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Months later

Mr. Yamada:

It's lunch period, and I decide, what the heck? I'll sit with some of the students in the cafeteria. The panic-stricken brats, unfortunate enough to be in the class of my best friend, Mr. Aizawa, are always a good source of entertainment.

I join a group of them. "Denki, Bakugo, Kirishima- how are all of you?" I say as I sit down.

"Hey!" I hear a young girl protest. Hotaru Aizawa slaps me impotently as I almost sit on her. "Uncle Hizashi!"

I chuckle and move next to her instead. "Sorry, little listener. I just didn't see you there."

"You're such a jerk, Uncle Hizashi," she says, but she's chucking a bit too.

"We're not related; why do you call me Uncle?"

"Related? I'm not related to my dad. What do I care about being related?" She jokes. "You just hang out at my house a bunch."

"You getting out to see the world these days, koakuma?" I ask her. (Koakuma is a similar term to "twerp" in Japanese)

"What are you talking about?" Bakugo snaps. "Course, she's getting out! She's MY mentee. I told her I would make it so she could get around town, and I have." He folds his arms. "First place she visited was a park... first time she's seen a freaking park is at twelve..." he grits his teething.

"Is that... are you... you're concerned about her, aren't you?" I ask, almost in shock.

"I... no. It's indignance, not concern. Kids shouldn't have to wait that long to just go play." Bakugo argues.

"Holy crap. You care about her!" I say, slapping my leg and laughing at Bakugo. Soon, everyone at the table has joined me in teasing him as he finally leaves in a huff.

Hotaru watches him go and yells, "You're still gonna take me to see the cherry blossoms, right?"

"Why do you care about that?" He yells back. "Regardless, I said I would, right?" Hotaru nods. "Then I freaking will; stop asking!" And thus, he storms out of the lunch room.

"Ya know, all things considered, he surprisingly a decent mentor," Kirishima notes, almost snorting in laughter. "I mean, the Chibi is over here eating with us. When she first showed up, she was so scared of everyone Ochaco had to eat with her in the hall."

"Wish I could see progress like that in the boy I'm helping," Denki notes.

"Oh? And who is that?" I ask.

"Henry Miles."

"The son of Charles Miles?" I ask, "Kid, you might want to work with someone else. Given what he was like, I imagine his son is hardly a monk."

"I was just curious about the brat at first, but then I got to meet the little guy and... for a few weeks there, he was smart, cocky, and kinda funny. He told me he was only in the rehab center until he had his trial and finished informing on his jerk of a father. But now... lately, he's been shutting down."

"He informed on his old man?" Asked Kirishima. "Not sure how I feel about that."

"Well, you should respect him for that, at least. His father is one of the most dangerous men in Japan," I comment. "And the Miles Syndicate is huge! That boy is risking his life." I looked back to Denki. "How old is Henry?"

"Twelve. And they're treating him really bad in that jail." Denki replies.

"Dude, that's why they call it jail. If his dad was that bad, he's probably locked up himself for a reason," Kirishima points out.

"Can we stop playing guilt by association? Neither of you know him, and I do, and I say he's an okay little dork," Denki fires back.

I sit back and sigh, nodding, "You're right; it's not right for us to judge Henry by his adopted father. I won't hear or say another word to the contrary," I put my hand down to signal that I meant for Kirishima to hear me on that point. "How worried about him are you? And big behavioral changes are often not a laughing matter. Do you have any idea what might have triggered them?"

Denki stops eating, which he loves to do, so I know he's getting serious. "He used to talk a bunch about what he wanted to be as an adult, and he would always try to get me to laugh from the minute I walked into the rehab center. Now... when I enter the center, he doesn't want to do anything. He treats talking to me like an obligation and snaps almost as easily as Bakugo. It's night and day, I tell ya. And then there's his sister. She's the only real family the kid has, and he keeps getting turned down when he wants to call her. Finally, they got him in some kinda shackles 24/7."

"They have an underage non-violent offender in 24/7 restraints?" I ask as I examine Denki closely for a sign that he's lying.

"That serious or...?" Kirishima asks

"You ever hear of muscular atrophy? It's extremely serious." I shake my head. "You have an address? Looks like I'm going to jail tonight."

Hours later, here I am. ... Musutafu Juvenile Observation Center... Gee, don't you love it when they make something sound unnecessarily clinical?

