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“So you wanna be a hero, eh, Mob?” Shinsou stood with feigned calm. “Wanna rub your mighty powers in the face of the world?” Mob wisely stayed quiet as he approached. A sheepish Ojiro had warned him after the cavalry battle. But the closer he came, the clearer the sweat droplets sliding down Shinsou’s face, the louder Shinsou’s voice. Mob’s hand, raised upright to lift Shinsou telekinetically, slowly lowered. Something about this didn’t feel right.
“Is it the name? Mob, wasn’t it? Do you like using that name, not even important enough for an NPC? Are you just a sheep? What are you, Mob?”
The crowd, the stadium, the advertisements. This wasn’t a peaceful riverside road with the Body Improvement Club. This wasn’t the heavily-monitored faux cities of the UA training grounds. And this was a far cry from the 1A homeroom.
“Not all of us are so lucky, did you know that? No one ever calls you a villain waiting to explode, do they? Are you a hero, Mob?”
This wasn’t a place to learn Heroics. This wasn’t a place to practice using his quirk.
“If you were a hero, wouldn’t you want to give the unfortunate ones a chance?”
It wasn’t a place for his quirk, but… that wasn’t the only part of him that had gotten stronger. Mob resumed walking, and Shinsou’s voice became more frantic.
“People like you who were born with the perfect quirks would never understand!”
* * *
When Shinsou exits his classroom— still in General Studies, because he failed— he doesn’t expect to see the face of the student he’d violently beaten in front of half the world on live TV. It’s been a week but the bruises have faded only to the blotchy green stage of healing, scattered over Mob’s face and Shinsou’s hands. He brings up one bruised hand to touch his healing black eye, the only mark Mob had managed to leave on him.
“Here to dish out payback?” Shinsou says sourly, slouching by. Mob seems cheerful enough to tag along, but Shinsou isn’t sure it isn’t an act. Mob’s always appeared to be too much of a pushover to want revenge for a few school-sponsored injuries.
“Oh, no,” Mob says softly, feet skipping every few steps to keep up with Shinsou’s long legs and brisk pace. “You won fairly. I came to ask you a question.”
“Ask then.” Shinsou eyes the boy beside him, his bowl cut and bland face, his bruises. Mob doesn’t register as a threat in person, but before the Sport’s Festival Shinsou’s research revealed Mob’s status as number one in the entry exam points. He would have found out soon enough from the stilted, halting opening speech he had to give before the Festival began, but seeing the numbers on paper rocketed Mob to the top of the danger list. His skills hadn’t been demonstrated well during the Festival, though, as he seemed more concerned with helping other students caught in the debris of the race, and his calvary team skirted around the edges of the battle gathering the low-score headbands.
Mob lowers his head as they walk. They exit the building, and as the gates to the grounds near Shinsou’s nerves rise. Mob’s bland face betrays nothing of his thoughts, and off-campus Shinsou worries what Mob might try.
“Would you like to meet my Master?”
Shinsou stops just within the gates to the rest of the city. “Your Master?” he replies with as much skepticism as possible, which if he says so himself is a lot. “What, like a dojo thing?” He eyes Mob’s skinny arms pointedly.
Mob shakes his head. “No, he’s my boss at work. He taught me how to use my quirk safely.” Shinsou starts walking again, but Mob— rather boldly— grabs his sleeve to slow him, and Shinsou shakes him off.
“No, I don’t want to meet your Master. Why do you ask?”
“Oh,” Mob says, sounding surprised. “I think your quirks are really similar. I just thought…” Mob scuffs his shoe on the ground and fidgets with a keychain on his bag, something brightly colored like it came from an arcade. “I’ve been thinking about what you said at the Sports Festival—”
“It’s what I had to say to get my quirk to catch you, I was just trying to provoke you.” Shinsou’s arm is free but he doesn’t move as his head is whirling. Similar quirks? “Can he brainwash people too?”
Mob shakes his head, but then hesitates, but then shakes his head. “No, it’s not exactly the same. But I think you’d enjoy talking to him. And he really helped me out with my quirk problems. Ah, I don’t mean to say you have quirk problems—”
“Let’s go.”
