Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I don’t get it, Shinsou,” said Midoriya, cradling his injured hand – his broken fingers were raw and torn. “What do you want to be a Hero so badly?”

Shinsou couldn’t bring himself to face the boy who had defeated him out of nowhere, without even relying on his Quirk. There was a distance between them now, between the Hero student and the student who couldn’t stop dreaming, that Shinsou hadn’t seen before.

“You can’t help what your heart wants,” Shinsou replied, and walked away.

He almost made it off the field when he heard his classmates calling him. “Shinsou! That was awesome! Listen to what they’re saying up here!”

Against his better judgement, Shinsou stopped and listened to the pros talking in the audience. He expected derision, dismissals of his poor performance and his villainous Quirk. He was stunned to hear the opposite; pro Heroes appraising his Quirk and wanting it for themselves, and even some criticisms of the flaw in the system that had kept him down.

They…liked his Quirk. They liked him, even though he’d lost. A few of the pros called down to Shinsou from the stands, telling him to keep trying for the Hero course. He’d be amazing, they said.

He was amazing, everyone was saying, even his own classmates.

A single cherry blossom drifted through the air in front of him.

Shinsou couldn’t pull his gaze away from everyone, even as he spoke to Midoriya again. “If we show good results here, they might transfer us into the Hero course,” he said. “Maybe you won today, but…I’m not giving up. I’ll prove that I have what it takes for the Hero course.”

He gritted his teeth. “And I’ll become a better Hero than any of you!”

Shinsou gets up earlier on Sundays than the rest of his class, as the light of dawn is only just visible over the horizon. The dark sky is turning a deep blue hue as he pulls himself out of bed and throws on his workout clothes before making his way to the ground floor of his dorm, careful not to rouse anyone else along his way.

Shinsou’s tired, but his body is used to that ache; he was already waking up at around this time every day, when he still lived off campus. If he’s at all grateful about moving into the Heights, it’s the extra sleep he gets before classes begin. It’s ironic, then, that the day with no classes is when he gets the least time to rest.

Aizawa is already waiting outside Gym Gamma when Shinsou arrives at their local meeting spot. “It’s about time you got here. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover this morning,” says the scraggly-haired man, before Shinsou even finishes running up to him. The one eye visible behind his hair is as nonplussed as Shinsou has ever seen it. “And I want to take a look at your martial arts as well. I’ll know if you haven’t been practicing.”

The corner of Shinsou’s mouth twitches. “Good morning to you too, sensei,” he says. “I’m not late this morning, you know.”

“All that means is that you haven’t wasted too much of our time yet,” Aizawa replies dryly. “Now go run laps and warm up. Now.”

Shinsou knows that it would be pointless to argue further, so he heads over to the track. He’s had enough time to grow used to Aizawa’s no-nonsense approach to education and locate the kernel of caring and good intentions at its core.

He begins running at a brisk pace, the cool dawn air making his skin tingle. Aizawa stands back at Shinsou’s starting point, timing his pace. When the two of them had begun these ‘special lessons’, Aizawa used to run ahead of Shinsou, calling back taunts meant to draw more from him. Eventually, after Shinsou’s times had improved, he must have decided that wasn’t needed anymore, and he let his pupil run the track alone.

By the time Shinsou finishes his final lap, his lungs are crying for air. He stumbles to a stop and leans over, panting and rubbing his sweaty forehead. He’s certain that this was one of his better runs in a while, but Aizawa, staring impassively at his timer, seems to disagree. “It’s far too early to overexert yourself,” the teacher says. “You still have a lot to do this morning.”

Shinsou stands up tall and at the ready at his mentor’s scolding. “Hang on, what was my time?” He asks.

“Decent,” Aizawa answers, resetting the timer and tucking it away. He gives Shinsou a quietly dangerous look. “Have you been avoiding practice, Shinsou?”

Shinsou’s eyes widen before he meets Aizawa’s glare with his own. “Of course not!” He snaps, insulted. “Why the hell would I? This is supposed to be helping me get into the Hero course, isn’t it? I’m not going to sabotage myself!”

Aizawa continues staring, seemingly unaffected by Shinsou’s outburst. “Fine. Let’s go, we’ll down the rest inside,” he says without preamble, turning and walking away toward Gym Gamma.

