Chapter Text
“Big Sis!” Izuku calls out to the air.
The green-haired boy looks around the narrow walkway of the Market, red sneakers skidding as he sweeps around in a circle. He kicks up dirt from the ground, people squeezing past him to make their way through. Black hoodie pulled over his head, Izuku looks tiny compared to the assembly of passersby.
Besides the occasional glance his way, no one paid Izuku any mind. It was rare, out of the ordinary to see a kid roaming the more seedier avenues of Yoru, but Izuku was long used to this particular area of the hub, comfortable to walk around without Dabi’s accompaniment. He moves forward with purpose, bumping past the occasional person.
This crevice of Yoru was where the most money and information and secrets floated around, tucked and hidden under every lantern light and oak cabinet nook. Izuku wasn’t too fond of this underground sector, on the account that some people here saw violence as less of a job and more as a pastime, but Izuku found himself here more often than not. It used to be more busy and full of more “eager” workers, but it seemed like there were less and less people now and days– as per Dabi. But even so, it was still teeming with untapped potential. It was the best place to listen in as an informant.
There were even rumors that people in higher power would anonymously wander in, looking for workers to take on the jobs no one wanted to dirty their hands with. The only people who’d take such high risk jobs were the ostracized that couldn’t afford to say no. That’s the way the world works. Dabi had told him once more, which had made Izuku only bite his lip and bury his head deeper into his notebook.
If a hero wanted to make someone disappear in anonymity– this was the place to be.
This was where all the mercenaries resided.
Izuku’s eyes light up at the shock of burgundy hair peeking above the crowd, his small frame quickly weaving to get past. Magne was seated, leg pulled up on a stool as she loudly chats to someone standing besides her.
“Hey, Big Sis!” He calls again, waving animatedly.
“Oh, look who it is!” Her voice coos. Magne beams, and Izuku flushes as he’s pulled into an enthusiastic hug, swung around like he weighs no heavier than a wet puppy. “It’s Fixer now, right? How’s my favorite little shadow of Dabi?” The burgundy-haired woman whips her head around in searching. “Did he not come along with you today? He should know by now that running from my hugs doesn’t work.”
“No, no– just me! Sorry to disappoint you, Big Sis Mag.” Izuku smiles, prying himself out of her grasp. “I promise I’ll let Dabi know you were thinking of him though! He can be really cold, but I know you’re his favorite here too.”
Magne laughs, bringing her hands up to encompass a brightening red face. Magne had been one of the first mercenaries Dabi introduced him to, and Izuku was incredibly grateful that she had been a welcoming and warm impression. She had been the only one who made him feel better about the quirk he had.
“The Commission would sooner let everyone in this underground hole burn than blemish their reputation.” She had said, patting Izuku on the head. “Don’t let them or anyone tell you your quirk’s something to hide. You gotta grab the world by its neck and tell them: ‘This is the way I am– and it’s not going to change,’ yeah?”
He recognized Magne’s duality– as kind as she was, she had a massive record of crime. The dolting woman that would slip him hard candies was the same one who he’d seen knock a client out cold onto the concrete when he looked at her funny. She was a bit handsy and blunt, but Izuku was glad to be her friend.
The man next to Magne is staring at Izuku, prosthetic eye practically boring a hole into his head. Tendons unnaturally peek out from behind the blond man’s burly arms, accompanying an angry clenched jaw that made Izuku feel uneasy. He settles for a small wave and swears the air feels ten degrees colder when he earns a frown in response.
“Oh don’t be rude, Muscular!” Izuku squeaks as Magne yells, slapping the man’s bare shoulder scoldingly. How familiar was she with him that she could just do that? “Seriously? That’s Dabi’s kid! The least you can do is show some manners– you brute!”
Muscular glances up and down at Izuku’s short form, the boy feeling as though he were being scrutinized under a microscope. Finally, he spits onto the ground, facing his back to Izuku. “Whatever.”
