Chapter Text
Being a hero student at one of the most demanding schools in Japan, surviving an attack from a group of villains, and witnessing the collapse of an entire generation’s idol — All Might himself — didn’t exactly leave room for birthday celebrations.
Birthdays felt small compared to all that. Almost out of place.
His classmates had congratulated him, of course. A few claps on the back. Some half-joking comments meant to lighten the mood. He had spent the evening at home with his parents. They tried. He knew they did. But it didn’t feel like what he and Denki had originally planned.
Their birthdays were only two days apart. They had talked about throwing a joint party, something chaotic and loud and completely unnecessary. It had seemed important at the time. Then circumstances shifted in ways no one could control.
“¡Toshi!” Denki’s voice cut cleanly through the noise of the station. Hitoshi looked up just in time to see him stepping off the train, a wide grin on his face and a purple gift bag swinging from his hand. “Happy extremely belated birthday!”
That smile fit him too well. Bright in a way that didn’t ask permission from the gray concrete around them.
Denki closed the distance without hesitation and wrapped his arms around him.
Hitoshi rocked back a fraction from the sudden weight, then steadied and returned the hug. He let himself stay there a second longer than politeness required. “Happy belated birthday, Denki,” he said quietly.
They pulled apart, still standing too close. Hitoshi held out his own yellow gift bag.
“For you.”
Denki’s eyes widened as he took it. “Thank you! I really want to open it right now, but we should open them together.” He extended the purple bag toward Hitoshi. “This is for you, Toshi. I spent forever looking for the right thing. I even dragged Tokoyami and Jiro around with me.”
As if Hitoshi hadn’t done the same with Ashido and Kirishima. He wasn’t about to admit that.
“Should we move?” Hitoshi nodded toward the crowd flowing around them. “We’re blocking half the station.”
Tokyo Station was packed, commuters weaving around them with increasing impatience.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Denki smiled and reached for his hand.
The gesture was simple. Casual.
Hitoshi’s fingers tensed before he could stop them. He forced himself to relax, hoping the reaction hadn’t shown on his face. It was just contact. Just Denki pulling him forward through the crowd. Nothing dramatic. Nothing worth overanalyzing.
“Let’s make the most of our special day!” Denki said as he guided them toward the exit.
They ended up at a cat café tucked between two busy streets, the kind of place that smelled faintly like coffee and clean fur. Soft music played in the background while at least six cats roamed the room like they owned the building.
Denki sat cross-legged on the cushioned bench, an absurdly sugary drink topped with whipped cream and something neon balanced carefully on the low table in front of him. Hitoshi had opted for plain black coffee.
“At one, two, and three, we open the presents, okay?” Denki asked, shaking his purple bag with barely contained excitement.
Hitoshi glanced at him over the rim of his cup. “If you rip the bag before we even count, I’m leaving.”
“I would never,” Denki said, immediately looking like someone who absolutely would.
They positioned the bags between them like a ceremonial exchange.
Denki straightened. “Okay. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“One… two… three!”
They reached into their bags at the same time.
Inside Hitoshi’s bag was something neatly wrapped in black paper. He unfolded it slowly and found—
He blinked.
It was a pair of black custom gloves reinforced at the knuckles, lightweight, flexible.
Denki was staring at him with barely contained anticipation.
“They’re for training,” Denki said, trying and failing to sound casual. “Yours are worn out. You keep saying they’re fine, but they’re not.”
Hitoshi stared at the gloves a second longer than necessary. He turned one over in his hand, running his thumb along the seam.
“They’re good,” Hitoshi said, “I really like them.”
Denki grinned again, relieved.
Meanwhile, Denki had pulled out his own gift and gone completely silent.
That was new.
Hitoshi watched as he turned the object over in his hands. It was a compact toolkit case—sleek, insulated, customized with subtle yellow accents. Inside were specialized components for fine-tuning support gear. Not random parts. Specific ones Denki had complained were hard to find.
“You didn’t,” Denki muttered, eyes wide.
“You overload your equipment constantly,” Hitoshi replied, taking a sip of his coffee. “Figure it’s better if you don’t rely on duct tape and optimism.”
Denki laughed, but it softened quickly. He traced a finger over one of the tools, like he was confirming it was real.
“These are hard to find,” he said.
“I know.” Hitoshi replied, taking a sip of his coffee like that settled the matter. “But you deserve it.”
A ginger cat chose that exact moment to climb directly into Denki’s lap, demanding attention. Denki laughed, slightly breathless, and absentmindedly began petting it while still staring at the toolkit.
The gray cat beside Hitoshi shifted, pressing closer.
Denki nudged his foot under the table until it bumped against Hitoshi’s. He didn’t move it away.
“Best belated birthday ever,” Denki declared quietly.
Hitoshi rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.
The teachers said that implementing the dormitory system would help keep the students safe.
It was a rushed decision, panic-driven and stitched together after the training camp incident, but, annoyingly enough, it was actually pretty solid.
There was just one tiny thing U.A. seemed to forget: who exactly was supposed to protect U.A. from the teenagers now living on its campus?
To Hitoshi, assuming everyone would follow the school’s rules was straight-up irrational. Sure, anyone dumb enough to break them would have to be careful—really careful—but in a world packed with quirks and borderline nonsense powers, “that can’t happen” was basically a joke.
And that was how Hitoshi found himself sneaking out of the dorms for an illegal vigilante patrol for the second time that week.
Since Kamino, Spidernight’s patrols had dropped hard. He’d even toyed with the idea of hanging up the hood for good. But then came the obvious problem: what was he supposed to do with his secret arachnid powers? Pretend they weren’t there? Stick to just his quirk and call it a day? Yeah, no. He had to use them somehow, without anyone finding out. That secret was locked in. Grave-level locked.
Hitoshi was careful in his day-to-day life. When it came to sneaking out, he was borderline paranoid.
Hatsume, because of course she had, had built a gadget that slightly messed with the security cameras’ signal, freezing the feed for a couple of seconds. That was all he needed. Hitoshi slipped through blind spots with practiced ease, webbing forward, sticking to walls like the place had been custom-built for him.