Shinsou snarls quietly and follows, swallowing his irritation. Aizawa is difficult to please on the best of days, but he’s never withheld Shinsou’s results before, and that makes the boy nervous. His mentor clearly wasn’t pleased with his performance thus far.

The day’s training finishes in the late morning, when the sun is tentatively rising into the sky. Shinsou slumps against the wall, breathing heavily. Aizawa has forced him through the full gamut of exercises today – strength training, flexibility, reflexes, and a long session of katas and sparring – running him harder in the process than ever before.

Despite his fatigue and the volume of what he had to do, Shinsou believes he’s improved considerably. He’s especially proud of the progress he’s made in martial arts; although Aizawa holds back against him, Shinsou finds it much easier now to gain the upper hand in their bouts, and the batons that he’s been practicing with are starting to feel more natural in his grasp.

And yet, Aizawa still seems dissatisfied. His commands, usually stern and given as needed, seem more barking today, and Shinsou can barely do anything without his mentor’s relentless criticism pointing out flaws. It’s infuriating, that the person Shinsou has decided to trust doesn’t consider him up to par.

Aizawa watches Shinsou with a critical gaze, appraising his current worth. “We’re done for today,” he says at last. “Go do your homework, or whatever else you want.”

As his teacher turns to leave, the cold feeling of shame in Shinsou’s gut turns hot. He forces himself to his feet with a spike of adrenaline and glares at Aizawa’s back. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He growls. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do! I haven’t missed a single day of practice! Are you seriously abandoning me?”

His teacher stops walking away. The effect of his standing still is like watching him turn into a statue. Shinsou knows he should be frightened and contrite as Aizawa turns to look at him, displeasure gleaming in the corner of his eye, but the young man’s anger dulls his fear.

“Do you honestly think I would spend so much of my time teaching you if I had any intention of abandoning you later?” Aizawa asks, his tone flat but razor sharp. “If you think that, then you clearly know nothing about me.”

“Well, you clearly don’t seem to think I’m up to snuff anymore,” Shinsou grumbles. He rubs his hand down his face with a groan. “Look, I’m trying to do better. Hell, I know I am! I’m the one who’s supposed to be getting something out of this! Isn’t there anything else I can do?”

Aizawa’s expression dims back into neutrality. “No, there isn’t,” he says plainly. He raises a hand to cut off Shinsou. “I’m not dismissing you. There just isn’t anything left that you can do. I was using today to judge your final progress.”

“And?” Shinsou’s gut twists with confusion and uncertainty – and also a hope that he’s only just learning to feel again.

“I don’t know yet,” Aizawa replies after a moment’s thought. “We should know soon. Until then, keep taking care of yourself. It’s not over yet.”

He walks out of the gym, saying nothing more. Shinsou watches him go, unsure whether a weight has been removed or forced on him anew.

For Class 1-C, even Sunday afternoons are a time for studying. Without the powerful Quirks that would allow them to earn their way into the Hero course, most of them come to rely on their grades as a point of pride instead. With no worthwhile powers to speak of, they choose to hone their minds instead – a tool ubiquitous among them.

Shinsou tunes out the mumbling around him as he furrows his brow in confusion at the open book on his lap. He’s about to ask a question regarding the symbolism of ducks and hunting caps when he hears his homeroom teacher speak his name. He looks up, as do most of his classmates, and their eyes widen at the sight of the man standing next to their teacher.

Aizawa.

Everyone’s eyes turn back to Shinsou, whose own gaze doesn’t stray from the scraggly-looking man in their front door. He wasn’t expecting another meeting within the same day.

“Shinsou-kun, Aizawa-san would like a word with you,” their homeroom teacher says, straightening their glasses. “Everyone else, don’t let us stop you. Get back to work.”

Shinsou feels light as he stands up and walks toward Aizawa, the eyes of all his classmates upon his back. The pro turns and walks back out the door, giving Shinsou a brief command to follow him. They step outside into the crisp autumn air, stopping on the pathway leading up to the front door of the Heights building.

Shinsou stares at Aizawa’s back, unsure of what to say. The moment around him feels silent with anticipation, as though the world around him has been awaiting this moment. He forces his face back into a neutral expression before speaking. “Why…why did you bring me out here?” Shinsou asks, silently cursing the brief failure of his voice. He knows that it’s a foolish thought, but he doesn’t want to make a single misstep for fear of changing the outcome of this scenario.