Izuku stands his ground, suppressing the shiver that ran up his spine. He’d never met Muscular before, but had heard more than plenty about someone with a title like the Carnal Murderer. He wasn’t a resident of Yoru– just as elusive as you’d expect a suspect of capital murder to be. Muscular was a man with no moral restraint. Izuku had no obligation to get along with him.
Magne rolls her eyes, falling back into her seat. “Ignore him. He’s all testy because he hasn’t been requested for some gorey job lately.”
Judging by the way Muscular’s biceps tense at the comment, Izuku is inclined to believe her.
“But enough of him,” Magne rests her elbows on her lap, leaning her sharp chin into her hands. “What brings you here, Fixer?”
Izuku shifts in his seat and clears his throat. He had marched over to Magne with so much resolve, but now he feels almost embarrassed, especially since Muscular wasn’t even bothering to pretend that he wasn’t eavesdropping. Here goes nothing.
“I want you to teach me how to fight.”
From behind her sunglasses, Izuku can see Magne’s eyes perk up in surprise.
“I know you’ve shown me some self-defense, but I mean real fighting. I don’t want to be a mercenary or anything.” he sputters. “I-I’m not looking for more money. I mean, more money would be nice to eat, but I don’t need that much money.” He was getting off topic. Izuku lets out a frustrated sigh.
“It’s just... something really bad is going to happen in three days. A friend of mine might get hurt. Dabi’s taught me to evade and think but he’s never taught me how to fight. Physically fight– or protect.” Izuku green eyes stare into Magne’s imploringly, catching the sight of his own reflection in the black lenses of her sunglasses.
“This isn’t a fight I want to run away from. Please, Big Sis.”
Because what if Yagi-san can’t run away? He can wave around a knife all he wanted, but after seeing the way people like Toga Himiko moved around, Izuku knew he was outmatched. He wasn’t just going to rely on underhanded tricks and illegal explosives to get by. He only had three days to learn. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing.
He wasn’t too built– jumping in to help move suspiciously heavy boxes for vendors only got you so far– but he could at least learn to defend himself. To defend a student.
Magne whistles, bringing her hands up to squeeze Izuku baby face. He knows it’s futile to resist as she pulls a freckled cheeks. “Look at you, making your own decisions! It’s like watching a baby learn to walk.” She looked like she was about to jump out of her stool in excitement, fidgeting back and forth. “Oh, wait! I’ve got the perfect gift to celebrate the occasion.” Magne hops off her seat, turning on her heel and shifting through her bag.
“You got some sort of power quirk, kid?” Muscular has all but turned around now, narrowing a mean side-eye at Izuku.
Izuku stares blankly back. The blond was terrifying, but there’s no way Izuku would just tell him his quirk– especially since Muscular didn’t like him. And maybe it was a bit childish, but just because they were both under the law— it didn’t mean he had to be buddy-buddy with him. He holds his stony silence.
Muscular’s lip curls to a snarl, his nails digging into his palm. It looked like it was taking him every ounce of his self control to not strangle the life out of Izuku. “Oi, keep up that attitude and I’ll give you a firsthand lesson on what a real punch feels like, you damn brat–!”
“Happy thoughts, Mr. Carnal Murder Man! Keep the peace~” Magne sing-songs, strolling back over to Izuku. She’s concealing an item in her hands, wrapped in a small white handkerchief peeking out from her palms.
“I used these back before Yoru was nice enough to put together my big ol’ magnet. They were a little small on me– which means that they should be just a teeny bit loose for you.” She winks, lips pursing together in a giggle. “Now, open your hands.”
Izuku does as he’s told, holding out his scarred fingers in earnest. Magne gently hands him the weapon, which is much heavier than he expected. He staggers from the sudden weight, earning a snort from the larger woman, and runs his thumb along the cloth. He can feel the edge of a blade inside.