“Oh.” Mob blinks slowly at him and Shinsou scowls. He puts a finger in Mob’s face threateningly.
“Look, I don’t have problems with my quirk. I just want to check out his powers, maybe compare notes or something. I’ve got a pretty rare quirk and this is a great opportunity for me. That’s it.”
Mob’s eyes open slightly wider and a small smile graces his face. On Mob, it looks practically euphoric. “I’m really glad. Thank you for listening to my request.” He tries to bow but Shinsou puts a hand out to catch his forehead. Then he quickly removes it, feeling sick with guilt at the contrast of bruise-on-bruise. “I’m going to work this afternoon, if you’re interested in coming. It’s actually pretty close.”
Shinsou gestures, and Mob takes the lead. Now that Mob’s asked his question, the nervous energy has left him placid. Shinsou busies himself thinking about what kind of quirk Mob’s Master might have, and how much like his it is, and— “Hey, Mob.”
Mob startles, but turns back to face him. “Yes, Shinsou?”
“What kind of job do you have anyway? Doesn’t the Hero Course keep you busy enough?”
“Oh, yes.” Mob slows to walk next to him properly on the sidewalk. “I’ve been working at this job since I was 11, though, and my Master is very supportive of my high school education. I do a lot of homework at the office.”
“An office, huh?” Shinsou muses. “What kind of office hires an 11-year-old? Doesn’t seem legit.”
Mob huffs a sheepish laugh. “It’s had a reputation, but my Master is a good man. The job’s easier to explain in person.”
Shinsou would press, but he hears something coming from the alley beside them. He spins around and, catching sight of his target, tears off down the alley. Mob’s worried cry follows him, and from the sound of footsteps behind him so does Mob. Shinsou doesn’t care, because— “Ah!”
There, curled in a worn blanket, is a cat. And there, curled into the cat, is one smaller cat, mewing plaintively as it clambers over it’s mother’s legs. “Ohhh baby baby baby,” Shinsou croons, and he drops to his knees to fish in his bag. He always carries some kind of cat food, treats or wet food. The mother cat flattens her ears suspiciously but doesn’t run. Shinsou’s always had a gift for cats. Mob’s footsteps catch up and slow to a stop behind him.
“Oh. A cat.” His voice is flatter than Shinsou has ever heard.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like cats?” Cracking open a can of wet food, Shinsou places it gently next to the mother cat’s head. She sniffs it warily, but after only two whisker-twitches deems it safe and dives in. The kitten squeaks as it’s mother stands to eat, and Shinsou offers it a finger to explore. It latches on with needle-sharp teeth and claws.
“No, I like them.” There’s something disturbing about the flatness of Mob’s voice. He’s not expressive, but Shinsou has never heard him sound this… empty. Like he’s dead inside. “I think they’re nice. Fluffy.” He cautiously approaches and kneels beside Shinsou. His hands twitch spasmodically, but then clench in the hem of his school blazer.
“What, shy or something? It’s a kitten, it can’t hurt you.” Shinsou’s got it on it’s back, clawing with its hindlegs at the finger trapped adorably between its forepaws. He wiggles his hand and laughs as it tries to attack all his fingers at once. It hisses, and Mob flinches. Shinsou frowns. “Seriously though, what’s wrong? Are you allergic?”
“No.” Mob doesn’t meet his eyes. “Um, I— the last cat I made friends with, it was a stray and I fed it after school. But, um, this one girl was bullying me, and when she found the cat, um, she and her friends… bullied the cat too. Since then I’ve avoided cats.” Deep, sharp breath. Slow exhale. “I didn’t want them to be targeted again.”
