interlude: busuk

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Aizawa’s weekend was not going as planned, whatsoever. After meeting Bakugo in the library late Friday night and getting blown off, patrol kicked his butt at ungodly hours in the morning, and finally Tartarus called the hero to inform him of his tormentor’s looming death. 

And how such a tormentor claimed to have information and would only speak with Aizawa. Now, Aizawa was not one to be nervous over a visit to a prisoner in a high security prison, but he also was a personal victim of this villain. Anger no longer took hold of the hero whenever the tormentor was brought up, yet the remembrance of his lost childhood was still a sore topic. 

He scuffed his shoes on the ground, dragging his feet around the apartment. Right now he was simply stalling his departure, loathing the trip he would have to make. 

He was half convinced that Jiwa Busuk was honestly just attempting to troll the now adult hero who was finally getting his life into a semblance of normality. Alas, any information on the underground trafficking rings or possible kidnapped children could come in handy, and Aizawa was not about to sit back and let possible kids go through the same experiences he did as a child. No, any information is better than no information. And the hero was not willing to take anything for granted. With a grain of salt, yes. For granted, no. 

Breathing deeply and letting out a big sigh, Aizawa snatched his coat and made his way to the door, remembering to check his pockets for his wallet, ID, keys, and phone before locking the door. He nearly groaned when he began his trek to the train station, completely loathing the long ride ahead. 

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By the time he reached Tartarus, Aizawa was over the visit. He didn’t even have to step foot in the prison to desire to be anywhere else. Literally anywhere else. Alas, a guard who recognized the highly respected hero had allowed Aizawa’s entrance into the security unit. Almost immediately, the hero went through fingerprint scans, eye analytic scans, a questionnaire with personal questions only he would know, and a few papers that he had to fill out, detailing his visit and why he came. He rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t be caught dead here if he knew for a fact Jiwa Busuk was lying. 

After the extensive security check, Aizawa passed through and was escorted to the inner prison chambers reserved for the most dangerous villains in Japan’s history. The deeper into Tarturus, the more the prison turned into a maze, making escape harder than ever. Thus, guards had to be supplied with an internal map that a specific Commision worker would insert and encode into their heads. Such a map could never be verbalized or visualized completely, and yet the directions were instilled in the muscle memory of nearly all highly ranked guards. 

Aizawa resigned himself to falling into step behind the leader, not wanting to start up a conversation, and instead opting to get this done as fast as possible. 

It wasn’t long until his muddled brain was snapped out of its daze. The large, white doorway stood in front of him, its pristine condition seemed to be warning the hero to turn around while he still could. A guard glanced at the hero before walking forward and swiping his badge. With a click, Aizawa was let inside. 

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A glass wall separated Aizawa from the light brown hair and golden eyes of his tormentor. And while his body screamed at him to look away and refrain from making eye contact, Aizawa fought the urge. Afterall, he was much older and not as fragile as he was when he was younger. He had broken out of the manipulations and long since freed his mind from being walked over. 

He would admit though, Busuk did seem sickly. His skin was unnaturally ashen and eyes sunken. His hair seems thinner and body frail. He bore hardly any resemblance to the man who had bought Aizawa from a child trafficking ring only to raise and beat the child into submission in an attempt to make him the best little pawn possible. Aizawa’s eyes hardened. 

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