Chapter Text
Tactical Retreat
“In a battle of high-level strategy, the opponent who ignores logic entirely is often the most dangerous.”
POV: Nezu
The day had started disastrously long before I ever finished my morning tea.
It began with a formal knock on my door, followed by the entrance of two figures carrying official government clipboards and the unmistakable weight of high-level bureaucracy.
The first was Deputy Chief Matsumoto from the Shinjuku Police Department—a seasoned, high-ranking officer. Beside him stood Ms. Satou, a senior case worker from the Jibo, the official Child Welfare Agency of Japan.
The moment they stepped over the threshold, both paused and bowed deeply—a crisp, forty-five-degree angle of absolute protocol and formal deference.
While still slightly bowed Mr. Matsumoto said, his tone steeped in impeccably polite, formal.
"Principal Nezu, please forgive the intrusion during your demanding schedule."
He remained slightly bowed until I offered a slight nod of acknowledgment. His back straightened as he continued.
"We deeply appreciate you granting us an audience on such short notice."
"Please, make yourselves comfortable!"
I chirped warmly, stepping smoothly into my public persona—the cheerful, hospitable, and utterly benevolent Principal of UA. I gestured toward the plush leather guest chairs with an inviting wave of my paw.
"Tea? Or perhaps we can get straight to the matter at hand? How did the interview go with the young girl in our infirmary?"
Ms. Satou took her seat with practiced, humble posture, keeping her hands neatly folded on her clipboard.
"Thank you, Principal Nezu. We would love to get straight to the point. As you know, we have just concluded our preliminary inquiry. It is... a deeply heart-wrenching case."
Deputy Chief Matsumoto chimed in, adjusting his uniform cap with a stiff, professional demeanor.
"A complete blank slate, sir. Given the girl's involvement in the recent police station incident, the precinct deemed it necessary to send a senior officer to oversee her filing directly.
Yet, there are no records. No digital footprint, no family registry, and no matching profiles anywhere in the national database for a child with black hair and purple eyes."
"Is that so?"
I murmured, tilting my head in an expression of gentle, intellectual curiosity.
Ms. Satou’s eyes softened with genuine, motherly pity.
"Unfortaneted. Then I asked her about her past, her only answer was her having no memory of her biological parents."
"Has she said anything? We had already asked her. Have you read the report?"
She nodded and looked down on her notes.
"Yes. But unfortunately the child does not know much herself. She told us she has spent her entire life alone, surviving on the streets, foraging for scraps in the city, and retreating into the wilderness and mountains when things became too dangerous."
I nodded in understatement.
"Indeed a way to harsh life for such a young child."
The Jibo senior believed my sympathy. Her voice became more softer when she read her notes.
"But despite such horrific neglect, Principal... her spirit is so remarkably pure."
My ears listened carefully, an ungoodfeeling made it self space in my stomach. Ms. Satou leaned forward slightly, her voice brimming with emotion.
"While we were speaking to her, she noticed our clipboards and UA’s breakfast tray at her bedside. Do you know what she did?"
I already could imagine what Narah had done. And of course Mis Satou met my expectations, with a face filled with conviction.
"She noticed our clipboards and the breakfast tray at her bedside, picked up a piece of fruit, and offered it directly to the two of us. She explained to us that sharing is the most important thing when a person has nothing. It was deeply moving to hear a child who has lost everything express such generosity to government officials. Let alone strangers."
I chirped cheerfully, my smile widening into an image of pure, polite warmth.
"A remarkably moving gesture indeed. My staff have already reported her being nothing but a greatfull child."
Underneath the heavy oak desk, however, entirely hidden from their view, taping silently in rhythm.
Feral street urchin? Foraging in the mountains? Eating scraps?
My last words on her were not wasted. She indeed managed to come up with a brilliant, utterly untraceable cover story.
Deputy Chief Matsumoto added, his tone brimming with profound respect for my institution.
