Story Uncertain Future

[simj26]

Also known as dea and pal go on quirky (pun not intended) adventures together as non-Heroes in the BNHAverse

A small, non-canon spinoff to Peace Sign Academia, a fandom RP of Boku no Hero Academia. The spinoff focuses on Dea "Bright" November (a character in the RP proper) and Takahata "Rook" Nanashi (a new character entirely), a duo of operatives from a unique branch of law enforcement who go deeper than what usual Heroes can do.

This sidestory supposedly occurs several years after the RP's current characters have graduated, which has not, as evidenced, actually come about yet, and is such cannot be considered canon. As it stands, all characters, their Hero names, and their reputation are still subject to wild mass guessing.

Join the two operatives as they find themselves enveloped in a mystery that would shake the world itself, meet old friends, and discover the truths behind themselves.

 

[simj26]

“Cigarette, November-san?” Or should it be Ms. November? He didn’t know. Nonetheless, he offered her his pack. With her black suit, she looked like she was the type to light up occasionally. She was a foreigner, that much was certain. Her features weren’t as sharp as the locals, her brown hair was fairer than his own, and the rather odd way she carried herself, even casually, was intensely different than what was expected of the social norms. She called herself a lady, but what kind of lady she was, it didn’t become apparent to him. She was not the yamato nadeshiko that was often present locally, nor was she even borderline refined. At best, her speech was archaic and insultingly polite. She had spoken in English, Japanese, and what he supposed was Finnish over the phone in a level, measured tone, each word enunciated properly and calmly. There was some…form to her speech, he gave her that, but outside of that, not much else.

She waved the cigarette away, and continued scarfing down her sandwich. A piece of bacon dropped onto the napkin on her lap. Do ladies eat like that? “I do not smoke,” she managed to say through a mouthful of ham, lettuce, bread, and mayonnaise. He moved to pull the cigarette between his lips, but she quickly interjected, but not before swallowing first. “Oh, please. I do not smoke, myself, but I hardly mind if others do.”

He paused, already pinching the filter between his fingers, then sighed, and proceeded to snap his fingers, creating a small flame at the tip of pointer finger. He lit the cigarette, then extinguished the flame with a jerk of his hand. An awkward silence settled. Bicycle bells rang in the neighbourhood, the squeals of children playing in the nearby playground, the hum of vehicles passing by on the road, his breath, and her chomping down on her sandwich were all that filled the vacuum between them. He was uncomfortable. The lady he was tasked to play partner to, however, seemed perfectly fine with the lack of interaction. He realised that perhaps this was what she deemed normal. A chilling silence where she could hear and experience everything without having to take her mind off her food was her comfort zone. He, on the other hand, preferred a more talkative atmosphere. He never talked much with his peers on the dining table, but their chatter always gave him some feeling of warmth. He liked the company, or at least the feeling of it. He clasped his hands together, and let his cigarette burn away between his lips.

“Why didn’t you become a hero?” She suddenly asked. Realising that some mayonnaise was starting to get on her face, she rubbed it away with the back of her hand, examined the smudge with an eye, then continued eating, turning her attention instead to him.

He was wrong, it seemed. She did like to talk. Just about the wrong things. This was a question everyone asked him. He had a license. He could be a hero. He could save lives, be nice to kids, sign contracts with advertising firms. But it wasn’t a question he could answer simply. So he shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess the life never appealed to me after the license.”

“Hm.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a sign that she acknowledged him or was just enjoying her sandwich. “How about you, November-san?”

“How about me what?” She gave him one of those innocent looks that all the women in his life have thrown at him once. A look that meant that they knew what he was asking, but was just playing stupid. Most of the time, it meant that he should retract his question immediately. He didn't.

“Why didn't you become a hero?”

She looked positively miffed at the fact that he didn’t catch her drift. She puffed out her cheeks in annoyance, and glared at what remained of her sandwich while he scattered ashes onto the ground with a tap of his finger. The cigarette returned to his lips, and the ego returned to his companion. “That’s not fair. You tell me nothing, and you expect me to give you something. Hardly the basis of a working relationship.”

He didn’t answer this time, only allowing himself a smirk. She was easily baited, he started, but immediately took it back. Or perhaps she was just trying to seem so. Running circles around people seemed like something that someone like Dea November would do. His smirk died out fast when his suspicions were confirmed as her features shifted back almost immediately into one of heck-if-I-care when she returned to her sandwich.

“Agent Rook, was it?” She asked once more, after another two more bites of her sandwich disappeared, and a couple more shreds of lettuce appeared on her napkin. “Not your real name, I suppose.”