Magne stands back up to full height, and even with Izuku sitting she towers over him. She was intimating, powerful, and experienced– just about everything Izuku wasn’t.
“I’m not like Dabi, I know better than to stop a kid from knocking heads when he needs to.” Magne says. “But promise me you won’t cause too much trouble, okay? Don’t be like your Big Sis— your heart’s too big to burden the work we do here.”
~
The image of the dark figure on the screen disappears in a flash. Tsukauchi is left staring at his own reflection on the glassy surface, remote pointed to the television in a tight grip.
It’s been nearly a full year for him. One year of radio static silence on the Pro Hero Serial Murders. He’s been pushed and pulled at every front for answers, trapped in a limbo of incidents and damage control. Of police cars showing up to the crime scene just a moment too late and delivering apologies to newly widowed spouses.
Tsukauchi was a man who took pride in his profession as a detective, but even this fruitless search in the dark has threatened to break him. It wore him down and jaded him.
So the call was a sudden detour in this vicious cycle he’s grown accustomed to. An urgent phone call had interrupted his breakfast, nauseatingly turning his morning over on its head. It had only taken the words “threat” and “UA” for him to abandon the incident reports he had been looking over and the third cup of coffee he had been drinking.
Tsukauchi reclines back in his computer chair, exhaling heavily. That video– he had watched it over and over again, practically worn out the rewind button on his godforsaken remote.
An unknown figure had managed to evade every one of the cameras outside of the local precinct, as if it were child’s play, and drop the video in Tsukauchi’s lap on a silver platter.
The language that the illusive man used was charged and accusatory, feeling as though the man had grabbed Tsukauchi by the collar and spat the words in his face.
Your personal biases and blind trust in every hero stops you from seeing them as people who are equally capable of corruption.
It was a thinly veiled threat. And this, now this was different. This was the language of a man who wanted to make some sort of radical statement. Maybe one who’d go so far as to commit murder to put heroes in a bad light.
Tsukauchi reaches over to hold the aged camcorder in his hand. He’s inspected it over and over again since he had sat down, trained eye taking note of every detail on the device.
A threat on UA with any substance was unheard of in his line of work. He would thoroughly investigate this, sure, but it gave him no justification to induce a massive panic on the school.
He reads the freshly scribbled name along the camera’s side. At the least, if anything were to happen...
He knows who would have to answer for it.
~
Aizawa Shouta ran a calloused hand over his face, sighing heavily. He holds a black coffee in the other hand, eye’s scanning over the sea of classroom chairs and chattery students.
The attendance list on his desk is redundant, because he’s long memorized the names of each of his students– in addition to putting a face to every brightly-colored costume in the crowd. Aizawa’s come to know ugly loud hues and tacky designs as the trademark of any first-years’ design. They’ll surely grow to refine them later on in their education.
Class 1-A– you’d have to drag it out of him to say aloud, but he was quite fond of his class this year. Hisashi had called him soft after he admitted the fact, practically cackling his ear off in the teacher’s lounge during their lunch breaks. Aizawa had given a gruff retort at the time, but Present Mic and Midnight had both verbally agreed.
Class 1-A this year had their own special magnetism, optimistic as many fresh-out-of-middle-schoolers would be, but with a class dynamic that was lively and spurred competition. They were energetic but just needed to be pushed in the right direction.
He was intrigued to see what they’d all grow into. And maybe he was a bit biased– but he was very determined to see Shinsou’s growth through to the end. It would be his first time personally training a student, after all.
His phone suddenly vibrates in his back pocket.
“Hello?” Aizawa answers, exasperated. There’s only two people on his contacts that would call, knowing that he’s at work.
“...Aizawa.” The voice on the other end greets warmly.
“All Might?” Aizawa’s eyes flicker to the time on his wrist. He narrows his eyes, turning away from his very rowdy and nosy class. “If you’re calling about your impromptu absence– Thirteen already filled me in about your predicament.”
