MHA - HARDCOIL

Dante's eyes slowly cracked open as the morning sun hit him from above. His body ached from his uncomfortable sleeping situation, but he was used to it by now. The city was already wide awake with cars honking, people chatting, the distant sound of construction filled the air.

Dante sat upright, rubbing his eyes and yawning before looking down at the small lump inside his hoodie. The kitten was curled up fast asleep, its tiny body warm against his chest. He could feel its soft breaths tickling him.

"Ah yes… the address." Dante said with a croak in his voice.

Dante pulled out the small tag he had found on the kitten's collar, flipping it between his fingers. It had an address stitched on it, meaning this was someone's cat.

His stomach growled as usual, but he ignored it.

He'd help the cat first.

He reached into his bag and grabbed a can of tuna, peeling it open with a satisfying crack. The kitten perked up and before Dante could even set the can down, it was already sniffing at the food. He smirked slightly, watching as the time thing at like it hadn't seen a meal in days.

"Yeah, yeah. Take your time," he muttered.

When the kitten had finished, Dante stretched and carefully tucked the little guy back inside his pocket. It didn't even resist, already used to the warmth.

His bag was fairly heavy, but that was great for exercise! (He would later regret this)

Dante slung it over his shoulder, took one last look at the ground before he climbed down the fire escape.

Time to get moving.

…

Well… finding the actual place was a nightmare.

Dante wandered aimlessly through street after street, his eyes constantly scanning the numbers on buildings. Nothing matched. He checked alleys, backstreets and even stopped at a few bus stops to read the maps, but they were no help.

The city felt like a maze.

By midday, he was sweating, his hoodie sticking to his back thanks to his heavy bag. His stomach protested again, reminding him that all he had eaten was a single sandwich last night.

He sighed and kept up his pace.

The kitten poked its head out from his hoodie, letting out a tiny meow. Dante glanced down at it.

"Yeah, I'm hungry too," he muttered. "But let's find your home first."

Hours passed.

Dante was exhausted, his legs were sore from walking nonstop and his shoulders were in agony thanks to the bag, bad idea. He had walked through half the damn city, and he was nowhere near closer to finding the place. He was about to give up, when he spotted something familiar.

The convenience store from yesterday.

He figured it was worth a shot.

He pushed open the door, the bell rang, registering that he had entered. Then the warm air embraced him, carrying the smell of cheap coffee and instant noodles. It wasn't too warm, but it was way better than standing out in the cold.

The shopkeeper from yesterday—a gruff old man with a cigarette hanging from his lips—glanced up from behind the counter. His tired eyes swept over Dante, lingering on his worn clothes and messy hair. "Here again kid? What d'you want?"

Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled collar he'd found on the kitten earlier. He placed it on the counter, tapping the adress stitched into the fabric.

"Do you know where this is?"

The old man squinted at it, then looked at Dante with suspicion. "Where'd you get this from, kid?"

Dante tilted his head, "I found it on a lost kitten, I think that's its home."

The old man grunted, "Yeah, I know where that is. That's my daughters place."

Dante blinked. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously." The shopkeeper muttered, leaning back in his chair. "She did say she'd took in some stray cat a while back. Looks like the little bastard ran off." He glanced at Dante's hoodie, where the kitten was curled up, fast asleep. "That him?"

Dante gave a small nod.

The old man exhaled a puff of smoke. "I'll take ya there when I close up."

Dante frowned. "When will that be?"

"Few hours."

Fantastic.

His stomach growled loudly, stabbing him in the back.

The old man smirked. "Sounds like you'll be waiting hungry, where'd all that food from yesterday go?"

Dante rolled his eyes and turned away, about to find a corner to sit at, but then he hesitated. Just sitting there for hours would be a huge waste of time.

"…Need help with anything?" He asked.

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "You offering to work?"

"Eh, more like trading labor for not being bored out of my mind."

The old man chuckled. "Alright then, kid. Knock yourself out."

Dante spent the next few hours stocking shelves, sweeping the floor and lifting whatever heavy boxes the shopkeeper didn't want to deal with. It wasn't hard, just kinda irritating.

Still, it was better than standing around doing nothing. And Dante had a plan anyways.

At some point, the shopkeeper handed him a warm cup of instant ramen. "Here. Your stomach's been growling for an hour. This can be your pay."

Dante didn't argue. He sat on an overturned crate and started eating. 'Yes! This is exactly what I wanted, free food. That means I have more food for tomorrow.' He mused silently.

