Chapter Text
“Midday”
by Nakahara Chūya
Early morning and Dazai and Chuuya had moved into their new home.
The penthouse that Mori had bought for them was nothing short of modern and top-quality, no expenses spared for their comfort despite the top floor apartment only being a temporary home for the two of them for, at best, a year- their set deadline for the mission, much to their shared anger and disgruntlement. The interior design was pleasing to the eye but just a bit too sleek for Chuuya's taste, whilst the abundance of windows were lovely but the overall white-and-bright color scheme hurt Dazai's sensitive vision.
A redecoration was in order as soon as they had time to go shopping for supplies, but for now, they were free to laze about for an entire weekend until it was time for the U.A. entrance exams- the practical of which Dazai happened to hear was biased towards powerful Quirks meant for destruction, making it difficult for kids with less flashy or indestructive Quirks to get in. Unfortunately, the recommendation exam for exceptional students with outstanding references was somewhat the same; it was a bit more receptive of less destructive Quirks, like mind manipulation or similar powers, but not by much, so it was out of the question.
It meant that while Chuuya would have a 50/50 chance with the written test, he would breeze through the normal practical one, and Dazai would have to come up with some sort of strategy to come out in the acceptance list.
Oh, the woe of a kid with no battle skills or talents whatsoever..
(Dazai shivered at the memories of the past few days of "training" with Chuuya- not even the training he received as a child was as bad as what his partner had been inflicting on him. No doubt, it was the redhead's revenge on him for mercilessly torturing him during their study sessions.)
It was exactly a day before the entrance exams that Dazai and Chuuya were lazing about in their penthouse, taking the opportunity to soak up their last sunlight as free men before they were forced to become normal students with government-fed propaganda in their brains, wearing restricting uniforms in an undoubtedly restrictive school. No golden high school years for them, no can do.
Chuuya was clinking about in the kitchen, bare to the living room so that anyone chilling on the couch could watch the cook like a live baking show, trying out some new daifuku recipe Kouyou had given him before their leave. Dazai didn't understand how the shortie could like cooking- it was so monotonous compared to their usual favored activities, not to mention domestic, and before, he could hardly imagine the hothead enjoying such a normal hobby, yet he was proven quite wrong (for once) when it was clear that Chuuya did, in fact, genuinely enjoy cooking and baking. Something about the monotony and simplicity of it all soothing the fiery blood in his veins and the voice of the god in his head, or whatever.
Dazai himself was refining his new hero support item, a handcrafted weapon made in the likeness of a sniper rifle, using an alloy steel and classic-shaped polymer for the stock and leather decorating the butt of the gun to avoid getting cuts from the amateur work of the rough metal handle. Honestly, he was kind of proud of it, having learned gunsmithing within two days and creating a gun within less than a week after he lazed around too much and forgot to make a support item that he would need if he wanted to pass the practical exam.
He was humming a nonsensical tune, one of those ear-grating pop songs you'd hear on the radio yet would get stuck in your head anyway, while Chuuya paused his mixing to pick up the remote to the speakers and turn on one of his slow rock songs, the kind of song you'd hear on the radio catered to old people, which Dazai always teased him about, for having such a fossil music taste. The morning sunlight filtered through the translucent curtains, making vague, leaf-shaped shadows on the pale walls, and he put down the weapon, closing his eye, letting the shadows of sunlight settle in his dark gaze in a pleasant way.
It was a new kind of comfortable silence between them, brand new yet already settling in like it belonged, and despite himself Dazai already missed it. He knew that these new moments would be their first and last, a kind of silence that was limited edition and had only a small chance of being brought back later on.
(Silently, and though he'd never admit it, he hoped that the small chance would prevail, and that they would one day experience more moments like these.
It was nice, for someone who'd lived in the dark all his life.)
The U.A. buildings were tall and imposing.
Created in a sleek, modern style (which, if you asked Chuuya, resembled a mental hospital rather too closely for his tastes, and he would have hated it even if he was a normal street rat not from Yokohama). It was so very clearly government-funded, and to a street kid, from Yokohama, no less?
It got on his every last nerve.
