Chapter Text
Let's preface this chapter by explaining the abstract and complex concept of the racing-styled video-game known as Mario Kart.
One does not call themselves a true gamer unless they have attempted, succeeded in, and conquered their opponents in this vicious, grueling game. Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say game? I meant war.
The blood, sweat, and tears one sacrifices on this digital battlefield is a high price to pay if they wish to make it through the fight alive. The screeching of tires against an unstable road, frustrated clacking and tapping of controllers, and screams of agony, victory, and horror make up the basic soundtrack in this game (war) series. Controllers and people alike are thrown against walls in fits of justifiable anger. Hair is ripped from the scalps of many as the unbearable anxiety of awaiting the winning contestant at the end of the final lap throws people of all ages into oblivion of the external world around them. The ten-exactly ten-nanoseconds it takes for the racer to cross the finishing line seem like a gateway into a frozen realm before all hell is let loose.
Controllers lose their lives as they soar through the air and demolish the walls of raging, manic fools. Middle fingers resemble flags as they slowly rise into the air and are waved proudly for the world to see. Friends and lovers rejoice with tearful hugs and deep, intimate kisses (no homo, bro) at the victory of whomever-the-fuck they were rooting for. Money is tossed into the air, and whether it is from the repercussions of losing a bet or the fact that everyone suddenly started stripping because, y'know, fuck it all, will probably never be known. Hell, some would say it's both.
The process of becoming a winner, or a loser if you, incidentally, lose the war is a dangerous and deceitful one. As a Mario Karter myself, I'd like to recommend three simple rules: don't trust anyone, never make promises, and- I can't stress this one enough-always, always, have a minimum of at least two coffins nearby. The last of the two is in the case of...accidental murders or suicides befalling the results after a rather taxing race are published.
From Blue Shells to Banana Peels, the multitude of power-up items put quirks to shame and turn friends to foes as their mysterious forms await a Karter to claim them. The latter of the two mentioned are merely nuisances compared to the other abilities one could possibly be affected by, although when the bananas are gained as a bunch, it is basically the equivalent of a close high school squad defending a friend with flying fists and colorful words if one were to be impacted by its attack. The former is basically a stamp for your digital will if it's fury were to be directed towards you. First place racers to meh-no-one-gives-a-shit-what-spot-you're-at ones to last place racers alike quiver in their seats at the mention of the self-steering Bullet Bill, or the triplets of Green Shells, or, God forbid, the Triple Red Shell. The fear these set items impose upon the racers are enough to cause them to piss themselves and, okay this is going to be gross, become the equivalent of a Blooper.
Don't forget those maps! The ground of which one races upon in this cacophony of shouts, gasps, screams, and generic Mario Kart music (this link is promising; trust me) ranges from dirt to rainbow, although the scattered coins and blood spills helps keep similarities among the tracks. You are expected to have memorized, worshiped, married, and fucked these routes by throwing away what's left of your life in order to devote your absolute, undividable attention to them. Hell, start pricking your fingers. It might as well be a cult, if it wasn't one before. Might have to ask Nintendo to consider the idea.
Sounds like fun game, right? That's great, considering our young heroes have a certain exercise based around it today...
"What do you mean we're 'recreating Mario Kart' today? What types of drugs are you on, dude?"
The blank stare Aizawa tossed in Izuku's and basically class 1-A's direction was almost as icy as Shoto's relationship with his father. The amount of fucks translated in that look also resembled the amount of love Enji Todoroki and Shoto Todoroki had between one another-none.
"You're a smart enough kid, Midoriya, so why don't you explain today's lesson plan, hm?"
If you thought Aizawa's stare was icier than Antarctica-something that isn't too chilly considering the effects global warming has on the Earth, because it's fucking real people, imagine a Bitch Face cold enough to freeze Hell over. Yeah.
"Obviously, sensei, I'm not qualified enough to do such a thing. Even if I was, I'd feel terrible knowing I stole a possible drug addict's position."
"Okay, you little piece of rabbit shit, cats are not the equivalent of illicit substances. The only thing illegal about them is their kawaiiness."
Silence befalls the classroom. It seems yet another gateway to a frozen realm has been discovered, for it takes exactly 5 nanoseconds for class 1-A to get out of their stupor.
"Oh my gosh, did I hear what I think I heard?"
"Aizawa said kawaii?!?"
"Scratch that. Izuku basically asked the question of the century: is Eraserhead secretly a druggie?"
"Dude dude dude, that would explain so much. Maybe his eyes always look that way because he's high."
“Or maybe he has an allergic reaction to cats and he’s a masochist that suffers to pet them?”
”That’s a pretty specific guess, Kacchan. Got something to say?”
”Obviously what he means is that he gets more pussy than you...”
“Wow, Todoroki-kun. I never expected you to defend Kacchan like that.”
”Don’t take it personally, Midoriya. I merely mean to amplify any statements regarding cats.”