With all that in place, Hitoshi’s plan was flawless.
At least, according to Hitoshi.
“Where did you go last night?”
Denki’s voice—serious, flat, nothing like his usual upbeat self—caught Hitoshi so off guard he almost choked on his coffee at breakfast.
Hitoshi stiffened, coughing hard. “What?”
“I went to check on you after curfew because you left your math book in my room,” Denki said calmly, setting the book down on the table. Then he walked over to the kitchen cabinet and grabbed his Pikachu mug. “You weren’t answering, which was weird, because you told me you were gonna study for the exam since you didn’t have time during the day. I got worried. I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep, and I know you get really messed up if you fail, so I went in anyway and—yeah. Surprise. You weren’t there.”
Oh shit.
Shit.
SHIT!
He hadn’t locked the door.
He’d left his math book in Denki’s room.
SHIT!!
“I was about to report it to Sensei right away. I freaked out,” Denki went on, sighing as he pulled one of Yaoyorozu’s tea bags and dropped it into his cup. “But then I noticed you’d left a decoy in your bed. Like you were counting on nobody caring enough to actually go inside and just checking the exterior balcony cameras. Which, by the way, only show one spot in your room—your bed. As long as the curtains are open. Which, also by the way, you left open.”
Around them, the dorm common area stayed loud and normal. More classmates drifted in, half-awake, some coming back from their morning runs, totally unaware of what was happening.
Denki slowly shook his head and stepped closer to Hitoshi, who was now breaking out in a cold sweat.
“The thing is, you can’t sleep with any kind of light on,” Denki said, pouring hot water into his mug at an almost painfully slow pace. “You never leave the curtains open unless you’re planning to stay up… or fake being there.”
He looked straight at him.
“So, ’Toshi. Where were you last night?”
Damn it. He’d gotten sloppy.
He had to fix this now, or everything was gonna blow up.
He couldn’t tell Denki about Spidernight. Or the vigilante stuff.
There had to be another way out of this mess.
One that wouldn’t make Denki freak out.
“I’ll tell you later,” Hitoshi said finally, stalling. “There’s too many people around.”
Their classmates didn’t seem to notice a thing. Some were already talking about Ectoplasm’s exam.
An exam Hitoshi hadn’t studied for. At all.
Denki took a sip of his tea, humming quietly, still watching him.
“Alright. Let me know, then.”
He held the mug with both hands and headed toward the elevator.
“See you in class, ’Toshi.”
That was not over.
After the Ectoplasm exam went to hell, Hitoshi dragged Denki up to the rooftop during lunch to tell him “the truth.”
“I went out for a smoke,” Hitoshi lied as Denki took a bite of his chicken. “I know I’m not supposed to, and yeah, it’s bad for my health, but it’s a habit I picked up while I was in the system. Stuff like that doesn’t just disappear.”
That part was true.
What he didn’t say was that he didn’t really smoke anymore—not like before. He’d ditched that habit once it stopped working as a coping mechanism.
He’d just… swapped it for another one.
Denki chewed slowly, let out a quiet sigh, then set his bento aside like he had all the time in the world. He took Hitoshi’s hands without asking, like it was the most natural thing to do. They were shaking. Denki’s weren’t. His hands were warm, steady—annoyingly comforting.
For a split second, Hitoshi could almost pretend this was a different moment. A better one. A version of reality where this was a confession and not a lie sitting heavy in his chest.
The nerves were obvious. They always were. Anyone could mistake them for the anxiety of sharing something personal.
“’Toshi, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” Denki said, looking right at him. No judgment in his eyes. “It’s normal. I smoke sometimes too—usually with Sero and a couple of guys from Class B. You don’t need to sneak off alone. We already figured out how not to get caught, and I can bring you along so you don’t feel… I don’t know. So alone.”
Oh.
Hitoshi’s stomach dropped.
Denki smoked? Since when? That wasn’t—he shouldn’t—
God, that was so stupid. Of course Denki smoked. People did that. Normal people did a lot of dumb, unhealthy things.
Still, the thought dug in deeper than it should have.
It wasn’t healthy. And somehow, that bothered Hitoshi more than being caught in his own lie.
Denki couldn’t ruin his health like that.
Denki must have caught the worry on Hitoshi’s face, because he let out a soft chuckle as he pulled his hands away. “Don’t be a hypocrite, ’Toshi.”
Hitoshi blinked.
Right. Yeah. He was being one.
The difference—if there even was one—was that Hitoshi was already broken. Cracked in ways that didn’t really mend. He needed those coping mechanisms just to keep moving without hurting everyone around him.
But Denki… Denki was light. One of the best people Hitoshi had ever known. If something hurt Denki, it felt wrong in a way Hitoshi couldn’t explain.
Denki wasn’t him.
“That face you’re making,” Denki said, laughing a little, sharp around the edges—and Hitoshi didn’t like that. It didn’t suit him. Denki was supposed to be easy, bright, always reaching out first. The kind of person heroes were supposed to be. “You’re my best friend, ’Toshi. I don’t want us pretending I’m somehow better than you. We’re just human.”
That wasn’t true. Denki was better. In every way that mattered.
“I got bullied before I entered U.A.,” Denki went on, quieter now. “Elementary school, middle school. All of it.” He wrapped his arms around himself without really noticing. “People said my quirk made me an idiot. That it was a waste. They didn’t let me forget it.”
Hitoshi stayed silent.
“The worst part,” Denki said, eyes fixed somewhere past the rooftop fence, “was when they held my head underwater and laughed. Said if I was so powerful, I should just shock them and make it stop.”
He didn’t laugh this time.
Denki had never told him that.
“I couldn’t do it,” Denki said. “I would’ve hurt them. Badly. And I know what electricity does to people…”
He rubbed absentmindedly at a small Lichtenberg scar on his arm, thumb tracing the faint branching mark.
“…I don’t even want to think about what it would do with water.”
That was the line Hitoshi couldn’t cross.
