Sold into the Underworld when he presented Quirkless, he lived his life as an expendable asset until he turned against his masters. Retiring to Japan was... difficult. Inactivity didn't suit him. It was probably why he took the brat in. Mentor!Harry, Quirkless!Harry, Quirkless!Izuku. Slash.
Mild Kingsman, Black Lagoon, and Katekyo Hitman REBORN crossovers.
Slash. Quirkless!Disabled!former-villain!Mentor!Harry, Quirkless!Izuku, Character-Development!Bakugo-Mineta, Trans!Mic/Hizashi, Aro-Ace!Toshinori.
Pairing unknown, potentially Aizawa/Harry, Mirio/Izuku.
000
CHAPTER ONE
He should have been happy. He just felt tired though. Japan was a very different world to the one he left behind, he had been there a handful of times but it never ceased to feel just a little... uncanny valley. It was so clean it was almost alien he decided as he stared out of the car window, watching the city of Musutafu pass him by. He had never actually been to Musutafu in all honesty, one of the few cities he hadn't in actual fact, though he rarely had work given to him in Japan. All the better for it, less chance of his being discovered, or running into old 'associates'.
His driver shifted for the third time in as many minutes, and the dark haired man slowly closed his eyes focusing his attention on the soft strains of classical music playing from the car stereo system. Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa, first name Tsukauchi, last name Naomasa. A Quirkless detective of Musutafu Precinct in his mid-thirties. Unmarried. Undoubtedly chosen as his chaperone in this instance because his superiors thought that a Quirkless Detective would be either less threatening, or that he would be better behaved in the man's company. Idiots. Naomasa had two arms, two legs, and a working brain between his two working ears and behind his two working eyes. Just because other morons underestimated Quirkless individuals didn't mean the everyone did, and he, more than anyone else, knew better than to be dismissive.
“This is it,” the Detective announced, jarring him out of his thoughts as the car pulled to a stop in front of a rather harsh looking cement tower-block. His new home. “Let's go see what the folks at Witness Protection have arranged for you,” he declared, trying to sound chirpy, but just coming across as strained. His body language and facial expressions didn't suggest fear, rather, anger and disapproval. An intelligent degree of wariness, but no fear.
“Yes.... let's,” he murmured softly as he unclipped his seatbelt and followed the Detective out of his neat black car. No doubt there would be an entire plethora of surveillance equipment stuffed in there, discreetly and non-discreetly, it would be the work of half an hour to an hour to destroy all of the microphones and cameras, but that carried with it some consequences he didn't particularly care for right now. He was too tired to deal with another interrogation, more suspicion, more.... he just wanted to be left alone. He was tired.
If listening to him taking a shit put Law Enforcement at ease, well, what the fuck ever. He'd shared a dorm room with thirty children for the majority of his life, no consideration for separate genders, all of them within the same age bracket, there were no shower dividers, no toilet dividers, and a two-way mirror dominating the far wall, security cameras at every corner. Privacy was a luxury none of them had heard of until they were being given social training. Everything was so much less complicated back then. 'Ignorance was bliss,' he thought with bitter wistfulness as the two of them climbed the stairs to the third floor. It was somewhat strange though, he noted as they walked down the corridor. Each floor had ten flats on it, but as they stopped outside room thirty-one... it was in the middle of the right hand side of the building. Where flat twenty-eight should have been. Hm, oh, the Japanese didn't like the number four because it sounded like death. Just like with old buildings in America and the number thirteen, they would just remove it and keep counting. Fair enough. Mystery solved.
The room Detective Naomasa showed him to was modest, larger than he was expecting given what he knew of Japanese minimalism and apartment life. It was two rooms, both very small, and luckily it was furnished, if sparsely. It still smelt of fresh paint in complete honesty. They stepped into a small, dark wood porch with a tiny shoerack on the right, the kitchen immediately on the left with wooden bars going from the counter-top to the ceiling in order to separate the porch from the work-surfaces. It was nothing fancy. A small counter-top, sink set beneath a window, and another counter-top with a small fridge set beneath it. There were cupboards beneath the other counter-top and the sink, a small plug-in hotplate beneath the cupboard and a single tea-towel folded over one of the cupboard door handles. There was a small living-room type space of light yellow varnished wood leading to a large window, currently cracked open to take away the worst of the fresh paint smell. A small low-slung coffee table in the middle of the room, an empty bookcase behind it, and a flatscreen TV on a stand beneath the window. To the right were three doors, a quick glance once he'd removed his shoes proved that one of them was to a bathroom, sink, shower, and one of those deep-set Japanese tubs. Middle door was to a toilet, nothing else, not even toilet paper. And the final door was to a small narrow bedroom, single bed with basic white bedding, and a bedside table with a small black lamp, and a small black desk at the end of the bed with a lone pencil-pot set upon it.