 “The faculty held a meeting after our session to fill the vacant space in my class,” Aizawa says. “I knew going in that there would be no shortage of candidates. Students who failed the entrance exam for the Hero course, whose Quirks occupied an unfilled niche among my students, and who have shown the potential to succeed.” He gives Shinsou a critical look. “I don’t waste my time on people who can’t make the cut.”

Shinsou makes a soft noise of realization. “Is that why you were running me so hard this morning?” He asks. The ghosts of Aizawa’s scoldings fill his mind. At the time, Shinsou had chalked them up to a bad mood of Aizawa’s. They seem different now, from a new angle. “You put my name forward, right?”

“You’re still far behind everyone else,” the teacher replies, avoiding the question. “My students have already faced villains on their own terms and prevailed against those odds. Even with my help, all you’ve done is make that gap a little smaller.”

Aizawa says it all as easily as any other fact; it irritates Shinsou to hear his effort being diminished so casually. “So, what? Did you put my name forward or not?” He repeats.

“I did,” Aizawa answers.

“And?”

The pro’s face never wavers. “The final decision was mine.” He says. “Your new courseload begins tomorrow. I’m sure one of my other students will happily give you the schedule.”

Shinsou’s heart fails to beat for a moment. His breath catches in his throat. “Do you mean…?” He manages, unable to finish.

Aizawa turns but doesn’t depart immediately. “You have until class tomorrow to move in. Everyone will be looking forward to seeing you. After that, you still have plenty of catching up to do. Don’t get carried away.” With that, he walks away, down the path leading from the shadow of the General Studies building into the sunlight.

Shinsou doesn’t pay his departure much notice. He’s too busy thinking. He remembers everything that went wrong along the way – the anxiety of his classmates slowly giving way to ostracism of the boy with a villainous Quirk, his father’s dismayed reaction upon learning that his son had hope enough to follow All Might’s path to U.A., the crushing disappointment of the entrance exam and the weeks after spent knowing that he would fail, and the despair of the Sports Festival when his dream was thwarted again.

But he remembers everything that went right as well – the voices of his classmates and the pros attending the festival cheering him on, Aizawa’s ensuing offer for special lessons to improve his strength and skill, and the triumph he felt every time he overcame the hurdles that Aizawa set up for him.

Shinsou can’t claim that everything he’s been through has made him stronger, but it was real. It’s all brought him to here, a place he’d only ever dreamed of being. He’s going to be a Hero.

He’s going to be the best Hero.

Before Shinsou can stop himself, he lets out a cry, a raw and determined sound directed upward toward the sky.

The outside of Class 1-A’s Heights building doesn’t look any different than Shinsou’s old dorm. Same construction, same number of floors, same well-kept lawn and shrubbery out front. The only difference that matters is the large ‘1-A’ above the front door. Shinsou still can’t believe that he’s standing here looking at it.

It had been a surprise to everyone in Shinsou’s old dormitory when he told them the news, but everyone had taken his departure with grace and encouraging words. Several of his classmates gave him their phone numbers with instructions to stay in touch. Everyone even helped him pack everything into his backpack and suitcase before he left; with what little he’d brought with him, Shinsou could have done it alone, but he’s grateful for their help.

It hurts more than he’d expected to know that he won’t see them in class anymore.

A few hours later, after finishing one final dinner with his former class, Shinsou stands before his new home, luggage in hand. He quells a strum of anxiety and makes his way to the front door, which he pulls open to reveal a darkened foyer; the lights are all off, and the blinds pulled to keep out the sun.

Shinsou steps inside slowly, unable to see far past the door. Squinting slightly, he thinks he can make out shapes shuffling around in the darkness. He opens his mouth to say something.

The lights flick on.

“WELCOME, SHINSOU-KUN!!!”

A loud series of popping sounds accompanies the chorus of voices. Shinsou winces and blinks as his eyes adjust, and he stares at the spread before him.

Eighteen young people stand together, each of them clutching party poppers from which confetti now rains down onto the floor. He recognizes a few of the faces – Midoriya most of all, as well as the boy with the large, simian tail and the boy who fires lasers, who both stare at him with disdain and unease, respectively.

