BNHA: I am Reiji Toga

The light of dawn filtered through the curtains with a deceptive softness. The kitchen smelled of toast and melted butter, and the subtle sound of a knife on china filled the room with a false sense of normality.

Reiji was already dressed in his high school uniform, combing his bangs with one hand while holding the bread with the other.

"Are you eating breakfast here or taking something with you?" he asked without looking back.

Himiko appeared from the hallway, still buttoning her U.A. uniform jacket. She was dressed more formally than usual. The collar was a little crooked.

"I'll stay..." she murmured.

Reiji poured two bowls of cereal and set them on the table. Then he sat down as if nothing had happened, as if nothing at all had happened the night before.

Himiko, on the other hand, barely touched her food. Her eyes scanned her brother's face at every opportunity. She was looking for a sign. Something that would reveal that he was feeling it too. That he was also mulling over what they had shared the night before.

But Reiji chewed calmly, with a relaxed expression, glancing at his cell phone from time to time.

"How was your first day at U.A.?" he finally asked, without looking up.

"...Fine," she replied briefly.

"Did you like your classmates? Did you have any interesting classes?"

"Yes... and I don't know yet," she said, avoiding his gaze.

The silence stretched between them.

She thought about the night before. About his neck. Her trembling voice. The heat. The way he left her without saying anything else.

And now... this?

"What about you?" she blurted out suddenly. "How was your first day?"

Reiji shrugged. "A normal high school. A couple of annoying guys, others pretty quiet. There's an interesting guy... Shinso. I liked him."

"Ah." Her voice barely held. "That's good."

She got up from the table without finishing her breakfast.

"Are you leaving already?" he asked.

"Yes. I don't want to be late."

Reiji looked at his watch. "You still have time."

"I'd rather walk."

He nodded lightly. "Good luck with your classes."

She opened the door. Before leaving, she paused.

"Reiji..."

He raised his head, calm.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

Their eyes met for a second.

"About what?"

She looked at him intently... and then looked down. She knew she wouldn't get any more than that. Not now.

"Nothing... forget it."

She left without saying goodbye.

Reiji remained seated in front of his cereal, now soggy and shapeless.

His expression didn't change.

But his fingers unconsciously caressed the barely visible mark on his neck.

***

He had waited five days.

The Commission had taught him that. When searching for something that doesn't want to be found, you can't act like a hero. You don't walk in with a smile on your face, nor do you give advance warning. You walk in when no one is looking.

It was clear that whoever Hunter was, he didn't want to be found. That's why Reiji decided not to rush. He waited. He let the dust settle. He let silence envelop that forgotten corner of Musutafu. He let the authorities, if they ever found out, forget about the place.

During those days, he lived like any other student. He attended classes, walked alongside Shinso during breaks, smiled when he had to pretend to be normal. The facade had to remain intact.

But that night, after the sun disappeared behind the rusty roofs of the industrial neighborhood, his real routine began.

Reiji stopped in front of the fence and quickly scanned the area. No one. No drones. No heroes patrolling. No visible cameras.

It was time.

The thick air greeted him like a warning. Suspended dust, loose plaster, the smell of cheap disinfectant. Someone had been there after the distributor's escape... but they weren't police. They had cleaned it thoroughly, leaving no trace. No intention of letting anyone understand what had happened.

Reiji moved forward silently, pointing his flashlight at the ground. There were no recent footprints. Only rearranged dirt. Empty boxes. Freshly sanded walls.

Too clean.

'Too late.'

He turned off the flashlight with a stifled sigh, clenching his jaw. He felt as if all that effort had been in vain. Another lost clue. Another ghost slipping through his fingers.

But then, he felt it. A presence. Someone else was there. Not emptiness. Not an echo. Someone real.

"Five days..." said a voice from the back, raspy and recognizable. "You're more patient than I thought."

Reiji turned immediately, but didn't turn on his flashlight. He already knew who it was.

Aizawa emerged from the shadows, his face half-hidden by his messy hair and his scarf falling like a dead weight on his shoulders. His gaze was the same as always: direct, tired, incisive.

"I recognized you as soon as you walked in," he murmured. "Not by your face. By the way you walk."

Reiji didn't move. He didn't answer.

"Months ago. The warehouse south of Musutafu." Aizawa took another step forward. "You fought alongside me. Silent, precise. You weren't looking for the limelight."

"Neither were you," Reiji finally replied, in a low voice. "If it weren't for you, I might have screwed up."

Aizawa tilted his head. "I could say the same."

Both remained silent.

"Who do you work for?" he asked bluntly.