“Nice,” he commented idly. Compared to some of the places he'd been forced to live and work in, this was amazing.
“I'm glad you approve,” Detective Naomasa said, still sounding a little strained. For a moment, he gave thought to commenting, to dismissing the man but.... too much effort. “Right, here are your papers, house-key, identity papers, cover story, local map, bank details, debit card, and your tenancy agreement for the flat,” he continued a little more briskly as he rummaged a plastic wallet from inside his coat filled with papers that he presented to him.
“Thank you,” he said as he pulled the tenancy agreement out to give it a quick read. He was largely unfamiliar with what was expected, but it did seem reasonable. No pets though, shame. “Does this mean all manner of pets, non-furred included?” he asked curiously as he pointed to the clause in specific.
Naomasa nodded shortly, his eyes narrowing suspiciously for a moment before he seemed to remember he was supposed to be non-hostile and hastily trying to relax his features. He gave the man a particularly bland look before returning to the papers. Naomasa sighed, “Saint, I – ”
“Harry,” he interrupted, making the Detective pause and blink at him. “My name. My real one, or so I believe. They didn't exactly keep good records, and what little I recall of my childhood before I was sold, they never referred to me by name. Just Boy. I.... cannot explain why it is important that I don't let them take that from me again,” he admitted, struggling harshly with his words as he tried to explain why his birthname just felt... important to him.
Naomasa was silent for a time before he nodded shortly, “Alright, Harii,” he stressed shortly, “You are aware of what will happen to you should you breach any of the laws here in Japan. I don't think I need to stress the consequences any further. Here is a map of the local area, and a list of contact numbers. You'll be required to check in with this one every day, and this one once a week. Understand?” he asked in clipped tones.
'Harry' nodded, looking up at him dully. “I understand Detective. Thank you for your help.”
The dark haired man nodded shortly, and walked out quickly, closing the door with a snap behind him. Harry stared at the small flat, and wondered what Archive and Knight would have thought about it.
“.....Needs more books,” he said too loudly in the too quiet, Archive's voice whispering in the back of his head those very words from their first long-term mission where they had to live out of a Russian apartment suite in what was basically a slum, just mostly frozen over.
Bile rose like a fist, and he bolted for the toilet, vomiting the entire contents of his stomach into the bowl, all the tea and water he'd drunk while in the police station. Archive's voice whispered to him in detail about the properties of bile, and tea as he rested his head against the plastic seat and tried to breathe even as his whole body began to shake. His skin crawled, the phantom sensation of Knight's calloused too hot hand on his shoulder, how often had they found one another like this? He lost count. And even though he was alone, he could feel the hands that pulled his hair from his face, that ghosted across his skin. He threw up again. Retched hard enough to hurt. And curled up into a ball, clutching at his hair, trying to breathe.
They were dead. They were dead. They were dead.
All of them. Every single one of them.
Archive, Knight, Loyal, Foxglove, Morrow, Hen, Judge, Thicket, Thistle, Dragon, Owl, Iron, Emerald. Everyone. Even Winter and Cage were gone, but out of all of them.... those two always seemed to be able to slip out of even the most dangerous of situations.
They were all gone. And only he remained.
000
Retirement didn't suit him.
He started drinking. Heavily.
Alcohol dulled the whispers, the memories, helped him sleep. He was religious with his recycling, with keeping the flat he had been given neat and tidy, his training and ingrained discipline wouldn't allow him to let it devolve into a hazardous hovel.
He called the numbers he needed to, every day at the same time on the mobile phone he had been given.
And aside from trips to the convenience store, or the laundrette, he did not leave his flat. He sat, and he drank, and he stared out of the windows at the world afar and wondered what it was he was supposed to do with his life now.....