Mob’s voice is still hauntingly empty. Shinsou feels a little gutted himself. He isn’t sure if he wants to know what counts as bullying a cat. From Mob’s reaction, it’s pretty clear whatever happened to Mob’s cat was likely irreparable. That thought starts an angry rage, not just for the cat but for the horrifying void of pain in Mob. Blank face, trembling hands, empty, empty voice. In a surge of anger, Shinsou decides to kick back at the world that did that to this weird, quiet kid next to him, and he does it with the tools at hand. Scooping up the kitten, he deposits it in Mob’s lap between his clenched hands. The kitten, unbalanced and unprepared, mews loudly as it rolls out of Mob’s lap, but Mob catches it before it hits the ground. The mother cat rushes to her kitten’s side, but seeing it in no danger gives it a disciplinary lick and returns to her dinner. Shinsou turns his attention to the mother, petting her and refusing to look at Mob. “No one’s going to hurt this cat,” he says stiffly. “We won’t let them.”
When the can is empty and mother cat returns to her kitten, he risks a glance at Mob’s face. His eyes are wet but no tears have actually fallen— success. Shinsou knows absolutely nothing about dealing with crying people. There’s even a small smile as he cradles the kitten with one hand as it determinedly climbs up the opposite arm. It’s almost reached his shoulder.
“We should probably get going,” Shinsou offers. He tosses the empty can into a nearby dumpster and stands with a groan and a stretch. Mob gently deposits the kitten back in its insistent mother’s embrace, where she licks it furiously. He gives her a few pets before standing, which Shinsou takes as a good sign.
“Thanks, Shinsou,” Mob says. He rubs at his eyes, and looks almost back to normal. If Shinsou doesn’t acknowledge it, Mob probably won’t. Cat sidebar notwithstanding, if Mob’s Master has a quirk like his Shinsou needs to see it. As they exit the alley Mob takes a deep, deep breath, then a slow exhale. "You and my Master are alike," he states firmly with a nod, as if the matter has been decided.
"What, no, don't compare us. He sounds shady as hell."
Mob directs them down an intersection. "We’re getting close. Maybe I should have texted him to let him know I’m bringing you," he says thoughtfully.
"Let it be a surprise. People like surprises." Shinsou tamps down the swell of excitement that floods him as they draw closer to their destination. Besides his mother, who's quirk he inherited, he didn't know of any other person who could do what he did. Who had to confront the real nature of what he did, weighing choices against the glares of strangers and the gossip of peers. “Did you say what his quirk was?”
“No. I thought people liked surprises.” Shinsou looks sharply at Mob but for the life of him can’t tell if Mob’s messing with him or not. "It's called 'Silver Tongue', and— I might as well let him explain it to you." Mob stops at the crosswalk and points to the nondescript office building with a large neon sign proclaiming ‘Spirits and Such Agency’. "We're here."
The office is small and smells sweetly of incense. A haze fills the room as smoke dances lazily in the golden afternoon light, leaking through the half-open blinds. The lights are otherwise off, sunlight and a few candles lighting the bizarre tableau before them.
A short, white-haired woman sits in the near center of the room with her back to the entryway and them. Just opposite, a blonde man wearing a laurel crown sits, humming and holding her hands. His eyes are closed and his brow furrowed in some kind of focused contemplation.
Mob lets out a soft, surprised "ah" of recognition and tries to backtrack, but Shinsou puts out a hand to keep the door cracked. Mob acquiesces easily, and together they watch what Shinsou quickly realize is a seance.
"Is she here yet?" the woman asks urgently, hands fidgeting where they lie in what are probably Mob's Master's hands. "It's been almost ten minutes!"
Mob's Master speaks with a light and soothing whisper. "Now now, Mrs. Nakayama, we cannot rush the realm of the divine—" His face suddenly clears to complete blankness before brightening into a loving smile. With a note of wonder and in and affected voice, he calls, "Mom?"
"Oh Momo-chan!" the woman wails, and she throws herself forward to hug Mob's Master, who almost falls out of his chair at the assault. "Oh, mummy misses you, darling! Are you alright? Are you safe and happy? Do they have your treats there? Oh, I've been so worried."
