Chapter Text
First day of school. He’s had his clothes pressed and carefully ironed for it, he even bought a new tie for the occasion (a long and wide one, with yellow spots). It’s not like he didn’t have an entire closet filled with luxurious and ridiculous suits that he’s worn maybe once in his entire career. They just pile up. He did think about getting a new one for this, just in case it’ll help his image at the school. But then he remembered he’s All Might, he doesn’t have to worry about his image because his name is all people’ll ever see, no matter what he does or what he wears. And wearing slightly different clothes today is just a way to not get stopped on his way to work. His job is done, anyway, now he’s just there to collect the paycheck at the end of the month and sheepishly go back home to the mountains of clothes that don’t fit after his three hours are up.
And the fact that people, albeit just a small section of the UA staff, know now makes him even more nervous about something most people just take for granted about him. But what if they don’t like him? Not everybody likes All Might, right? The more people praise you, the more sure you gotta be there’s someone out there who hates your guts and the guts of everybody who supports you as blindly as people support Toshinori. And, statistically, there’ll surely be someone like that at the school, because the world is his stage and everywhere he goes there’s a member of the audience who doesn’t clap. The lack of applause is thunderous to a man who’s used to standing ovations and now basically exists in the dread of waiting them to run out.
This is it, though. When he opens that door, barely lit in the scant luminescence coming through the blue curtains, it’s a done deal. Even a done-er deal than signing the papers with the principal and buying a fancy pen to grade in. He wonders how long that’ll last him, and if he’s supposed to write long notes at the margins of homework or just say a general thing (‘very well done’, ‘lacks vision’, ‘????’) like his teachers had done back in the day.
The door stares back at him, almost asking him if he’s forgetting anything. It’s a gentle call to reason before he abandons it for a chimera, a last chance.
But in the end he shakes his head, takes his pre-packed messenger bag into his huge hands, checks that he’s put his phone and food in there for later, and pats it cheerfully now that he’s reassured it’s all inside. Then he just grabs his keys, closes his fist against the cool metal till it digs onto his palm.
One deep breath, Toshinori, he tells himself. Just one deep breath and he should go. He’s the greatest hero in the world, he will not think about this until he’s doing it. No, sir. It’s just a job, just a way to ensure his power doesn’t leak out of him. He doesn’t even have to do it well… just… do it, and be a good man, help whomever he can and let others help him if they can.
He thinks about it on the subway ride to the school. Crossing a town in the morning, right when the sun isn’t even fully awake yet, should be something of a crime. Lately, Toshinori tires more often, needs to sleep more hours and do things more slowly so he can go all out when he dons his hero costume and combs his bangs upward. Then he crawls back to his den and tries not to hate himself for not being at his best. For never being at his best, for just being able to give the world crumbs of what he used to. For fading. For crumbling.
It is a long subway ride. But the last few stops are out in the open instead of underneath the rumble of dirt and pipes, so at least he can distract himself with the landscape. The skilled artistry of nature with a brush; white, green and blue spots of color in a canvas of houses and tall trees with leaves that rustle in the breeze like ancient music that still sounds enticing after the earth has grown older, a new cycle of life. Spring is everywhere. Spring is the beginning of everything, the rebirth, a thawing. Maybe this hasn’t been such a terrible idea, after all. There’s always something to find in beginnings, even if it’s just a pinch of something nice in a fresh-water lake of obstacles that Toshinori’s legs are no longer fit to jump over.
He leaves the packed train, noticing the many (many) curious glances his way, which is what happens when you’re over 7 feet tall and look like All Might in glasses (or are All Might in glasses). It’s a silly disguise, but it works fine. All he’s had to do is wear the glasses, a tie that’s more horrible than anything else he ever wears, and hunch when he walks. Clark Kent sure knew his shit…
Nobody will ever bother him like this, in this spirit and in these clothes. All Might doesn’t join the commonwealth in the ordinariness of life. All Might hops over each and every one of the people he aims to protect, chin held high. Toshinori knows all too well how not to be the only person he’s ever really been any good at playing. It’s a matter of being who he is, who he’s always been underneath the blinding grin and all that muscle, while wearing the other body. The body they praise.
The stairs outside the station are the last step towards UA’s magnificent campus. Toshinori is quite sure Superman never had to climb up stairs, he’d just fly to the top. And these are… quite a lot of stairs. He waits till everybody’s already started going up, slowly, and begins his ascent towards the white clouds above the hill as well. He glances down at his watch. He won’t be expected to arrive for quite a while, so it doesn’t worry him too much how long this takes. Walks are always nice, if a bit tedious. At over forty years old, Toshinori should be at his prime—subtract a lung and parts of his stomach and his ribs, subtract his three-hour endurance, you’re left with a man with the physical prowess of an elderly person and an iron will that will lead him to run marathons anyway. Five years ago, when he first woke up without feeling like he had Atlas’ entire world sitting on his remaining ribs, the doctors had explained to him, how feeble he’d feel in comparison. How small. How old.