Archive would have known. She knew everything.
Knight had a painstakingly kept list of his secret desires, he whispered it like a prayer before bed every night. Only Archive and Foxglove knew what it was he whispered.
Loyal would have been just as clueless, but at least willing to go out and find it.
Winter..... Winter would have hit him about the head and told him to stop moping already. He was getting fat and soft and pathetic. Thistle would have tried to stab him for being so unacceptably off his game, as if his lack of focus or readiness were a personal insult. Judge would have.... ironically judged him in that stern silent way of hers. Foxglove and Morrow would have banned together with Thicket, Hen, and Finch to drag him out and explore Musutafu thoroughly. Every knook and cranny.
“.....Know your escape route,” 'Harry' echoed, the voice of their trainer, of his dorm, every single one of them droning that commandment in sync.
Slowly, as though it physically pained him, he set his half-full beer can to one side. He heaved himself to his feet, his joints aching as he found his balance and squeezed his eyes shut to the pain for a moment before pushing himself forward. With the alcohol he had drunk already, he should have been unstable, but he wasn't. He was firm, he was steady, he was moving. One foot in front of the other.
Across the room.
He stared at his shoes, they seemed so far away. But if he didn't put them on, he would never leave this flat. It felt like an age. He bent, and he slipped them on, fingers fumbling on the laces.
His hand hovered on the door handle.
He had left plenty of times before now, to the convenience store, to the laundrette, to the bins. Why was it suddenly so hard?
He grabbed the handle and shoved the door open hard enough for it to bang against the wall, he suppressed a wince and offered his neighbour a mental apology as he shunted himself out of the flat, slamming the door shut behind him. He gulped back bile and forced his hands to steady as he locked up and walked. Down the stairs, one foot in front of the other, he kept walking.
He walked. And he walked.
The convenience shop where he bought beer and groceries. He stopped. And he wavered.
He kept walking.
His hands were shaking. But he kept walking.
Why was this so hard?
It couldn't be fear. He had wondered through Cartel controlled territories in Mexico, crept on slippered feet through Villain lairs; no matter the city, no matter the country, he had never had any difficulty scouting an area, no anxiety, no reluctance. Had he already lost his edge? So soon? It had only been two months since he came to Japan. His concept of time was still as sharp and precise as ever, so it couldn't have been a mental problem brought about by the beer, otherwise he wouldn't be able to parse that anywhere near so well.
There was a park.
He hadn't known.
Just what else was around here that he hadn't known about? He needed to scout the area, it was no longer a matter of preference, but it was unacceptable that he had been so lazy in not doing it so far.
He had planned on walking past, planned on coming back later when there were no more children or teenagers lingering to eye him as he explored. But the jeering shouts, and the word 'Quirkless' caught his ears.
And he stopped.
Young teenagers, same age as his last training group, six of them all young males. Three mutation quirks, two elemental – no, one elemental, one chemical. And the final, smallest, on the floor shielding his head and neck, quirkless, victim of the other five.
'Harry' stooped low and scooped up a stone.
He had seen normal people do this song and dance a hundred times before, it was the same damn story no matter where in the world he went. The people of 'civilised' society always viewed Quirkless as burdens, as lesser. Meanwhile those within the underworld only saw a resource to be exploited. He juggled the stone for a moment, eyeing the group of boys, and nodded to himself. The blond with the chemical quirk was the ringleader.
In respect for their ages and lack of training – he used his left hand when he made his throw.
Blondie screeched in pain as the audible crack of the stone probably busted a knuckle.
Immediately the boys jumped backwards with yelps of shock and surprise, the kid on the floor peeked out between his arms with green-green eyes and freckles.
'Harry's stomach flipped over at the sight of them, and he had to look up at the other teenagers before he threw up. Knight had freckles. Bracken and Judge too. But only Thicket and himself had eyes that shade of green. That clear dragonfly metallic green that occasionally saw them assigned Seduction missions. He needed to focus, he needed to pick up more stones. Which he did in one smooth scooping motion with his right hand as he stalked towards them.
