The alley was quiet except for the rain. Pop’s shoes splashed through puddles first, Crawler right behind her. Knuckleduster was the one who stopped dead in his tracks—because he’d seen the faint movement behind a dumpster.
You.
A kid, no older than ten. Blood on your sleeve, a shallow cut across your cheek, clutching a broken piece of wood like it could protect you.
“Hey,” Pop said softly, crouching. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you.”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Every sound made you flinch. When Knuckleduster reached out, you jerked away so fast that he just sighed and backed off.
They got you to a hospital anyway. Crawler had been the one carrying you, muttering quiet reassurances you barely registered. Makoto showed up halfway through—sent by someone who had been tracking the vigilantes’ movement.
When she saw you, she stopped cold.
“…What happened?” she asked the nurse quietly.
“Found alone. No ID. Won’t talk.”
You heard it all, staring at the IV in your arm. You’d learned a long time ago not to ask questions. People always left when you did.
⸻
The room was dim when Tsukauchi showed up. Makoto had called him, voice tight with worry.
“Another vigilante mess?” he’d asked.
“Not exactly,” she said. “A kid.”
He expected to see a witness or a victim. He didn’t expect to see you, small and still, wrapped in hospital sheets too big for your frame.
Makoto was sitting by your bed, tablet in hand. “No registered family. I already checked the system.”
Tsukauchi rubbed his neck. “She say anything?”
“Not a word.”
He moved closer, slow and careful. You didn’t look at him, but he noticed how you tensed, like every sound could turn into a threat.
“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re safe now.”
You blinked, not believing it.
He smiled faintly, though there was tiredness behind it. “You don’t have to talk. Just rest, alright?”
You turned your face to the wall. He stayed anyway.
⸻
It was supposed to be one night. Maybe two. Just until child services arrived.
But something shifted in that hospital room.
Every time the door opened, your eyes would flicker up. You’d scan for the people who found you—the loud blond guy, the girl with pink hair—but they were gone. Busy. Out there saving other people.
Only Makoto and Tsukauchi stayed.
She’d talk to fill the silence, telling you stories about her brother when he was younger—how serious he’d been, how he once got caught lying about curfew and couldn’t stop apologizing.
He’d sit nearby, doing paperwork on his tablet, occasionally glancing up to check if you were still breathing evenly.
And then one night, after everyone else had left, you whispered.
“Are you gonna leave too?”
The words were rough, like you hadn’t used your voice in weeks.
He looked up slowly. “No. I’m not.”
You stared, eyes wide, trying to find the lie in his tone. There wasn’t one.
⸻
When discharge day came, the nurse handed him your file. “No family. No record. No one’s coming.”
Makoto crossed her arms. “So what now?”
Tsukauchi stared down at the papers, then at you—standing there in that borrowed hoodie, hands trembling as you gripped the strap of your hospital bag.
“I’ll take her,” he said simply.
Makoto blinked. “Nao—”
“I’m serious,” he said quietly. “Someone has to make sure she doesn’t end up back out there.”
You looked between them, unsure if you’d heard right.
He met your eyes then, steady and calm. “You don’t have to decide right now. But if you want… you can come home with me.”
You didn’t move for a long time. Then, slow as a sunrise, you nodded.
⸻
His apartment was smaller than you imagined. Quiet. Safe.
He showed you where the bathroom was, where the extra blanket was, how to work the heater. You followed without a word, the weight of the hospital still clinging to your skin.
He paused before heading to his room. “I know this is new. You don’t owe me anything, alright? Just… get some rest.”