"She is clearly a victim of severe societal failure. Which is why we are immensely grateful that she ended up under UA's protection rather than back on the streets."
"UA is always honored to shelter those in need."
I replied smoothly, resting a polite paw over my vest.
"And as her temporary legal guardian while her case is processed, I intend to see her fully restored to health."
Ms. Satou offered a hesitant, slightly embarrassed smile, bowing her head as if asking forgiveness for the absurdity of what she was about to report. My gutt feeling became worse but I did not let them see the truth.
"Tracing a child who has lived off the grid without any national ID will take weeks, if not months. So we are glad to know the child is save in your care. However..."
She paused, coughing into her hand with a sudden, awkward shift in her posture. She looked at me with a mixture of confusion and immense, polite hesitation.
"...We did run into a rather unexpected development regarding her future custody."
I tilted my head, keeping my voice airy and light.
"Oh? And what might that be?"
Ms. Sasaki chuckled softly, bowing slightly as if to apologize for what she was about to say.
"Regarding her long-term placement, Principal Nezu... when we broached the topic of finding her a proper foster family, she flatly informed us that it wouldn't be necessary. She stated that she considers you her father now because you rescued her and fed her, even going so far as to claim she was 'adopting' you. It was delivered with complete conviction."
My breath hitched in my throat. My cheerful smile froze into a rigid, porcelain mask. Hidden under the desk, my right paw clamped onto the fabric of my trousers. My claws dug so violently into the cloth that I nearly tore the thread.
My right ear gave a sharp, involuntary twitch before I used every ounce of my formidable willpower to lock it back down.
Deputy Chief Matsumoto permitted himself a brief, highly respectful chuckle.
"A classic psychological anchor, sir. Traumatized children often project intense parental attachment onto their rescuers. It is purely childlike, irrational behavior, of course."
Childlike?! Calculated would be the right words!
I thought, my mind racing at a thousand frames per second while my claws squeezed my trousers beneath the desk.
Yes. It is a calculated, petty psychological checkmate! She knew exactly what she was doing! She knew that by making that declaration to a senior police official and a case worker, it would look like the sweet, innocent coping mechanism of a broken child. But had she not thought of the aftermath!?
In reality it is a total tactical nightmare! It completely ruines my plan to quietly transition her to a human hero later on! If she kept telling child welfare and high-ranking police officers that I was her 'Dad,' the legal bureaucracy would stall, the rumors would spiral out of control, and lets not forget the Hero Public Safety Commission of a pest, would start sniffing around my campus!
I forced my mind to stop and to concentrate on my next words instead. Forcing the most softest unbothered smile I could show.
"Children under traumatic stress are extraordinarily impressionable,"
I stated smoothly, my voice remaining the absolute picture of calm, rational authority.
"Her attachment is merely a temporary psychological reaction. Once she recovers, expands her social circle, and meets an appropriate human adult, her perception will naturally shift. I hold temporary legal guardianship solely to ensure her medical rehabilitation and safety; I have no suitability—nor intention—for permanent adoption."
Deputy Chief Matsumoto agreed instantly, bowing his head in deference to my logic.
"Of course, Principal Nezu. We would never expect a figure of your stature to take on such a permanent domestic burden."
"Since you already hold temporary legal guardianship—"
Ms. Satou added politely.
"—we are deeply relieved she remains in your capable hands at UA while the police conduct a broader national inquiry."
I chimed, my public smile returning flawlessly.
"She shall remain under UA's strict medical care for as long as necessary. Oh lock at the time. I would not want to take too much of your precious time."
Both officials stood up simultaneously, executing another deep, formal bow of gratitude before we said your goodbyes and them taking their leave.
The exact second the heavy oak door clicked shut, my friendly principal persona vanished. The room fell into a suffocating, icy silence.
My tail whipped against the back of my chair with a sharp CRACK.
I stood up, my fur bristling as I adjusted my tie with rigid, furious dignity.