“Bare with me if I'm wrong, I've only been in Japan for a few months, but I believe your Laws have some strict words to say about the use of Quirks in urban areas,” he droned lazily as he juggled the stones in his hand, coming to a stop just outside the elementalist's range. At his age, he shouldn't be able to jet his water quirk at lethal velocity over ten feet, and 'Harry' was fast enough to dodge most things he felt, even with the amount of alcohol he had in his system.
“I'll fucking kill you, you shitty old geezer!” the blond snarled, his hand already blackening with a truly beautiful bruise even as his other hissed, cracked, and popped with explosions.
“Oh no, a villain is attacking a defenceless middle schooler and now a passer-by!” the former assassin lamented at volume, left hand coming up to cup his cheek as the teenagers stiffened and exchanged looks, apparently only now realising just how this may look to someone else, five teenagers ganging up and physically attacking a quirkless boy, and then threatening to kill someone when they stepped in. 'Harry's expression darkened as he smiled at them, all teeth and lidded eyes.
He crushed the stones to dust in his right hand.
“I'll just have to defend myself, now won't I?” he announced menacingly as he lifted his fists in front of him.
“Kacchan, he's right,” one of the kids hissed, grabbing blondie's arm, “We'll get in trouble, big time. If he gets the police involved, you could lose your shot at UA!”
For a moment, it looked like the blond 'Kacchan' was going to ignore his buddy and go for him anyway. 'Harry's grin widened in anticipation, if this kid thought he could handle it, he would gladly rip him to pieces and teach him exactly how small he was in this world. It would be doing him a favour. And it would hardly be the first time 'Harry' had done so. So many trainees had come to him after completing Basic thinking that they were the hottest shit next to Thermite. He had taught them very swiftly the error of their stupidity.
'Kacchan' spat to one side, quietly seething as he straightened up and shoved his hands in his pockets, “Fucking Deku, not worth it,” he grit out with a malevolent red eyed glare at the kid on the ground before stomping off.
'Harry' watched the brats rush off with a sigh and a shake of his head, “Useless the lot of them,” he complained bitterly before turning to the scuffed kid on the ground. Kid was a lot younger than he originally assumed at a distance, pre-teen, probably about twelve if anything.
“Stop crying,” he commanded gruffly as he knelt down and dug a handkerchief from his pocket to drag across the kid's dusty tear blotted face. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and cringed under his probably rougher than comfortable touch, but otherwise didn't react until 'Harry' pulled it away and frowned at him. He peered up anxiously through thick shaggy green hair, and for a moment, 'Harry' didn't feel sick because of the resemblance to Knight and Judge and Bracken, but because with a face and eyes like that? He'd have been sent out on a fuckton of Seduction and Termination missions already. That was probably why he was so harsh with what he said next.
“You need to take more care, stupid brat. Quirkless doesn't mean worthless, people like you and me sell for disgustingly high prices on the black market,” he snarled bitterly as he shoved himself to his feet, and then hauled the kid up with one hand on his shoulder. He probably left bruises thinking about it. He had never been taught to be gentle or soft, he was fairly certain that he wasn't physically capable of such a thing anymore.
“W-what?” the kid whimpered in fright.
'Harry' scoffed, “You heard me. Quirkless kids sell for ridiculous sums of money to the right people. You need to watch your back, it's worth more than you'd think,” he spat resentfully as he glared at a parked black car on the far side of the park. “After all,” he began, his voice dropping to a cold dull whisper, “everyone knows Quirkless people are weak and pathetic. There's no way the recent string of Pro-Hero murders could be their fault. Let them go, they can't be responsible for it.”
The kid's face lost three shades of colour, and his eyes grew another two sizes larger, if it were possible.
The former assassin nodded grimly, “You get it now. That's the kind of life that waits for people like us in the Underworld. You need to be more careful. Did you even try to defend yourself? Can you?”
The boy looked down at his shuffling feet, mumbling something about 'Kacchan' being his friend.
“You have shit taste in friends,” the older man told him flatly before sighing and rubbing his face with his left hand. “Okay. Okay-okay-okay,” he huffed and leaned back, “Stand up straight!” he barked harshly, startling the boy into doing just that.
“Hands up,” he continued, grabbing the kid's hands and lifting them to his head, “Fists curled, there we go. Turn your hips, legs apart,” he continued, kicking the child's back heel into position or grabbing a belt-loop with a finger and forcibly moving him. “And bend your knees. Good, bit shaky, but fair for a beginner.