Reiji didn't answer.

"You won't say... fine." Aizawa sighed. "I don't have time to get a confession out of you either."

He turned, walking toward one of the columns marked by acid.

"They cleaned it up. Everything. Too well. This wasn't a regular raid."

"No," said Reiji. "It was a cover-up."

Aizawa stopped.

"Do you know who's behind it?"

Reiji thought about lying. But he didn't.

"Not yet. But I know they're protecting him from above. I felt it the first time I saw that drug in action. This isn't something you find on the street. It's specialized manufacturing."

Aizawa nodded silently.

"So you know what you're getting yourself into."

"I know."

A deeper silence settled between the two. The kind of silence only shared by those who have been to hell.

Aizawa didn't argue. He just watched him. As if trying to engrave his presence in his memory, in case they met again. Then he began to look around the place.

Reiji picked up his flashlight again and pointed it between the empty columns, the ruined shelves, the rusty stretchers. Nothing. Just rearranged dust. Nothing else.

Frustrated, he turned toward a corner of the main hall. And just at the edge of a collapsed metal structure, something caught his eye.

A scrap of fabric.

Small, trapped between a rusty nail and the base of a shattered piece of furniture.

Reiji approached silently. He picked it up with two fingers.

It was dark, rough to the touch. Reinforced fabric. A professional uniform. Not civilian clothing. Not ordinary clothing.

And most disturbing of all: part of a symbol was embroidered on one side.

Not complete. Just a fraction.

But recognizable.

A curved white line on a black background, reminiscent of the trim on certain licensed hero costumes.

His eyes narrowed.

He couldn't identify exactly who it belonged to, but it wasn't just any garment. It was part of a professional uniform.

Reiji squeezed the fabric between his fingers.

'This is too obvious... A trap, or does it really belong to someone involved?'

The soft rustling behind him interrupted his thoughts.

"I didn't think you'd find that."

"It's too convenient, but it's something... Do you know who it belongs to?" Reiji asked, holding up the fabric.

Aizawa didn't respond immediately. He took a few steps closer and looked at the fragment without touching it.

"Many wear black. And many symbols look similar..."

"I see..."

Aizawa looked at him directly.

Reiji looked down at the piece of cloth in his fingers, turning it slowly.

"Are you going to report it?" he asked without any provocative intent. It was a direct question, like everything he usually said.

Aizawa shook his head.

"Only if it leads me to something concrete."

Reiji nodded.

He put the fragment inside his coat, sealed in a small plastic bag he had prepared in case he found chemical residue. It wasn't definitive proof, but it was a thread.

"If I find a new lead..." Reiji began, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.

Aizawa finished without hesitation:

"...don't hesitate to contact me."

They both turned almost at the same time, as if the agreement had been made.

Aizawa walked toward the back exit of the building. He didn't look back.

Reiji went in the opposite direction, toward the entrance he had entered through. There was no need to say goodbye.

But just before crossing the door, Aizawa paused briefly.

Without turning around, he simply said:

"We're on the same side now, but that doesn't mean I support your way of doing things..."

Reiji didn't respond. He just paused as well. For a moment. And then he continued walking, carrying the piece of cloth.

He knew that kind of thing didn't happen twice.

That night, he hadn't gotten any answers. But he had gained something different: an ally in the shadows.

And even if they never said it out loud, they both knew that, sooner or later, their paths would cross again.

***

Several months had passed since that night in the abandoned complex.

The city continued to pulse as if nothing had happened, but Reiji no longer looked at it the same way. From the tops of buildings, from dark alleys, from corners where no one paid attention… he continued to observe.

The drug activity hadn't ceased. It had only become more discreet. Smarter.

But so was Reiji.

During that time, he managed to stop small distribution points without being detected. Nothing spectacular. No complete network. But each action brought him a little closer. Like his complicity with Aizawa, it was dangerous to get involved with him, but given his situation, having an ally was better.

As for his private life during this time, things had changed considerably in many ways.

His relationship with Himiko became… complicated.

She didn't ask him for blood again, at least not out loud. But the tension was still there. Present in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't noticing, or when she got too close to him with some empty excuse.

Reiji purposefully avoided the subject. He knew that if they confronted him, they'd have to resolve it. And he didn't want to resolve it. Not yet. Not while they continued living under the same roof, pretending things could go back to normal.

Himiko, for her part, didn't want to take it for granted. She didn't feign forgetfulness. She just... waited.

She knew that moment would come. And she also knew that Reiji couldn't continue avoiding it forever.

Meanwhile, behind the facade of high school, her friendship with Shinso grew naturally.