"We are concluding this game right now, young lady,"
I hissed to the empty room, my claws clicking violently against the floorboards as I marched toward the door.
Which brought me exactly to the humiliating and expected scene currently unfolding in the UA infirmary.
Location: Infirmary
The laughter still lingers as Recovery Girl finishes adjusting Narah’s IV and Narah swipes a stray crumb off her face with the back of her hand.
Nezu clears his throat again, his ears twitching just slightly. Nezu careful, formal tone.
“To be clear—temporarily, I can serve as your legal guardian while we process your case. But official adoption is a separate matter entirely. You’re still very new to this country. You haven’t met many heroes. You may find someone else later on who… better suits your needs.”
Narah doesn’t look up right away. She keeps her gaze on her bread. Then she smirks. soft, but cheeky.
“It’s fine, Dad.”
Nezu’s ear twitches.
Chiyo glances sideways and smirks. Narah continues.
“I’ll show you how amazing I am. You’ll see. I’d make a great daughter. Just wait.”
"Narah. Please stop telling people I am your father. I am not."
"But you are my guardian. Whats wrong with me calling you dad?"
She takes another bite of bread like she didn’t just casually challenge a genius-level principal to emotionally adopt her for life.
Nezu blinks once. His tail flicks. He opens his mouth, then closes it again.
Seiji, Chiyo assistant, leans back, voice low:
“I think she’s already got her paperwork mentally filed.”
Chiyo smirks. Looking at Nezu.
“And you, Principal, have officially lost control.”
Nezu, not missing a beat:
“This is not final.”
He exhales, looking at her with a mixture of incredulity and deep, uneasiness.
"Young lady. Stop calling me dad."
"Only if you call me your daughter."
Narah smiles again, full of quiet, stubborn joy. She doesn’t push harder. She doesn’t need to.
"This is not—Narah. Please think of this logical."
"Logical you are the best choice."
“…I am hardly the best choice for a parenting, Narah. Look at me.”
Narah, tilting her head innocently.
“Exsactly! You’re the perfect size for a dad. Just a bit taller then me! I can even hold your paw when we cross the street.”
Nezu was speechless. Nothing was working.
So he made a tactical retreat, again.
POV: Nezu
The tea on my desk had gone completely cold, but I couldn't bring myself to care. My paws turned another page of the handwritten notebook resting under the lamplight, my claw tapping a sharp, rhythmic click-click-click against the polished wood.
The Devil of Japan… All For One… Endeavor…
The ink was rushed, trembling in places, detailing a future so devastating it threatened to upend the very foundation of hero society. The sheer terror of what she had written was enough to make anyone emotional. But right now, the storm in my mind wasn't just caused by the looming apocalypse. It was caused by a single word she had scrawled repeatedly in the margins.
Dad.
My claw scraped the desk, leaving a faint, invisible mark. I exhaled a sharp breath, my ears twitching in sheer irritation.
I was a principal. I loved children, and I wanted to protect them—I would not have built an entire institution dedicated to fostering their potential if I didn't care for the youth. But fatherhood? Me? Of all people?
The very concept was absurd. I had absolutely no interest in a partner, let alone a biological child. I was a creature born in a cage, whose only true parent was a sterile white laboratory. I was not a father. I wasn't even close!
Yet nothing I did seemed to make her stop. In every brief interaction we'd had since her arrival, she flung that title at me with absolute certainty. It was incredibly frustrating. If she kept calling me that, it would be nearly impossible to get another hero to adopt her. Who would volunteer to take in a traumatized time traveler when the girl loudly insisted she belonged to the Principal of UA?
I knew what she was doing. My analytical mind could see right through it. She was taking her anger out on me. She knew I had been lying to her, hiding my suspicions, and treating her like a chess piece. This was her revenge. It was a petty, calculated psychological strike designed to make me uncomfortable, and because she was technically a child, she knew I couldn't even look her in the eye and tell her to grow up. It was truly, undeniably childlike behaviour.