It doesn't look bad from the outside. A ten-foot chain link fence with razor wire on top makes me remember this is a prison, but I see a basketball hoop, benches, lovely green fields, and flower boxes here and there. I guess a lot of this is more for parents and an excellent public image, but it still says a lot that the groundskeepers pay so much attention.

Inside, it's more obviously a prison. The walls are stone, the floors are laminate, and the lights barely fill the hall. There are rooms on either side of the hall that I can see and guards on either side of the door as I walk in. It's not a place I would WANT to live, but it's hardly a medieval dungeon.

I talk to the guard, show some ID, and inquire about the boy I'm here about. I'm told the number of his room, and off I go.

I finally stop by his metal door with a heavy black lock on the outside. I know there's no interior lock- meaning if I want, I could just turn the knob and walk in, but I knock anyway. I'm not a jailer, just a man looking in on the boy's well-being.

"It's not like I can tell you to go away. I dress in the bathroom with how often folks just barge in."

Okay, there's the attitude. I open the door, and... it's kind of nice. White walls, simple furniture, a nice bed with a comforter. None of it is expensive, but it's all there. And there he is, sitting on the bed with a math textbook. He doesn't even look up and keeps writing in it. "Wow... you're dressed like a dork," He still notes.

I have slick-back blonde hair, a black suit with an oversized popped collar, and a strange audio manipulation device around my neck... a dork... yeah, that's probably what I look like. I take his comment in stride as I look him over. I fold my arms.

He looks healthy. Henry is a bit on the small side, with the skin tone and facial structure of a European... no... no, he's distinctly American for whatever it's worth. He's wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans. Nothing seems off till my eyes finally land on his right arm, which is shackled to his waist. Denki wasn't lying. It's skinny and not naturally so. I can see signs that his body is slowly starting to cannibalize it.

I clench my teeth. "How often do they take that thing off?" I ask, getting straight to the point.

"When I shower- that's it. At this point, I need help doing that." He looks embarrassed and ashamed.

"Do you have a history of trying to escape or fight?" I ask.

"No. That's all you wanted to know? People talk about this dumb shackle a lot when they visit, but no one does anything about it, even that jerk Denki. Always acting so concerned, but he does fu-"

"Don't bad mouth my student. He's the reason I'm here." I cut him off. I start to seethe. "As a matter of fact, you don't have the right to refuse me on things, so get up," he sighs and gets up without enthusiasm. "Take my hand." I extend my hand, and he takes it with his left in a robotic fashion. "Direct me to the main guard station, now."

"Gonna report my disrespect?" He asks.

"Among other things. Let's go."

The boy walks normally, his facial expression never changing as he just goes, like his body is running on autopilot.

Finally, we come up to the door to an office. The door is half window, likely to keep the delinquents from getting ideas while it's closed.

I stand the boy before me and start banging hard on the glass. An overweight, balding man in his forties casually opens the door. "What do you brats wa-oh hello Mr. Yamaha!" The man says, his tone changing quickly when he realizes I'm a public figure. "Come right in. Was this boy causing an issue for you?"

I move as if I barely see the man. "Young Henry, go, take a seat. You think no one means what they say, that it?" Henry gives me a confused look but then goes to sit down.

I then turn back to the guard. "Will I be getting run arounds or excuses today?"

"Um... no sir. We run a tight ship here, sir. What is it you need?" he looks very startled to see me acting so curtly, and I admit, that's merited. Curt is not my public persona.

"Get out the file for this boy, Henry Miles." The man gets the requested file quickly. "Good. Now, find this boy's record of bad behavior or escape attempts for me."

The man looks through the various papers. "This is very specific..." he keeps searching. "I mean, according to what I've seen, he's been above average in behavior. There's been a concerning change in his mood, but-"

"Stop rambling and get to what gave you the right to shackle him for so long the body of a preteen child is treating its right am like a vestigial organ."

The man looks at Henry and pauses for a moment. "I don't know who issued the order to leave that thing on him, but we have a couple hundred little monsters in here. Sorry, I can't keep track of the specific restraint levels for every single one of em'." He says, trying to make light of a serious situation. I hold back from smacking him.

I glare at him. "Even if I was ready to accept that excuse for an excuse, since when do we allow the muscles of prisoners to atrophy..." I have to make myself breathe for a moment before I get violent. I continue. "Is it now, or has it ever been the policy of this prison to torture cooperative inmates?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The man pauses before responding, starting to look intimidated. "No sir, I don't believe-"

I finally slap him, the sound echoing slightly in the small room. "Do not insult my intelligence or country any more than you already have. You don't "believe"?" I demand. "Who the hell hired you? Are you not even aware of how restraint levels work? A person under heavy restraint requires close observation so their muscles don't atrophy or seize up. What you've been allowing is inhuman. Hand over the keys-now! Then I suggest you and the other members of your staff start looking for new jobs."

