Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shinsou doesn't need to reflect any further. He knows what he did was wrong.

But it doesn't stop Aizawa from rebuking him, and his half-hearted apology is ignored with a bored scowl. 

"I know you wanted to win. That's the whole point of the Sports Festival," Aizawa starts, hands behind his back and straggly black hair falling into his face. "But you can't let your ego blind you if you want to be a hero. Your power is incredible and a lot of heroes were interested in your potential. But I suspect the reason you received no nominations had to do with your complete disregard for the feelings of those you possessed. These weren't villains or petty common criminals: they were students, your peers. Using them and then insulting them afterward shows a lack of discipline and restraint, something that heroes cannot afford when civilian lives are at stake. Had you been apologetic and explained yourself, I doubt they would've held as much of a grudge. That's what a hero would have done." 

The last of his words sting and Shinsou swallows down a retort. He wants to point out the hot-headed idiot who won the damn thing was gagged and chained during the award ceremony. Frustrated tears had rimmed his eyes, threatening incomprehensible carnage because he couldn't ring the runner's up neck. He had received plenty of nominations, and he was callous and rude and barbarically arrogant.

That's what they deserve, is what he wants to shout, what he's believed since he entered this school. All talented and gifted, coupled with charming personalities and pretty faces (minus a few obvious exceptions). All on the path towards legacy and riches, towards dreams that continue to elude Shinsou's grasp. But he keeps silent; he knows Aizawa is right. If he wants to be a hero, he has to learn cooperation and discipline himself. If he uses his peers for his own gain, no hero will recruit him. And if he disregards their feelings, their very agency...

He'd be no better than a villain. 

That thought gnaws at his sides and festers in his throat, making it hard to breathe during his warm-up exercises. He is fortunate Aizawa sees promise in him and trains him after classes are over. They meet in a lesser-used gym, stocked with old training weights and worn bench presses. When Aizawa first approached him, he remarked on Shinsou's lack of strength and endurance, another reason nominations didn't flood his homeroom teacher's mailbox. 

"All you have is your quirk," Aizawa says as he hands him independent study forms requiring his parents' signatures. "Once you become a hero, villains will recognize you and take notice of how it works. If you can't trick them into answering your questions, you'll be stuck fighting them off. And if you can't throw a punch or land a kick, you're as good as dead."

Once Shinsou becomes a hero. 

That word sticks with him as he swings his tired muscles in Aizawa's direction, every move swiftly deflected or evaded. Shinsou spars with Aizawa once a week, to monitor his process, but he has yet to land a single punch on his agile teacher. His arms and legs beg for rest, skin numb against his gym uniform. Shinsou's sure he's ran farther and completed more push-ups this week than he has in the past year, and the intensity of his training weighs his body down like a rusty anchor. He doesn't stop, however, even as a sharp pinch burst through his thighs and he stumbles, giving Aizawa a clear opening. He uses it and slams his foot into Shinsou's waist, throwing him across the room until he lands flat on his back. The thick, blue folding mats cushion his fall, but his back still shudders at the impact, and his arms wobble as he tries to push himself up. 

"That's enough for today, Shinsou," Aizawa approaches him, arms crossed and looking as pleased as he can. He's not smiling, but his stare isn't apathetic either, something akin to approval swirling in his bloodshot eyes. Shinsou decides he should aim for that look after every training session. "You need rest. And I promised your parents I wouldn't send you to the hospital."

It's not a joke, but Shinsou still grins and lifts himself off the mat, his legs shaking and feet unsteady. Aizawa doesn't offer his help, and Shinsou wouldn't expect him to. Wouldn't want him to. "I suspect you are correct."

"Shower and head home before it gets dark," Aizawa replies. "And take tomorrow off. It'll be Friday, and you've made some decent improvements this week. Your body needs a breather. There's something else I want you to do for me instead."

Shinsou nods, "Okay. What do you want me to do?"

Aizawa doesn't hesitate, and his brows stitch together as he speaks, "A hero owns up to all of their mistakes. They apologize to children, to businesses, to government officials, and to their comrades. You made a mistake at the Sports Festival, and you need to take responsibility for it."

A sliver of agitation rolls up Shinsou's spine, his lungs hot. He wants to refuse Aizawa: he knows where this is headed, what he has to do to make amends. But if he refuses, Aizawa would undoubtedly put an end to their lessons. And that's something Shinsou cannot afford. Although sore, his body is stronger than it's ever been, arms and legs broadening, his back and waist exposing full muscles under his pale skin. If this ends now, Shinsou wouldn't have the resources or the permission to continue. 

So he remains silent and continues to listen to Aizawa, resisting the urge to scratch the back of his neck until blood stains his fingernails. Even if he doesn't want to apologize to those entitled hero brats (least of all to that blonde monkey), he has to. His future depends on it. 

"Do you understand?" Aizawa asks once he's finished, taking in Shinsou's clenched fists. 

"I have to explain myself and apologize to the people I brainwashed. That's what a hero would do. A hero is selfless and doesn't use their quirk for personal gain," Shinsou parrots, the words heavy against his tongue. A lump of something plops into the bottom of his stomach, and he's not sure if it's guilt, regret or anger. But it makes him nauseous and his next words almost wheeze, "If I ignore others' feelings and use my quirk in abandon, then I'm selfish and no better than the villains."

"Good," Aizawa turns his back and heads towards the exit. "Don't forget that."