“Erm... about that,” Toshinori says, “I will be present for today’s training session.”
“Hm?” It wouldn’t be the first time All Might had met the students in his depleted form, but there was no use in that. Aizawa’s patience is already wearing thin.
“I will actually be arriving with company.”
“Company? Like an official?” He wouldn’t be surprised– it seemed as though the Commission had been constantly on his ass lately, asking about this year’s new students. It made sense that they were more on edge, with UA being smack in the middle of a hotspot for civilian disappearances.
What a time his students were growing up in.
“No, no bureaucrats. It’s– it’s Hisashi. See, I’ve already verified it with Nezu, and...” Toshinori begins his winded explanation, but Aizawa cuts him off.
“Wait— the kid from the bento store?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning against the desk. Aizawa knew Toshinori was soft, had known since he’d seen the man sulk at the premise that one of his students might not like him, but seriously? “Why am I just hearing this from you now?” He demands.
Toshinori chuckles. “I wasn’t certain if he’d even want to visit at first, but he seemed very happy to take up my offer! I believe I’ve mentioned before that he has quite a detailed eye for hero work.”
“Yes. You have, many times.” Aizawa says.
Toshinori’s life outside of hero work was an aspect Aizawa was very indifferent to hear about, but the sudden presence of Hisashi in Toshinori’s vocabulary was something that did not go unnoticed.
Especially since it seemed like Hisashi had been indirectly helping Toshinori with his... teaching issue. It made sense that All Might wasn’t the best teacher– not only did he lack the proper experience, but Aizawa was certain that the man had used more brute force than self-reflection to climb to the number one spot. That wasn’t going to translate well with instruction.
This was the same guy who had nearly let Bakugou Katsuki blow up an entire building during his Battle Trial lesson. It had been a flawless victory, but would it kill All Might to try and preach the importance of self-restraint?
And it seemed that the kid– because Hisashi had to be a kid, Aizawa had graded enough papers in his career to recognize awful teenager handwriting– was an endless stream of new lesson ideas and teaching outlines. Toshinori’s teaching agenda was practically stuffed with green post-it notes, scribbles of advice and brainstorming for team-combo moves. Aizawa had seen the array of ideas in passing, and although some ideas were amateurish and betrayed Hisashi’s age– other ideas were actually very thoughtful and introspective. He was almost impressed.
“I called Thirteen to let her know before. It’ll just be to spectate, Aizawa. And then I could introduce him to the class.” God, Aizawa can see it now, the massive smile Toshinori surely has on his face.
“That sounds like it could be a distraction.”
“Introduce him after the lesson– and just for a small amount of time! It won’t be a hindrance.”
Aizawa closes his eyes and sighs. “...You’re really looking out for this kid, huh?”
Toshnori chuckles, voice staticy through Aizawa’s cell.
“I suppose I am. He has the potential to be great– I just want to give him the opportunity and push him in the right path. I believe I’ve heard you say the same about a certain young Shinsou.”
Aizawa doesn’t bother responding, which only makes Toshinori laugh harder. “Although, it can be said for all of our students, I suppose! They’re a good group of kids, aren’t they? Every single one of them.”
They are. “...So he’ll just be watching then?”
“Hisashi is polite.” Toshinori says. “He wouldn’t interrupt Thirteen’s instruction.”
That’s all Aizawa needs to hear. “As long as you keep him in line. Just make sure you call me before heading over.” He says, having long taken the phone off his ear. He hangs up.
~
He’s here. He’s really here.
Izuku presses his hands on Toshinori’s office window, green eyes greedily taking in the sight that is UA High’s campus. It’s massive, as amazing as he imagined it to be, with different structures littered across the stretch of land. Toshinori’s office was on one of the higher floors of UA’s main building, high enough that he could even pinpoint the dome of USJ in the distance. The glass building he stood in reached upwards, as if to uphold the brilliant azure sky of the perfect day.
