[SHINJUKU – KABUKICHO DISTRICT – 16:47 PM]
The izakaya on the corner of Kabukicho had been open since noon.
This was unusual. The owner, a man in his sixties named Hotta who had run the place for thirty years, had a policy about afternoon opening that he maintained with unfailing consistency.
Whenever asked, his rhetoric was always something about being a person who understood that a policy existed specifically for moments when you felt like abandoning it. To others, the statement itself made no sense, but it had been that way for years. Today he had abandoned it at eleven-thirty and had been quietly grateful ever since, because by noon the place was full.
Not the usual evening crowd. Salarymen who hadn't made it to work. A group of university students who had been awake since the broadcasts started. Two women in nursing scrubs who were clearly between shifts and needed somewhere to sit. An older couple who had been evacuated from a Kamino ward adjacent neighborhood and hadn't been told yet when they could go back.
The television above the bar had been running continuous coverage since he turned it on.
Nobody had asked him to change it. Right now it was showing the NHK afternoon anchor running through the updated incident figures — eighty-one confirmed villain-related incidents across thirteen prefectures since four that morning, seventeen heroes hospitalised in engagements with escaped convicts, the NPA requesting that civilians in six specific districts remain indoors until further notice.
Hotta wiped down the bar and listened to the numbers accumulate.
"My nephew is a hero," said one of the nursing scrubs women. She seemed to be talking to herself more than she was anyone else. "Third year agency in Sendai. I've been calling him since six."
"Is he answering?" said the other.
"Eventually." She wrapped her hands around her glass. "Eventually."
Hotta listening a bit at a distance sighed heavily. 'Dear god ...' He thought while looking at the news reports.
'How did all hell suddenly break loose so quickly?'
The television anchor paused mid-sentence.
"We're receiving word," he said, "that UA High School is now conducting a live press conference. We're going to that feed now." The bar went quiet. On the screen, the UA emblem appeared. Behind a table, a small white figure sat with his paws folded, and two men in formal suits to his left and right. One being a familiar figure that people had seen hours prior on the broadcast in the battle of Tokyo Ground Zero.
Meanwhile, at U.A High, Nezu folded his paws on the table and looked at the conference room occupied with thirty-one credentialed journalists.
Print, broadcast, digital. The networks had sent their second-string reporters because their primary assets were still deployed at the eastern Tokyo site and the Kamino ward, which suited Nezu fine. Second-string reporters asked the questions their editors had assigned them. Primary assets improvised.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Nezu began. "I am Nezu, Principal of UA. To my right is Shota Aizawa, homeroom teacher of Class 1-A, and to my left is Sekijiro Kan, homeroom teacher of Class 1-B. I'll be making a statement first. Questions will follow."
He looked at the assembled press. "UA High School deeply regrets the circumstances that led to this press conference. Specifically, we regret that the families of the Yamanote Line were not informed through proper channels before public confirmation of Akutami-san's survival. That failure is ours and we accept responsibility for it."
He paused. "The events of the past twenty-four hours moved faster than our communications infrastructure could manage."
"What I can confirm today is the following. Akutami Yuta survived the Yamanote Line incident. The full circumstances of his survival and subsequent activities are subject to an ongoing NPA investigation and I am not in a position to provide a complete account at this time. What I can confirm is that he is a UA student, he is alive, he is safe, and he is on school grounds receiving appropriate care." He let that settle. "He will not be present at this conference. He is a minor witness in an active investigation and it would be inappropriate for him to make public statements before that investigation concludes. I ask that the press respect this boundary."
A hand went up immediately.
Nezu nodded.
"If Akutami-san isn't here, who speaks for the families of the other seven hundred and fifteen victims? They've been waiting seventeen days. One survivor is alive and UA is shielding him from any accountability—"
"UA is not shielding anyone from accountability," Nezu said, pleasantly and without interruption. "UA is complying with the standard legal protections afforded to minor witnesses in active criminal investigations. These protections exist for good reasons and apply regardless of public pressure or the understandable urgency of grieving families." He tilted his head. "The accountability you're describing is the NPA's to provide, not a sixteen-year-old's. I would direct that question to their press office."
The journalist sat back and another hand went up. "Principal Nezu. Not just All Might, but Eraserhead was present late during the Tokyo battle last night. Can you confirm the latter's whereabouts during that four-hour window?"
Aizawa, beside Nezu, said nothing.
Nezu smiled. "Pro Hero Eraserhead's operational movements are not something UA High School is in a position to discuss publicly, particularly when they intersect with an active investigation."
"Was he searching for Akutami-san?"
"Next question."
The questions ran for twenty minutes and covered the ground they always covered at these things — what did the school know and when, what was the legal status of unlicensed combat by a student, what was UA's relationship with the HPSC given its current incapacity, what did All Might's presence alongside a UA student indicate about the school's involvement in hero operations beyond its educational mandate.