As if summoned by whatever cat lord reigns above, a certain male appears.
“I, too, can vouch for Aizawa-sensei. I don't know what mystical powers the feline beauties have over us, but it's not something you can just hit and quit." The voice belongs to a male with lilac locks and eye bags deeper than the Void. Ironically, Shinsou's appearance is accentuated with a cat decal taking up the entirety of his phone's case.
Izuku stares in disbelief for a few seconds at the trio of cat lovers: Shota, Shoto, and Shinsou. Although it was brief, the perceptive wielder of One for All noticed the awkward glances share between Todoroki, Shinsou, and Bakugou. His hazy mind is unusually slow at analyzing the possible meanings behind the eye movements. Aizawa, having already moved past the "cat addict and druggie" inicident takes note of the rising tension between the four male students. His solution to such a thing? Hoping into his sleeping bag, rolling away about 12 feet, then hurriedly waving over the remainng students.
Their fumbling feet and panicked strides are halted by Midoriya's words, "We've got a traitor among us."
Quirked eyebrows replace the once frightened expressions of class 1-A. Looking at one another, all they merely find are mirrored images. A question remains afloat in their minds, although the students are too intimidated by the definitely, 100% Izuku clone. Silence-thick and heavy-strangles them into oblivion at their teacher's disappearance.
One brave soul takes one for the team (and basically the world) as they raise their hand. Uraraka's rosy cheeks puff out in determination and concern for her well being before she risks asking, "What do you mean, Deku-kun?"
Before Izuku can utter the magical words to break the Yuuei students from their curious bind, the sound of screeching tires and booming laughter quickly approach the opened door like a shark in water. From confused to annoyed, the variety of faces decorated throughout the classroom all change from surprised, then horrified as the realization finally sets in.
Quirks are activated and prayers are spoken as the young heroes leap over desks like hurdles to reach the back of the classroom. Their acidic, slimy, stange-bird thingy abilities are almost rendered useless as the roaring engine gains velocity and powere, becoming more prominent the closer it gets to the room. They haul ass and hopeful hearts as the familiar wall signifying the end of the room approaches near.
They almost made it too.
Alas, apparently the wall of U.A. hold together like a wet fucking sandcastle, for the unsuspecting students are assaulted by the victorious laughter of All Might and a red, yellow, and (try and guess it) blue...shopping cart? The fuck? Was that a mayonnaise engine?
Most likely either injured or dead, most likely dead due to it being a Monday, class 1-A arises from the ground and/or falls from the ceiling in order to investigate the source of their nth hospital bill. The stare at the aweing sight of the Number One hero dressed as the iconic...okay then...Princess Peach character from Nintendo. He sports a knee length, taffy pink dress matching the glossy pair of stilettos, powdery white gloves, a golden tiara with two aqua and one ruby jewels, hopefully a wig styled around a curly complexion, and...is that lipstick? Feeling a little self-conscious, Toshinori turns his head to the side and, yep, it's lipstick. Or lip gloss, rather; it now stains the purity of his gloves.
Izuku's exasperated sigh is what snaps the confused and flustered students out of the reverie.
"Wh..what is this?"
"WHAT IS WHAT, YOUNG MIDORIYA?"
"The fuck do you mean 'what is what?' The hell are you wearing?"
"I DON'T KNOW MYSELF, MY SON."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW?"
"IT MEANS THAT I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS IS," he states, sticking out his ass and fluttering his eyelashes at the poor Midoriya child.
Gagging, Izuku closes his eyes and croaks, "Is everyone on drugs today?"
"DRUGS? WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU MEAN? THIS IS MERELY," glancing down at his arm, Toshinori reads the chicken scrawl visible, "R-ROLEPLAY. YES. Or is it cosplay?"
"I...don't know what to say anymore. Ju-just, everybody close your eyes. Or flush them with bleach. Shit, do both. Kacchan blow my face up or something. Hell. Kill me."
Said male crawls from beneath a desk with a devious smirk and sizzling palms. "Oh, I'll blow your face up. Wouldn't be the first time, hm?"
Izuku's shudder throws everyone off track as he shuffles over to the other. "Is that a threat or a promise?" The whisper is barely audible as the shorter of the two stands upon his tippy toes.
Leaning down, Katsuki whispers back, "It's a promise."
They share a knowing smirk before I suddenly decide to trigger one of Izuku's memorable time with the other.
"HA, EAT DICKS, DEKU!"
What a charming guy, huh? I mean, who wouldn't want a sweaty, angry, moody, blonde with an explosive personality? I mean, sure, he would probably bite your dick off if he tried to blow you, or explode your vagina if in other cases (that's what periods are for though), but YOU KINKY KACCHAN FUCKERS WOULD PROBABLY WANT THAT ANYWAY, HUH?
(I know I probably just offended some of you guys. I'm sorry. I can be a terrible person at times, alright?)