The man looks at me, starting to clench his teeth like he wants to fight back. I just smile and wave for him to just try it. Guard 1 versus a high-class pro hero with a high-tier quirk- but hey, I need to work out some stress.

He grumbles and goes to get the keys to Henry's shackles.

Back in the boy's room, I have Henry sit down on his bed as I undo his restraints and toss them aside while the boy keeps looking at me in utter shock. "Well? I said I would do something, and so I did."

The boy hisses in pain as he moves his arm; it's so skinny I can almost see the blood running through his veins. "Easy... gently... move it slowly..." I coach him. "If they put that thing back on you without express permission from me, I'll see to it that there is hell to pay." I pull the chair out from Henry's desk and sit facing him. "So, tell me what's been happening in here."

"What do you care? I... but you DO care..." The boy seems taken aback. "No... no you don't. This is a trick."

"What do I gotta do to convince you it isn't?" I ask back, cocking my head to the side as I jokingly add. "Mind you, listener, I literally can't break you out of jail."

"Yeah? Well, you still have all the power." He cradles his right arm on his lap as he gently continues moving it. "I can instantly heal this if you let me use my quirk. I just make a healthy copy of myself and body swap with it."

"Body swapping? That's a nifty trick," I say with a grin. "Call me... curious. I want a demonstration." The boy pauses while looking at me for a bit. I just look back for a bit. "Well?"

"You're serious? Do you not know what my quirk does?"

"Not particularly. Why don't you lay it out for me? Maybe I can solve the mystery of why your guards would rather risk you losing your arm than be able to use it." I fold my arms and sit back.

He looks down at his right arm and sighs. "If I can swing my right arm, I can make a clone of myself anywhere within three feet of my body. I can even put the clone places where I can't see. I can then send simple directives to said clone through a kind of... psychic link, you might say. The clone will be able to talk and basically act like me, but if you ask it to do anything that requires thought or fine motor skills, you'll be out of luck. All that would be interesting enough- but the real kicker- I can switch bodies with it any time I want, from anywhere I want." He smiles. "All I have to do is see my clone, and I can take over its body from... I don't know, maybe a mile away."

"So," I turn my head and look at his door. "You could bypass that door by just looking underneath." I chuckle. "Nifty. I'd say that's a... lower mid-range quirk."

He smirks. "My clones never inherit my injuries, but they do copy over any equipment or clothing I have on."

"Hmmm... high mid-range." I modify. "I've seen much better." I twist my lips and shake my head. "Still, there are boys with lock-picking skills or things like that. You never know who has them and the whole idea of a center like this is to take things a little easier on the non-violent offenders. Besides, that's what the ankle monitor you're wearing is for. I assume that would be copied, correct?" He nods when I point at an electronic monitoring device on his leg. "So, this is ridiculous. Fix yourself."

The boy looks at me in confusion but still pulls back his right arm once, then jerks it forward- yelping in pain. I quickly get up to help him when- a copy of him appears next to me.

The new copy of Henry has two working and healthy arms. He snaps his fingers, and the original Henry vanishes. I almost jump in my chair. "What... did you just... did you kill..." I look at the copy in shock.

"Kill?" The... thing... asks. "No- I'm Henry. I body swapped." He shrugs. "I mean... thanks and all." He flexes his working right arm. "Feels so much better, thanks."

"So, what's going on then?" I ask as my mind catches up with what just happened. It's a creepy quirk on some levels, but it checks out. "Why would they put you on that kind of restriction in an observational center? Heavy restraints like that are barely used on adults."

The boy returns to his bed and lets himself collapse back on it. "Damnit..." he says. "Damn it, damn it- DAMN IT!" He rolls over and punches the bed. He goes over to the floor, picks up his shackle, and then returns to the bed. "This is a message from my father. It means he can reach me in here- even when he's in jail. Someone here or in the chain of command works for him." He lets himself fall back on the bed and barely contributes to the conversation for a bit.