So now he watches the elderly climbing up those stairs and can’t help but compare himself to them. They’re the eternal vine that slithers up a concrete wall, without a care in the world nor anxiety to reach the top and call it theirs, digging their personal flags onto the ground. They’re patient. That’s why Toshinori likes to pay attention to them, the people around him have always said he lacked patience and was constantly spilling with impulsivity. If he must feel old, then he also wants some of the advantages that come with age.
Legs burning with tension and his chest constricted, still trying to breathe in more air than he physically can, Toshinori finally gets to the top and stops at the side of the stairs to catch his breath again. He bends a little at the handrail, panting, and looks down at the town that is still in the process of waking up after a long night, all the people getting up and going to work, embracing the new day. It’s a beautiful place, he really couldn’t imagine a more perfect setting for his school. All his memories betray him, since they’re over twenty-years-old, but the basics remain: the breeze that blows in this part of Japan has no worthy opponent anywhere else in the world. One single inhale can leave you feeling blessed for a few minutes.
And this very ascent… how many times has he made it in his youth? God, how swiftly he ran up the stairs back then. How swiftly he followed Gran Torino’s footsteps on the way up, hoping to one day get as fast. Nana had waited for them at the top, requiring just one bunny hop to get there. Toshinori had used to ogle at her as she did it, his mouth open wide in admiration, and muscles aching to get started so he could follow. Now, he just sighs looking at all he’s left behind, all those stone steps that time has torn little chunks of rock from, and wonders how on earth that very power he once longed for can now be fading away within him.
Toshinori stands straight again and starts walking at his own pace through the trees towards the entrance of the school. This, at least, looks the exact same way it used to, with perhaps an extra coat of paint and new species of trees growing in the little forest. He hasn’t been here in so long… he can’t believe it’s been decades. In his heart it still feels like it was yesterday. In his heart, he still feels like a fifteen-year-old child with an uncertain future awaiting him. He still feels like the child whose life got turned around after he left this school. All that he is, even after so long, has its roots in this place. Maybe it makes sense that the last of his mighty essence is to be passed on to another in this school as well.
Toshinori is suddenly startled by somebody mumbling angrily behind his back.
“…taking up all the fucking space…”
He gulps and represses the urge to turn around and see who it is, he doesn’t recognize the voice and is terrified to look and find someone probably with arms to match the weight in those words and a facial expression that would melt Toshinori’s resolve and slightly nice mood in an instant. He just tries to walk faster and to his right, leaving the rest of the sandy path free for whomever wants to pass him on the way to work.
The last thing Toshinori wants is to be in the way.
But soon enough the footsteps get closer again, as well as definitely louder, and Toshinori’s starting to sweat. He’s going to walk in on his first day with armpit stains and shortage of breath and unable to explain why he’s like this, because that would just be plain embarrassing. He has not planned to tell the very dramatic story of his life and quirk with tears in his eyes and shaking limbs.
So he puts an extra dose of superhuman strength on his thighs, refusing to let the other person be proven right via Toshinori’s defeat. He’s a hero, goddamn it, he can do this. He’s carried entire cities in his arms and shoulders, he’s punched villains onto concrete and saved the world on countless occasions just by standing somewhere tall with the sunset at his back and guffawing loudly. The heroes have praised him for years, the villains have feared him to unknown extents, even running away at direct confrontation. And the world is thankful.
Could Toshinori look the world in the eye and confess that he’s lost in a race? And a walking race, to add to his embarrassment.
He can already see the entrance door nearing, and looks at his watch. It’s almost time, but he’s almost there. Just a little longer, he tells himself. Just a few more yards. He has to make it, and he has to make it there first. Keep his pride, win.
Then, as white steam practically begins to pour out of his skin and he tries to repress it by clenching his teeth, a black shadow passes him like it was the easiest thing in the world. Toshinori can’t take a good look at him because he’s fast, but that scruffy face sure looks bothered by this petty walking fight that he’s effortlessly managed to win in the end. His black clothes and long disheveled hair look somewhat familiar to Toshinori, but he isn’t entirely sure why. He just hopes with all his might this uncomfortable situation won’t have a part two.
Tomorrow, Toshinori will just get up earlier and avoid this.
He can’t see this man again, face him, or even breathe his same air. Toshinori would die mortified, and that would be terrible for the world. All Might dead because he just stood in the way of another person. It would, unfortunately, make sense to him, but not to everybody who follows him blindly. All Might is meant to tremble before no one.
And this man in particular is a good forty centimeters shorter than Toshinori, and quite supple. Toshinori’s hand, no matter in which form he was, could hold both his arms with ease. Yes, definitely, it would make for awful reputation if this became known.
Toshinori cannot cross paths with him again.