Despite everything, Denki had chosen not to hurt them. Not people like that. People Hitoshi would’ve hurt for far less, without losing sleep over it.
There it was again. That gap between them. Clearer than ever.
“I don’t really know how I got free,” Denki went on, voice flat now. “I just ran. When Mom found out, she lost it and filed a report.”
Hitoshi stayed quiet. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Their parents tried to pay her off,” Denki said. “Their moms begged her to drop the charges.” He let out a short, humorless breath. “She didn’t. The judge sent them to juvenile detention until they turned eighteen.”
Hitoshi hadn’t known. He hadn’t even suspected something like this.
Denki had never told him.
“They called it attempted murder,” Denki said, and his voice finally wavered. “Because they didn’t let go. I got out on my own.” He swallowed. “And, a few seconds later, I would have drown.”
Hitoshi sucked in a sharp breath.
The thought landed hard and ugly: a version of the world where Denki hadn’t made it out. A version of his life where Denki had never existed in it at all.
“I was in a bad place after that,” Denki continued, strangely steady now. “I did things I regret. I wasn’t the best son; I got into trouble—obviously manageable, but nothing lessens the worry my parents went through—until one day, after finding me asleep in the bathtub, nearly drowning, I took a sleeping pill from my grandmother, my mom just… broke. She begged me to tell her I wasn’t okay. That she could help me if I just said it out loud….”
Hitoshi had always thought of Denki as the most loved person in the world.
He had parents who adored him, friends all over U.A. who would stand up for him without hesitation, people who saw him and chose him, again and again.
“…I hate seeing my mom cry,” Denki said quietly. “So I promised her I’d do better. And I guess I found that motivation in heroism.” A small smile crept onto his face, hesitant but real. “…I wanted to be the kind of hero who encourages people. Someone who reminds them they can be themselves without being afraid.”
“That’s who you are, Denki,” Hitoshi said at last. His voice came out steadier than he felt. “That’s why I admire you so much.”
Denki took his hand again, firm this time, and looked him straight in the eye. “Thank you for seeing me like that, ’Toshi. But don’t idealize me.” His grip tightened just a little. “And don’t think you’re somehow less than me. Please.”
Hitoshi swallowed and nodded.
He felt sick.
He had lied.
And now Denki had laid himself bare in front of him, trusting him with things that still hurt to say out loud. Things Hitoshi didn’t deserve to hear.
Telling the truth now would only make it worse.
Denki couldn’t know. No one could.
Hitoshi had tried—really tried—to think of vigilantism as something temporary. A phase. A bad habit he could drop when things got easier.
But Spidernight wasn’t a hobby. It was part of him. Something already welded in place.
He wasn’t going to stop. And he wasn’t going to expose it. No matter the cost.
So he stuck to the lie and offered Denki a small, careful smile. “I promise.”
“Pinky promise?” Denki said that with a familiar, almost childish hope creeping into his voice. The kind that made Hitoshi’s stomach twist.
Hitoshi looked down at their linked fingers—bare, unprotected, trusting. He thought of gloved hands, concrete ledges, nights spent lying by omission, by silence, by design.
“I promise,” he whispered.
He would try to keep that one; it was just that he couldn’t keep the rest.
When Denki told Hitoshi that some of their classmates smoked, Hitoshi was uncomfortable.
Still, he couldn’t let the lie collapse this fast. Not after everything. Not when Denki was standing right there, smiling like he’d just invited Hitoshi to hang out instead of committing a fireable offense.
“Guys! Hitoshi’s joining us!” Denki announced cheerfully as he pushed open the door to the ball storage room.
Of course it was the ball storage room. Because why not.
Hitoshi stepped in and did a quick mental headcount.
Sero and Ashido were sharing what was very obviously a joint. Jiro leaned against the wall, vaping like this was her living room. Off to the side, Tsuburaba from Class B exhaled cigarette smoke with practiced ease while passing the pack to Setsuna and Kaibara.
Hitoshi resisted the urge to turn around and pretend he’d never seen any of this.
This was U.A.
The top hero school in the country.
Sure.
“Didn’t know you smoked too, dude!” Sero said easily, already holding the joint out to him. “You want a hit?”
“No, thanks.” Hitoshi smiled, polite, casual, like he hadn’t just aged ten years in stress. “I’m good.”
He really was. He had zero interest in weed. That chapter of his life was closed, buried, and preferably never dug up again.
“Your loss,” Ashido laughed, taking the joint from Sero and bringing it to her lips. “But hey, what are you into? We’ve got flavors if you don’t want the classic stuff.”
God.
If Aizawa found out about this, detention wouldn’t even cover it.
They’d be erased from existence.
Assuming U.A. didn’t expel them first.
Hitoshi had quit smoking almost two years ago. He didn’t want to start again. Didn’t need to. But the lie had already grown legs, and as pathetic as it sounded, he’d follow Denki pretty much anywhere.
That was what being in love did to him. Which was exactly why he avoided it.
Before he had to come up with another excuse, Denki jumped in.
“We’re not staying today,” he said, shaking his head. “Toshi told me he didn’t really have a place to smoke around campus, so I was just showing him our secret spot.”
Bless you, Denki Kaminari.
“Ohhh,” Kaibara hummed as he lit his cigarette. “So you’re more of a casual smoker?”
Hitoshi nodded once. Calm. Reasonable. Believable. “Yeah. Every now and then. Nothing serious.”
A complete lie. A committed one.
“Then welcome to the anonymous smokers’ association,” Jiro said dryly, watching the vapor fade. “…Probably better if you keep it that way.”
Hitoshi nodded again, maybe a bit too fast.
“No problem,” he said, lifting his hands. “Nice meeting you guys. Enjoy your nicotine and weed.”
The words left his mouth before his brain could stop them.
There was a beat of silence.
…Did he seriously just say that?
He followed Denki out before anyone could answer, heart pounding, wondering how many more lies he could stack before the whole thing collapsed on top of him.