Aside from them, he remembers the grinning, round-faced girl, the guy with two colors of hair, and the smiling guy wearing glasses (the son of a Hero family, Shinsou recalls). A large and colorful banner is strung up behind them on the back wall, reading ‘WELCOME TO CLASS 1-A’, with similarly colorful streamers hung in arcs throughout the common area. There’s a table nearby covered in snacks and soda, and a speaker system set up nearby for music.

Oh. They’re throwing a party for him, Shinsou realizes. That’s…considerate.

“Good to meet you, Shinsou-kun!” One of the students says, a muscular guy with pronounced lips. “You need us to get your bags for you?”

“I’m fine,” Shinsou mumbles. This is a much more…brazen welcome than he’d been expecting. He can’t remember the last party that anyone threw him.

“You can just set them anywhere if you want!” The brown-haired girl beams. “And then we can get this party started!” Uraraka, Shinsou remembers her name. Her Quirk allows her to nullify gravity, and she fought that asshole Bakugou during the Sports Festival – who, Shinsou notes, is nowhere to be seen. He didn’t seem the type to be into welcome parties anyway.

Shinsou swings the backpack off his shoulder and drops it experimentally against the sofa. When no one complains, he adds his suitcase. “Okay,” he says, looking at everyone as if demanding feedback.

“Geez, you gotta loosen up, man!” A black-haired boy with strangely shaped elbows gripes – the same boy who lost hard against Endeavor’s son in the Sports Festival. “This party’s for you! We didn’t spend the whole day on it for nothing!”

“We only had so much time to put everything together,” says the quote-unquote fabulous boy who Shinsou recruited for the Sports Festival – Aoyama, was it?  His prior unease is gone for the moment, buried beneath a veneer of grandeur. “I suppose we did a fine enough job, considering-”

“We got started the second Aizawa-sensei told us you were coming!” A pink girl with horns cheers, cutting Aoyama off. She runs up to the sofa and grabs the back, bouncing with glee. “Yaomomo made the banner, Jirou picked out the music, and we all got snacks! We were so excited to hear you were joining our class, Shinsou!”

“Midoriya kinda told us everything you talked about while you two were fighting,” a boy with bright yellow hair adds, flashing a thumbs up and an amiable grin. “I guess if anyone else had to join our class, you’ve certainly earned it. Good to have you, Shinsou!”

“Uh…thanks,” Shinsou says, feeling overwhelmed. They all must know about his Quirk, and yet they’re not scared of him at all. Or maybe a couple of them are, but the majority seem unfazed. How long has it been since anyone’s spoken to him like this? Years? His entire lifetime?

“If you’re worried about our reactions to your Quirk, don’t be,” says the boy in glasses – Iida, Shinsou remembers. His brother was the Hero Ingenium, before Stain attacked him. “We’ve had more than enough exposure to other, more dangerous Quirks to be prepared for yours.” Iida begins chopping the air with short, vertical motions of his forearm. “Moreover, we’re aware of your desire to join the Hero course. Using your Quirk on one of us would be a waste of that chance.

“However!” Iida shouts, as his chopping motions become more pronounced. He’s going all-out with both arms now. “That you’ve been granted a space in our class means you have a responsibility to catch up, Shinsou! We’ll gladly help when we can, but only you can prevent yourself from falling behind! Do not take this opportunity for granted!”

Shinsou opens his mouth to reply, but the guy with the tail scoffs and looks away with a frown on his face, cutting him off.

Shinsou feels a pang of regret at not remembering the boy’s name. He’s sure it has an “O” or two.

Several people turn to look at the boy with the tail, including the invisible girl who’s nothing but floating clothes. “Ojiro? Are you okay?” She asks, placing her hand – Shinsou believes, it’s hard to tell – on the boy’s shoulder.

(Ojiro, that’s his name, Shinsou thinks.)

“I’m fine,” Ojiro replies quietly. His tense posture softens slightly at the girl’s touch, and he turns back toward everyone else. “Don’t let me get in the way of a good time. We’re supposed to be having fun, right?” He smiles, but Shinsou can tell that it’s forced – he doubts that he’s the only one.

After a moment, the invisible girl pumps her arm. “Well, you heard him! No way we’re putting all this to waste! Shinsou’s only getting one induction into our class, so let’s make it a great one!” She declares. “Let’s put on some music!”