Living in the underground tunnels of Yoru desensitized him. “Fixer” flourished in the hideaway of shadows and artificial light, learned to survive in an epicenter of criminal activity. In the underbelly of the city, Izuku was unconditionally accepted and he gladly welcomed that quiet warmth of safety. He had taken the daytime for granted, always moving forward with his head down and his line of sight to his red shoes.
So to Yoru’s small blue flame UA High was the burning sun, dazzling and far too bright to look at directly. From the polished brick entryway to the pristine glass building showcasing the distant trees, Izuku was constantly reminded of UA’s place as the best hero school in the country.
Atop the forest overlooking Musutafu, UA seemed like the pinnacle of the world. Once the pinnacle of his world, when Izuku had once imagined himself in this very exact spot as a hero student.
The dark bags under his eyes were the only indicator of his bubbling stress as Izuku turned to face Toshinori, disturbing the transparent lanyard around his neck that was simply labelled “Hisashi.”
He wasn’t dumb. He knew that Toshinori, with the bleeding heart the older man seemed to carry, pitied him. He had once taken advantage of that even, drawn to him like a stray dog would to the hand that feeds it. Toshinori seemed to have no shortage of money to buy Izuku lunch, and in return Izuku kept coming back, convinced that the teacher enjoyed the company.
In time, Izuku had even begun to open up about his own life to Toshinori (although he omitted anything... incriminating). Izuku best processed his thoughts aloud, to the absolute disdain of anyone around him. In a way, Toshinori helped him organize his musings, Izuku’s chatter about current events easily mistaken for a fanboy fixation.
By the rate of Toshinori’s blood-coughing episodes, Izuku saw no harm in checking on the man’s deteriorating health. Toshinori had offhandedly mentioned that he’d forget to eat due to his condition, and ever since Izuku made it his mission to never stop bothering him to eat.
At that point he didn’t know who was helping who.
Izuku had walked alongside Toshinori in the hallways of UA with the name tag carrying his biological father’s namesake and wondered what Toshinori exactly was to him.
A good man? A person who could be in danger? It didn’t really matter if he couldn’t put a name to it.
Izuku moves away from the window, face creasing in worry as he watches Toshinori place his cellphone on his desk for a second time.
The League’s messenger had said they were attacking a training facility, not the school. They were surely safe here, but even so...
“Is Eraserhead still not picking up his phone?” Izuku asks.
Toshinori shakes his head. Izuku’s gaze hardens, but he forces himself calm, mutely sitting on the chair across from Toshinori. He places his overstuffed satchel on his lap, straightening himself in his seat. The unknown contents inside– it was the best he could scramble together in a few days.
“He may be busy.” Toshinori says. “Although it’s unlike him to not respond, especially since Thirteen should be mainly leading the exercise.” The older man deflates a bit, which immediately fills Izuku with a pang of guilt. “I apologize young man– we may need to wait.”
“Ah, there’s no need for apologies, Yagi-san!” Izuku sputters as he raises his hands, white bandages tightly wound at his forearms. The self-inflicted scars that chased up his arms were now numerous enough to raise eyebrows. Although no one could possibly know why there were so many, Izuku would rather have no one see them.
“If anything, this was really more than I could ask for.” He adds sheepishly.
It’s easy to fall into a more carefree persona when he’s spending time with Toshinori. Izuku beams his most reassuring smile. “I’m really grateful that you even thought to bring me here in the first place. Like– I’d never seen a library as big as UA's before.” The green-haired boy gestures widely. “If we just stayed here instead of going to USJ, I’d still consider today a great day.”
Izuku holds his toothy grin, not daring to falter. Buy the lie, Yagi-san.
Toshinori returns his stare, and Izuku swears that Toshinori can see right through him. Like he was going to shoot up from behind his desk and call Izuku out on his lie. Tell him that he had known there was something off with Izuku all along. That Izuku was an awful person with an ugly quirk and that it was a mistake giving a raggedy, homeless kid like him the time of day. That he should be locked up. Or maybe he’s overthinking.