The words stay with him as he walks home, his backpack draped over his left shoulder and his feet dragging against the concrete road. The sun is setting and the trees are glossed in its waning rays, the leaves golden and their barks deep tangerine. He's avoided riding his bike to and from school since the tournament. The last thing he wants to do after his training is sit his sore butt on a saddle and climb uphill. His occasional walks used to be livelier: his friends alongside him, lamenting the next exam or gossiping about the new girl their class president has a crush on. But since his training with Aizawa started, he's had few opportunities to socialize. Cramped stomachs, rigid bones, tired eyes... it's a wonder he can stay awake in class and chat at lunch, his chest squeezing and threatening a violent coughing fit if he starts to laugh. 

Shinsou would believe this a necessary sacrifice, seeing his friends less, working his body until his legs collapse from underneath him, but the hero class has their training implemented into their curriculum. Their gym time is daily and almost twice as long as the other classes. An hour of gym three times a week doesn't make Shinsou any stronger. It hardly makes him competent. 

His heart plummets and his chest caves in its absence, leaving him hollow and bitter. He remembers Aizawa explaining his tactics at the Sports Festival were ruthless and self-centered and he bites back a growl. Why should he have to apologize to them, to the students he used? If they were fooled by his unassuming voice and lax stature, they had no business being heroes. Just because they were strong and kind and -

Shinsou notices him walking away from the winner of the obstacle course, his smile sheepish and apologetic. The boy's arms appear toned and strong, perfect to carry him from behind. And his tail could prove useful for defense. He also doesn't seem to be aligned with anyone else at the moment, but Shinsou's opportunity will vanish if he continues to dawdle with indecision. And another face could deter others from walking away from him altogether. All he has to do is ask them a question, anyway. Then they'd be his to control. 

Still, he's nervous as he approaches the boy. Shinsou has yet to use his quirk on any of the hero class students. As he moves closer, the boy is looking to his other classmates, eyes jumping back and forth between two groups, deciding who might be the better team to join. He seems a little anxious, too. A little unsure. 

Not like he should worry. He's part of the precious Class A elite. Those students could do no wrong, could trample on the dreams of the rest of their peers without consequence. That other blonde had called him an extra, considered him insignificant. Shinsou's sure this blonde monkey thinks the same, with his impressive physique and massive tail. Just another student with an accessible, heroic quirk. Someone the world of heroes welcomes while Shinsou is flung aside, discarded. 

If the monkey's nervous, Shinsou doesn't care. That's something he can take advantage of. 

Shinsou speaks when he's less than ten feet away, and he's surprised by the blonde's average height. He looked taller from afar. "Your friend really did himself in. I didn't think winning the obstacle court would come with such a terrible disadvantage." 

The boy doesn't jump, but he turns his head and blinks, taking in the newcomer beside him. His black eyes regard Shinsou with mild curiosity before he smiles, expression void of suspicion. "Yeah, I feel a little bad for him. But I'm afraid I wouldn't be much help. I probably stand a better chance chasing someone down than defending them for fifteen minutes straight."

Shinsou nods and points his thumb at the two Class A groups talking strategy. He keeps his voice calm and interested though he already knows the boy will answer his question. This one isn't the type to be impolite to strangers. "They're from your class, too. You think you stand a better chance with either of them?"

The boy chuckles through his nose and scratches his temple. "Yeah. If you want, we can -"

Shinsou doesn't wait for the boy to reply, disregarding he said "we" instead of "I." He stares at him and watches his black eyes hollow, arms limp against his thighs and mouth open. There's a piece of him that wants to know what it feels like, to lose complete control of your will and body. But that piece of him is small and consumed by his desire to prove his worth. He wants nothing more than to move on to the next stage of the festival. To accomplish that, this boy's body is necessary.

"Follow and stand behind me," Shinsou instructs as he scans for his next isolated target. He needs at least one more person if he hopes to be competitive. "And smile like you want to be around me."

The boy complies, and the pair stalks off. 

The memory simmers and loops beneath his eyelids while he trudges up another hill. It affects his vision, his eyes dry, the sky blurred. He hates remembering the monkey and his unassuming, unremarkable smile. He hates remembering his hardened stare as Shinsou snickered and thanked him for his unwilling help. Out of everyone he brainwashed that day, the blonde monkey sticks out and invades his thoughts daily, reminding him of his failure. Despite the use of his quirk, Shinsou was still ousted in the first round of the tournament. Had that boy not figured him out, he might have made it to the second round. Maybe even the third. 

"Everyone gave their all in round two, but I was just someone's puppet," the boy says. Shinsou can hear him even as he keeps his head turned and eyes focused on the white walls circling the stadium. He ignores the stares from the boy's classmates and tries to suppress the guilt settling inside his stomach. The boy's stupid: who cares how he got to the tournament? He should be thankful - without Shinsou, he wouldn't have made it this far. All Shinsou wounded was his delicate pride. And that's a resource Shinsou cannot entertain if he hopes to become a hero. "No way - I don't want to advance if I don't even know how I got here. It wouldn't be fair."

Shinsou bristles and almost whips his head back to tell the little monkey off. Fair? What did that precious elite know about fair? His quirk was made for heroism - he was born blessed. The guilt melts, replaced with a frothing resentment that chars his lungs as Midnight grants the monkey's "noble" request.

There's nothing noble about it. The boy and his pride are just a waste. Just another competitor Shinsou won't have to deal with. 