A dark-haired girl with long earlobes picks out a song, and the speakers pump a jazzy, foot-tapping kind of song into the room. Slowly but surely, the other students start coming alive and moving toward Shinsou. Their smiles are tentative but hopeful, and the questions on their lips betray their excitement at having a new member of their class.

Things are awkward at first, particularly on Shinsou’s end. He never truly had friends until entering U.A., and even those relationships with the rest of Class 1-C progressed at their own quiet pace, starting with the Sports Festival and building from there. The General Studies course didn’t have much in the way of major social events to overcome those hurdles between everyone.

Shinsou responds to his new classmates’ first questions with terse and uncomfortable answers. They don’t seem to mind, nor do any of them seem to fear being brainwashed, as Iida promised earlier. Slowly, Shinsou learns everyone’s names; the invisible girl is Hagakure Tooru, the pink-skinned girl is Ashido Mina, the yellow and black-haired boys are Kaminari Denki and Sero Hanta, and so on.

(Shinsou offers Sero his condolences for the Sports Festival – the other boy’s lip twists for a moment before he sighs and accepts the comfort.)

As the evening wears on into dusk and the conversation continues, Shinsou’s hesitance fades away. He feels a smile grace his lips, and a wisecrack comes out of his mouth every now and then. The people around him seem to recognize and take pleasure in his rising comfort. They don’t seem anything like the caricatures painted by the other classes before the Sports Festival – a group of arrogant glory hounds looking down on the rest of the school. They’re much warmer and friendlier than anyone realized.

(Eclectic, certainly, but perhaps there’s something to those kinds of personalities colliding.)

Later in the night, after the crowd has thinned a bit and people are peeling off to talk among themselves, Shinsou hears a familiar voice say his name. Even before looking, he already knows that Midoriya is standing behind him.

The green-haired boy who slammed Shinsou into the ground several months ago doesn’t look much different. Maybe a little more muscular. The sight of him ignites a charge of feelings within Shinsou’s chest – a memory of the envy, frustration, and hope Shinsou experienced during their match, with Midoriya at the core of it all.

It’s different facing him now that that they’re on more equal footing. Still, Shinsou doesn’t plan to stay down for long.

“Yeah?” Shinsou says, forcing the wave of emotions down.

“Uh, it’s good to see you again, Shinsou!” The green-haired boy says. His voice peaks with anxiety, telling Shinsou instantly that this is the same boy he met months ago. “Do you like the party? Ashido and some of the others wanted to give you a proper welcome, so we all worked together to set things up! I-I mean, Kacchan wasn’t interested in helping, but the rest of us are all really excited to have you in our class! I don’t know what it was like having to say goodbye to your other class so suddenly, but-”

“Yeah, good to see you too,” Shinsou says, stemming the tide before somebody drowns. He has to fight the urge to use his Quirk for the job – just for a moment, to stop the flow of words – and a twinge of shame tickles his stomach. He needs to be better than that here. “Wasn’t expecting to get results so soon. Apparently somebody got kicked out of here a little while back?”

Midoriya’s face falls. “Yeah, uh, his name was Mineta. He was…kind of a troublemaker,” he says.

“Friend of yours?” Shinsou asks.

“Uh, maybe? We weren’t really close, but we spent some time together.” Midoriya pauses in thought. “He was…smarter than most people realized. He knew his Quirk pretty well. He could have been a good Hero, if…”

He looks around at the festive atmosphere and seems to reconsider his words, falling silent. “Sorry, it’s really not important right now. I-I don’t want to ruin the mood for anyone.”

Shinsou blinks, perplexed. It must have been something bad, if Midoriya is that worried about it. “You could just whisper it into my ear.”

The green-haired boy’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh, right! Of course!” He replies, flustered. “Uh, if you wouldn’t mind…”

Shinsou rolls his eyes and bends down slightly. The shorter boy cups a hand around his ear. “There, uh, was a little girl,” Midoriya whispers. “She was a guest at the culture festival. She’d been through…a lot, and we were kind of trying to help her smile again.”

Midoriya’s lip curls with a mixture of distaste and anxiety.

“And when Mineta met her, the first thing he told her was…was to wait ten years for him.”

…Well, that’s not all right.