It wasn't forced; it just happened. He'd remembered his identity and potential, but he was too busy with other things to exploit it now.

They met in classes, walked back and forth together some afternoons, and sometimes exchanged ideas without needing to give context. Shinso didn't say much, and he didn't expect Reiji to either. And that was enough.

He didn't ask why he sometimes went away for a whole day, or why he seemed to sleep so little. Reiji didn't ask about the mind-control books he kept in his backpack either. They just shared space, ideas, and a mutual distrust of the world around them.

They weren't best friends.

But Reiji knew he could count on him if he ever needed him.

And that, in that world, was worth more than anything else.

It was Thursday, almost dusk, and the high school was already beginning to empty out at its usual pace.

Reiji walked out the side door of the building with Shinso, as had been the case for weeks. It wasn't unusual to see them walking together, especially since they lived in similar areas of Musutafu. Sometimes they talked about what had happened in class, other times they didn't say a word the entire walk. Neither of them minded.

That day, however, Shinso was more talkative than usual.

"They're going to include a unit on the ethics of heroes in modern history," he commented, sounding somewhat bored. "I guess they want to brainwash us from now on."

Reiji let out a small exhalation, something close to a laugh.

"Good luck with that. At this point, I don't think even a chemical body wash would work on you."

Shinso smiled faintly, his hands in his pockets.

They crossed a street and entered a less-traveled avenue, where small shops were already beginning to close and the traffic was thinning out. A rusty bus stop marked their usual separation point.

Just before they arrived, Reiji saw him.

About fifty meters away, among the scattered evening crowd, a familiar figure emerged from a convenience store. Dark backpack, hat pulled down over his eyebrows, nervous gait.

It was him.

The dealer.

For a second, everything in his body tensed. The noise faded. Only that silhouette remained, walking hurriedly, head down.

"...And then the teacher told me it wasn't funny to manipulate classmates in practical exercises, even if they knew I could do it," Shinso continued, not noticing the change in Reiji's face.

Reiji stopped.

Shinso took two more steps, then turned around.

"What's wrong?"

Reiji lowered his gaze for a moment, assessing. He couldn't involve him. Not yet.

"I remembered I have to stop by to buy something. I'm going the other way."

Shinso raised an eyebrow, noticing the change in tone.

"Are you sure?"

Reiji was already backing away.

"Yes. See you tomorrow."

He didn't wait for a reply. He was already walking purposefully toward the other side of the street, disappearing into the crowd, his gaze fixed on his goal.

She wasn't going to lose him again.

And this time... she wouldn't stop until she got answers.

She walked purposefully, her shoulders relaxed but her gaze steady. With each step, her pulse regulated itself. No anxiety, no rush. Just certainty.

Once inside an alley, she took a small scalpel blade from her coat. She cut the palm of her left hand with precision.

The blood reacted immediately.

It crept up his arm, crossed his neck, and spread over his face, molding itself in seconds. It was like a second skin: dark, polished, without eyes or mouth. A mask made of his own hardened blood. Cold. Intimidating.

The man pulled into an abandoned parking lot, right on the border between the commercial area and the industrial district. He looked back, uneasy.

Too late.

Reiji appeared like a shadow and knocked him down mercilessly.

The blow against the concrete resounded sharply.

"No, wait...!" the dealer shouted, struggling to get up.

Reiji put his foot on his chest and shoved him back to the ground.

"No more games."

His voice sounded distorted through the mask, deep, as if coming from somewhere else.

"Where are the shipments?"

"I just... I just deliver! I don't store them, I don't know..."

"Who gives you the orders?"

"Hunter! Just that name. I haven't seen it. I swear I don't know any more!"

"Hunter is a hero?"

The guy hesitated, clearly debating whether to reveal that or not. Reiji squeezed his chest harder, threatening to crush his rib.

"Yes! Yes, he's licensed! They don't say it, but everyone knows. He's in the system!"

Reiji watched him for a few seconds from behind his mask.

Then, without saying anything, he delivered a clean blow to the man's neck with the heel of his hand.

The man fell unconscious immediately.

Calmly, Reiji stood up. He took out a burner phone and dialed an anonymous number. He didn't wait for a reply.

He just spoke:

"Drug dealer, 12th Street, abandoned industrial complex. Still alive."

He paused briefly.

"Message for Eraserhead."

He hung up.

"I'm absolutely sure he didn't tell me everything, but this place is too exposed for a thorough interrogation... Aizawa has to do his thing."

Then, as calmly as he arrived, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind an unconscious body...