The front door rattles open as Shinsou closes the gate, and he hears tiny paws scamper down the walkway. He shakes his head and redirects his attention to the present moment, recollecting his thoughts before he greets his mother. A soft body rustles between his legs, accompanied by an affectionate purr. Shinsou smiles and kneels, reaching out to rub his cat's black ears.

"Hello, Sumi," Shinsou coos, his voice bordering on sappy. "Did you miss me?"

Sumi purrs again and it rumbles in her throat, tickling Shinsou's thighs. He's about to pick her up when his mother calls from the doorway, her voice pleasant. "Welcome home, Hitoshi. Did your training go well?"

His mother usually opts to ask about his training now; it gives her a much more enthusiastic response, more so than talk of lunch and English class ever did. And training with Aizawa is a dream - something Shinsou hopes he never wakes up from. But today's training reminds him of his task tomorrow, so his reply is a little delayed and cautious. "It was... fine. I sparred with Mr. Aizawa, but I still have yet to hit him. It was fun though."

"That's great!" his mother ushers him into the house and makes her way to the kitchen. He smells chicken and fresh ginger and his stomach growls in response. His training has produced an ample appetite, delighting his mother. Food isn't something he takes serious joy in, but the long stretches of hunger between his training and his walk home help him appreciate his mother's dedication to their evening meals. 

She continues to speak to him while she cooks, and Shinsou watches her grill several pieces of marinated chicken from the doorway. Her thick black hair is tossed in a bun, a few stray locks sticking to her cheeks and the base of her neck. "Do you have any homework? You should finish it before your father arrives. He wants to watch one of those DVDs his friend got him for his birthday after dinner." 

"Not really," Shinsou answers. "I have an assignment from Mr. Aizawa that I have to complete during school tomorrow."

"Really? What is it?" 

Shinsou almost skirts away from the question but decides against it. There's no reason to lie to his mother. At least, not completely. "I have to... socialize with people outside my class tomorrow. He thinks it'll help me with team building and partnership."

His mother nods, her dark violet eyes understanding. Reading between his apathetic tone and stilted words. "That's great, Hitoshi. I hope you can make some new friends tomorrow."

Doubtful, given who he'll be talking to. The blonde monkey flashes across his eyes and he suppresses a grimace. Regardless, Shinsou agrees. "I hope so too, Mom."

She then asks if he can help with dinner and Shinsou concurs, forgetting about his assignment and his inevitable confrontation with that boy. 

His sleep is restless. It's never been great, except tonight there's an anticipation, a raw energy quaking his shoulders and curling his toes. He didn't think he would have to revisit the unsavory parts of the festival so soon. In fact, Shinsou isn't sure he ever wanted to. He could have gone on without explaining himself or apologizing. That would have been just fine. 

But heroes can't choose when they'll be heroes. They can't decide who they say sorry to. Mistakes breed consequences, demand apologies. 

Shinsou eventually drifts off, but not without tightening his fist and cursing his quirk for the umpteenth time. If he had any other quirk - any other one - 

"If you want, we can team up," the blonde suggests, pointing to a few of his classmates. "They're friendly enough. I'm sure being the only student from your class is pretty tough."

"You don't even know what my quirk is," Shinsou replies, suspicious of the boy's intentions. What would a student from the hero class want with him? 

"Ha, yeah. You're right," the boy chuckles. "I mean, I'm kind of in a pickle myself. A lot of my classmates are already talking strategy. I thought it'd be easier if we team up. If anything, I can just hoist you on my shoulders and we can make a wild scramble for points."

Shinsou scoffs, "You're kidding me. You're that strong?"

The boy flushes, embarrassed by his own confidence. It amuses Shinsou. "Well, I'm stronger than I look. But I'm sure we can find someone else if we hurry."

They stare at each other for a moment more, and Shinsou reflects on the apprehension flooding the boy's face. It's more than amusing - it's endearing. He seems to care if Shinsou rejects him. Perhaps he judged the hero class too soon. 

"Lucky for you," Shinsou finally says, extending his hand. "I'm also stronger than I look."

The boy's eyes brighten, and he smiles. Like he wants Shinsou around. Like he's happy rather than relieved. The boy grasps Shinsou's hand, his palm cool and rough. A pleasant buzz reverberates around Shinsou's head and he returns the smile. 

"Great. Now let's see if -"

His phone alarm sets off and Shinsou cracks one eye open. His head continues to buzz and his body warms, chest light and empty of worry. The dream and its feelings start to fade, and Shinsou closes his eyes, trying to hold on to the monkey's kind words and cheerful handshake before angry disappointment fills its space. 

Cooperation. Teamwork. Aizawa told him that without either, Shinsou would never make it as a hero. The Sports Festival had been a test on all kinds of skills. And unlike that Midoriya, Shinsou had failed a fundamental part. 

Now, instead of celebrating success, Shinsou would have to apologize for his hostile behavior. 

The recesses of the boy's smile vanish from Shinsou's mind and he crawls out of bed, ready to meet his self-inflicted fate. 

The first half of the day goes by without incident. His muscles are stiff, but they're not as sore as they have been. He talks to his classmates, asks them about their weekend plans, and even agrees to meet a few of them at a noodle stand near his neighborhood. The conversation is stale and the plans unexceptional, but it keeps Shinsou from thinking about his lunch hour and free period. He's not sure how he'll excuse himself from his usual table, what he'll say to that kid with the waist belt or the short boy from Class B. 

