Chapter One

The vigilante brat grinned widely as he entered the enclosed cell. Black horns now protruded through her white locks, and her cuffs laid in pieces on the floor at her feet. She resembled an oni, except with two sets of horns. They slowly receded as the brat stood up. "Why, Eraser, is that you? My, oh my, did you freshen up. You don't look nearly as ready to drop as a few nights ago." She snapped her fingers. A slight buzz tingled in his eyes. His hair rose with the return of his Quirk, and she said, "Oh, and here. You kept to your word, so I'll keep to mine."

"How did you break through those cuffs?"

She haphazardly waved at the Quirk-cancelation cuffs. "Oh, you know, tweaked with a few traits before they were attached to my wrists." The pieces floated off the ground and went to her palm. "Now, how may I be of assistance? Has my punishment been decided?"

Eraserhead glared at the girl, his Quirk flaring up as she toyed with the cuff pieces. They fused together and moved like mercury. "What did you use your Quirk for?"

"Basic stuff," she shrugged. "Breaking into hospitals to cure some patients—cancer, paralysis, regrow some limbs—make some money; create some anonymous bank accounts for any transfers—don't look at me like that! Nothing illegal. Just some side hustles, like creating some influential novels and comics and such. Are you familiar with The Daunted? That's one of my works. You can bring back that Detective from before to confirm it."

The underground Hero snarled. "That is not what I mean and you know it. What did you use it for?"

She tilted her head back and stared at the plain ceiling, the one thing she didn't alter in her cell. The once steel plate that emulated a bed was now covered by a comforter, the walls were simple yet regal in design, and the flooring mimicked a traditional house. "You think I killed someone."

His silence answered her.

All Might's guard may have lowered, but his hasn't. He'd seen the look in her eyes when she fought, cold and calculated. She wasn't an innocent child who did no harm, nor a naive one who didn't know the influence she possessed over people. No, she walked in the streets at broad daylight without a care of the heroes on patrol. She interacted with civilians who approached her, smiling, ruffling the kids' hair, taking pictures with them, signing their shirts, hats, books, bags, and easily escaped when the heroes attempted to capture her. The civilians themselves stopped them, blocking the heroes' path as she vanished once more. When she fought, it was swift and merciless, knocking the villains off their feet and beating them out of consciousness.

This same girl looked down at the blob in her hands. It twitched. It inflated. It slowly formed a little figure like one of those hero figurines he often saw children cling onto. Except it wasn't of a hero she likely noticed and acknowledged. Instead, it was a little robot figure that landed on her hands and moved on its own. She brought it to life. "You're right, but not in the way you are likely thinking."

The little robot climbed up her arm and perched on her shoulder. Its eyes were a neon green.

"Who did you kill?"

She smiled. "My father and that horrid doctor of his."