Shinsou pulls away. “Seriously?” he asks, voice utterly flat. “Sounds like a real pile of shit.”

Midoriya fidgets uncomfortably at the memory. “Anyway, she told Aizawa-sensei, and people had already been complaining about him. Enough was enough, I guess. Now he’s just…gone. We’re not gonna see him around anymore.” He looks conflicted – saddened but relieved, but also guilty for feeling either.

Shinsou rubs the back of his neck and frowns. His sunken eyes look past Midoriya to the floor. He can’t find words. Damn it, why is it so hard to find words now? Shinsou has never cared too much about what he says. If other people don’t like him at first, they’ll certainly stop liking him later once they know what he can do. It’s never his mission to be liked.

So why is he so frustrated now? He doesn’t know Midoriya any more than the guy knows him. Besides, their only important meeting to date involved several violations of free will, broken fingers, and dreams prematurely crushed. That’s honestly worse than many of the interactions Shinsou can recall with other people. There shouldn’t be a want for him to say the right thing here.

Yet the words cycle behind his eyes, too quickly for him to choose any of them.

After a few moments, Midoriya’s face grows nervous. It makes Shinsou feel even more uncomfortable. “Uh, Shinsou? Is everything okay? You look, uh, you look kind of angry.”

Shinsou is still too busy thinking to reply – surely it would be something dry like ‘Yeah, I always do’ and if that’s the case, then perhaps it’s good that he can’t talk.

Eventually, Shinsou tells himself to just stop thinking so much and the dialogue choices stop. He opens his mouth and blurts out the first thing that returns to him.

“Thank you.”

Midoriya’s worried expression gives way to confusion. Shinsou isn’t sure his own response is much different. “Oh! Uh, for what?”

“…I’m not sure,” Shinsou says lamely. “Telling me all of that, and I guess other things too.”

Midoriya looks confused for a moment longer before he settles into a smile. “You’re welcome, Shinsou!” He exclaims. “We’re all glad you’re here!”

There’s something about that smile that makes Shinsou forget that he still has so much to do. He still has to catch up to the rest of his classmates – he’s nearly two full terms behind in Hero lessons, with no costume, Hero name, provisional license, or field experience to speak of. He’s under no illusions regarding the gap between him and everyone else, the gap he’ll be fighting to close to keep his new place here.

But that smile makes him feel like everything just might be okay.

It’s not until later that night, after Shinsou and everyone else has retired to their room, that Class 1-A’s newest member understands why he gave Midoriya his gratitude. He’s lying in his bed, in the corner of the room that was once Mineta’s; his new room is a little larger than any of the residences in Class 1-C’s building, which annoys him.

Shinsou is used to people watching him through the eyes of a frightened civilian in a disorderly world. In less seemly hands, the hands of the boy he replaced for example, his Quirk could be put to terrible ends on any scale. Forget forcing people to commit robberies for him – a power like his could end lives with ease.

It was always infuriating to hear pros talk about taking pride in your Quirks, while even the teachers didn’t think of you as much more than a villain waiting to happen. Pride was never a feeling that Shinsou took in his Quirk.

And then he met Midoriya – fought him, more accurately. He’d even almost won.

And although Shinsou had lost, his classmates and even the Heroes themselves still thought highly of him and his powers. They didn’t see him as a threat, but as a possibility.

For the first time in his life, Shinsou remembers feeling proud to be who he is.

After that, everything began to move. His training with Aizawa, the free-times filled with exercise and martials arts practice to strengthen his frail body. Even the kinship between him and his classmates didn’t begin until after the fight with Midoriya – the thin but firm tether through which everyone supported Shinsou on his journey upward. Perhaps he’d given them someone to believe in.

It’s a repulsively corny thought, but that encounter with Midoriya may have been the origin that Shinsou has longed for his entire life.

Although the challenges of tomorrow weigh heavily on his mind, Shinsou finally drifts off to sleep in his new bed, in his new dorm, amidst his new classmates.

It sure took long enough.

Chapter Text

Shinsou rolls onto his side and blinks his eyelids open at the sound of his alarm. His gaze falls onto the clock chirping on the windowsill out of arm’s reach, and he groans, pivoting his legs over the side of the bed and rising to a seated-then-standing position. He shakes the exhaustion away and steps over to the clock. He turns it off, then looks around with awoken eyes at his room.