Or how he'll approach that boy at all. 

The lunch bell rings and his classmates ask which line he'll be standing in. Shinsou lies and says he's brought his lunch, that he'll be in the library for an early finals study session. 

"But I might join you a little later if it doesn't work out," Shinsou grins and his classmates laugh, waving goodbye as they make their way to the cafeteria. No doubt they'd see him in some capacity in that hour. He's saving that boy for last, and he usually sits at the same table with a few of his classmates. Not like Shinsou keeps tabs on him. It's just easy to spot his tail - it's almost harder not to notice. 

Shinsou catches his first target in the hallway, joined by a few of his Class B peers. He's the shortest one in their little crowd, talking to a girl with bangs that cover her eyes. Unfortunately, before Shinsou can approach them, a taller boy with a short braid looks back and spots him. His brows furrow in confusion and he pokes the boy's shoulder, gesturing to Shinsou. 

"Isn't he the guy who brainwashed you during the calvary battle?" he asks, stare thickening with distaste. Shinsou avoids frowning, from doing anything at all. He just wants to apologize and move on.

The short boy's eyes widen in recognition and he walks towards Shinsou, closing the gap between them. The boy's peers protest, but he ignores them, his gaze neither afraid nor agitated. It's calm. He's calm. 

"Yeah, he is," the boy nods when he's a few feet away from Shinsou, hands balled into pudgy fists. "Is there a reason you're here? If one of our classmates said anything to you, I apologize. I asked them to leave you alone."

Shinsou rubs the back of his neck, keeping his gaze fixed on the boy. He doesn't seem belligerent; even asked his classmates to stay away from Shinsou. Perhaps this was one he shouldn't have worried about. "No, it doesn't have to do with your classmates. I came to speak to you."

Before the boy can answer, his classmates rush to his side and stand on either side of him, shielding him from Shinsou. As if that would save him from being brainwashed. The girl speaks first, and Shinsou's surprised by the ferocity behind her words, "Don't answer him, Shoda! He could use you again."

Shinsou can't help himself. This time, he frowns and his voice drips with sarcasm, "Oh, yeah. I definitely stopped by to take all his lunch money and make him sing 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star' through the loudspeakers."

"Don't get cheeky, pal!" the taller boy exclaims, jabbing a scaly finger into Shinsou's chest. "We have no reason to trust you. You used one of our friends - we have every right to think you'd do it again or to one of us."

A part of Shinsou wants to explain his quirk, that it won't activate unless he asks a question and the person answers. But the larger part of him (the part that's bitter and resents every hero class student) wants these kids to fear him and his abilities. There's something powerful in the way they glare, haphazardly defending themselves against a quirk they have no express knowledge of. 

But those are the kinds of thoughts that put Shinsou into this situation. Thoughts Aizawa told him to refrain from if he wants to be a hero. So he tucks them into a distant corner of his head and sighs, "You're right. You have no reason to trust me. But there's something I have to tell him, and then I'll be on my way."

The pair of white knights begin to growl, but Shoda speaks up, voice devoid of anger, "It's okay, guys. He knows we can't use quirks on other students outside classes. I'm sure he'll honor that rule."

It's a subtle dig, but Shinsou allows it. Shoda waits for his classmates to settle down before continuing, hands clasped in front of his waist. "What did you want to say, Shinsou?"

Shinsou's taken aback - he didn't think this boy remembered his name. He certainly hadn't remembered his. It humbles Shinsou, makes him feel a little more guilty. He bows his head and closes his eyes, leaving himself vulnerable. "I came to apologize for my behavior in the cavalry battle. I should have tried to cooperate with you instead of only relying on my quirk. It wasn't fair to you, and I acknowledge the error in my judgment."

He can hear Shoda suck in a breath, can hear his classmates' clothes shuffle, giving him their full attention. Shinsou stands straight and opens his eyes, finding Shoda with the same doleful expression. It doesn't seem like his words had any effect, but then the boy's lips twitch and his large eyes brighten. "Thank you for your apology. I accept. I hope we can work as equals at the next Sports Festival."

Shoda extends his hands and Shinsou accepts, ignoring the suspicious glances from the other two. If they doubt his intentions, so be it. "Maybe we can. Thank you."

Shinsou waits for the trio to leave, then moves on to his next targets. The boys he controlled during the obstacle course are easy to find: they're from another general studies class and occupy a lunch table on the outdoor patio. He's spoken to them a few times before the Sports Festival and a few times after. They might not even remember Shinsou brainwashed him; he had abandoned them after the robots. Not much they could do after, with the canyon and landmines. 

When Shinsou approaches them, the boys and the rest of the table greet him. Because of the festival, everyone in general studies knows who he is. One boy speaks, his spiky white hair bouncing with every word. "Yo, Shinsou! What d'you doing out here?"

"You wanna sit with us today? There's room!" a girl scoots over and pats the seat next to her, smiling. Two of the boys snicker from across the table, causing the girl to curl her hand back, cheeks red. "I mean if you want to."

"Thank you for the offer, but I have to decline. I need to speak with these three," Shinsou replies, cocking his head towards the front of the table. 

Spiky Hair speaks for the trio, "Sure, dude. What's up?"

Shinsou explains himself as he did with Shoda, and they chuckle, insisting it's "no biggie." They're proud Shinsou represented general studies in the competition, and they don't mind being used for a short while. 