"Well, that's not good." I put my chin on my hand, "Walk me back a bit. Your father is Charles Miles, right?" He nods to that. "So, before that, you were in the foster system." Another nod. "How many years did you live with Charles?" He holds up two fingers. "Who were your original parents?" He shrugs. "Did you ever meet them?" Shakes his head. I sigh. "Geeze... that guy took advantage. He made you commit crimes- thievery?" Another nod. "You got sentenced for that- how long?" He holds up six fingers. "Six years..." I sit back. This poor kid is in deep.

"My plea deal was for a clean record and six years community service for both me and my sister, but something went wrong." He says, sitting back up. "It was contingent on all my recorded victims assenting. One victim, the owner of an old jewelry store, said he would be fine with any sentence I got as long as they could assure I would actually serve it. He emphasized that point over and over again."

"So?"

"So, I'm an orphan. My sister and I both are." He looks up at the ceiling. "The judges talked it over and concluded that they couldn't guarantee my sister and I would finish any sentence as long as they had to coordinate with the foster system the whole time." He punched the bed again. "That's why "damn it". Now my sister and I are separated and in places where my dad can touch us... they're even limiting my communication with my sister." He drops his head into his hands. "I can't protect her now..." he almost cries.

"You're sure this is all down to your father coming after you- when he's rotting in a cell himself during his own trial? The judges could have made that decision honestly, and the people here could just be jerks."

The boy gets up. "Coincidence? Sure, that's what it's calculated to look like. Do you think I got away from one of the most dangerous criminal masterminds by being carefree? I don't believe in coincidence. Coincidence? If the people in this prison are gonna be jerks, why target me? You saw other boys. Were they wearing shackles?"

"I saw one or two playing outside, and that's about it- I'll take your word that it's not common, though."

He rolls his eyes. "Like you're gonna do anything about it anyway. Thanks for letting me out of the cuff, though." I watch him start to pace the room.

"You're gonna try to escape now, aren't you?"

"Try?" The boy asks. "My sister is in danger. There is no "try", I'm getting to her." He looks over at the door. "Long as they had my quirk shackled, I was giving up hope, but you just have me a chance..." he looks over at me. "Long as you're not gonna stop me."

"I suppose that's one way of dealing with all this," I say. "But your father's case is still ongoing, right? If you don't finish testifying and informing and instead try to do a jailbreak- who knows how all that could fall apart? Plus, if you're caught, things will only worsen for you personally." I put up my hands and act as if I'm weighing options.

"I've dodged pros and police before..." he looks at me, a cringe working across his face.

"That so? I suspect the pros were going easy on you." I buzz my lips, "And I suspect none of them had quirks with a large area of effect- as mine does." The boy freezes, looking at me. "I'm the voice hero, kid. I don't care how many doubles you make. One scream will disable you every time. A kid your age would be a piece of cake to stagger. I also have a few taser darts in my gear for small-time offenders like you. They hurt like heck, but they don't do any real damage. Catching you would be no problem. And once I do, you'll go to a heavier security prison."

He clenches his teeth. He pulls back his right hand, slowly starting to glare, looking like he's preparing to fight. I just sit, raising an eyebrow. "You'll lose..." I say, giving him a calm and cocky smile.

He starts to shake with anger. "What's my alternative? Let my sister be killed?"

"There's one other option, ya know."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" He holds his fist in the air. I wonder- is that to attack or to activate his quirk? Or could he do both at once?

"Trust me," I say as I put my hands behind my head, demonstrating that I don't take this kid as a threat at all. "If this abuse really is from your father, he's waiting to kill you for a reason. I suspect he's waiting for the duration of his trial. He's got too much on his plate to have you or your sister killed right now. Besides, if you or your sister do die, any defense he WAS trying to mount to your testimony probably goes out the window as my goodness will that look suspicious."

"How long do you think we have?" He starts to relax a little.

"A few months? It's up to you. I promise I'll come up with something if you work with me. If you try to fight me..." I look around his room. "I was gonna say you might want to grab a weapon, but it looks like everything in here is either dull and light or bolted to the floor, so... good luck fighting me if that's what you want to do." I lean towards him with a smile. "But you don't want to fight anyway, do you? Let's face it, the only way you win is to grab something solid and bash my head in till I'm dead- and you're just not the type, are you?"

He looks down. "Is that a bad thing? I don't want to kill... if I have to..."

I put a hand on his shoulder, changing to a genuine expression as I sit forward. "In this case? You don't. Trust me. I'll get you out of here and somewhere safe. You and your sister. I promise."

"Why do you care?" I can see a longing in his eyes and a hesitance. Foster care, a crime ring, prison... how does he know how to reach out at all? Poor kid.