"Don't worry about Momo-chan, mummy, it's heavenly here." Mob's Master carefully extracts himself from Mrs. Nakayama's desperate embraces to take her hands again. "There's a beautiful, endless park to play in, and frisbees, and whole rooms of chew toys! They have all the treats, liverwurst and steak and bacon and—"
"Is this a seance for a pet dog?" Shinsou asks Mob incredulously, pitching his voice low. Mob shrugs, but they both turn their attention to the woman as she stiffens.
"My Momo-chan doesn't eat bacon," Mrs. Nakayama says suspiciously. "It upsets her tummy."
Shinsou stifles a snort as Mob's Master also freezes, but the man currently pretending to be the spirit of a deceased dog doesn't let it keep him down for long.
"Oh, mummy, don't be so silly with your Momo-chan! Momo's a spirit now, and that means my tummy is a spiritual tummy! Nothing can make me feel sick anymore." Shinsou is bewildered when Mrs. Nakayama suddenly bursts into tears. Still in his 'Momo-chan' trance, Mob's Master reaches back to grab a box of tissues from the desk behind him and offers it to the woman. She takes a handful and blows her nose loudly.
"I'm— I'm so g-glad, M-Momo-chan." From the sound of it, Mrs. Nakayama is a messy crier. "I was s-so worried— I love you s-so much—"
"Five minute warning," Mob's Master cuts in with his normal voice, before returning to Momo-chan's demure and vacant expression. Mrs. Nakayama rushes to fill those five minutes with every sickeningly sweet endearment possible, Mob's Master relegated to appeasing interjections like "Of course, mummy" and "I know, mummy". As the time draws to a close, he adds quickly, "I love you so much, mummy, but Momo-chan needs to go now. Can you let me go? I promise I'll have fun and be safe and won't eat too much bacon!"
Still sniffling, Mrs. Nakayama nods and pats the man's knee. "Of course dearie, I won't keep you from your new toys any longer. I love you."
"I love you tooooooo..." The final word trails away as Mob's Master shakes his head hard, as if trying to wake himself up. He stands and stretches, then walks to the smaller desk near the door and takes its tissue box, offering it in exchange for the one Mrs. Nakayama depleted. Eyes now opened and lights switched on, he finally sees the two of them huddled behind his door. With a raised eyebrow and a shooing motion, he returns to calming down Mrs. Nakayama after her emotional experience. Mob gently shuts the door and he and Shinsou wait outside.
"Is this Master of yours crazy or something?" Shinsou finally asks, scuffing a shoe on the worn carpet. Mob smiles.
"Reigen Arataka, greatest psychic of the 21st century. His quirk, Silver Tongue, lets him talk so convincingly that he can even persuade spirits to move on, or call them back for a short time for a seance. That's what we just watched."
Shinsou's jaw drops. Spirits were real, everyone has known that since the advent of quirks caused some people to have ESP-like abilities, but quirks like that were incredibly rare. Rumor had it Mob himself had one, disguised as telekinesis. To stand in the same room as two people with ESP was an achievement very few people could claim. But if Reigen has ESP, then…
"Why would you say our quirks are the same?" Shinsou asks. "I'm not an esper."
"Oh, neither is Master Reigen," Mob replies blandly. "His quirk just happens to also work on spirits as well as people. Sometimes he tells people he's an esper, just to make things simple, but technically he's not."
As Shinsou ponders this, the door opens and a red-eyed but smiling Mrs. Nakayama exits the office. Mob holds the door for her, and they slip inside as she leaves. Inside, Reigen is neatly stacking the blown-out candles in a cardboard box. The crown is still nestled in his hair, but he's cracked the window and turned on a fan to clear the worst of the incense.
"Mob, buddy, how's it hanging? Made a new friend at that school of yours?" He squints at Shinsou as Shinsou steps fully into the office. "Wait a sec, isn't that the kid who beat you ten shades of black and blue in the Sports Festival?"
"Yes, and we’re okay with it. His name is Shinsou Hitoshi, and he's going to be a Hero." Mob puts his bag on the tiny receptionist desk and begins pulling out homework. "He said some things during our fight that made me think of your quirk, and all the good advice you gave me about mine." He sits down and opens a book. "I decided you could help him."