Studying for the provisional license exam was absolute garbage. Not the dramatic, “ugh, exams suck” kind of garbage, but the soul-draining kind—made infinitely worse by the fact that they were being rushed through it for something far more serious than a stupid test.
That exam wasn’t even meant for them. It was designed for second-years. People with actual experience. So why the hell was the Commission letting a bunch of first-year rookies take it? What part of you’ve been here for barely a year translated into clearly ready for legal accountability and public-space regulations?
That question hung unspoken in the air of the dorm’s common room, where Class A had gathered around tables overloaded with books, notes, and aggressively highlighted pages. This wasn’t just casual studying—it was a collective effort. If they were going to be thrown into the deep end, they were going to pass together. They had to. After all, this was the same first-year class that had fought villains in their first month. And then again in their fourth. Failing now would just be embarrassing.
“I am officially sick of memorizing quirk usage laws in public spaces,” Ashido announced, draping herself halfway across the table like a tragic heroine. “The exam is practical. Practical. Why are we studying laws like we’re about to run for office?”
A few heads lifted. Most didn’t.
“You never know,” Sato said mildly, not even looking up as he highlighted another line. “Since these apply to public spaces, they’ll probably test us in whatever environment they assign us, depending on the mission.”
Ashido groaned and let her head fall back. “But we already know the basic stuff by instinct! Come on—let’s take a break and do something fun.”
That was when everyone noticed the smile. The slow, dangerous kind.
Their eyes shifted from Ashido’s face to their books, as if the highlighted text could protect them. Then back to her. Then back to the books. No one volunteered. No one took the bait.
“Don’t drag us into your dumb ideas, Raccoon Eyes!” Bakugo snapped from across the room. “If you wanna fail, do it on your own!”
The room went quiet again. A few glances darted between Bakugo and Ashido before settling, obediently, back on the pages.
For a moment, it seemed like that was it.
Then Yaoyorozu exhaled softly and closed her book. “We’ve been studying for three hours,” she said, measured but tired. “And the exam is still three days away. A short break might actually help.”
Ashido’s eyes lit up instantly.
“I KNEW I COULD COUNT ON YOU, YAOMOMO!” she yelled. “LET THE PARTY BEGIN!”
The common room exploded into movement—chairs scraping, voices rising, whatever fragile sense of order they’d had evaporating in seconds.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, Hitoshi was already starting to regret every single life decision that had led him to this exact moment.
The truth is, it was his own fault for sitting in that circle.
Hitoshi should have gone back to his room like Bakugo, Tokoyami, Iida, and Koda. Sensible people. Functional people.
But, as usual, Denki had looked at him, grinned, tugged lightly at his sleeve—and Hitoshi had followed.
So now he was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a group of sixteen-year-olds, a bottle placed ceremoniously in the center while Ashido smiled like she’d personally engineered chaos. Which, honestly, she probably had.
His classmates, in all the hormonal brilliance of their age, were laughing too loudly as they slipped into the closet in pairs. Some stayed behind as spectators, offering commentary like this was a competitive sport.
Hitoshi had no idea why he hadn’t put himself there instead of among the participants, as if he needed an excuse to be shoved into enclosed spaces with unresolved feelings.
If the bottle landed between him and anyone else, it would be simple. They’d step inside, exchange awkward small talk, maybe discuss recent hero news. Five minutes of tolerable discomfort. He didn’t need an outlet. He wasn’t pent-up. He wasn’t—
If it landed between him and Denki, that was different.
Hitoshi would have to hold himself together with teeth and willpower. Denki could flirt without blinking, toss out winks and ridiculous lines like it was muscle memory. But the second anything became real—too close, too quiet—that bravado collapsed. Denki would blush. He’d laugh too high. He’d look anywhere but directly at the person in front of him.
That vulnerability did something dangerous to Hitoshi.
The way Denki turned red talking about his fleeting crushes. The way he tripped over his words when someone flirted back or asked for his number. Like he couldn’t quite believe he was wanted.
If they ended up in that closet together, Hitoshi could kiss him. Blame the game. Call it a joke. Let everyone laugh and move on.
He wouldn’t.
The thought flickered anyway—sharp, treacherous. He wanted Denki too much for that. A kiss wasn’t something to smuggle inside a dare. Not with him. Not when Denki meant this much.
He could confess. End this slow, humiliating spiral of teenage pining. Rip it open and be done with it.
And destroy everything.
What if Denki didn’t feel the same? What if he did, but Hitoshi wasn’t enough? Denki deserved someone unguarded. Someone brighter. Someone who didn’t measure every word before speaking it. Someone who could give him one hundred percent without flinching.
Hitoshi wasn’t sure he knew how to be that person.
“’Toshi?” Denki’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Hitoshi blinked, slow and deliberate, just in time to see the bottle pointing directly at the two of them.
Of course it is.
“Are we going?” Denki asked, confusion softening his expression.
Did he think Hitoshi didn’t want to go with him?
The idea made something twist sharply in his chest. He could handle embarrassment. He could handle rejection. Making Denki feel unwanted was not an option.
“Are you okay, Toshi?” Denki leaned closer.
A few others noticed he hadn’t moved and started chiming in, concern bleeding into curiosity.
Before Hitoshi could form a response that didn’t unravel him completely, the main dorm door swung open.
Every head snapped toward it.
“Would someone care to explain why curfew has passed and you hero students are out of your rooms with a bottle in the middle of the floor and music blasting?” Aizawa’s voice cut through the room from the doorway. “All of you. Back to your dorms. Now.”
The collective tension snapped.
Hitoshi exhaled quietly.
Saved by the bell.
For now.
Obviously, Aizawa gave them detention and made them write an essay about why respecting dorm rules is important for student coexistence.
That kind of punishment wasn’t really his style, but Hitoshi figured maybe Yamada had convinced him not to go too hard on them. After all, they were just a bunch of mildly traumatized teenagers.
Not that he got out of the weekend lecture at home.
“Seriously, Hitoshi?” Aizawa shot him a glare. “I expected it from the others, but you too? Kid, you never stay up past 10 p.m. socializing.”
