REAL QUICK! PLEEEEAASE READ!!! So I've enter this story in the fanfic contest. I saw it and thought it would be nice to compete. Quickly however I discovered a problem. The competition seems to be based on collections. And the more one posts the more Webnovel seems to push a story. But. I just can't keep up with that pace normally. My chapters are typically longer than the average fic here and I do think it's quite...well done as well if I say so. Though just to keep up I've had to make my chapters smaller and smaller.
SO! If I can't push my novel with Quantity, what if I try with Quality.
PowerStones. If my fic can reach higher in Power Rankings then Webnovel will push it regardless. Right now this fic has 6 Power Stones. However if it reaches 20 and extra full chapter will be posted that day. And not a short one either. And the next 20 it'll happen again.
Please. I'm calling on all fans who see potential in this work. To help me. Thank you.
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I take a long look at myself in the mirror and try not to laugh at my own unoriginality. The vest and tie? The dress shirt and slacks? Really, this is the best I could come up with? When I imagined an outfit for this, I only thought of two options and I'd rather die than recreate Deku's original costume in this world. So here we are. Villain Izuku it is.
Great start, dumbass. Real inspiring choice for your first heroic outing.
I pull at the knot of my tie, half expecting the mirror-me to roll his eyes back at me. He doesn't. Obviously. He just stares, quiet and steady. So I sigh, straighten my shoulders, and whisper to him anyway.
"Sorry, kid. I know I'm risking it all right now, but I can't let this go. You'll understand. Right?"
The version of me in the glass doesn't answer. He just keeps breathing with me, in sync, like always. It's just a reflection. A mirror of a different person.
Outside the window, the city glows in faint moonlight. The hour's late enough that even Musutafu's restless hum feels softer, half-asleep. I check the time. Perfect. The moon's high. The shadows are long.
I slip out of my room and pad through the quiet apartment. The lights are all off. No sign of Inko. She should still be out with Bakugo's mom, those two don't stop talking until someone's too drunk to stand. I've got a window of a few hours, maybe less. Very possibly more.
The door creaks when I open it. Cool air rushes in, sharp and clean, and for a second I just stand there, letting the chill bite into me. It helps clear my head. Reminds me that this is real. Not only me being in this world. But what I'm about to do.
What I'm already doing is reckless and stupid, I tell myself. Doing it without the cover of night would be practically suicidal.
The vivre card crinkles softly between my fingers as I pull it from my pocket. It trembles faintly in the air, like it's alive, tugging toward the left. Toward my notebook. Toward them.
Hours ago, the signal had stopped moving. It's why I could actually hunker down and wait for nightfall. Either they finally parked somewhere, or they've been driving down the straightest road in history for five hours. I'm betting on the first one.
If they stopped, it means the loot's been stashed. My notebook, especially.
I breathe once more, deep and steady, and start walking.
The city's quieter than usual tonight. My shoes tap against the pavement in rhythm with my pulse. I walk tall, the faint pink mask Hana made pressed tight against my face. It doesn't make me invisible, but it does make it easier for people not to care. And that's what I need right now. For people not to care.
The vivre card tugs again. Harder this time. I follow.
Street by street, the air changes. The lights get fewer. The alleys get narrower.
Eventually, the paper leads me toward an abandoned district on the city's edge. Half-collapsed buildings. Broken streetlamps. Graffiti layered thick as history. It's the kind of place you pass by in daylight and promise never to visit after dark.
And here I am.
I duck behind a rusted fence and peek out. A faint light flickers in one of the warehouses up ahead. Probably the only one in the area with electricity. The vivre card strains toward it like it's magnetized.
I crouch low, fingers tightening around the note. My throat's dry. My heartbeat's ridiculous. But my body's moving anyway. Step by step. Shadow to shadow.
Hero work, huh?
Feels more like trespassing.
When I get closer, I hear voices. Laughter. Someone's shouting orders. I edge around a stack of crates and finally see them: a small group of men in mismatched gear unloading boxes from a van. Among the crates, scattered carelessly on a lid, there it is. My notebook. Torn. Smudged. Familiar as the back of my hand.
Something hot flashes through me. Whether it's anger, relief, or both I don't know exactly. What I do know however is that I'm not leaving here without it.
Then I notice the guns. Or rather, how many men are holding guns. There were only three people who robbed the store but I'm counting at least 8 here. And those are the ones I can see. What the hell is going on?
I'd be lying if I said I still have no doubts. This? This just turned a lot more serious. I hear a faint rattling and turn downwards to see…my hand? It's shaking.
Ha. Hahaha. Of course it's shaking idiot. Did you think you would train for a couple years and become Batman? Swoop in, take them down, quirked and quirkless, and walk out? No. You knew this was going to be difficult way before you started walking here. But you came anyway. Because it needed to be done.
The vivre card still flutters faintly in my grip, pointing toward the warehouse. I pocket it and steel myself.
And it still needs to be done. This is it. For all the marbles. That day you nut up or shut up.
Step one: get the notebook.
Step two: don't die.
I move.