“Two can play at that game, Narah,”
I murmured, a small, slightly forced smile pulling at my snout. I needed to outsmart her. If logic wouldn't work, strategy would.
I already had the perfect solution lined up. The perfect father figure.
He was patient, structured, deeply dependable, and possessed the stoic, protective nature a girl like her needed. The moment she met him, surely she would realize what a real father looked like and stop projecting her petty grievances onto me. I just had to arrange the meeting. I would use my intellect to completely dismantle her little game.
I will not let a human outsmart me! Me! The smartest person in Japan!
My claw tapping again.
Click-click-click.
A sharp, encrypted chime cut through the silence of my office, shattering my train of thought.
I tapped the console on my desk, switching on the secure, untraceable line. It was him.
“Report,”
I said, my voice instantly smoothing back into a quiet contrast to the irritation that had just consumed me. A sharp, encrypted chime cut through the silence of my office.
“Principal Nezu,”
the familiar voice of my hand-picked detective crackled over the speaker, masked by heavy international distortion. He was currently half a world away, in mid-to-south Germany.
“The philanthropist cover worked perfectly. The administrators here are greedy; the moment I offered a substantial international grant, they practically rolled out the red carpet. I managed to breach their local network from the inside. Sending the file package now.”
A terminal notification popped up on my monitor. I opened the encrypted file dump.
There, staring back at me from a digitized German registry, was a photograph of a little girl. She had brown hair and deep brown eyes.
The text beside it read:
Name: Narah Bauer
Quirk Status: Quirkless / Not Yet Awakened
I leaned forward, my analytical mind instantly mapping the facial bone structure, the distance between her eyes, the unique curve of her jaw. It was her. It was the exact same girl currently hooked to an IV drop in the UA infirmary, despite the fact that the child in medical care now possessed pitch-black hair and piercing purple eyes.
A cold wave of relief washed over me, immediately followed by an intense, calculating satisfaction. A mutation, I realized. Her quirk had fundamentally altered her appearance upon awakening. If her official records in Germany described a completely different child, and if no one in Europe knew the nature of her quirk, then 'Narah Bauer' was a ghost. No foreign official, no international retrieval team, and certainly not our own predatory Hero Public Safety Commission would ever be able to link her, to a missing German orphan.
She wasn't a synthetic clone fabricated in All For One’s labs. She was real.
“I have the file,”
I told the detective, my voice steady.
“What is your assessment of the facility?”
There was a heavy pause on the other end line.
“It’s wrong, sir. The atmosphere here… it makes my skin crawl. The administrators boast about their care, but the building is freezing, and the children I’ve glimpsed look terribly thin. Severely lethargic.”
The detective took a breath, his voice tightening.
“While the head administrator was taking a call, I stepped into the courtyard. I tried to speak to one of the younger children. A little boy. He was emaciated. He began to whisper to me, but before he could finish a sentence, a caretaker rounded the corner.”
I kept perfectly still, my ears twitching slightly.
“And?”
“The boy froze, Principal. It was raw, primal terror. He stopped breathing, shrank back as if he expected a blow, and then bolted into the building. The caretaker just smiled and called him a 'troubled liar.' I don't have the hard financial or physical proof to trigger a legal raid yet—that will take another week or two of digging into their hidden ledger—but my gut tells me this place is a living hell.”
A sudden, violent surge of nausea hit me, tasting like bitter ash.
I looked from the monitor showing her registry file to the handwritten pages on my desk detailing the end of the world. Skeletal. Starved. Gone days without food. Images of my own past—of cages, of cold white rooms, of being looked at as a clinical variable rather than a living being—flashed behind my eyes. I knew what it felt like to be trapped in a place where your existence was merely a metric, where those in power only wanted to use you, entirely void of care or warmth. A dark, suffocating rage flared deep within my chest, tightly controlled but entirely lethal.
