still, any progress was better than none.

"I see," Aizawa said, his voice calm. He made a mental note to share what little he'd learned with Fat Gum, though it was clear they were still far from connecting the dots. The key to unraveling this mystery would be through Accelerator—and earning his trust was paramount.

"Thank you for telling me," Aizawa said sincerely, "I might need to ccontact you later, since the search for Doctor Hamazura doesn't seem to be ending anytime soon".

Accelerator didn't reply. He merely stood there, his crimson eyes lingering on Aizawa for a moment longer before he turned to leave.

Aizawa watched him go, the boy's pale hair vanishing into the shadows of the rooftop. The kid was a puzzle, one with jagged, broken edges that didn't fit together easily. But Aizawa had seen enough to know there was something worth salvaging beneath the layers of distrust and bitterness.

For now, though, he'd let the boy take the lead.

"Sir," the man whimpered, his voice cracking with terror as he knelt on the cold, hard ground. Blood matted his hair and dripped from fresh wounds, pooling beneath him. His body shook uncontrollably, his vision swimming in and out of focus. "Please…" he choked, his breath ragged and uneven. "Please, have mercy!"

Golden eyes glowed like embers in the dimly lit room, piercing through the darkness with an intensity that made the man's pleas falter. The figure standing over him loomed like a shadow of death, his expression a mask of cold disdain.

"Filthy," the low, venomous voice growled, slicing through the man's pleas like a blade. Overhaul tilted his head slightly, his immaculate white gloves flexing as if itching to enact further punishment. He looked down at the bloodied wretch before him, disgust writ large on his sharp features.

"How," Overhaul began, his tone calm but laced with menace, "did a group of over thirty men—armed and prepared—get taken down by two vigilantes?"

The man's lips moved, but no words came. Fear paralyzed him.

Overhaul's gaze sharpened, his golden eyes narrowing. He was beyond furious. His temper simmered beneath the surface, controlled only by his need for answers. This failure wasn't just humiliating—it was catastrophic. He'd been meticulous. Every step of his plan had been calculated with surgical precision. Yet somehow, Eri had slipped through his fingers.

He inhaled deeply, his gloved hand rising to his face. The smooth leather glinted in the faint light as he pinched the bridge of his nose, a futile attempt to compose himself. "Chrono."

The name was spoken softly but carried the weight of an unspoken threat. Chrono stepped forward, his posture stiff, though his face betrayed no emotion. He stood at attention, waiting for Overhaul's next words.

"Find her," Overhaul commanded, his voice low and dangerous. His tone was steady, but the undercurrent of desperation was palpable. "Without her…" He trailed off, his golden eyes briefly flickering with something that might have been fear before hardening into steely resolve.

"She is everything," Overhaul continued, his voice rising slightly as he lowered his hand and looked directly at Chrono. "Without her, all of this—all of my work—will have been for nothing."

He took a step closer, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the trembling man still kneeling before him. The man flinched, fresh tears spilling from his swollen eyes as Overhaul loomed above him.

"And that," Overhaul said softly, almost to himself, "is something I will not allow."

The faint squeak of his glove tightening into a fist punctuated his words. Chrono inclined his head. "Understood."

"Good." Overhaul's voice dropped to a chilling whisper, his golden eyes gleaming with deadly intent. "No matter what it takes… find her."

As Chrono departed to carry out his orders, the room fell into an oppressive silence. Overhaul remained standing, his gaze lingering on the broken man before him. The failure of his subordinates had cost him dearly. Now, he would ensure they all understood the price of disappointing him.

"No matter the cost".