Yes, he did.
He talked to Denki every night on the phone.
Sometimes they even had spontaneous sleepovers.
But yeah, his parents definitely didn’t need to know that.
“We just wanted to chill a bit before the provisional license exam. Is that a crime?” Hitoshi said, keeping his tone even. “Besides, you already chewed me out at school. Can’t we just leave it there?”
“I scolded you as your teacher.” Aizawa didn’t budge. “Now I’m doing it as your parent. If your classmates’ parents care at all, they’ll be doing the same this weekend.”
“That’s not fair,” Hitoshi shot back, a little too quick. “You’re my teacher and my dad. Can’t you just count that as both?”
“No.” Aizawa shook his head once. “If I don’t scold you as your parent, then I’m still treating you like just a student. And besides, the essay was Hizashi’s idea. Now you get something based on my criteria.” Hitoshi already didn’t like where this was going. “And you know exactly what I think.”
Hitoshi still remembered the punishment for sneaking out that night at the hotel.
God, not the toilet again.
“You’re not allowed to hang out with Kaminari for the next two weeks,” Aizawa said, flat and final. “Or go anywhere he is unless it’s school-related. No partner work, no training together, no group activities. And in the dorms, you stay out of his room after curfew.”
Hitoshi’s stomach dropped.
“Did you really think I didn’t know about your little sleepovers?”
Of course he knew.
Hitoshi had just… chosen not to think about it too hard. Because if Aizawa knew and hadn’t said anything, then it didn’t count. Then it was fine. Then—
This? This wasn’t fine.
No. He couldn’t do that.
That was too much.
Aizawa really knew how to hit where it hurt without actually crossing the line.
“Just say you’re banning me from Denki already,” Hitoshi muttered, trying for sarcasm and missing by a mile.
He really shouldn’t have said that.
Because Aizawa sharply smiled.
“If that’s what you want…” he hummed. “…then we’ll extend it. No Kaminari. At all.”
Was he serious?
He couldn’t be serious.
There was no way he could just—cut Denki out like that. Not for two weeks.
How the hell was he supposed to explain that?
Hey, I can’t talk to you anymore because my dad thinks we spend too much time together.
Yeah. No. Absolutely not happening.
Also—where the hell was Yamada?
He wouldn’t let this slide.
…Right?
Then again, the guy could be a menace when he felt like it.
“That’s excessive,” Hitoshi said, and yeah, now he definitely sounded too invested. He dropped to the floor anyway, going full dramatic. “I’ll take the first one. Please.”
Aizawa huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh, rolled his eyes, and ruffled his hair like this wasn’t a life-altering decision.
“Fine. If that’s what you want, kid. Original punishment it is.”
Hitoshi stayed there for a second longer than necessary, staring at the floor.
He was a cruel man, but a fair one.
Being grounded didn’t really mean Hitoshi cared enough to stop sneaking out and running his routes as Spidernight. It just meant he had to be smarter about it—way more careful than usual.
He followed a system now. Door locked, always. The stupid decoy in place. And, most importantly, making sure both of his parents were busy enough—and trusting enough—to believe he wouldn’t pull something like the hotel stunt again.
Hitoshi knew exactly what he was risking by keeping this up, but he also couldn’t just pretend he fully belonged in the hero world yet.
He was trying so hard to be one but until he had that damn license, he had to find some other way to burn off all that bottled-up anger without letting it rot inside him.
A lot of his classmates had stayed at U.A. to study without distractions for the provisional exam, while others had gone home to rest and reset.
Fighting villains in Tokyo sounded tempting, but Aizawa was on patrol there tonight, which automatically made it a terrible idea.
Yamada, on the other hand, would be busy with his radio shift and probably go out with Kayama afterward, which meant the house would stay quiet until around 4:00 a.m.—more than enough time. He could get back, shower, drink something strong, fake sleep, and still be up by 7:30 like nothing had happened, ready to practice a new capture weapon technique with Aizawa.
Everything was perfectly calculated.
There were plenty of places he could’ve gone to avoid… this, but Saitama had been his first home. A broken one, full of neglect and things better left behind, but still his. And, in a different way, Denki’s too.
They had both gone through their own version of hell there—Hitoshi with group homes and a quirk people labeled as villainous, Denki getting branded a problem kid and bullied like it was routine—but somehow, the same place held completely different memories for each of them.
Because while Denki sat on his balcony, like he did most nights with his headphones on and the world shut out, Hitoshi stood across the street, watching instead of fighting, lingering instead of moving on.
He told himself it wasn’t that weird. He hadn’t followed him there; he already knew where Denki lived, and it wasn’t like he did this every night. If anything, it was just… making sure he was okay. That he was safe. That nothing happened while Hitoshi was out here doing what he did.
That’s what he told himself, at least.
When Denki finally went back inside, Hitoshi let out a quiet breath and pushed himself to move. It was barely 1:00 a.m., which meant he still had a couple of hours before heading back, so he might as well make himself useful and deal with something small—nothing that would keep him tied to one place for too long.
The problem was that the night was unusually quiet, so instead of sticking to the rooftops, he dropped down and walked like anyone else would, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, even letting himself whistle under his breath as the calm settled in.
It felt… easy. Enough that, for a moment, he actually considered heading back early.
Which is why he didn’t expect—
“Hey, Spidernight!”
The voice cut clean through the quiet, warm and unmistakable, and Hitoshi froze before he could stop himself.
“What are you doing around here?”
He didn’t need to look up to know.
Still, he did.
Denki was leaning over his balcony, smiling like that—bright, open, completely at ease, like nothing was wrong and nothing had ever been wrong.
And for a second, Hitoshi just stood there, caught somewhere between being seen and wanting to disappear.
His breath hitched, his thoughts stalled, and something tight and unfamiliar settled in his chest, sharp enough to make him want to move, to do something, anything.
So he did the only thing that made sense.
He ran.
“We’re provisional heroes now—together!” Denki practically shouted as he pulled out his phone. “Picture time!”
The blond was already posing before Hitoshi could react, dragging him in without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Hitoshi had never liked photos.