He thinks he might start hyperventilating if the silence dragged on any longer.
Toshinori doesn’t say any of those things. “... I’m sure Eraserhead will call back soon, so hopefully it won’t come to that.” he says. “I know meeting new people might be a bit hard, but I insist– everyone at USJ is a great person.”
So Toshinori thought he was being avoidant because Izuku was shy. Damn it.
“Thirteen is a great instructor. I couldn’t think of a better teacher to guide through a rescue lesson. Her quirk is quite something to behold in person, too.”
Izuku had read up on Thirteen inside and out. A pristine record with a limited villain contact, seeing as she specialized in rescue. A quirk perfect for atomically dissolving the falling debris of a building in an instant or shutting down nearly any natural disaster.
Somewhere in a notebook deep underground, the name Thirteen in bold is crossed off on a list of suspects. The chance of her being the traitor: Unlikely.
The information comes to Izuku easily. “Black Hole, right? To be able to use such a volatile quirk for support– it shows how masterful she is over it to maneuver it for rescue.” He says, and truly means it.
“Of course you’d say that, fanboy that you are.” Toshinori laughs. “Try not to barrage Thirteen for her autograph the moment we get there. Or burst into tears.”
“In my defense, I’m sure there are many die-hard fans who’d bawl their eyes out if they got a great rescue hero’s autograph too.” Izuku says, no bite behind his words.
“Exactly. That’s just your kind of crowd. I can handle it just fine, but I’m not sure how Thirteen would handle your crybaby antics”
“Thirteen deserves all the praise she can get.” Izuku huffs. “If the way I show praise is by tearing up a bit, then so be it. I think rescue is just about the most heroic thing you can do.”
Rescue was what had captivated him. Izuku still remembers the old videos of All Might he used to watch as a child, grinning ear to ear. He was sure he had driven his poor mother insane then, small and insistent on watching the same videos over and over again.
Izuku had been absolutely enthralled. He had watched All Might save the injured from the ruin like some sort of otherworldly Olympian hero forged from rubble and destruction. A pillar of hope rising from adversity with his head held high and a smile on his face.
That’s what had captivated him about heroes.
“I’d have to disagree.” Toshinori says, to Izuku’s surprise. “Don’t get me wrong, Thirteen is a wonderful rescue hero. But the obstacles she had to overcome to master her quirk, that expertise wasn’t cultivated on its own.”
Toshinori continues at Izuku’s blank expression.
“Hisashi, do you know why I brought you here today? To watch Class 1-A at USJ?”
“Because I’m a stellar conversationalist over katsudon?” Izuku jokes, not quite understanding what Toshinori is getting at. What could he possibly see in Izuku that would make him worthy enough to drag out here?
“As good as that answer is, not just that.” Toshinori snorts. He brings up a boney finger to tap at the side of his forehead. “It’s because of your brain. You’re crafty, and have a keen eye for details that easily go missed.”
He leans forward, eyes agleam with a feeling Izuku couldn’t quite recognize. “You have a great grasp of understanding quirks, and push those limits by thinking of ways they can be utilized in unpredictable environments. I’ve never seen someone who’s so young and knowledgeable about hero news. Behind the growth of every great pro hero is a masterful instructor and organizer.” Toshinori says. “I see real potential in you, young man. I think what you are missing is opportunity. An opportunity to cultivate that talent into a way to help aspiring heroes.”
Izuku blinks up at Toshinori, completely dumbfounded.
Toshinori... didn’t pity him. Maybe he did before, but this wasn’t some ploy to parade a homeless child around UA like some sort of charity case. Toshinori respected Izuku. Saw him worthy enough to keep around, to bring him to arguably the most expensive place he’d ever stepped foot on, and introduce him to his class.