With a sigh, he gets his ID from his messenger bag so the metal door will open for him, and crosses the threshold to UA, over two decades later. And too many a yard behind this strange black-clad man whose severe eyes Toshinori wants to never look into again.
“Welcome, welcome!” Nezu says in his shrill voice. Toshinori stands right by the door, hunching impossibly so everybody can see him without him having to actually get inside the lounge and be noticed. “Come in, we’ve been waiting for you.”
“H-have you?” he says, smiling awkwardly.
“My, of course!”
But it’s so… early, Toshinori thinks. Did all these people really come to work earlier just so they could… meet me? And ‘all those people’ are looking at him right now in various states of veneration. He’s done his research, mostly so he won’t mess anyone’s name up in his stay here, so he can tell right now who’s the most and least excited about his new job at UA.
Present Mic, perfectly distinguishable in his pointy leather clothes and his gelled hair, is practically levitating off his chair and smiling like he’d seen his favorite celebrity on a deserted aisle of a grocery store. Which, to be honest, kind of applies here too. The man sitting next to him, though… is the same man Toshinori has just dueled on the way here, and he is certainly on the opposite spectrum of delight as Present Mic.
Toshinori gulps audibly. He mouths the world ‘fuck’ but is too aware of where he is to actually say it out loud. He’s a fuck-up but not that big of a fuck-up.
“I’m so sorry,” he replies to Nezu instead, “I got impossibly detained.”
The man in black snorts—actually snorts. And it’s all Toshinori can do right now not to spin around on his heels and take off to never be seen again.
All Might has disappeared. Cause unknown. But Toshinori would know. And that cause would be: All Might ran into a person he was scared to see again and now can’t actually brave up to behaving like an adult and just swallowing his discomfort.
“Of course,” Nezu says, saving him from the embarrassment, completely oblivious to the situation. As it should be. No one needs to know. “Please have a seat!”
The principal points at the only empty chair around the round table aside from his own. Present Mic, Midnight, Vlad King, Cementoss, Thirteen, Sniper…, they’re all names Toshinori has heard and faces he recognizes. He’s even listened to Present Mic’s absurd but endearing radio shows some time. And, as it really could be no other way because lately if Toshinori wants quiet he’ll only be able to find it while asleep, the only stool that’s not occupied is the one next to … his walking-to-work enemy, hidden in a curtain of thick black hair.
This is just Toshinori’s luck. On his first day he’s already made an enemy without even exchanging a word with him or even really doing anything other than … being late to a friendly before-work gathering to make acquaintances of his colleagues. And of course he’s supposed to just sit next to him, smile, make small talk, and pray nobody has noticed how much he’s sweating and how much he wants to just start the day so it’ll finish sooner.
So Toshinori just walks in before he can think about it too much, trying very hard to keep his hands at either side of his body and not wiggling them together, and he musters all the poise he can when he finally sits down almost in slow motion.
“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters. He is definitely not channeling The Big Guy today, he’s back to being a skittish fifteen-year-old with self-esteem issues and the greatest quirk in the universe flowing secretly in his veins. In this case, flowing out. Permanently out. “I did not get your name.”
Shaking, he offers his ample hand to the stranger, as well as his best smile. But not one of those he flashes for the world to see and make something of, this is an honest smile. A hopeful one. A please-like-me smile.
“Nobody here gave you their name,” the stranger says slowly. Toshinori almost has to ask him to say it again. It was uttered slowly, yes, but barely above a whisper.
“Oh.” Toshinori licks his lips, looking away from the brown of those intense eyes like it’s a tsunami threatening to swallow his hometown. “I just… They’re well-known heroes, I didn’t have to ask.”
The man snorts again and looks away from Toshinori at his cup of dark coffee.
“And I’m not, right?” he mutters, probably not really meaning for Toshinori to hear. But Toshinori’s entire body listened to that, and his entire soul pours out of his mouth when he opens it to apologize.
“I’m sorry,” Toshinori says, “we haven’t exactly gotten off to a good start here, I’m really sorry. I did not mean to imply—”
Then Present Mic’s head pops up from behind the black-clad man and dazzles Toshinori with a grin and a casual wink.
“He’s an underground hero, he’s just playin’ you,” he tells Toshinori, laughing like it was the most amusing thing in the world. “His own mother wouldn’t know he’s a pro.”
The man turns to his left to, apparently, glare calmly at Present Mic, as if saying ‘my mother does actually know where I work’. They seem… close, Toshinori thinks. Colleagues at least, friends at best. Toshinori would need to be in their presence a little longer to complete his deductions. But in any case it’s the kind of relationship status he knows he’ll never achieve, not after how the morning began … and how it’s progressing.
“Ah,” he finally says, blinking, “I’m sorry, I—”
But he’s interrupted by Present Mic’s friend.
“Aizawa,” he says, sounding bored, without looking at Toshinori. “My name’s Aizawa.”