Both Reigen and Shinsou stare nonplussed at Mob, who's already frowning over his arithmetic, but for different reasons. Reigen looks curious, but Shinsou is struggling to hide the shock and gratitude at the simple phrase— "He's going to be a Hero." No caveat, no condescension. No "he wants to be" or "he's trying to be". Just a simple statement of fact: he's going to be.
Reigen catches his eye and shrugs casually. "If Mob thinks I can help, I'll give it a try. Take a seat." He waves to the chair Mrs. Nakayama had used, now straightened out in front of his desk, behind which is the other chair that Reigen sinks into himself. Shinsou slowly sits down.
Reigen opens his mouth to speak, but Shinsou raises a hand to stop him. "I didn't come here looking for help, or advice, or anything. I only came because Mob says your quirk is like mine."
Reigen shifts a little in his seat. "Well, it's not a flashy quirk. Certainly nothing like you Hero students might find useful. But it's definitely helped me in my line of work." He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces as it catches on the circlet. Struggling with the leaves and twigs that tangle in his hair, he explains, "It's called Silver Tongue, although why we have to name our quirks like a shounen protagonist's special moves is beyond me. I can, frankly speaking, convince anyone of anything, given a little time and conversation. There's a bit of a limit on how far I can stretch belief, but if I have even the slightest shred of evidence to build on, or if I believe it wholeheartedly myself," he makes a gesture, flicking his fingers out in a silent explosion, "poof, they believe." Tossing the leaf crown into the trash, he turns a surprisingly focused gaze on Shinsou. "So what's your quirk?"
Shinsou, who's sitting upright in his seat and staring at Reigen. He doesn't even answer for a moment, too caught up in the overwhelming rush of relief he feels at not being alone. "It's called brainwashing," he croaks, then clears his throat. "Brainwashing. If I ask a question, and someone responds to me, I can take control of their mind and actions. Not completely, I can't make them tell me what they know, memories, or identify things around them— but if I say 'pick up that rock and throw it's, they pick it up and throw."
Reigen leans back in his seat further than is probably safe, steepling his fingers in front of him, turning that focused gaze on the ceiling. Heart hammering, Shinsou feels fear rise as quickly as the relief, but swallowing it, drowning him in the sudden and very real fear that this will be too much even for Mob's Master, even for a man with a similar quirk, for a man who can talk ghosts back to life. Reigen will be scared, and tell him to leave, and tell Mob to never speak to him again in case Shinsou turns evil just like his quirk always meant him to—
There's a thud as Reigen suddenly leans forward, all four chair legs slamming into the carpet, palms flat on the surface of his desk. "Can you show me?"
"What?" It takes a moment for Shinsou to register the question, and then he immediately regrets asking one.
"Can you—"
"Why?"
Reigen shrugs. "Seems like the quickest way to learn is through experience."
"You want me to brainwash you for experience?"
Reigen smiles at him. "You never know what—" and Shinsou reaches out with his quirk and seizes control.
Reigen relaxes in his chair, eyes more vacant than during his seance. Now that he has control of him, though, Shinsou doesn't know what to do. He glances back at Mob, whose books are still open but whose dark eyes are watching carefully. Seeing Shinsou's panicked face, he gives an encouraging nod.
"What should I do? Er, what should he do?"
Mob ponders. "A pushup? I've always wondered if he can do one." With a gentle nudge of Shinsou's mind, Reigen gets down on the ground and in a perfect pushup position. Down, and up, easy as thought. Surprisingly, Mob looks mildly disappointed. "He has perfect form," he mutters, and turns back to his homework. Completely unafraid of Shinsou taking over his Master's mind.
Shinsou releases Reigen, who falls face-first into the carpet with an "oof". Dragging himself upright, he grins at Shinsou. "That was weird," he allows. "If I hadn't woken up on the floor, I'm not sure I would have even noticed." He jumps around the room, gesticulating wildly. "That's a pretty fantastic quirk for Hero work. Subtle, and it's fairly easy to avoid right now— don't answer the question and you're safe, right? How much of a response do you need, can they just look at you? React physically? Bet you could convince a criminal to release hostages, or re-enter their hideout and pull the fire alarm, or sneak past a guard. Just telling a criminal to hold still would be good enough for most scenarios." He whirls to face Shinsou and points a finger in his direction. "And that's not even covering the applications for rescue work!"