“You think too highly of me, Yagi-san.” Izuku chooses to say. You don’t know anything about what I’ve done.
His bandaged hands hold tightly at the strap of his stachel, the hidden contents of the bag suddenly weighing heavy on his shoulders. Toshinori had opened his arms to Izuku without even knowing who he was. And god, Toshinori couldn’t be anymore wrong about him. He wasn’t worth the kindhearted man’s acknowledgement.
“Not at all.” says Toshinori. “The “you” walking beside me now, has shown me that you’re a good person with a big heart. Your place may not be at UA, but you possess qualities that would make you a great fit for a job in administrative work, done behind the scenes. Have you ever heard of the Hero Public Safety Commission?”
Oh.
He has. He’s spent the past year scrutinizing, absolutely loathing the Hero Commission for the dirt he had managed to scour. Reckless destruction of neighborhoods amidst squabbles. A council with the power to sweep the crimes of corrupt heroes under the rug, who have allowed the UA traitor to even exist.
They’d never entertain the thought of a traitor within the hero ranks. “I think I’ve heard of them.” He mumbles out.
A job where he’d have to passively sit on the sidelines, put on a blindfold, and pretend that something wasn’t wrong. It was an insult to tell him he belonged there. Izuku lets out a forlorn laugh. “I-I don’t think that’s an option for me, even if I wanted to.” He says, voice small.
Toshinori shakes his head, and Izuku can’t fault him. Yagi-san doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.
“Hisashi.” Izuku shifts in his seat uncomfortably. That’s not even his real name.
“You underestimate yourself– you’re a very bright kid. You’re perceptive and kind, but always walk around like you’re carrying some sort of invisible weight on your shoulders.” The words are genuine and firm in their resolve. What gave him away? Izuku’s jaw tenses.
“I don’t know what burden you’re bearing, whether it’s internalized or particular to your home situation.” Toshinori rests his elbows on the desk, leaning forward. He’s completely serious. Izuku suddenly understands what UA saw in Toshinori as a teacher, so reassuring and firm in his words all at once. “You don’t even feel safe enough entrusting me with your full name.”
Izuku clamps his mouth shut. Lie after lie piling onto each other. He feels like he’s being cornered. His hand finds its way into his unruly curls, not quite able to look Toshinori in the eye. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Yagi-san.” He couldn’t do anything but apologize.
He had trusted Toshinori, but how could he expect Toshinori to trust him when he didn’t even know his name? Shame burned bright in his stomach. He always knew that there was a risk, always knew that there’d be a point where Toshinori would get impatient and start asking the hard questions.
Because what else could he really say? Izuku had acted on impulse, said yes to Toshinori’s invite only because he didn’t trust anyone but himself to protect him. And wasn’t that a stupid sentiment in itself? Izuku’s jaw clenches, and he stares at the ground. At the tiled floor of a school he didn’t belong in. Anywhere but towards the man trying to stifle a cough across from him.
He just wanted to hold onto this shred of normalcy just a bit longer.
“I never wanted to prod you or pressure you into telling me if there’s anything wrong.” Toshinori pulls back, and the walls of the office suffocating Izuku barely relent. Izuku knows he’s trying to conceal it, but he doesn’t miss the specks of blood that cling to Toshinori’s mouth, or the smell of iron permeating the air to add to his nausea.
“If you don’t want to talk, I understand. But if your situation is truly compromising, know that I am here as a person you can confide in and trust.”
Izuku stands up abruptly, his chair squeaking as it’s forcibly dragged against the floor. A small part of him, self-loathing and disappointed, laughs at himself from running away yet again. He just wanted to be anywhere from here.
“You’re bleeding again. I’ll– I'll go get you some water.”
Toshinori sighs, chair creaking as he leans back into the plush leather. Maybe he’s disappointed in Izuku too. “Ah, of course. I’ll be here.”