"It would have been cool to make it to the next round, but it was a long shot by far," another one of the boys leans back, clutching the table with yellowed talons. "You saw your opportunity and took it! If anyone blames you for that, that's their problem. Not yours."

That's what Shinsou believed, but he still offers them a short bow. There's no point explaining his motives or Aizawa's reasoning. 

There's no point to the monkey's scowl intruding his thoughts, but it does so all the same. "Still, I apologize. Thank you for understanding."

After he's finished with the conversation's concluding pleasantries, Shinsou spots the other blonde boy with the sparkly eyes and shiny hair. He's sitting beside a girl with pink skin and a large, rock-faced boy on the outskirts of the patio. The girl rambles on about some new arcade game and the two boys listen, nodding their heads between each bite of food. 

Shinsou tries to speak first, but the girl recognizes him and gasps, diverting the boys' attention to him, "Whoa, you're that kid from general studies! The guy Midoriya had to fight in the first round. Hi, hi! How are you?"

She flaps her arms around and almost knocks a wedge of cheese out of the blonde boy's hand. Shinsou returns her wave, a little unnerved by her eccentric welcome. At least she had yet to threaten bodily harm. "Hello. I'm fine. I came by to speak to your friend."

"Oh, you mean Aoyama?" the girl points to the blonde. His eyes gleam and he starts to reply, but his voice doesn't carry and the girl continues, "Oh, oh, that's right! You controlled him during the cavalry battle. I remember!"

Aoyama apparently repeats himself, undeterred by the girl's enthusiasm, "Have you come to praise my part in your festival success? It's a little late, but I'll accept if it's well put together."

The girl snorts and mumbles under her breath, but Shinsou can't quite catch what she says. Something like "as if." Still, he shakes his head at Aoyama and replies, "I will agree that your help contributed to my reaching the third round of the festival. But I came to apologize for using you rather than asking for your help first. Good cooperation is a part of what it means to be a hero, and I failed in that aspect. If you felt in any way compromised or belittled by my actions, I'm sorry."

"Wow, that's super nice of you!" the girl exclaims, cutting off Aoyama's reply yet again. "But you don't have to worry about this goofball. He was happy enough just to make it to next round. I mean, he got wickedly destroyed by yours truly, but hey! That's life! Right, Aoyama?"

The blonde seems like he wants to scowl, but he refrains and continues on with a pretentious smile, "Right, Ashido. You do not have to worry about me, Mr. General Studies. You only used your quirk to your advantage. If I was in your position, I would have done the same."

Before Shinsou can reply, the rock-faced boy speaks up, tapping his meaty index fingers together, "Did you... did you already apologize to Ojiro?"

Ojiro. That must be the monkey's name. Shinsou shakes his head again, "No, I haven't had the chance yet." 

Ashido cringes, exposing her teeth, "Ack, you're gonna have a hard time with that one. He really didn't like the stunt you pulled on him."

Shinsou fiddles with the seam of his pants, trying to keep poise, "I am aware."

"I think he's eating lunch with a few of our classmates," Ashido stands up, picking up her used styrofoam bowl. "Do you want me to show you?" 

"Yes, that would be helpful," Shinsou replies, his heart racing, pulse heavy beneath his jaw. He knows where that boy is; he saw him laughing when he passed through the mess hall, sitting across Midoriya. This girl can help ease the conversation. Shinsou's still unsure, unprepared for this encounter. Even with that Shoda and his classmates, they hadn't weakened his knees or churned his stomach. It had been easy so far. Almost pleasant and friendly. 

"Good luck, mon ami," Aoyama winks, watching the pair depart. 

"Yeah... hope it works out," the rock-faced boy tries to reassure Shinsou with an encouraging smile, but it appears doubtful and grim. Or it can be Shinsou's pessimism coloring his every interaction until he meets that boy. Either one feels right to him. 

He follows behind Ashido, her head bobbing as she hums. It doesn't appease his waning spirits nor calms his jittery shoulder. He stuffs both hands deep into his pockets, bunching up the cotton between clammy fingers. It'll be over soon. Then he'll never have to think about this monkey and his stupid smile and rough palms and - 

"There they are," Ashido points to a corner table several meters away. A divider hides the bottom-half of the table, obscuring the boy from his sight. From this angle, Shinsou can only see Midoriya's cheerful face, alongside a girl with round cheeks. "You want me to tag along? I could introduce you two properly!"

Shinsou mulls it over for a moment before nodding his head. This is cooperation, teamwork. "Yes. Thank you."

Ashido lifts a fist close to her chest and grins, eyes determined. "All right, follow my lead."

She briskly walks up to her classmates, waving her hand above her head, "Everyone - you won't believe who I bumped into!"

The girl sitting beside Midoriya chuckles, "Ahh, Ashido - who is it? Do we know them?"

By the time Ashido replies, Midoriya notices Shinsou, mouth open and eyes frazzled. He glances to his right, no doubt trying to gauge the monkey's current mood. Whatever. His mood and Shinsou's floundering guilt are inconsequential to what needs to be done. "Sort of. He made a splash at the Sports Festival and he seems like a chill guy. I think we could all get along!"

"A splash at the Sports Festival? I don't remember anyone with impressive water powers."

The boy's voice is soft and relaxed, a hint of exasperation needling through. It reminds him of their initial encounter, before Shinsou took advantage of his guileless nature. His voice, his words - it makes Shinsou even more anxious, the urge to clutch the back of his neck intensifying. What if the boy walks off? What if he shouts and causes a scene in the mess hall, right in front of his friends?