Nezu answered each one calmly, clearly prepared for any variables and seemingly enough to satisfy the minimum threshold of transparency, not one word beyond it.Aizawa said nothing. On the ninth question, Nezu paused before nodding.
Curious stood. She was the only journalist in the room who stood rather than simply raising her hand, which Nezu had also noted.
"Chitose Kizuki, Hero Network Today," she said. "My question is for Eraserhead."
Aizawa looked at her. "You were absent from the engagement last night. You arrived with All Might at approximately five in the morning. You were also absent from UA during the preceding days according to private investigations."
She paused. "The public narrative ... which I think we're all aware of at this point, suggests you and All Might left Japan together to find Akutami-san. I'm not asking you to confirm the investigation's details. I'm asking something more specific." She looked at him directly. "Was it worth it." The room, already heavy with the collective anxiety of a nation on edge, seemed to drop several degrees. The shutters of the cameras didn't stop, flashing repeatedly. Hidden under the desk, Aizawa's hand clenched into a fist.
It was a jagged question—one that bypassed logistics and went straight for the moral jugular.
Aizawa didn't answer immediately, eyes focused on Kizuki with an unreadable intensity. The bandages around his neck looked stark against the dark suit he had been forced into for the occasion.
"Worth it," Aizawa replied. "Seventeen days ago, I lost a student," he said, his tone devoid of any performative sentiment. "The country lost seven hundred and fifteen people. Last night, the HPSC headquarters was leveled, and the streets became a war zone. If you're asking if one life balances the scales against a national catastrophe, you're asking a question about math. Regrettably, I don't teach math."
He released his clenched fist. "I teach heroes. From what I know of the ongoing investigation and actions said student has shown repeatedly ever since he was inducted into this school, he has proven without a doubt that he is more than capable of living up to that mantle. The first lesson we teach at UA is that the value of a life isn't something you negotiate. If there is a chance to bring a kid home—any kid—we take it. That's not an 'operational movement.' That's the job. If you think that's a distraction from the 'bigger picture,' then you don't understand why we have heroes in the first place."
Kizuki didn't sit down. She tilted her head, and continued. "A noble sentiment, Eraserhead. But while you were focused on that 'one life,' the League of Villains orchestrated the largest prison break in history. The public is beginning to wonder if UA's obsession with its own students is becoming a liability to the safety of the many."
"That's enough," Sekijiro Kan interjected, his voice booming. "This is a press conference, not a debate stage."
"It's a fair question, Sekijiro," Nezu said softly, lifting a paw to still his colleague. He looked back at Kizuki. "The 'safety of the many' is exactly why UA exists. We are not just a school; we are a pillar of the society that is currently being tested. To suggest that saving a life is a liability is a dangerous path to walk, Kizuki-san. I would suggest that the failure lies not in the rescue of a survivor, but in the chaos that necessitates such rescues in the first place. One more question."
The journalist near the back raised his hand. Rumpled in his mid-forties.
"Eraserhead. The League of Villains — their primary leadership figure is confirmed dead. But Shigaraki Tomura is still at large. Kurogiri, identified as the individual responsible for the Yamanote Line attack, is also still at large. Prior to last night's tragedy, the vast majority of train related transportation has been suspended to prevent a similar scenario of the 716 ... 715 being played out again." He looked at the table. "Does UA have any statement on what the League represents going forward?"
"No," Aizawa said. The journalist waited yet received no further response.
"What my colleague means is that matters pertaining to ongoing criminal investigations are more appropriately addressed by the NPA. We defer to their expertise in all relevant areas." Nezu replied. The journalist frowned.
Before he could say anything, Kizuki signaled again, a small smile on her face. "How does U.A plan to get involved in the country's current crisis?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I believe you have watched the NHK news broadcast's analysis of the current Hero system in Japan. Do you agree or not?"
"I have mixed reviews but I don't see how that has any relevance to the question."
"It has everything to do with it, Principal," Kizuki said, her voice smooth as glass. "The NHK's analysis was quite sobering. In one night, Japan lost forty of its most capable Pro Heroes. Alongside the breakout of countless inmates. Without All Might, we are practically looking at the resurgence of a possible villainous Era as the league of villains now have greater members instead of simple biological weapons. Nomu .. I believe they were called. Creatures that have already proven to be beyond the capabilities of the average pro. Even Ingenium, a man ranked sixty-seventh in the country, was overwhelmed in Hosu by a single specimen."
She paused. The three U.A staff had their eyes narrow.
"The reality is this: UA High School currently houses the highest concentration of high-tier combat power in the country. You have a faculty of specialists who are now, frankly, over-qualified for mere proctoring. With the nation in turmoil and the police stretched to a breaking point, does UA intend to keep its 'assets' locked behind these walls for the sake of a curriculum? Or will you be releasing your staff to fill the vacuum left by the heroes who didn't survive the night?"