All Might latched the door of his office from the inside.
By the time he turned around, the man was already seated in his place on the sofa.
Dr. Blessed still looked the same, wearing a white lab coat over a white shirt, black pants, and black shoes, his face hidden behind a black clownish mask. Even his short, black hair looked the same, as if he spruced it up daily, making it look like an even more unrealistic facade than his entire get-up.
But that was the thing about one of the most wanted men across several nations.
One just couldn't tell what was unreal and what he wanted one to perceive as unreal.
"We meet again," Dr. Blessed said, crossing one leg over the other, "Hero."
Hero…
Was he still a Hero?
All Might walked toward the sofa opposite Dr. Blessed and sat down, drinking from a glass of water poured from the jug on the table between them.
"Water won't help," the Villain said. "Men generally drown their sorrows in a stronger drink."
"I cannot drink," All Might instinctively replied.
"Haha…" Dr. Blessed laughed, waving his hand and pulling a bottle of whiskey out of thin air. "Couldn't. You couldn't drink."
"…"
Dr. Blessed took his half-empty glass of water, dumped the water out onto the carpet, and poured a shot of whiskey before pushing the glass back toward him.
All Might stared at the golden liquid.
Ages…
It had been ages since he had drunk alcohol.
Even when he could, before All For One gave him that mortal injury that had eaten away at him from the inside, he had drunk only occasionally. Over the years, with his organs on the brink of collapse, he had given up drinking altogether.
As he looked at the whiskey, All Might could not remember what it had tasted like.
He lifted the glass and brought it closer to his face, his nostrils burning from its strong scent.
Then, he sipped.
The whiskey filled his mouth, lingered on his tongue, and burned its way down his throat.
There, it finally mingled with the other sorrows he had swallowed over the last few days.
All Might looked again at the whiskey in the glass and put it down.
When he looked up, he found Dr. Blessed observing him oddly.
"Where's yours…?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't drink," Dr. Blessed replied. "It doesn't work, does it?"
"…" All Might sighed, then chuckled, and, just as the Villain had done with the water, dumped out the remaining whiskey. "How's Melissa?"
"Much better than she would have been if she had remained on I-Island," Dr. Blessed said. "Good kid. Keeps herself busy."
"Doing what?" All Might asked.
Dr. Blessed remained silent. "What do you want?" he asked, uncrossing his legs. "I thought you wouldn't just retire, but… this wasn't what I imagined, either."
All Might clenched his fingers into fists, feeling the strength in them.
Even now, he believed he could overpower more than a dozen Villains by himself.
"It would also take only one Villain to injure you, then," Dr. Blessed said, reading his thoughts. "The legacy you have passed on would become the biggest joke if you died a stupid death, All Might."
Yes.
He felt strong, but also… weak.
"What is ORIGIN?" All Might asked.
Those who were strong had the answers, one way or another.
"Something a civilian like you should not have even heard of," Dr. Blessed replied.
The weak needed protection; they were lied to if the truth could harm them; they were directed away from danger, not knowing its nature.
All Might looked at Dr. Blessed, but all he could think of was the nagging feeling inside him.
The feeling was an instinct that told him that whatever was happening in the world—secrets that even he couldn't learn, despite his status and exhaustive list of contacts—would ultimately be faced by young Midoriya and the other students.
The coming generation of Heroes would be in the thick of it, instead of gently settling into their careers, perhaps with no time to even reach their peak.
And he, the Quirkless civilian, would watch it happen from the sidelines.
"What would it take for me to get all the answers?" All Might asked his savior.
Dr. Blessed shook his head. "Why ask a question you already know the answer to?"
All Might clamped his mouth shut and looked up toward the ceiling, knowing the only answer to all his miseries.
Apostle.
He must accept Mr. Fool's fate and become one of his Apostles.
He must become a member of one of the most dangerous and infamous crime organizations in the history of the world—the Apostles of Mr. Fool.
All Might knew the truth about this entire 'Apostles being Villains' fiasco.
It was nothing but the world governments' desperate attempt to stop their citizens from praying to Mr. Fool, which would otherwise grant legitimacy to the Apostles and their God—Mr. Fool.
It wasn't working, though.
It was one thing to label a Vigilante organization—which considered itself a religious cult—a Villain group, as that only needed paperwork and a few signatures from people who couldn't control it or its members.
It was another thing entirely to twist plain facts and the perception of billions of people with such an obviously flawed tactic.
All Might could neither blame the governments nor blame the people.
In fact, a great part of the reason behind these people's acceptance of faith in the Apostles' God was him—All Might, Mr. Fool's Miracle!
There was no denying that the only reason he was breathing so easily, feeling strength in his veins with each breath, was Dr. Blessed.
How that was related to Mr. Fool, All Might did not know.
Nor did it matter.
And, if it were up to him, he would gladly accept it in public as well.
"Then do it," Dr. Blessed said, reading his thoughts again. "Accept Mr. Fool's faith in public."
All Might's face hardened. "I cannot do that."
The masked Apostle chuckled, leaning back in the comfort of the sofa.
"Then do it secretly and become an Apostle," Dr. Blessed said, blurring out of existence. "Become… a Beyonder."