He's not that kind of guy, Shinsou assures himself. In the little he knows about him, pride and honor are important to this boy. He wouldn't cause a scene, wouldn't dishonor his classmates or the hero track like that. 

"Eesh, Ojiro. It's just an expression," Ashido bats one hand towards the boy's general direction and beckons Shinsou forward with the other. "But you kind of know him. At least, you and Midoriya do."

The boy comes to view as Shinsou rounds the corner, his blonde hair neat and his black eyes perplexed. It's an average face, but it forces Shinsou to recall his dream. When the boy had been happy and wanted Shinsou's help. 

He speaks before catching sight of Shinsou, tone distant, "Midoriya and I? But that only leaves-"

Then he spots him. Their eyes meet. And the boy visibly stiffens. 

It's not fear paralyzing him, keeping him still as his classmates quiet and hold their breaths. Animosity replaces the confusion in his stare, eyes now hard and sharp like unpolished onyx. His knuckles are white, his cheeks pale. 

His body is not rigid with fear. It's bristling with contempt. 

A sudden, nervous lump flops into Shinsou's stomach, and he almost winces, almost looks away from this boy. He can't, however. He has something to accomplish. Something that requires the boy's attention. 

"O-oh! Hello, Shinsou - it's nice to see you again!" Midoriya forces out a chuckle, his fingers fidgeting with his disposable chopsticks. Shinsou redirects his gaze and tries to keep his face straight and empty of guilt. "Are you doing well? Finals are coming up soon, you know!"

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Shinsou replies, his fingernails digging into his damp palms. The lump in his stomach shoots up and sits heavy on his chest, forcing him to take shallow, uneven breaths. He can feel the boy seething to his right, his narrowed eyes never leaving Shinsou's face. 

Shinsou's quirk has always elicited two reactions: fear or envy. People gasped at his power, afraid of all the frightening positions he could put them in. But their fears were never realized. He never used his quirk to retaliate against others or bend them to his will. Shinsou knew it wasn't right - to strip someone of their agency. 

And a small, hidden part of himself - the part that was as afraid of his power as the rest of the world - knew what would happen if he did. 

Shinsou is accustomed to fear. Not so much with hate. 

"You know, Ojiro - Shinsou wanted to stop by and talk to you!" Ashido speaks up. She appears unphased by the tense atmosphere, and even nudges Shinsou with her elbow. "He has something he'd like to say."

Shinsou looks back to the boy, his stare fierce and jaw clenched. He makes no effort to speak, causing the table to squirm and shift their gazes between the pair. His reaction doesn't unnerve Shinsou further, but the raw apology floating above his tongue frets for a moment more, stewing with uncertainty. 

"I wanted to speak to you," Shinsou lets out, his voice steady. "I wanted to apologize. Preferably alone." 

His chest lightens, but he's unsure why he said "alone." It hadn't matter with anyone else. But the boy's eyes demand something more. Something he didn't give the others. Something personal. 

The boy stands up, surprising the invisible girl beside him. He crumples the bowl in front of him and steps back, keeping his eyes on the ground, "I'm sorry, everyone. I should go." 

Shinsou's eyes widen as the boy walks by him, stare fixed on the mess hall's exit. The weight in his chest expands, stilling his breath. Nothing's changed. The boy won't even acknowledge him. 

It's upon seeing his face so close, mere inches from his, that Shinsou recalls Midoriya is the boy's friend. He could have bridged the gap between them somehow. But the animosity rolls so thickly off the boy, tumbling into Shinsou and suffocating his lungs, Midoriya and all his sunshine charm might not have been enough. 

When his back is turned, the boy replies, Shinsou's stomach dropping at the even, formal tone, "I respectfully decline." 

He continues walking, disposing of his thrash. The invisible girl rises, mumbles her own apology, and rushes to the boy's side, consoling him in a soft, hushed tone. 

"Wow, um - I'm sorry, Shinsou," Ashido frowns. "I didn't think he'd do that. Ojiro is usually super calm. He gets along with everyone in our class."

Probably because no one brainwashed him, Shinsou reflects. He nods to Ashido and then turns to Midoriya, trying to appear undeterred. There's no point to giving up. The boy doesn't have to accept his apology. All he has to do is listen. "Where does he spend his free periods? Maybe he'll listen if I approach them there."

"You think that's a good idea?" Midoriya asks. "Ojiro... Ojiro didn't like what you did to him. I think I know what you're trying to accomplish but he might not give you that chance."

Before Shinsou can reply, another boy chimes in. It's the runner-up of the Sports Festival; he'd been tending to his food the entire time. "We should tell him. He's at least trying to make it right. Ojiro's not the type to hold a grudge, so long as the other party accepts blame."

Midoriya accepts his reasoning and tells Shinsou as much as he can. The boy trains privately in the school's master gymnasium, inside one of the many studios. It's across from the gym he and Aizawa use. Content with the information, Shinsou thanks the table before departing. He sits with his friends for the rest of the hour, unable to tear his fists out of his pockets. 

Free period begins and Shinsou dashes out of his classroom, his friends' startled shouts fading within a few strides down the hallway. There's no time for pleasantries; no time for walking either, but he can't afford a detention so he walks as fast as possible. Despite his sore legs and pounding heart, Shinsou descends the stairs and makes it to the studio gyms in less than ten minutes, hoping to catch the boy before he starts his workout. But given the many personal studios he has to check, that's unlikely. 