Shinsou sits in the aftermath of his brainwashing listening to Reigen pontificate on uses for his quirk— treating shock, crowd control, and other phrases fly about almost as fast as Reigen's flailing hands. Shinsou breathes deep, and releases it slowly along with the terror of rejection. First Midoriya, then Mob, and now Master Reigen— as a child he had never dreamed there would be so many people who believe in his dream. He's drawn out of the daze by Reigen's tone of voice shifting— a question? He's missed it.
"Sorry, what?"
"I asked what brought you here today. Mob said concerns were raised during your fight? Or you needed advice?"
"Oh, no, it's—" but Mob interrupts him.
"I thought your quirk could help him, Master. He said people don't like his quirk because they're scared of it. You helped me when I was scared, so..." He ducks his head at their twin scrutiny, Reigen's considering and Shinsou's a glare.
"Well, lots of people can get scared of quirks. It's perfectly natural to be scared of something powerful like a quirk if you don't know the person using it. That happened a bit with— oi, Mob, do you mind if I share how we met?" Mob waves a hand in a 'go ahead' motion, eyes glued to his book. Shinsou notes with amusement that the math textbook has been swapped for manga. Reigen continues his spiel. "Mob and I met when he came looking for advice. You probably know this from being at school with him, but Mob has a very strong quirk, and he was afraid of using it without hurting people. What I told him then I'll share with you now: quirks are just another characteristic of a person, like being fast or good at sports or having long hair. It's not about how it compares to others, it's about what you choose to do with it. Like a knife, a quirk can be safely used on a kitchen, or dangerously pointed at someone else." Reigen looks pleased at his own speech, but Shinsou still feels dissatisfied.
"How did you do it?" Shinsou leans forward expectantly. "With a quirk like yours— how do people ever let you talk to them?"
Fortunately Reigen doesn't take offense, although he blinks, then smiles wryly. "Ah, I'm afraid we have two different problems there. In my line of work, having my quirk perceived as dubious or sneaky only adds to the atmosphere. I get plenty of customers who come in only curious about my quirk, if it'll work on them or if I can really talk down spirits. For a Hero, though..." He taps his chin thoughtfully. Shinsou tries to be patient. "For a Hero, I don't believe anything matters except your drive to reach your goal. You're young and you're in school. If people don't trust you or are scared of you, it'll only take a few successful rescues or villain arrests to change their minds. You've got a gift, kid, and the fact you made it into UA— and even the final of the Sports Festival!— shows that you've got the skill and determination to achieve your dream." With a confident smile and a flourish of hand motions, Reigen declares: "You are going to be an amazing hero!"
Shinsou coughs roughly and tries to discreetly rub at his perfectly normal and definitely not watery eyes. "You're using your quirk on me, aren't you?" he croaks.
"Of course I am! But like I told you earlier—" and Reigen puts a firm and comforting hand on Shinsou's shoulder "—it only works when I believe it, too."
* * *
After a slightly dazed but apparently happy Shinsou leaves, Reigen excuses himself to the massage room, claiming a need to sort the scented oils. Once there, he wheezes out a few shallow breaths and considers sneaking out for a cigarette. Nixing the idea, he instead flops back onto one of the tables and laughs shakily to himself. Quirk or no quirk— and in this case, definitely no quirk— he was definitely blessed by some higher power. If he'd messed up with Mob's new friend, Mob's passive aggressive wrath would haunt him for months. Silver tongue, indeed.
Sitting up with a sigh, Reigen picks out massage oils for the next appointment, a regular customer who enjoys a weekly massage with soothing conversation. Tossing a bottle of eucalyptus oil into the air, he laughs. "Quirk this, quirk that," Reigen murmurs. "It's just about good conversation." Then he gets back to work.