Storming through the gates in barely-suppressed irritation, he was sure that he was scaring off some poor kids with the dour scowl on his face, eyes blazing with some unspeakable hatred for the overly flashy school. From Dazai's briefing, the practical exam was packed full of giant robots that no doubt cost millions-probably billions-of yen, just to get destroyed in a bid for a spot to the school that wastes so much fucking money on machinery that wouldn't even compare to actual, real-life enemies, not to mention the clear lack of thought given to wannabe-enrollees who don't have destructive Quirks and would be forced to make up a plan on the spot to have a chance in passing.
How likely even was it that some enemy, Villain or otherwise, would show up to a battle with a giant destructive robot? Most opponents fought in person, these days. Chuuya couldn't see a drop of logic in their practical exam, and sure, he might not be the most logical person out there, but anyone with a braincell and a half could make the connection of robot equals unrealistic enemy equals people with actual potential doomed to fail, simply because their Quirk wasn't made for pure destruction.
Meanwhile, Dazai was off to the side, a hand raised over his eyes to block the sunlight reflecting off of the steel corners of the concrete buildings. In addition to looking and feeling like mental wards for the most despicable people on Earth, their objective seemed to include blinding their potential mental patients.
Blinking rapidly, glad he had the foresight to wear the thicker kind of bandages over his eye, Dazai glanced to his partner's direction, only for his subtle scowl to be replaced with an amused grin as he noticed all of the students making a path for the (un)fashionable storm that was the vessel of Arahabaki, literally jumping out of his way as the fuming redhead marched towards the front doors of the building they were instructed to go to.
Their cover was that they were homeschooled students- something that was technically correct, though the Port Mafia buildings were less of a home and more of a workplace that they, quite literally, lived in. Because of this, they didn't have to wear the uniforms of their old schools like the rest of the population, instead donning their normal attire.
That is to say, Dazai was wearing an oversized black coat over a long-sleeved formal shirt, dress pants and dress shoes, over his layers of bandages, under the sweltering early afternoon sun.
He surely regretted it, just a little bit, a small drop of sweat beading on his temple, not large enough to do anything but stay there, but Dazai was used to adjusting to whatever conditions wearing whatever clothing, and besides, the Yokohama slums were a lot warmer than the nature-surrounded school. (Which was another point against the school design’s favor; Dazai didn’t care much about design, but even he had to admit it was a rather disorienting choice to have a giant gray metal and concrete and glass building in a midst of lively green trees.)
As he walked leisurely at his own pace, not bothering to trail close after Chuuya, he observed the crowd of passing students in a lazy manner. All of them were eccentric in their own way- brightly colored hair, many with strange hairstyles easily attributed to the poor choices of a teenager trying to find their identity, brightly colored skin, horns and tails and wings and animal ears and black sclera mixed and matched amongst the uniform-wearing kids like an avatar dressup randomizer. It was quite interesting, to see so many Mutations around him.
It wasn't the first time he's seen a Mutation, what with his missions that take him out of Yokohama every now and then, but he couldn't quite remember if he'd ever seen said Mutations use their Quirks. Of course, most people wouldn't dare to attack the Port Mafia, but there were always a few bold ones who were silly (or desperate) enough to think they could stand a chance against even the grunts of the Port.
If he remembered correctly, many mutated people had Quirks that were completely unrelated to their mutations, but they could also have Quirks according to said mutations, such as the winged pro-hero Hawks, so it would be a lot more difficult guessing the Quirks of people with more obvious mutations.
He spotted a green-haired boy tripping over his own feet and being caught by a girl right before he hit the ground, using her gravity Quirk instead of her own physical strength, the fuzzy pink aura lifting the boy up with ease. Dazai kept walking, turning his head left and right to keep observing, and entered the building.
It was significantly cooler inside, well-aired, not cool enough that it could be considered cold to people with more sensitive skin, but not too little that it could be a bit warm for those with thicker skin. It wasn't that hard to find the auditorium, despite the crowd, and easy enough to slip through the throng of people to find a seat at the back. The auditorium was dark, only lit by the fluorescent white of large screens on the stages, which was annoying to his sensitive eyes, and Dazai immediately set about looking for his partner, gaze roaming around sharply until they found the familiar, old-fashioned fedora with red-orange hairs peeking out from beneath, three rows down from him.