“No.” He hesitated, but gave in to the question that his quarry did not ask. There was no harm in telling her. After all, he needed her to trust him. “Nanashi. Takahata Nanashi.”

“A pleasure, then, Mr. Takahata. Rook, if you will,” she added when she saw the look on his face when she said his name aloud. “You’ll forgive me for not offering a hand to shake.” She waved a mayonnaise-stained hand as if to demonstrate her point. “Agent Bright. Dea November. Though I’m sure you already know.”

He did. She wasn’t a widely discussed topic like most heroes, but the word was that she was once on par with today’s big deals like Xpander, Shuten, and Glory Girl. There were rumors that she was also close to Mad Gear once, but where that relationship went, no one actually knew. People expected her to be like them, taking the world by storm, a new generation of heroes to rival All Might. But she declined, and vanished from the hero scene forever. God would only know how she earned her place in a job as thankless as the one she held now. The dangers of a hero, but with none of the perks. No advertising, no groupies, no fame. At least the flight costs were all paid for. Not that she needed the discount. He wanted to ask just how she ended up with Interpol, but he knew that it would be just another waste of time, given her previous answers.

“Have you been briefed, Mr. Takahata?” She used the English “Mister”, he realised, instead of honorifics to refer to others. Strange, but not out of place.

He nodded.

“Good. Then we ought to get started. She removed a notebook from somewhere in her suit jacket and flipped through several pages before coming to a halt. “It’s about twenty minutes walk from here to-- oh, darn, I got dressing all over the edges.” She dropped the notebook on one side, and picked up her napkin, scattering lettuce onto the floor beneath her. He bent down and retrieved the leatherbound book. The pages were fairly new, with only a few of them seemingly having been used. True to her words, the edges were darkened with oil. The dusting was apparently not enough to rid her hands of the grease. He opened the book, turning through the pages, granting each of them with only a moment’s glance. The writings were neat, tidy, mixing both kanji and Roman alphabets here and there. It was mostly notes of what seemed to be phone numbers, addresses, names and what seemed to be mathematical equations, as well as sporadic notes of the previous case she had supposedly been on. The freshest pages that had been written on had been filled to the brim with a tidy list of names and addresses, along with phone numbers. Few of them lacked addresses, and even more lacked phone numbers.

Akacha Yugoyiashi, GG
Akashi Park, ?
Akira Fujimoto, DGC
Avery Baburu, BB
Beruseruku Kuma, MG
Duriander Tragisar, RSH

Dea snatched the book from his hands before he could make any more progress on the list, or on their addresses. Something bugged him about the names and the initials next to them, as if he had seen them somewhere before but couldn't remember where. He watched as his partner stashed the book back into her jacket and give him a displeased glare. For a moment, he thought she was genuinely angry at his actions. The thought was immediately dispersed when she stuck a tongue out at him, like a 5 year old.

The ground shuddered beneath them.

Both of them stood up. He brushed himself down while she drew on her gloves, a pair of black, fingerless ones, with what seemed to be bronze cuffs on the edges. The two of them cast a look towards where what sounded like thunder rumbled across the city landscape.

“Hm.”

Again, he didn’t know if she was just acknowledging the fact or she wanted to say something but didn’t know which words she was supposed to use. But the look in her eyes, however, told him all he needed to know.

“We’re not heroes. We don’t get involved.” They never get involved. That was the operating procedure.

“We’re not heroes,” she echoed, then fell silent. The look in her eyes did not extinguish, however. He did not like it. The first day on the job, and his senior was already breaking near every rule in the book. It was beginning to sound like some trashy flick coming to cinemas nearby. A loose cannon senior and a by-the-book junior, solving international crimes together. Plus Goddamn Ultra. “But we are concerned citizens, are we not?”

“I--” He began.

“Let’s go.” She said it in a way that wouldn’t have sounded out of place if she was ordering gin and tonic at a bar, as if it was nothing more than a casual remark instead of instruction.

He found himself in a strange predicament as she walked off, barely noticing that he wasn’t by her side. By right, he shouldn't follow, but by another right, he was supposed to make sure she remained alive. He rubbed the back of his neck, sighed and took a look at the noontime sun. It wasn't a particularly cloudy day, and the one solitary cloud didn’t look to be inching any closer to the star in the sky. Dea gave no indication of slowing down herself.

He tugged at his tie, loosening it a little. Once he had undone the first button, and felt that he had a little bit more breathing space, he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth. With a flick of his hand, turned the remnants, filter and all, into ash in a burst of flame that enveloped it.

He started after November.