They felt too permanent—like proof that good moments existed just long enough to be taken away.
And yet, somehow, he still found himself smiling as Denki grinned at the camera and said, “Say PROVISIONAL LICENSE!”
Hitoshi huffed, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “Isn’t that a bit long?”
“And?” Denki threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in closer, grip warm and careless in a way that made it hard to think too much about it. “PROVISIONAL LICENSE!”
And, before he could stop himself—
Hitoshi said it too. "Provisional license."
Hitoshi could’ve sworn that the whole awkward, unexpected Spidernight encounter with Denki was behind him. Of course, with Denki being a full-on Spidernight fan, there was no way he’d just forget about it.
“I swear, Hitoshi!” Denki said, practically vibrating with excitement as they sat down at the lunch table. “Spidernight was right under my window! I was gonna tell you, but the provisional license exam totally wiped it from my brain for a bit.”
Hitoshi kept his expression carefully neutral as he unwrapped his food, pretending to be way more interested in it than he actually was.
“Mm,” he hummed. “Cool.”
Denki stared at him. “Cool? That’s it?” he leaned forward, eyes wide. “Dude, he was just—there. Walking around like it was nothing. And then I called out to him—”
Hitoshi paused for a second.
Then kept going like nothing happened. “—and?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.
“And he froze,” Denki continued, lowering his voice a little like he was sharing a secret. “Like, completely froze. I thought maybe he didn’t hear me at first, but then he looked up and—”
“What?” he said instead, keeping it flat.
Denki frowned slightly, like he was trying to grab onto something that kept slipping through his fingers. “It was weird.”
Hitoshi’s grip tightened just a little around the wrapper. “Weird?” he echoed, keeping his tone flat.
“Yeah,” Denki said slowly. “I don’t know… it felt like he recognized me or something. Or like I caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.”
Hitoshi let out a quiet scoff, forcing his shoulders to stay relaxed. “He’s a vigilante,” he said. “He’s always doing something he’s not supposed to be doing.”
“But…” Denki hesitated again, then shook his head. “No, it was different.”
Hitoshi didn’t respond this time.
He just took a bite of his food, even though he wasn’t really hungry anymore.
Denki watched him for a second longer, then leaned back in his seat, still frowning faintly. “…And then he just ran off,” he added. “Like, immediately.”
A beat.
“Do you think I scared him?” Denki asked, half-joking, half-serious.
Hitoshi huffed. “Yeah,” he said dryly. “Terrifying.”
Denki kicked him lightly under the table. “Hey, I’m serious!”
Hitoshi rolled his eyes, but there was something tight sitting in his chest again, something he couldn’t quite shake off no matter how normal he tried to act.
“Maybe he just had somewhere else to be,” he said, a little quieter this time.
Denki hummed, unconvinced. “…Yeah. Maybe.”
But he didn’t sound like he believed it.
And Hitoshi didn’t look up once.
Hitoshi was flat on the ground, completely wrecked by an extremely happy, ridiculously muscular—and very naked—blond.
Yeah… he should probably start training more. He was getting soft.
Beside him, Denki looked even worse, sprawled out and very obviously fried from his quirk overuse, barely functional at this point.
This was supposed to be a demonstration of how much they’d learn during their internships.
Instead, it felt like Togata was just showing off.
Not that Hitoshi could really blame him.
If he had that kind of control, that kind of presence—yeah, he’d probably do the same.
Still, Hitoshi pushed himself up slightly, jaw tightening as he forced the frustration back down where it belonged.
He’d get there.
Those internships were his shot—his way to actually carve out a place for himself in the hero world instead of just hovering at the edge of it.
And this time he wasn’t going to fall behind.
The Hero Work-Studies had been canceled.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Apparently, some first-years could still do them—if they got into agencies with a solid track record.
Yeah. Because underground heroes totally had agencies.
“So… no Work-Hero studies for me?” Hitoshi asked, looking between his parents.
Aizawa just shrugged. “Did you get accepted into a reputable agency that takes first-year hero students?”
“…No,” Hitoshi admitted.
“Then no.” Aizawa said it simply. “Sorry, kid.”
Midoriya, Kirishima, Asui, and Uraraka were acting weird. Aizawa was acting weird too. Everyone involved in that ultra-top-secret mission was acting weird, and Hitoshi—being both a good son and a hero student—wasn’t about to sit around waiting for it to hit the headlines.
The truth was, as a vigilante, you could get your hands on a lot of information… assuming you didn’t end up dead along the way. And Spidernight? Yeah, he could definitely end up dead for asking the wrong questions. Not that that stopped him. If anything, it made him more determined.
“I heard there’s been some movement,” Hitoshi hummed casually as he stepped into a run-down bar filled with low-level villains and small-time criminals. “And that the heroes already picked up on it.”
Vague enough. No idiot would just hand over information for free.
“A vigilante like you sticking his nose into hero business?” the informant scoffed, taking a long swig of his beer. “Isn’t that kinda the opposite of your whole thing?”
Hitoshi just shrugged, reaching for some of the complimentary peanuts like this was any other night. “Proving heroes aren’t necessary—even when they have a plan—that’s part of the job.”
“Unpaid job, kid,” the man muttered, shaking his head. “What kind of hero were you even trying to be?”
Hitoshi didn’t react, but the question lingered a second too long in the air before the informant sighed and leaned back, his tone shifting—less mocking now, more cautious.
“You’re asking the kind of questions that get people buried.”
Hitoshi scoffed lightly, like that didn’t mean anything. “If it was that serious, I’d have heard something concrete by now.”
“That’s exactly why you haven’t,” the man replied, tapping his glass once against the table. “This isn’t low-level noise. No turf wars, no idiots trying to make a name for themselves. This is quiet. And when things get quiet like that, it’s because the kind of people who don’t like attention are involved.”
Hitoshi didn’t interrupt this time.
“They’ve been moving things,” the informant continued, voice dropping slightly. “Something valuable enough that people are getting paid to look the other way—and scared enough not to ask questions.”