A grin slowly spread on his face, and he raised his hand, preparing to call the boy loudly- "CHUU-"
"WHAT"S UP, U.A. CANDIDATES!!" A disconcertingly loud voice screamed. Dazai sat back against his chair in surprise, while many around him flinched. Immediately, the white screen turned into a uniform blue with the large, shining symbol of U.A. posted in the middle. "THANKS FOR TUNIN' IN TO ME, YOUR SCHOOL DJ!" The blonde man with the pompadour like the hair of the characters in Trolls screamed, spreading his arms out dramatically. "LET ME HEAR YOU GIVE ME A YEAHHHHHH!"
"YEAHHH!" Dazai cheered, gaining several stares as he was apparently the only one willing to play along with the pro-hero. One of those stares was Chuuya himself, staring up at Dazai with a mildly horrified look, his eye twitching. At this, Dazai simply pouted and leant back into his seat, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Before the exams even started and it was already shaping up that these people were no fun..
"THANKS FOR YOUR ENTHUSIASM, NUMBER 1948!" The blonde pro-hero screamed. Dazai could recognize him as one of the three heroes who had snuck into Yokohama a few weeks prior, though he looked a whole lot more different in costume- Present Mic, he recalled from the information that Mori had given them. It was likely the two heroes that had been with him in Yokohama were Midnight, and the underground hero Eraserhead, Dazai mused. According to the more detailed information he had ordered some of his men to gather on the staff of U.A., the three of them were close friends.
The pro-hero started to explain the practical exam, showing pictures of the robots that they'd be fighting as well as the point system. Dazai simply zoned out during the whole thing; after all, he'd already figured all of it out after he'd hacked into their system, and he didn't need to know any more. Villain Points for defeating robots in a controlled city landscape, Rescue Points for saving and helping other candidates, and a Zero Pointer that makes sure everyone gets at least a couple Rescue Points with how large and destructive the thing is.
Within a few minutes, Present Mic announced that they'd first have the written exam ("BECAUSE HOW ARE YOU GONNA ANSWER A TEST WHEN YOUR BRAIN IS MUSH!"), and ended his presentation.
Dazai stretched before he stood up. Time for the boring part of the entrance exams.
Chuuya stretched lightly towards the side of the crowd gathered at the gate of the examination site for their practical. The waiting was taking a bit of time, likely to make the candidates nervous on purpose, as he could already see a lot of agitated faces and fidgeting figures, so he was mostly stretching out of boredom and to get that post-test feeling out of his head.
He shuddered at the thought of the written exam; it was as hard as you'd expect for an elite school, especially to a teenager who'd never gone to school and only started private tutoring the year before, but he thinks he did pretty well in the languages and physics part of the test. As for mathematics, however...
Well, you can expect him to not become an engineer anytime soon.
Sighing, Chuuya began popping the joints of his fingers, still a little stiff from the tight grip on his pen just a few minutes earlier, mind wandering as more and more candidates got more and more nervous.
Dazai wasn't at the site, and Chuuya was relieved that he didn't have to take the exam with the brunette in the vicinity. Knowing that bastard, he'd find some way to make Chuuya mess up and lose his cool, and make it a possibility for him not to get into the school. Obviously, Dazai wouldn't endanger their mission in such a way on purpose, but whenever he pulled those tricks he always made sure that Chuuya had a small possibility of failing his task due to it. Small, but nonetheless there. And Chuuya was not a perfectionist, no matter what Ane-san or Dazai said, but he absolutely hated it when a new, unneeded factor that could have been avoided suddenly appeared, whether it was helpful or not.
In his thinking, he didn't notice the pro-hero teacher arrive at the site until she snapped her whip to gain the attention of the candidates. "Attention, everyone!" She hollered, one hand on a shapely hip. She was dressed rather... scantily, for someone working at a place full of kids. How was she allowed to wear that costume at school?
Chuuya squinted at her. She looked kind of familiar, but he couldn't quite recognize her. "The examination site will be opened to you in a minute's time. Remember, no fighting other candidates, that's an instant disqualification," she scanned her eyes over the crowd, momentarily landing on Chuuya. For a moment, she stopped, quick enough that someone who wasn't paying attention wouldn't notice, but he did. He narrowed his eyes, racking his brain for a different face...
