The Difference Between Strength & Power ( MHA x Maki Zenin Reader)

The Dada Killer

It was dark by the time they reached the gallery.  As they gazed at it across the road, Maki noticed the banner for Ruben's upcoming exhibition was on display above the door with the words WAT IS DADA? emblazoned across it.
"Chie," said Kishi, "after hearing your theory... you should stay here.  It might get dangerous."
"But— " Chie attempted the protest.
"It's not a suggestion, it's an order," said Kishi firmly.  "Stay here and wait for help."
"I'm sorry, Chie," said Maki, unzipping her weapons bag.  "But I'm with Kishi on this one.  You're not combat trained, you'll only get yourself killed.  I called the people from my agency for backup."
Chie blinked, and then glared at Maki indignantly.
"Ugh, fine..." she groaned.
"Thank you," said Maki, taking out her naginata.
Leaving Chie standing by the car, Maki and Kishi marched across the road and towards the glass, double doors of the gallery.  Taking out his gun, Kishi placed a hand on the door handle, then, looking at Maki, pushed the door open and the two of them stepped inside.
They both gasped once they realised what they were seeing.

Miki Takai was sat in a chair in the middle of a large, paper tunnel with different words projected onto its walls.  Her wrists were tied with ropes in front of her and her legs were bound together.  She gazed desperately at them, begging for rescue. 
"Takai!" Kishi muttered, sprinting towards her and kneeling down in front of her.  "Are you alright?  Who did this to you?"
Shaking, Takai began to stammer, "H—he—uhm—he's—s—sti—"
"What?" asked Maki, making her way forwards.  "He's what?"
"He's s—still — h—h— here..."
Maki and Kishi both froze.  Then, she heard something.
"LOOK OUT!" she bellowed, but the warning came too late.  Kishi was struck over the head with something solid and hard.  He crumbled to the ground and did not move, his gun clattered out his hand and across the floor.  A tall, black-haired man was standing over him.  In his right hand was a gun, where his left hand should have been, was a large, grey mallet.  There was no mistaking him.
"Kawakami," Maki growled.  She wasn't at all surprised.
Kawakami looked up at her and laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him.  It made the hairs stand on the back of Maki's head.  Filled with rage, Maki charged at him, her naginata's blade cutting the air around her.  Maki's roar swallowed all sound in the paper tunnel.  Kawakami fired some shots at her but she deflected or sidestepped them all.  Kawakami raised his left arm, the mallet thinned and elongated into a blade which blocked Maki's weapon.  Kawakami held his ground, stalwart against her attacks, but still having a hard time against Maki's sheer strength.  Circling him, Maki dashed in and out, slashing, searching for an opening but he gave her few. 

Stepping back, Maki repositioned her pole arm in her hands, preparing for another assault.  But before she could, she heard footsteps rushing towards them from behind.  Maki turned around, Chie was running towards her.
"Let sleeping dogs lie, Miss Hirabayashi," laughed Kawakami.  He pointed his gun at her, giving her his attention, but still kept an eye on Maki, in case she tried to attack again.  Chie skidded to a halt upon seeing him.
"What took you so long?  You almost missed the opening," said Kawakami.  A small sneer appeared on his face.  "Interesting, heh... neither of you are surprised to see me?"
"No," said Maki firmly.  "The Ghost Hero: Spectre once told me that every villain is different.  The best thing you can do is observe their behaviour and work out what kind of personal rules they follow.  I did that and I was finally able to put the pieces together, Kawakami."
"Indeed," Chie chimed in, her voice surprisingly calm.  "It had to someone... meticulous, who could cover their tracks perfectly for forensics.  Someone who had access to Susumu's office to burn the evidence.  Someone who had the opportunity to plant that poem on Seiichi Miyoshi — and take his knife.  Someone who hated Takai.  She never did tell me what you two argued about at Rousseau."
Kawakami's smile broadened.
"Takai, the patron saint of Kyushu artists, refused to give my work a second exhibition," he said, a rabid fervour in his voice.  "The police shut down my first show years ago.  Your art critic, Ishibashi, savaged it.  So I created a new Dada masterpiece.  It took years of preparation.  I became a policeman.  The work defined all boundaries: sculpture, performance-art, poetry, collage — even morality.  My grand statement on everything I hate in this rotten world.  Unwed mothers, whores, our crooked "justice" system, and Dada itself!"