I shrug. "This is what I do, listener. I'm a hero. I save people." I sit back again.

"I have no guardian to negotiate with. And you can't just grab me a new lawyer to relitigate my case."

"Relitigate- a big word for a small boy," I say. "Maybe you could teach some of my high schoolers a thing or two." I sit back and gain with that cocky smile on my face. "I got that cuff off, didn't I?"

He lowers his hand. "I don't have a lot of other choices here..." He squeezes his eyes and tightens his fists as if struggling with the very idea of trusting someone. "You better move fast."

"I already have something in mind, new listener."

(***)

I had nothing. On the drive home, I have to force myself to listen to classical music so I can get the old gearbox working. It's not like I can hire a lawyer and ask him to relitigate the case of some kid I barely know. I don't have standing.

I could easily report the abuse of Henry and the possible source of it- but most likely, that would get him and his sister moved to different prisons- but they'll still be sitting ducks for a full six years if the agents of Charles are still out there. I don't know if Henry's fears are legitimate, but if they are... on the off chance... is it an off chance?

Why shackle a boy without a record of issues while in custody? And the guard said it was due to someone further up the chain than himself, so that rules out him just being sadistically hazed... I don't like where this is leading.

I could gather some hero friends and root out the people working under Henry's father, Charles... on the word of a twelve-year-old boy that they even exist.

I pull into the driveway of my home. As I do, my little girl Yukari runs out of our home to greet me. I smile and nearly laugh as she jumps up and down outside the car door, begging me to come out and play.

I pick her up as she laughs and quickly climbs up on my shoulders. She's just seven years old and a picture of innocence.

As I piggyback her back up to the house, I can't help but think about Henry. He's older than Yukari, for sure, but from what I saw, just as helpless as she would be if she had to face this uncaring world alone.

I sigh as I set Yukari down in the kitchen I look up at my wife. Suddenly, I know what I have to do.

"Yuka... how would you feel if he added a few new members to our family?" I work up the courage to ask.

I get the most confused look. Yuka is a brown-haired woman, but in support of me, she wears it slickly back like I do with mine. She's a good-looking if small woman. I often call her bite-sized just to get on her nerves.

"I'm open to the possibility, I suppose..." she replies as she does the dishes. "Do you have someone in mind...?" she asks, leaving a purposeful opening.

"Look- it's this boy and his sister. They're both in serious trouble, and they're both orphans. I..." I lean against the kitchen nook and look around my spacious home. Yukari sings some random tune on a green fluffy couch as she does her homework. The little girl trusts her mother and me without question. That's how things should be at her age- and at Henry's. Henry should have someone he trusts. "I promised the boy I would help him, but I can't do that if I'm just a random interloper."

"What kind of trouble is he in?" she asks back.

"Do you trust me to keep you and our daughter safe?" I ask instead of answering.

"I mean... yes..."

"He's a twelve-year-old convict."

"Hizashi... you and I would be fine, but Yukari wouldn't stand a chance. Best she has is her purification quirk- what's his?"

"Doppelganger, trust me, it's an upper mid-tier ability. Give that kid a weapon, and he could probably give me a run for my money. Just being honest. He is guilty of crimes- mostly theft, if you want to know. If we leave him in jail, there's a good chance his criminal father, who coerced him and his sister in the first place, will continue to find ways to attack and torment him. That is until he kills them, likely starting with the girl just to hurt the boy more."

"The sick fu..." she starts, but she sees Yukari in the distance and doesn't finish the swear. "Look, I'm not without a heart, but... Yukari comes first."

"I know she does. I'll find a way to make it all work. I'll see if they'll let me keep him and his sister in the school dorms for a bit. They let Aizawa bring his little girl Hotaru to classes."

"Hotaru's taking classes, Hizashi. Maybe she's doing it a little early and for unconventional reasons, but that's still not the same as chucking a... "Kōhan" into the dorms."

"The correct term is Kyōsei hanzaisha. He's a victim of exploitation, not a criminal by choice. There's a difference."

Yuka looks over at our daughter, who continues studying as if we're not even in the room. "I... she would be utterly unprepared to face him..." She sighs, looking in my face. "I know you're a brave, caring, and good man, Hizashi. If you think this needs to be done, and you promise me you'll take things slow with Yukari, this boy... and his sister... I'll back you the whole way."

"Thank you. I can only hope the boy and the people at work will understand as well as you."