"Watch out for the falling debris, since I know most of you aren't trained or you're just naturally reckless, but no matter what you do, be careful not to actively hit one of your fellow students." She stood straight, and nodded to a person no one could see. "And with that-" she snapped her whip once more, a smirk forming on her face. "PLUS ULTRA!"
"PLUS ULTRA!" The kids around him cheered. Suddenly, the gates swung open, making them all fall silent in surprise, but the pro-hero didn't say anything, simply standing there with her arms crossed. In the silent confusion, Chuuya shoved his hands in his pockets, and activated his Ability.
Within moments, he was flying across the city- all solid concrete and shining glass, perfectly clean and pristine. It looked like a normal city if not for the total emptiness.
Chuuya used the walls of buildings to jump higher, bouncing sideways, posture relaxed, as if he was just taking a walk in the park, and not manipulating gravity to do parkour on building blocks.
Eventually, his first adversary revealed itself- tall, slim and sharply-edged, military green and a flashing red eye on a blocky head. Victory. He recalled the name of the first-pointer.
Following right behind it was an Imperial, the crab-like two-pointer that curled around its teammate's legs. Looking at the sleek, shiny metal coats of the machinery, Chuuya let a feral grin overtake his face, the red aura surrounding him glowing all the more brightly, causing the concrete under his feet to crack.
"Heh. I'll make these government-funded scraps find sentience and catch a glimpse of hell!"
Dazai hummed as he walked through the destroyed streets of the city escape, hand curled around a device. It was small and shaped like a remote with a button, which when clicked would transform into the rifle he had painstakingly made by hand within the week. He hadn't encountered any robots to destroy yet; the other candidates had beat him to it, but he had already found a few unfortunate souls wounded and unable to run, so he had helped them purely out of the generosity in his large, golden heart, and not for the Rescue Points he knew he was racking up from having slung so many teenagers over his thin shoulders and helped to checkpoints.
As was obvious even with only a half a braincell, several of the candidates had flashy Quirks made purely for destruction, while the rest had varying kinds that ranged from being designed for strategy or helping others to being really, really outlandish. Seriously, he saw a guy who could turn his hands into dinner plates.
The sound of concrete breaking under the weight of pure metal distracted him from his thoughts, and Dazai glanced up to find a three-pointer, faced in a different direction and paying no mind to him. He smirked, pressing the button and casually holding the newly-transformed rifle in his arms.
He quickly spotted a piece of concrete that could be used as a ramp, swiiftly climbing it and hoisting himself up to the rooftop of a low-rise building with the help of the pipes that ran down the wall of it, settling himself in an optimal position and taking point.
The tank-like robot moved slowly enough, running over debris without a care as its tiny head swiveled from side to side, looking for a victim to try and crush. Dazai followed it with his eye, the sunlight glinting off the steel length of the rifle as he looked for a perfect opportunity to shoot it..
BANG!
A loud gunshot resounded in the area, and the three-pointer collapsed, its heavy body slowing its descent. The crash sent clouds of dust billowing in the air, and Dazai whistled, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "Hm, good." The rifle worked the same as any other rifle. Not that Dazai had any doubts in his own abilities, but you could never be too sure, especially in his line of work- no matter how genius he may be. (See, chibikko, he could be humble!)
Dazai began to leisurely hop from rooftop to rooftop. Thanks to Chuuya's (unfortunately helpful) horrible training sessions, Dazai had built up a bit more stamina over the past few weeks. It wasn't much, but it was quite helpful for the extra few seconds that he needed in many situations. He could tell the slug was not all that satisfied with "how little he learned" (his words, not Dazai's), but seemed to accept the fact that it was better that they had gotten some progress over nothing.
Not that Dazai would ever agree with him. No, he'd just keep on whining until Chuuya's ears exploded and the redhead tries to kill him using multiple methods in the span of a few minutes.
Smiling gleefully to himself, he hummed while taking down robots with increasingly quick snipes and shots.
Chuuya is sure he's amassed a lot of Villain Points by now.