Something about that sat wrong. “…Like what?” Hitoshi asked, quieter now.
The informant gave him a look, like he was debating how much he could say without saying too much.
“You ever hear about those cases where quirks just… stop working?” he said after a moment, tone deliberately vague.
Hitoshi’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second.
“And then there’s the opposite,” the man added, swirling the last of his drink. “Stuff that pushes quirks past what the body can handle. Leaves people fried, out of control, barely human by the end of it.”
Hitoshi exhaled slowly through his nose, gaze dropping back to the table as the pieces settled into place, whether he liked it or not.
“…Yakuza,” he said under his breath.
The informant didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t need to.
“And whatever they’re moving,” the man went on, “it’s not the kind of thing you poke at unless you’ve got a death wish. Heroes are already circling it, and even they’re being careful.”
That was enough.
Hitoshi pushed himself up from his seat, no rush in the movement, but no hesitation either.
“Then here’s some free advice,” the informant added without looking at him. “If you’re half as smart as you think you are, you’ll stay the hell away from it.”
“Yeah,” Hitoshi replied, already turning toward the exit. “That was the plan.”
No matter how or when, Hitoshi would be on that mission. As Spidernight or as Nighthide.
He would do whatever it took to get himself involved in that damn mission.
It didn’t matter if he sounded like a brat or if it came off as a desperate attempt to be relevant; Hitoshi would be involved.
He had something to prove.
But he could try something different first—at least before resorting to vigilantism.
“Aizawa, please, let me do a hero work-study with you,” Hitoshi said when he found his adoptive father half-asleep, buried in paperwork from the super-secret mission he wasn’t supposed to know about. “I’ll fall behind.”
Aizawa didn’t look up. “I don’t have an agency for students.”
“Then make an exception.”
“That’s not how it works.”
Hitoshi stepped forward anyway. “I didn’t get into an agency with a good record. I’m not going to sit around doing nothing.”
“Train in class.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It’s what you’ve got.”
Aizawa turned another page, as if the conversation were already over.
Hitoshi didn’t move. “I can keep up,” he insisted.
“No,” Aizawa repeated, finally looking up. Tired. Firm. “I’m not taking a student with me.”
“Then—”
“No,” he cut him off again. “It’s not up for discussion.”
The silence that followed was heavier.
Hitoshi clenched his jaw slightly, holding his gaze for a second longer… before looking away. “…Understood.”
He turned before Aizawa could add anything else.
That only confirmed one thing.
If he wanted in, he was going to have to do it on his own.
People thought Denki was an idiot.
The truth was, Denki was an idiot—just not in the way people thought.
“What do you think the Work-Study group is planning, Toshi?” Denki whispered, watching the very not subtle huddle between Kirishima, Midoriya, Asui, and Uraraka. “I bet it’s some super mega important top-secret mission.”
Hitoshi couldn’t exactly tell him he was right.
“Maybe,” he hummed. “They should work on their stealth, though.”
Denki snorted under his breath, slouching further against the wall like that somehow made him less noticeable. It didn’t.
“Right? Midoriya looks like he’s about to explode,” he added, squinting. “And Uraraka keeps nodding like she’s trying to convince herself of something.”
Hitoshi didn’t answer right away.
Denki nudged him lightly with his elbow. “You’re not even curious?”
“I am,” Hitoshi said flatly.
“Then why aren’t you doing your creepy information-gathering thing?”
Hitoshi shot him a look. “…Because I like being alive.”
Denki blinked. Once. Then grinned.
“Oh, so it is serious.”
Hitoshi immediately regretted saying that. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” Denki sing-songed, leaning in a little closer, like this was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “C’mon, Toshi, you can’t drop something like that and expect me not to—”
“Drop it.”
The word sat there for a second longer than it should have, heavier than the rest of the conversation. Hitoshi noticed it immediately, a faint tension settling in his shoulders before he looked away.
Denki glanced at him, then back at the group. “You’re acting weird.”
“So are they.”
“Yeah, but that’s expected.”
Hitoshi didn’t respond to that.
“Still calling it,” he said after a moment. “Secret mission.”
Hitoshi exhaled softly. “Probably.”
If he couldn’t get involved in the mission as Nighthide, then there were other ways Hitoshi could still insert himself into it.
He didn’t need permission.
An anonymous tip to the police on Friday would do the job—something vague enough to avoid questions, but precise enough to be taken seriously.
After that, it wouldn’t matter if the heroes approved or not.
Spidernight would already be in the equation.
And once he was, getting rid of him would be a lot harder than ignoring him.
With Aizawa buried in the mission and Yamada focused on his radio show, Hitoshi had the field to himself.
Which meant he could be Spidernight without worrying.
It also meant he could stretch his patrols a little longer—take a few extra swings, practice his webs without rushing back.
He liked this part.
The freedom of it. The lightness.
Nothing like the stiffness of his capture weapon, nothing measured or restrained. Just momentum, instinct, the pull and release of the line as he moved through the city.
For a moment, it almost felt like peace.
“Spidernight!” The voice—bright, warm, unmistakable—cut clean through the quiet.
Hitoshi’s focus snapped and he slammed straight into a wall.
The impact knocked the air out of him.
“…ow,” he muttered under his breath, blinking the city back into focus.
Instead of falling, Hitoshi just… stayed there.
Completely stuck.
Like gravity had briefly forgotten how to do its job.
Flat against the wall, one arm extended, the other bent awkwardly, his whole body stuck in place like he’d been pinned mid-swing.
There was a second of silence where even the city seemed to pause with him.
“…oh no,” Hitoshi muttered under his breath.
“Woah—” The voice came from right in front of him.
Hitoshi turned his head—slowly, carefully—still plastered against the wall, one arm awkwardly splayed, the other bent at an angle that would’ve looked cool if he hadn’t just faceplanted seconds ago.
Denki stood in the balcony doorway, staring.
“…you’ve got to be kidding me,” Hitoshi breathed.