After everything it’s taken for this chance, all the disappointment and struggle to prove his worth, the events of yesterday still don’t feel entirely real. It was all so sudden that Shinsou didn’t get any time to prepare. Looking around his room is a reminder of the truth; his new room has the same amenities as the old one, but it’s a little larger, with a different enough layout and structure to be noticeable.

It wasn’t a dream, he reminds himself. He’s in Class 1-A now. He’s going to be a Hero. The greatest Hero. Someone that he, his parents, and anyone else can upon with pride.

As Shinsou gets dressed and finishes brushing his teeth, there’s a knock at his door. “Are you up, Shinsou? We’re all getting ready for class,” Midoriya calls from the other side. “There’s breakfast in the common area!”

Shinsou spits into his sink and replies with a quick “Hang on, I’m coming,” then grabs his backpack and pulls his door open.

Midoriya, standing in the doorway, yelps in surprise. “Oh! Good morning, Shinsou! Were you already getting ready?” He asks. “I figured I’d check on you just to make sure you were doing okay. I thought you might have kind of a time adjusting to your first day here.”

“I think I can get up all right, thanks,” Shinsou says flatly. “I’ve been doing it my entire life.” He steps past Midoriya into the hallway and the two of them walk toward the stairs together. The two of them are a pair in their matching uniforms – thankfully, there’s no need for Shinsou to obtain a new uniform upon transferring. His uniform from the General Studies course still fits him just fine.

“Are you excited for class, Shinsou?” Midoriya asks. “Heroics class is only on Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester, so today probably won’t be too different for you. Does General Education mostly stick to the core curriculum?”

“More or less,” Shinsou says, trying to be polite. It’s early and he’s both nervous and not a social butterfly, but he reminds himself that Midoriya deserves better. “What classes do we have today?”

“There’s a few different classes every day, besides homeroom,” Midoriya replies. “We’ve got Modern Literature up first today. Is that something you’re good at?”

Shinsou hums in the affirmative. “I’m not terrible at it. Better than English.”

“I’m sure someone would help you with that!” Midoriya replies brightly. “There’s a few of us falling behind in Cementoss-sensei’s class. If you help them, I know they’d help you out in return.”

“You guys take your education seriously, huh?” Shinsou is no stranger to the pressure of academic excellence, but it makes sense that the Heroics course would be held to a high standard as well.

Sure enough, Midoriya chuckles. “I think we’re all worried about what Aizawa-sensei would do if our grades slipped. Besides, U.A.’s all about going beyond your limits, and everyone’s looking at us to do just that.”

“Plus Ultra,” Shinsou says softly, as if to himself – the slogan he’s sworn himself to.

Midoriya nods. “That’s the idea.”

They take a short stopover in the common area for breakfast, during which Shinsou notes the seeming absence of anyone else this morning. After the ruckus made by everyone last night, the silence feels out of place.

Midoriya shrugs sheepishly. “I think most of them are still worn out from last night. We stayed up a lot later than we usually do.” He takes a bite of rice and soy sauce and swallows. “I’m sure they’ll all show up eventually. Aizawa-sensei would be furious if anyone slept through class.”

Since Midoriya – of all people – doesn’t seem too worried, Shinsou lets the matter drop. It’s nice to have the common area to themselves anyway.

Despite Shinsou’s occupied thoughts, he manages to exchange some small talk with Midoriya on their way to the main building. The other boy fills Shinsou in on what’s being covered in each subject (sure enough, it’s not much different than what Class 1-C has been learning), and what to expect from the Foundational Heroics class. It sounds like they spend a lot of time running exercises and simulations to train the physical capabilities of the students; in that case, Aizawa-sensei’s lessons were an apt preparation.

One hopes.

Midoriya leads the way through the bright hallways and stops in front of a door with a sign parked ‘1-A’ near the top. “Here’s our homeroom,” Midoriya says, beckoning to the door. “Yours too, from now on. We’re really happy to have you here, Shinsou.”

Midoriya smiles that award-winning smile again. It’s enough to make the edges of Shinsou’s lips turn upward slightly as well. Of course it’s not going to be that easy – Shinsou hasn’t forgotten how Ojiro reacted to seeing him last night – but Shinsou has already played the long game to get here. He doesn’t mind starting anew.