It wasn't much, just salty broth and noodles, but now it was the best thing he'd had in a few days. Rice balls and bread were getting old.

The old man leaned against the counter, watching him. "You from around here?"

"Hmm… not really."

"Oh?" The shopkeeper didn't press further, just flipped through a magazine, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. "You got a place to stay?"

Dante hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm managing."

The old man gave him a look but didn't say anything.

The rest of the shift passed quietly. Dante kept working, the shopkeeper kept smoking and time dragged on until, finally, the man flipped the sign to [ Closed ]

"Alright kid, let's get going."

Dante picked up the kitten who had been sleeping on his hoodie on a small table in the corner and followed him out into the cold.

The drive wasn't as long as Dante expected. Maybe it was because he wasn't going in circles. Maybe it was because he wasn't starving and could actually think properly. Either way, they arrived fast.

The house was small, nestled between two larger buildings. It had a small garden out front, nothing fancy but well kept. It felt warmer than most places in the city.

The old man knocked the door.

A moment later, it swung open, revealing a woman in her twenties with dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail. She blinked at the pair, then her eyes landed on the kitten in Dante's arms.

"Taro!" She gasped, immediately reaching for him.

The kitten meowed as she scooped him up, holding him close.

"Where'd you find him?" She asked, looking between Dante and her father.

The old man grunted, lighting another cigarette. "Ask the kid, he's the one that brought it back."

Dante shrugged. "Saw some idiots throwing rocks at it. Took care of it."

She frowned, hugging the kitten tighter. "That's horrible… thank you for saving him."

Dante just nodded, shifting on his feet, 'Come on…'

The woman glanced at her father. "Did you atleast pay him for the trouble?"

The old man scoffed. "Fed im'."

She rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable, hang on."

'Yes… come on…'

She disappeared inside for a moment, then returned with a bag. "Here. It's not much, but I think you could use it."

Dante tried not to grin wickedly, this was exactly why he hadn't just given the cat to the old man to deliver back.

A REWARD!

He accepted it, feeling the weight of the packaged food inside. He looked up at her with a sparkle in his eyes, "Thank you so much."

She smiled. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Dante turned and walked off back to the old man's car, they then drove off into the night.

…

…

It only took five or so minutes for Dante to be dropped off back outside the shop.

"Thank you, bye!" Dante waved at the old man.

He then started walking through the dimly lit streets, his body was aching again from the long day, but the weight of the bag in his hands and on his shoulders made it worth it. Food. So so much food! This could probably last him about a week of training his quirk. He just needed to get back to the rooftop.

The streets were quiet, the kind of quiet that made him uneasy. He just kept his head down, his hands gripping the straps of the bag tightly. "Almost there, just a few more blocks—"

A hand suddenly grabbed the bag.

Dante's body tensed as a slurred voice muttered, "That looks heavy, kid… *hic* why- why don't you share? *hic*"

He turned his head, locking eyes with a hunched over man reeking of alcohol. His clothes were ripped, dirty and ragged, beard unkempt and his eyes were filled with desperation.

Dante was too tired to deal with this.

"Let go." He spoke, flat.

The man sneered, "C'mon kid… I just *hic* I just need somethin' to get by."

Dante didn't reply, he just tightened his grip.

The man growled, he began yanking harder.

Dante growled like a feral dog.

His vision blurred for a second, his body moving on pure instinct to protect his food. His arm twisted and warped unnaturally as it morphed into a thick shifting mass of sludge. Before Dante even realized what he was doing, his arm expanded and flew forward, slamming into something.

*CRACK!*

The man's head slammed into the alley's wall with a sickening thud. His body slumped to the floor as fast as he had hit the wall, sliding down into a heap on the ground. Blood dripped from the crack in the wall where his skull had been smashed into.

Dante just stood there, staring at the wall.

His arm slowly reformed back into its normal state, some of the dark red sludge dripping to the floor while the rest retreated back into his flesh. His fingers twitched slightly, but he felt nothing. No shock, no guilt, no satisfaction. Just emptiness, like that was a normal reaction to the man's actions.

He stepped over the unconscious man and kept walking through the alleys.

The rooftop was calling his name.

And when he finally got back, after that long day, Dante barely even had the energy to drop his bag and put the bag the shopkeepers daughter had given him somewhere safe before he collapsed onto the tarp he called a bed. His mind barely registered anything since that man put his hand on Dante's bag. He was way too sleepy, too spent.

No thoughts. No writing about the day. No analysis. No questioning what had just happened.

He just slept.