Shinsou consoles himself as he walks down the gym's hallway, opening every door he comes across. A few are locked, but he doubts the boy is behind one of those. He seems like the type to keep his door ajar, just in case someone's lost or looking for a friendly spar. That would listen and help if need be. Shinsou's reminded again of the boy's kind smile, of the gentle laugh that escaped him in his dreams. Had he not brainwashed him, would he have helped Shinsou? Would they have formed a team, anyway? 

Yellow light peeks through an open door at the end of the hall, a large cement brick wedged in-between it and the frame. Shinsou slows his pace and pushes his nerves down to the pit of the stomach, providing mild relief to his shriveled lungs. When he approaches the door, he can hear rough grunts filling the studio's space, accompanied by swift kicks whacking against some kind of training bag. It's only that boy. Shinsou's sure.

With a deep breath, he steps over the brick and enters the room. 

And he almost jumps back into the safety of the hall. 

The boy's back is turned to him, exposed. Naked. His shoulders are brawny and well-defined, the curve of his glistening back tapering into a prominent v-shape. He readies himself for another onslaught, his tail bending to the right, and Shinsou catches a glimpse of the deep dimples resting above his hips. Shinsou's never seen a back like that - didn't know such a back was possible. All the time it must have taken, the dedication that went into honing his body, building his muscles...

"That's not it - I'm talking about my pride here," the boy says as his classmates protest his decision. "I refuse to give that up."

It appears he has much to be proud of. 

Shinsou must have made a noise - a gasp, a skid against the wooden floor - because the boy abruptly stops and whips his head around, tail stiffening upon seeing his unwelcomed spectator. His breaths are short, chest rising and falling with each passing second. Loathing unfolds onto every corner of his face, his lips bordering on a snarl. He stands straight and tightens his fists, revealing an impeccable set of abs. Shinsou's never seen abs like that either. 

He pinches his thigh, rebuking himself. He's not there to gawk.

"What do you want?" the boy hisses, resting his hands on his hips. Shinsou wishes he'd cross his arms or find his shirt. Anything that will make it difficult to dip his treacherous gaze downward. 

"You know what I want," Shinsou replies, keeping his distance. 

"I thought I already gave you my answer. I have no intention of listening to some shitty, half-assed apology."

"Oh?" Shinsou cocks his head, forgetting himself and the situation at hand. The nerves sitting in his stomach boil into well-worn agitation, his next words biting, "I didn't think a goody-two-shoes like yourself knew how to cuss. You've earned my most esteemed respect."

The boy knows he shouldn't respond, but his shoulders shake and he growls, tail upright and still. That's probably a bad sign. "Did you just come here to mock me? To find me alone and treat me like your little puppet?"

"Given I have yet to ask you a question and that you can clearly kick my ass if I tried: no. I didn't come for either." Shinsou doesn't know why he keeps the animosity fermenting between them; he should just apologize and leave, tell Mr. Aizawa that he couldn't reach an understanding with the dumb, arrogant monkey. There's something about the boy that sets him off, poisoning his intentions and straining his throat. 

"Then what do you really want?" the boy asks again, taking a step forward. "You didn't come to just bow and walk out of this building with a clean conscious, that's for sure."

What do I want? Shinsou thinks. Is there anything he actually wants from this meeting, from this boy?

The words spill out of his mouth before he has a chance to reconsider. "I have to apologize. I have to make amends or else Mr. Aizawa won't continue my training."

Clumps of thick tension dissipate from Shinsou's body, leaving his arms light and chest relieved. Several beats pass between them, the boy's eyes wide with skepticism. But Shinsou finds himself unconcerned if the boy believes him or not. Perhaps it wasn't wise. Perhaps it was foolish to unveil his newest secret to a boy who hates him. Shinsou hasn't told any of his friends. 

"Mr. Aizawa is training you? Why..." the boy trails, his shoulders slacking. "Why did you tell me that?"

Shinsou's fingers clench his warming neck, unable to shy his gaze away. "You just deserve to know."

There's no reason for it. The boy's supposed to be his enemy. Just another student barring him from the hero track. 

The dream flashes across his eyes: the offer, the smile, the handshake. He remembers his skin tingling, his body warm. The want to stay in bed, to hold on to that happy what-if. 

Guilt had not been the source of his dread. Not with this boy. It had been regret.

The boy tries to coax Shinsou into further explanation, his voice taking on an air of genuine curiosity, "Why do I deserve to know? I thought you didn't like me all that much, and that seems like a pretty big deal. I'm sure no one else in the hero class knows."

"They don't," Shinsou replies. "And you're right. I don't like you. I still think you're a fool for giving your spot up in the tournament. You obviously have the talent and dedication, and yet you squandered that opportunity all because of some arbitrary thing like pride."

"My pride is not arbitrary!" the boy exclaims. "Just because you don't understand why -"

"But I do understand why," Shinsou elaborates as he begins his approach. He keeps his eyes on the boy's face, gauging his comfort with every step. "At least, I understand now. I thought your spirit was weak for having given in so easily. But that wasn't it at all: your spirit's strong. You were born with a heroic quirk, but you needed more than that to get you here. You trained, and you endured. And for someone to take that away from you, to carry you along without showing off your own merits... I understand. Your pride is well-deserved. It's something my quirk can't take away from you."

