My Mangekyo Sharingan Can't Save My Hero Academia: 12 Manhole Covers 1

[OVERHAUL – POV]

Kai Chisaki walked in silence.

Eri’s footsteps pattered behind him—small, uneven, shaking.

Rappa followed at his usual distance, hands in his pockets.

Kai kept his pace steady, mind already parsing what happened.

A U.A student.

In an alley.

Holding Eri.

A problem.

But a contained one.

“So irritating,” he muttered under his breath.

The boy's performance had been… adequate.

Believable, even.

The nervous chuckle. The dead parents excuse. The relieved realization. Classic civilian response. Whether it was true or not, whether he knew it or not, the boy had made the right choice. Had he pushed any further, he wouldn't have lived to see the sunlight.

However,

Overhaul replayed the encounter in his mind, analyzing every detail with surgical precision.

The boy had hesitated. Lifted Eri when any rational person would have stepped aside.

Why?

Instinct? Heroism? Stupidity?

No. He had seen the initial reaction. Stunned surprise. An odd emotional to display at the time.

If he didn't know any better, he would think he somehow recognized them.

Overhaul glanced down at Eri, who walked silently beside him, head down, shoulders hunched.

She'd grabbed onto that boy with desperation.

Raw genuine desperation.

She believed he would help her.

'Foolish child.'

"Rappa," he said quietly.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Find out who that student was."

Rappa grunted. "You think he's a problem?"

"No." Overhaul's tone was flat. "But if he knew more than he reacted, there's a high chance he might do something I won't like. I'd prefer to know what kind of problem he might become. Search for any U.A student living in the city. Red hair, 170 CM."

Rappa grunted. “I can go back and deal with him if you want.”

“No.” Chisaki didn’t look back. “Too messy. Too conspicuous. Too close to a public station.” And too risky. A missing U.A student would draw attention. Investigations. Reporters. Heroes sniffing around.

He had no intention of inviting that nonsense into his operation.

Plus, the kid had backed off.

Still… there was something odd.

He hadn’t frozen like normal civilians did when confronted by killing intent.

He didn’t look away from Eri.

He didn’t accept the situation.

He pretended to.

That required nerve—or stupidity.

Maybe both.

No matter.

The boy was irrelevant.

Chisaki placed a gloved hand on Eri’s small shoulder. She flinched violently.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “Stop trembling. You caused enough trouble.”

She whispered an apology he didn’t acknowledge.

They turned a corner, the alley opening into a side street where a black sedan waited.

Overhaul opened the door.

Eri climbed in without a word.

He followed, settling into the seat beside her.

She stared at her hands.

"You ran again," Overhaul said evenly.

She flinched.

"I've told you what happens when you run."

"…I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You will be."

The car pulled away from the curb

If she tried this again, he’d have to adjust her treatment plan.

Fear was useful.

But too much made her unstable.

He despised instability.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly, tightening his grip.

This city was filthy.

And tonight had been a waste of his time.

___

[GENERAL POV]

“…I’m sorry.”

His own voice sounded distant.

The alley fell quiet. Like the world had stopped breathing with him.

Yuta forced himself upright, fingers sticky with blood.

His palms stung, but he didn’t care.

He staggered out of the alley onto the main road, blinking at the neon signs and scattered pedestrians.

Someone brushed past him.

He didn’t move.

His appetite was gone.

Completely.

Takoyaki, food—anything—felt pointless.

His mind replayed the scene over and over:

The grip on his leg.

The whispered “help.”

Her eyes when he peeled her fingers off. They were wide. Staring up at him. Confused. Betrayed.

It didn't stop.

His steps felt mechanical as he walked back toward the station.

'I'm pathetic.'

The thought came out of nowhere.

'I knew what he was. I knew what he'd do to her. And I gave her back anyway.'

His breathing quickened at the thought of a young girl being beaten, starved, disassembled ...

It grew harsher.

'Go after them.'

He stopped.

The thought slammed into him like a freight train.

'Chase them. Follow them. Find out where they're keeping her. Infiltrate it. Do SOMETHING.' After a temporary victory, it seemed his rationality had become thoroughly suppressed by guilt. Every thought that popped up after wanted to send him to his death.

His chest felt tight. Uncomfortable..

He pressed a palm to his forehead.

'I had no choice.'

He tried to tell himself.

'It was the only way to stay alive. Any other decision would've ended with me on the ground in a thousand pieces.'

It still didn’t make him feel better.

Not even close.

'Why!'

This moment reminded him of all the movies he watched. Wasn't it at moments like this that the main character got some sort of power up, backup or solution to their problems? Where the hell was his?

He reached Machida Station without remembering the walk.

Went through the gates.

Stood on the platform.

Train arriving in eight minutes.