He felt kind of bad, taking all the robots for himself while the poor hero wannabes struggle to keep up, when he doesn't even want to be a hero in the first place and isn't planning on staying in the hellhole any longer than a year. But Chuuya is mafia, and most importantly, he's a mafioso on a mission, so he shoved away those guilty thoughts and continues to smash the robots' heads in.
It's boringly easy; you'd think they'd at least make the enemies a lot stronger when they've already spent this much money, but then again, he's spotted kids with flashy Quirks that were designed for this kind of thing struggling against these enemies, so maybe it was simply because what was difficult to Quirk users was no match for Ability users.
Chuuya's not bragging or anything, but it's been totaled as a fact by now that he's one of the strongest Ability users in Yokohama. And he's pretty sure most of Japan's Ability users live in Yokohama, so that would make him one of the strongest Ability users in Japan period.
He used a broken-down car (very realistic, if he was an architect he'd be impressed by how real the apocalypse-ridden city look was) as a platform to jump up and throw a punch through the head of a two-pointer, landing smoothly on the rooftop of a different building.
“When’s this gonna end…”
The past… however long it’s been, have been nothing but a monotonous repetition of find a robot, tear apart the robot, go somewhere else to find a robot. Frankly, it was getting boring.
He knocked aside a piece of stray metal with his foot, scowling up at the too-blue sky. The fumes leaking from the destroyed robots stung his nose, adding to his irritation.
“This place is a fucking health hazard!”
With his complaint ringing in the air, a ginormous footstep shook the earth, the aftermath speeding through the area and tossing him into the air with a nasty vibration.
He activated his Ability just in time to stabilize, propelling himself high into the sky to get away from the danger of falling skyscrapers.
“…This is the fucking entrance exam,” he muttered disbelievingly, watching blobs of kids run desperately and fall pitifully through the streets and debris, like swarms of ants trying to escape a splash of water. “How hasn’t this school gotten investigated yet…?”
Sure, they were made to sign NDAs at registration, but this kind of scene just seemed fantastical. There’s no way the eager hero-wannabe kids knew the extent of bullshit they were going to be put through. There was no guarantee they would get in— especially for the kids with Quirks typically unsuited for modern Hero work— and yet they all signed up and tried it out anyway…
Why risk your life and get your dreams crushed when you could live a perfectly normal life as a carefree civilian? It wouldn’t be safe— no life is, not in this world, but you wouldn’t be knowingly putting yourself in danger all the time just for, what, fame? A fat bag of cash in exchange for peaceful days you willingly gave up and might never get back until retirement or until a fatal injury puts you out of the career?
Chuuya knew it wasn’t the case for every single kid that came in through these doors, he knew that, obviously, some had different reasons for pursuing this line of work other than an idolized image of Heroes and Villainy and kicking ass and getting paid and being loved and adored by the masses, some were desperate, some had a legacy, some had deeper reasons for wanting to help people. But he also knew that those normal kids were the majority.
”…I’ll never understand these people.”
Maybe it was best to keep his life in Yokohama. Despite being a man (teen) bound by duty against his will, he was also a privileged man (teen) who could go wherever he wanted for fun as long as he asked permission first.
The Ability-ignorant world is nothing but tourist spots. Ane-san would say. We might stay for a short while, but ultimately, it’s not a place, a culture, that we wish to live with for the rest of our lives.
This might be a mission, but ultimately, it was also…
”…A vacation.”
He stared into the distance, where the giant robot’s form swallowed the sky, dark metal shoulders seemingly at height with the clouds. From his place above the cityline, however, it was just another tall structure that would be brought to its knees and made debris.
“Hide yourself well,” he slowly began to repeat the instructions that Mori-san had given them before they left for their newly-built penthouse. “The mission is your priority. But you don’t have to take it too seriously, as long as you don’t mess it up.”
The robot loomed over tiny blobs of human beings, showing no mercy as it marched forward to an unknown destination. Perhaps, the name of its destination was destruction. Screams were drowned out by the deafening whirr of its machinery, its footsteps that shook the world.
“Just have fun.”
He moved from his position, flying over, gradually reaching the menace of metal and electricity. Below him, he could see clearer the faces of kids, trembling and streaked with dust and tears, unable to move. Weak at the knees.
“You’re stronger than them.”
It was just another scrap of metal.