And beneath that rage was an agonizing weight of guilt. I had looked at this broken child through the lens of suspicion. I had treated her coldly, cross-examining her as if her trauma were a calculated performance meant to deceive me. In reality, everything she had done—every trembling word she spoke, every note she desperately scraped together—was purely to help us. Even if my logical mind still struggled to fully comprehend the mechanics of her time travel, the fundamental truth was undeniable: she had crawled through a systemic nightmare just to warn a world that didn't know her yet.
I still didn't want to be a father. I wasn't built for it, and perhaps I never would be. If she truly envisioned me as her dad, that might just be the worst choice she could make for her own emotional well-being. I was a rational, calculating creature first. But I could ensure she had a home. A real home, where no one would ever lock her in a cold room or look at her with terror-inducing malice again.
“Detective,”
I said, and though my voice remained politely soft, it carried a terrifying drop in temperature.
“You have your primary objective. Take as long as you need to uncover their financial corruption and their systemic abuses. I want that institution completely, legally dismantled. I want everyone responsible behind bars.”
“Understood, sir.”
“But regarding the girl,”
I continued, my eyes narrowing as I stared at the photograph of the brown-haired child.
“We must ensure she is never tethered to that place again. Do you understand me? She must not exist there. Clean the slate. Entirely.”
I did not say the words hack the municipal transit databases. I did not say permanently delete the airport security logs in Munich. I did not explicitly command him to commit high-level international cyber-crimes to erase a child's digital footprint. I did not have to.
The detective was fiercely loyal, bound to me by debts and an understanding that sometimes, the greater good required operating in the shadows where the law could not reach.
“Consider it done, Principal,”
the detective replied without a single shred of hesitation.
“By the time I am finished, there will be no trail. No camera footage, no travel logs, no digital footprint. Narah Bauer will have never left that region, because she will have never existed at all.”
“Thank you. Stay safe.”
The connection ended. The room fell back into a heavy silence.
I looked at the notes she had written. If her intention was genuinely to save this world, then I would help her as best as I could. I would provide the resources, the strategy, and the absolute safety she deserved. But a standard school campus was not a fortress. Not yet.
I tapped my keyboard, minimizing the German files, and pulled up a classified, highly restricted architectural CAD program. I stared at the blank grid on the screen, my mind already calculating.
I began to sketch the very first blueprints.
Consider his hasty retreat, Principal Nezu did not return to the infirmary the next day—nor the day after that.
Narah, however, was far from lonely. Every afternoon like clockwork, once their classes ended, Shota and Hizashi would slip into the room to keep her company. Mirai dropped by with quiet regularity, and to her surprise even Torino hovered nearby, roughly checking in on her recovery.
All Might himself made a grand, muscular entrance at her bedside, only to be promptly and ruthlessly scolded by Torino, because coming to UA so frequently was a massive security risk, and the elder hero banned the Symbol of Peace from visiting more than twice a week. All Might had visibly deflated in tragic disappointment, earning a smothered snort from Narah, though even he knew the old man was right.
Through all the bustling activity, Chiyo didn't miss a single detail. She watched with amused eyes as Japan’s greatest genius actively, conspicuously avoided her infirmary, practically fleeing from the mere existence of a certain small child.
Exactly one week later, Chiyo finally picked up her desk phone and dialed the principal's office.
Without beating around the bush, she informed Nezu that Narah was finally healthy enough to leave the infirmary bed. She gave her strict approval for the girl to move around campus on one unbreakable condition: Narah needed a reliable, watchful chaperone attached to her at all times to ensure she didn't recklessly overwork her still-recovering body. Also Narah needs essentials if she is staying longer and if his project is finished?
On the other end of the line, Nezu’s quiet, cheerful hum echoed through the speaker. He assured her there was no need to worry—he already had the perfect young man in mind for the job. And the preparation was already finished.
Ready for her to see.