The green-haired boy doesn’t waste time shuffling out of the room, closing the door behind him with a resounding slam. He leans his back against it, scalp digging into the grooves of the wood and groans.
The hallway is empty– it seemed like this floor held only empty conference rooms and teachers’ offices. From the staircase in the distance, he can hear the quiet chatter of students. He was completely alone.
Good. He’ll sulk here all by himself, damn it.
He’ll just have to get through the day. Just... get through today, make sure Toshinori’s safe, and then just disappear from his life completely. Simple. Like he had done with everyone else. It would be easy, so easy to be untraceable once more, but why did he feel so bad about it? It was selfish.
Izuku closes his eyes, tries to take back control of his shuttering heart and burning lungs, and takes a deep breath.
He immediately gags at the stench of blood that reaches the roof of his mouth, potent and fresh and utterly overwhelming. Izuku’s eyes fly open in a frantic haste. They were inside UA. They were supposed to be safe.
Izuku is suddenly yanked off the door, yelping as a hand digs itself into the back of his head and forcibly presses him against the wall. His head makes a resounding bang against the hard surface, briefly dazing him. Had someone seriously been waiting outside? Why didn’t he sense anyone?
The attacker makes a grab for Izuku’s hands, as though to incapacitate him and pin them against his back, but Izuku throws him off, digging his elbow into the man’s side. He pivots in a daze of confusion and fear and anger, punching his attacker square in the chin.
Magne would be proud.
The villain’s hand catches nothing but the bandages of Izuku’s right arm, cloth unraveling from the scars littering his forearm. Clad in a black and grey jumpsuit, the man stumbles back, raising a gloved hand to hold his jaw. Bottles line his belt, glass stained red as the man pulls himself together.
“Ouch, that hurt–! What a weak lovetap!” The villain sneers.
Izuku ignores him, raising his arms up defensively. He stands besides Toshinori’s office. There was no way this villain was getting past this door. “Who are you?!” He demands.
“Who am I? I’m me, always have been and always will be– no I’m not!” The man raises both hands to his face, curling his fingers over his eyes as though he were trying to mimic wearing glasses. “My only question is do I know you? I feel like I have a picture of you in my head.”
Izuku swears he can hear shuffling from inside Toshinori’s office, a bead of sweat trickling down to his eyebrow.
“Oh, I know! Not ringing any bells.” The villain snaps his fingers, pointing at Izuku. “You’re the guy Toga-chan was talking about! The one with the wild green hair, scars, freckles, and alleged manic bloodlust– still on the fence about that last one. Is that why you noticed me earlier than I thought you would? Did you whiff me out like some kind of dog?”
The door besides him creeks open, and Izuku twists his eyes closed, voice pitching to a yell. “Stay behind me, Yagi-san!”
The villain puffs out his chest, the grey “T” on his chest ever more prominent. He gives a mock salute. “Sorry, I’m gonna have to take some blood samples from you and your old friend in there, duty calls!”
Like hell he was. Izuku curls his hands into fists, positioning himself closer to the office. No more with the secrets. He raises his hand to his mouth, ready to draw blood by biting if he had to, before his breath is abruptly snatched away.
It’s like a tornado suddenly rips through the hallway, billowing and tossing Izuku aside like a ragdoll. His eye can barely catch the movement of an all-too-familiar yellow suit, far more muscled and intimidating than he remembered. Toshinori’s fist collides with the villain’s face and sends him flying, skidding down the hallway like some sort of gruesome skipping stone in a pond. The only reason why Izuku doesn’t fly away is because the man’s holding tight onto his bare arm as he’s thrown acast.
The fight’s over before it’s even begun, but Izuku is winded, absolutely lost as he manages to find his own two feet once again in Toshinori’s shadow. He can’t seem to remember how to breathe.
Because standing before him, shining and gallant, still smelling of iron, is the man he had eaten lunch with for the past few months. The man who had made Izuku laugh over cheap katsudon and was the best listener he had ever known.
All Might.