His eyes moved from Hitoshi’s hand, to his shoulder, to the way he was quite literally defying gravity for no dignified reason.
“…are you,” Denki started, then stopped, pressing his lips together like he was trying very hard not to laugh, “—are you stuck?”
“I am not stuck.”
“You look stuck.”
“I am choosing to remain here.”
Denki let out a small, choked sound that he quickly disguised as a cough.
“Right. Of course. Tactical wall… uh… positioning.”
Hitoshi closed his eyes for half a second, forehead still lightly resting against the concrete.
This was not how this was supposed to go.
“…you’re not supposed to be out here,” he said instead, voice flattening in a weak attempt to regain control of the situation.
Denki leaned slightly against the doorframe now, a grin slipping through despite himself. “Pretty sure I live here.”
Hitoshi paused.
“…that’s unfortunate.”
That did it.
Denki laughed—soft at first, then a little more openly, though he still tried to keep it down like the moment mattered more than the joke.
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “Of all the places you could dramatically appear, you pick my balcony and then just—” he gestured vaguely at him, “—become part of the wall.”
Hitoshi closed his eyes for half a second.
He peeled one hand off the wall. Then the other.
Hitoshi se colocó sobre el barandal del balcón, shoulders squaring almost immediately like he could salvage this if he just committed hard enough.
“…okay,” Denki said slowly, a grin tugging at his mouth again, “that part looked cool.”
Hitoshi ignored that.
“You’re gonna fall.” Denki added, glancing at the narrow edge beneath his boots.
“I won’t.”
“You literally just slammed into my building.”
A brief silence followed—but it wasn’t empty.
Denki kept looking at him. “…you’re actually Spidernight,” he said, quieter this time.
Hitoshi didn’t answer immediately.
From here, it would be easy to leave. One movement, one web, and distance would fix this.
“…that’s what people call me,” he said instead.
Denki laughed softly, looking at him like he’d just been handed something unreal, something bright.
Oh.
Denki looked—
Hitoshi cut the thought off before it could settle.
“…I think…,” Denki added, shrugging slightly, but without taking the weight out of his words, “…what you do is… important.”
Hitoshi looked away for a moment.
Denki didn’t rush to fill the silence.
“…I have a friend,” he continued after a beat, like the conversation had simply led there. “His name’s Hitoshi.”
That made something in him tense, even if it didn’t show.
Denki didn’t seem to notice.
“He kinda does something similar,” he went on, thoughtful. “Not—” he gestured vaguely toward him, “—not like you. Different. But… he tries. Even when it’s harder for him.”
Hitoshi couldn’t say anything.
Denki exhaled softly, now resting both arms against the doorframe, more relaxed. “I think you’d like him,” he said, a half-smile forming. “You’ve got the same vibe. Quiet, a bit intense… kinda bad at talking to people.”
Hitoshi shot him a look. “…is that your professional analysis?”
“Hey, I’m being nice,” Denki replied easily. “I didn’t even mention the whole crashing-into-walls thing.”
Thankfully, Denki had never seen him mess up like that in his day-to-day life.
Not like that one time he’d found Hitoshi hanging upside down, tangled in his own capture weapon, and had to call Aizawa to get him down.
That had been… a moment.
This, unfortunately, was on the same level.
“…he admires heroes,” Denki continued, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “Even if he pretends he doesn’t.”
Another pause.
“Me too, I guess.”
Something uncomfortable settled in Hitoshi’s chest.
The admiration in Denki’s eyes was bright—genuine—and Hitoshi felt a flicker of guilt for it.
Because what he was doing wasn’t selfless. Not really.
It was easier to call it instinct, or responsibility—but it wasn’t.
It was a way to fill something. To prove something. To chase something he already knew he would never reach—not like this, not as a hero.
“…you shouldn’t,” he said at last. “Admiration like that gets people hurt.”
Denki frowned slightly. “Or it pushes people to do better.”
Hitoshi’s balance on the railing remained steady, but something else had shifted, just enough to be noticeable.
“…your friend,” he said after a moment, his voice lower, more measured, “he shouldn’t rely on that either.”
Denki watched him for a second.
“…he doesn’t,” he said. “He just… keeps going anyway.”
Hitoshi’s grip on the railing tightened slightly.
Was that really how Denki saw him or was he just trying to make Hitoshi sound better in front of Spidernight?
The second didn’t make much sense. Denki had no reason to do that.
The silence didn’t last long.
“…you should be careful,” Denki added, lighter again. “My building’s tougher than it looks.”
Hitoshi looked at him, expression flat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The words settled between them, quieter than everything that had come before.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Denki stayed right there, leaning against the doorway of his own room, the light from inside spilling softly onto the balcony. He kept looking at him, softer now, steadier.
Hitoshi held his gaze for a second longer than he should have.
That was the problem.
It would’ve been easier if Denki were just loud, careless, distant—someone he could brush off, someone he could leave behind without thinking twice.
But he wasn’t.
He was warm. Open in a way that didn’t feel naive, just… honest.
Hitoshi forced the thought down before it could fully form.
“…it’s getting late,” Denki said after a moment, his tone softer now, almost reluctant.
Hitoshi glanced back at him.
“…you should get going.”
He had a little over an hour to get home and pretend he’d been there all night. If he wanted to pull that off, he couldn’t keep standing here.
Hitoshi nodded once. “…yeah.”
A small pause followed.
“Try not to crash into any more buildings,” Denki added, a faint smile returning.
Hitoshi exhaled quietly, something almost amused slipping through despite himself. “…I’ll do my best.”
Another brief silence—this one lighter, but still reluctant to end.
Denki lifted a hand in a small wave. “Good night, Spidernight.”
Hitoshi hesitated—just for a fraction of a second.
Then, softer— “…good night.”
He stepped back off the railing, the motion smooth, automatic. A web shot upward, catching instantly, and in the next second, he was already pulling away from the balcony.
But this time, he let himself look back.
Just once.
Denki was still there, framed by the light of his room, watching him go like it meant something.
Hitoshi looked away before that feeling could settle too deeply.
And then he was gone.