Around him, people chatted, checked their phones, ate snacks from convenience stores, leaving a dizzying dissonance with what he was experiencing.

It was followed by a sharp pain as he fell on one knee.

"Ugh." He groaned. "Huh? Hey, are you ok boy?" A young man beside him asked with concern. He wore a standard shit, slicked black hair and carried a briefcase. Standard white collar worker.

Yuta didn't respond.

Just as the man could call for help, the train rolled in. Instantly, Yuta got to his feet, shook the hand off and walked. "It's fine ... Thank you." Ignoring the warm feeling near his eyes, he walked into the train and found a secluded corner to sit, not lifting his head once in the process.

He didn’t dare blink.

The Sharingan burned behind his eyelids—three tomoe spinning in quiet, vicious clarity.

He hadn’t turned it on intentionally.

It had awakened out of pure, raw emotional overflow.

Guilt. Anger. Powerlessness.

All of it churned together until something inside him snapped and the world sharpened.

Too sharp.

Every breath in the carriage.

Every twitch of fingers.

Every shifting footstep.

He could see it all reflected off the glossy floor.

Every small movement dragged his attention like a hook.

A woman adjusting her purse strap.

A kid tapping his foot to music.

A man scrolling on his phone two meters away.

Each detail landed with surgical precision, too vivid to ignore. Moving slow enough to seemingly follow all at once.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

‘Turn off. Turn off. Turn off.’

It didn’t.

His chakra responded to his emotions, not his commands.

And right now, his emotions were a mess.

The train rocked gently. The metallic drone of the tracks vibrated through the floor, the seats, his bones.

The man who’d tried to help him earlier stood several seats away.

Pulse elevated.

Concern mixed with curiosity.

Keeps glancing back.

Yuta kept his head down.

He didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for human interaction.

Not now.

A soft chime played overhead as the train left the next station.

Announcements blurred into the background.

Finally, when the Sharingan faded away, Yuta rested back, releasing an exhausted sigh. "Well, guess my peaceful days are over." If the Hero Killer wasn't enough of a wake up call, tonight certainly was.

He had never claimed to be a good person, but if he didn't make up his mind to save Eri, he was damn well sure his conscience wouldn't let give him a moments rest. It didn't matter if Eri would be saved eventually.

He was going to do it sooner.

Plus, who knows if this butterfly encounter would change things. According to the anime, Eri had tried to escape more than once before meeting Deku. This had probably been one of those moments, and he was just unfortunate enough to come across it.

It was unknown if Eri was ever seen before escaping. If so, it was also unknown if Overhaul had let them off or buried them. After this incident, especially a run in with a U.A student, he would probably lock her up even more securely. Whether she would meet Deku or not was now an unknown factor he wasn't going to gamble on.

“…I’ll get stronger,” he muttered under his breath, voice almost lost to the hum of the station.

Not for glory.

Not for revenge alone.

Not just to face the Hero Killer.

For her.

For the moment he failed.

The only comfort he had was the knowledge that Eri survived long enough for the original story to unfold.

Which meant he had time.

Not much.

But enough to prepare.

He was already planning on doing something illegal.

Surely his conscience wouldn't mind adding one more.

The train pulled into Hinohara an hour later.

“Next station—Hinohara.

Hinohara.”

The train began to slow.

Yuta straightened, grabbed his bag, and followed the slow shuffle of passengers toward the door.

Yuta stepped onto the platform—

—and instantly saw flashing red and blue lights at the far end of the station.

Sirens.

Shouting.

Footsteps.

A heavy shockwave rattled the steel railings.

'What the hell is going on?'

The platform itself was calm.

No panicked crowds.

No running.

No chaos.

Just clusters of people stopped in their tracks, staring past the station fence toward the city blocks beyond.

Yuta blinked, following their line of sight.

Far in the distance—several streets away—orange light flickered between buildings.

Not the glow of streetlamps.

Fire.

Smoke curled upward, thin but visible even against the night sky.

Sirens echoed faintly, carried by the wind.

A muted thud rolled through the air a second later, like something heavy collapsing.

Passengers murmured, leaning forward for a better look.

“Is that… a villain attack?” someone whispered near him.

“Looks like it,” another replied. “Hinohara Fire Department just rolled in. And—wait—yeah, that’s the Hero Agency on scene. I can see their spotlights.”

Yuta stepped closer to the railing, heart still uncomfortably heavy from before.

His hood shifted slightly as he adjusted his angle.

From here, he couldn’t make out clear shapes—just movement.

Figures darting between flashes of quirk-light.

The distant silhouettes of heroes bracing themselves.

A kid beside him tugged on his father’s sleeve.

“Dad, heroes are fighting! Can we go see?”

“No,” the man said firmly. “We watch from here. It’s safer.”

Yuta's brows furrowed as he tugged at someone.

"Excuse me. What's going on?"