“Now, punch me,” he commanded, standing in front of him once more, palms up and facing forward. “I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself kiddo. So you never end up like I did.”
000
Midoriya Izuku had no idea what was going on, he was aching, terrified, but he had never felt such a mixture of confusion and elation before in his life.
This strange man, gruff and disturbing, was.... Izuku was fairly sure he should be frightened, should be worried that he was potentially a villain. But.... there was just.... something.... Maybe it was the way he looked at Izuku and didn't immediately assume he was useless just because he was Quirkless. Maybe it was because he too was Quirkless and knew what it was like, but somehow, the green haired pre-teen didn't think that was the case. He carried himself like he knew exactly what he was capable of, and knew it was no small thing. He stepped in when no one else had and ran Kacchan off without hurting him (too badly anyway), and instead of just carrying on.... he actually tried.
No one else bothered, even if they cared to try and address Kacchan's behaviour towards him, they never bothered with Izuku afterwards.
This weird rough old man talked to him, watched him, and despite calling him a dumb brat every now and again, never once said he couldn't do something, or said that he should give up. It was surreal. Even when Izuku struggled, he just said work harder. Not, be better, or give up, just.... work harder. Practice. And, kami, Izuku wanted to?
“What.... what's your name?” he finally asked as the sun was going down, and sweat dribbled off his chin. He had long ago shed his school jacket and rolled his sleeves up. His arms were decorated with a hundred new bruises, none of them from Kacchan, and his legs were burning with exertion, but he couldn't help the flutter in his veins.
The old man paused for a moment, thinking about it, before he shrugged, “Harry. Potter Harry. You?” he asked idly glancing over his shoulder at Izuku with those weirdly heavy expectant eyes.
He straightened up under them almost without realising, “M-Midoriya Izuku. Thank you for teaching me. It was....” he relaxed a little, feeling himself flush and cursed his pale complexion, “It was nice.”
The old man scoffed, “If you thought that was nice I'm going to have to go harder on you tomorrow.”
Izuku stiffened, “Eh?”
Harry threw him a Look, one that made his insides twist, one that silently said 'I expected better of you', “I don't half-ass things, Midoriya Izuku. Until you can put me on my ass at least once, I'm going to keep training you,” he declared firmly stretching in the cool evening air.
Izuku was about to protest but he paused, watching the way the street-lights cast deep shadows across the old man's body as he stretched, every muscle in sharp definition. His eyes widened in shock because Harii-san wasn't much taller than him, nor was he all that broad, however, he was built like a Pro-Hero. He took Kacchan down with a stone from the pavement, he – he crushed three more in his hand?
“You.... you aren't quirkless,” he blurted in shock.
Harry paused and stared at him, “Yes I am,” he refused.
“No, I saw you! You crushed those rocks. The physical strength- ”
Harry jabbed himself in the elbow joint, and then ripped his arm off.
Izuku screamed. Only all the air was stuck in his lungs, not even a squeak managed to get out through his open mouth as the foreigner held his right arm out, and then flipped it over to show the trailing wires and metallic port.
“It's prosthetic,” Harry corrected idly. “Got it torn off by a villain when I was about your age actually,” he admitted as he draped it over his shoulder, the false coloured skin disturbingly real right up to the elbow where it vanished into what looked like an elbow support wrap one would wear for sports.
Izuku wheezed and Harry.... laughed.
He stopped sharply, looking surprised and confused at himself.
There was a moment of awkward silence between them before Harry shrugged a shoulder, “Be here tomorrow after school. Bring some gym clothes and a bottle of water,” the old man commanded starting to walk off only to pause and look back at him, “And..... tell your family? If you have one?” He scratched his head looking a little uncertain, “If they care?” he continued curiously.
Izuku nodded rapidly, “Y-yes! I – oh no, it's super late! Mum's going to freak!” he squawked when he realised, hastily zooming to the pile of his belongings.
By the time he had struggled into his jacket, Harry was gone.
Now. How to explain this to his mother?
0000
Ta'dah?
Quirkless!Harry meets Quirkless!Izuku and decides he needs to teach this kid how not to die/get kidnapped.
