Can We Be Heroes?

Chapter 45• Ripples

The news, in the real blonde's opinion, just wouldn't shut up. Every time Monoma walked by a TV, passed a newspaper stand, or scrolled for two seconds on his phone, there it was:

“VIXEN: VIGILANTE OR VILLAIN?”
“Hero Commission Divided on Flame Incident”
“Young Fox-Faced Rebel or Urban Menace?”

They showed him flipping over a burning street, dragging a ' civilian' out of the flames. They played the clip on repeat—the look in his eyes, feral and unfocused, as he fought the against capture by the pros.

And then came the opinions.

The civilians:
“He saved that man, why are we all forgetting that part!”
“He’s a menace! Wouldn't be surprised to learn that he started the fire!”
“Did you see the scratches on thoes villain’s face during that bank robbery? That kid needs help.”

The pros:
Most were not thrilled. They used him to prove the Commission still worked but people like him were the supposed problem that hindered their effectiveness. “Even vigilantes are stepping out of line. They are a root cause of most of our struggles but not to worry because I can assure you that there is still hope in our regulations and we will make sure to punish the wrong doers of society.” they’d say, smiling too tightly into the camera.

And then…

There were the Vixters.

His “fanbase.” Over 20,000 followers in a week.
Edits. Fan art. Twitter threads. They loved the mask,the chaos and he mystery and they did not  know the person nor did they seem to care about the boy underneath.

Monoma sat on the edge of a building now, feet dangling over the side, his mask pulled halfway up as the wind brushed against his face.

He should’ve been proud. He’d saved lives. He was famous now. A vigilante that was not afraid of being out during the daytime. He had brought down a lot of heroes who were too proud and sent a surprisingly large amount of villains to jail.

So why did he feel like he was about to come undone?

Lately, his patrols had grown sloppier. He didn’t bother planning entry routes or check his exit paths. He had also started picking fights that weren’t part of any of his mission.

And why was this? Was it because somewhere, deep down, he wanted a reason to snap and get out what he was bottling?

Was it because when that villain finally dropped Izuku laying crumpled on the ground, he realized he’d nearly lost him?

And who was the one responsible for that near-death moment? It was Hex. The vigilante the bounty hunters were after. The one who dragged that chaos to their doorstep.

He clenched his jaw, adjusting the whip holster at his hip.

“I’m going to find you,” he whispered under his breath, eyes scanning the distant rooftops.
“You got my best friend nearly choked to death. I don’t care if you're a saint or a devil—you’re not walking away until I figure out why you are being hunted.”

He stood, pulling the fox mask over his face.
No more rooftop brooding. There were too many faces hiding behind too many names.

And untill he found Hex, Vixen had a city to tear through.

------•------

For most, seven days was basically nothing. Just a superpowered normal week in their everyday lives that would possibly pass quietly. But for Hex these said seven days was like a war. A war of constant prey and Predator tactics.