For real, though. Who wouldn't want this guy to beat their ass in Mario Kart? Izuku Midoriya, that's who.
"You fuCKIN' CHEAT I CALL HACKS."
"YOUR MOM CALLS HACKS ALL THE TIME."
"DAMMIT, KACCHAN, YOU KNOW MY MOM."
"AND YOUR MOM KNOWS ALL OF ME."
"WHY ARE WE SHOUTING?"
"I DON'T KNOW. I USUALLY DO. WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING?"
"BECAUSE YOU JUST SHOT A BLUE SHELL AT ME YOU CHEATING COCKSUCKER."
"Woah, Izuku. Watch your profanity."
"You're right, Kacchan. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I can't help it if you suck at everything."
"That's what your mom said last night ;)."
"Deku."
"Hm?"
"Explain how the ever loving FUCK you managed to add a winky face into a verbal conversation."
"I...think the Fourth Wall is getting its revenge."
"I kind of expected that. We did basically take it to Hell and back in the chat."
"Speaking of," Izuku starts, reaching over the blonde to grab his phone, "can you show me how to get out of there? I've been at it all day."
"Whaaat? Izuku asking me for help? It must be my fucking birthday." In order to further uplift his arrogance, Katsuki stretches his arms above his head with a prideful smirk and splays his form over Izuku's lap.
"Kacchan, I ask you for help all the time. How bad is your memory?"
"You might want to ask your mom how bad her memory from last night is."
"I-I...just help me," Midoriya pouts while placing the phone atop Katsuki's chest.
Huffing, Katsuki picks up the device, enters the passcode, and fiddles with the phone's controls. Izuku cards his fingers through the other's spiky locks, scratching at some parts, then petting at others.
(Look at me. Giving you some KatsuDeku fluff. Aren't you proud?)
After 5 minutes of unsuccessful coridination on Izuku's phone, Katsuki opts to do the one thing that will always, absolutely, without a doubt, be able to work: throwing it against the wall with all of the strength he can muster, then carefully burying it within millions of grains of rice. Izuku's sputters of protest and surprise are silenced by a "shhhh" and finger pressed against his lips. Katsuki shakes his head before pointing towards the front door of the house. Confused, Izuku obliges with the request.
Relocated outside in only a thin pair of pajamas, house slippers and, in the blonde's case, a blanket, Katsuki gives Izuku a few seconds to adjust to the frigid temperature drop outside before speaking. "Okay, Deku, I'm only going to ask once, so you'd better listen. Did you, in any way, shape, or form sell your soul to a demon?"
Izuku tilts his head to the size inquisitively before replying with, "No, Kacchan. Why would I do that?"
"I don't fucking know. That's why I'm asking you!"
"Why were you even asking anyway," Izuku questions while rubbing his arms. His mossy eyes watch as his breath exits the other's lips in swirly wisps.
"Why do you think, idiot?" Katsuki's eye twitches in annoyance at the freckled male's ignorance. His foot taps against the freezing surface of gravel while he awaits an answer. Noticing the other's shivering form, he places the blanket over Midoriya's shoulders and looks away. Izuku thanks him with an unseen smile.
The indiscernible mumbling started nanoseconds after the prompted question, lasting a good two minutes before abruptly stopping. Amusement dances in Izuku's eyes as he replies with, "What, do you think my phone is possessed by a demon or something?"
Bakugou blushes as the words inside his head are said aloud, sounding even more foolish the longer he realizes Izuku's repressed smile has evolved into full blown laughter.
"K-Kacchan, seriously? What is up with you tonight?"
Said person merely huffs, stomps his feet, and drags the blanketed young hero into warmer corridors.
Back to life and back to reality, Izuku almost misses the strange summary of their group assignment that day.
"IZUKU, MY BOY, YOU SHALL TEAM UP WITH YOUNG SHINSOU AND URARAKA ROLEPLAYING AS," he looks down at his arm again, because apparently writing one oneself is the way to live, "YOSHI, TOAD, AND PRINCESS DAISY."
He continues listing off the various Mario characters assigned for each student. Some scowl, others laugh, but one thing remains the same- they're all very fucking confused right now.
After doing a twirl (woah was that glitter?), Toshinori hops into his shopping cart yet again and revs the engine, mayonnaise flying into the faces of the unfortunate folk who happened to be close enough to the vehicle(?) when the pro hero decides to drive out of the room via the same wall, shouting, "FOLLOW ME, FUTURE HEROES," before his voice is drowned out by the screeching of tires and shocked individuals.
Their steps are small and maybe timid as they chase after their teacher for the class, but even though it seems like whatever the hell they're getting into will end in at least 4 broken bones and yet another pile of life decisions, Izuku can't help the giddy feeling that arises within his being as all members of their plan are together, therefore meaning they are but a few steps closer to solving the greatest mystery of the century.
The game is on!