Shinsou pauses when he's less than an arm's length away from the boy, his fingers scraping the back of his neck. The boy doesn't look uncomfortable - he seems to be holding his breath, gaze awash in wonder. It's clear he had expected none of this. "I regret using my quirk on you. Mr. Aizawa told me that cooperation and teamwork are a fundamental part of what it means to be a hero. If I can't move past my petty anger and if I treat my potential future teammates as nothing more than a means to an end... then my dreams will never be realized."

It's a bit embarrassing, but he affirms, "Our squabble at the festival helped me realize that. And that's what makes you deserving." 

The boy shuffles, folding his arms against his chest. He leans back, contemplating Shinsou's face, "You mean all that? You're not just saying it because you have to?"

"I mean everything I say," Shinsou affirms. "Lying isn't something I'm particularly good at."

"But you are good at pulling the wool over someone's eyes," the boy's lip twitch, almost smiling. "You fooled me fine at the cavalry battle."

Shinsou scratches his neck, recalling the encounter again. This time, instead of feeling regret, his head buzzes with satisfaction. "Yeah - lying isn't my forte, but I am good at manipulating someone to my advantage."

"Yeah, well... you got me, that's for sure," he replies, that same sheepish look he gave Midoriya slipping onto his face. "If Mr. Aizawa is training you, he obviously sees potential in you. He wants you to succeed and learn how to be a hero. And that means I'll have to be at my absolute best during the next Sports Festival."

The boy unfolds one arm and extends his hand, palms red and weathered. "I don't like holding grudges - they're pretty useless to a hero. You owned up to your mistake and that's all I can ask for. I know you did what you had to do at the tournament - I understand completely. As long as you understand my side, and I understand yours... you wanna call a truce? At least until the next festival?"

Shinsou smirks and takes the boy's hand without hesitation. His skin is just as rough as he imagined, contrasting with his own smooth, clammy palms. Hopefully, he won't comment on it. "I can do that. But you're definitely the primary target next time around. I'll make yours and Midoriya's lives a total hell."

The boy chuckles and Shinsou's core squirms at the sound. It's a nice, earnest laugh. One that Shinsou can get used to. "I can only imagine. But this is a little exciting, actually. I've never had a rival."

Shinsou cocks his head at the word, "Rival?"

"Yeah," the boy nods, dropping his hand to his side, "What else would you be?"

The dream pops into Shinsou's mind and he almost steps back. Of course, he couldn't erase everything that happened. The dream was a dream, a culmination of Shinsou's regret and frustrations. It wasn't real. This new rivalry between them... it's far more practical, far more concrete.

It still stings; still reminds him that, yes, actions have consequences. 

Becoming friends, after what Shinsou did, is far less tangible. It's not even something he should want. This feeling... this persistent nagging for more had not been present with the others. 

"Right," he nods, suppressing his disappointment. "Rivals it is."

"By the way, we never had a proper chance to introduce ourselves," the boy bows his head. "I'm Ojiro Mashirao." 

Ojiro. He's not just some boy anymore. Not a monkey. He gave his name: Ojiro Mashirao, his rival. 

"Shinsou Hitoshi," he tips his head back. "A pleasure."

"Hey, I thought you said you didn't lie," Ojiro chuckles again, his breath a little easier. 

"I don't lie..." Shinsou trails. "But I can occasionally bend the truth."

"Okay, okay. I got it," he looks to the clock at the front of the room, his face glossy from dried sweat. "We still have a half hour of free period. You wanna put your training to good use and spar?"

Shinsou laughs through his nose, "I'll pass. You seem okay now, but you won't go easy on me. I brainwashed you and my body is practically dead. You'd ream me and then I'd have to take the bus home."

"Welcome to my world," Ojiro quips, rubbing at his shoulders. His chest protrudes, and Shinsou wills himself to keep his stare straight. Ojiro's complete comfort with his body and appearance confounds Shinsou (but it's hardly an unwelcomed sight). "If something isn't sore by the end of the day, I definitely didn't train hard enough."

"I'll keep that in mind," Shinsou turns his face towards the door, readying himself to leave. "Thank you for speaking to me."

Ojiro grins, his black eyes polite and free of any lingering hostility, "Likewise. I'll see you around."

They say their goodbyes, and Shinsou makes his way out, one hand fiddling with his belt loops. He knows there is something else Ojiro wants to say, but he won't tease it out. That's not his responsibility. 

It's not until Shinsou is at the door, one foot stepping over the cement brick, that Ojiro calls out to him. His voice isn't strained, but there's an air of distance between his words. As if he's still grappling with the conclusions of their conversation. 

"It feels bad to be used like that," Ojiro pauses, and Shinsou suspects his fists are tight, his tail stiff. "To be treated like a pawn. Like you're nothing. You know what I mean?"

Shinsou thinks of his former classmates, salivating at the thought of his quirk. He thinks of himself immobilized. Incapacitated, at the mercy of a total stranger. 

With his quirk, he can make anyone do anything. Shinsou could have made Ojiro do anything. And he wouldn't have remembered. He would have been powerless to stop it. 

Shinsou understands, truly. What his power meant to this boy. Why they may never be friends.

So he replies, exiting the gym, "I do now."

The weekend passes without incident. And during his next training session, when Aizawa asks how his Friday went, Shinsou neither smiles nor frowns. He glances at his right hand, the one Ojiro shook to call their truce.

He wasn't entirely forgiven, but he was understood. 

He's not a villain. Shinsou knows this. Ojiro knows this. 

"It went well."