“Just watch your back, Midoriya. I won’t be behind for long,” Shinsou replies.

He slides the door open and steps inside.

The classroom doesn’t look that much different than Class 1-C’s homeroom. It has the same walls, the same blackboard, the same arrangement of desks – it’s even on the same side of the school, as the windows open out to a slightly higher view of the fields outside.

All things considered, it’s honestly a little comforting.

“Shinsou! Midoriya!” Someone yells, and any remaining comfort drops dead. Iida strides up to Shinsou, arms pumping in a rhythm with every step. His glasses flash as he stops before them, giving him an oddly authoritarian presence. “You’re both cutting it close this morning. Shinsou, I realize that you’re new to this class, but that’s no excuse to arrive late on the first day of your new courses. Midoriya, I assume you helped him find his way. I approve of your generosity, but you shouldn’t let yourself fall behind as well.”

While Midoriya delivers a sheepish apology, Shinsou prickles slightly at the implication that he’s already inferior to everyone else. He understands it as truth, but that doesn’t mean he needs any of his classmates pointing it out to him.

The fact that it’s coming from Iida, himself an heir to a legacy of Heroics, makes him feel even worse.

“As much as I appreciated the welcome party, I don’t need you worrying about me,” Shinsou says, his apathetic tone honed into a slight edge. “And we’re both here now, so I’d appreciate it if you minded your own business.”

Midoriya lets out a shocked cry while Iida blinks and stares at Shinsou. “Pardon me, but I am the representative for Class 1-A!” Iida says, take aback by the other boy’s response. “The performance and well-being of my fellow students is absolutely relevant to my duties!” Iida recomposes himself and fixes Shinsou with a firm look, furrowing his brow. “As long as you’re within that banner, Shinsou, you’re as much one of my comrades as anyone else here. The precise moment of your entry doesn’t mean a thing.

“I speak for myself, and everyone else in this class when I tell you this, Shinsou,” Iida finishes firmly.

Suddenly, there’s something in Iida’s eyes that Shinsou doesn’t recognize – not anger, but a sense of conviction, directed outward toward him rather than inward. A certainty that Shinsou doubts any brainwashing could suppress.

 “Don’t fucking talk for me, Four-Eyes. I don’t give a shit what happens to that creeper,” says the boy seated near the windows, the one with explosive blonde hair and a surly expression that appears to have taken permanent residence on his face since long ago. He’d been staring ahead with utter disinterest ever since Shinsou and Midoriya came in, but this is the first he’s spoken.

Oh God, it’s this asshole, Shinsou thinks. The whole of U.A. is unlikely to forget about Bakugou Katsuki and his Sports Festival debut anytime soon. Chained to the podium with a medal in his teeth, what a way to be.

“Oh God, it’s this asshole,” Shinsou says.

“SHINSOU!” Midoriya and Iida shout. While Midoriya stares in horror, Iida soldiers on. “That’s no way to speak to any of your classmates on your first-”

“CRAM IT, NERD!” Bakugou yells. He slams his hand onto his desk top with a jarring BANG and shoots to his feet before stomping over toward Shinsou.

Midoriya, Shinsou notes, pulls back slightly as the blonde boy approaches. He doesn’t have time to consider the implications before Bakugou’s sneering face and crackling eyes are thrust toward his own.

“Listen, you General Studies bastard. I don’t know how far you had to shove that goddamn tongue up Aizawa-sensei’s ass for him to stick you in here, but it doesn’t change a fucking thing.” He grabs Shinsou’s lapel, his curled lips and wide eyes forming a downright livid display. “Stay down there with the rest of the lowlives where you belong, and don’t get in my fucking way, Sex Offender.”

Even with Bakugou’s grip on his shirt, Shinsou wants to reel backwards in the face of that sheer display of spite. He has a couple of inches on Bakugou, but the blonde’s temper and ego more than make up the difference and he understands why most people would back down against a force like that. He seems to have a special grudge toward Shinsou somehow, despite never meeting him face to face – not even at the welcome party from which he had abstained to join.

Thankfully, Shinsou’s skin is a good deal thicker than most people’s. He forces himself not to break eye contact, to respond to Bakugou’s burning eyes with his own glare. It looks even more vicious, contrasted with his usual look of disinterest.

“’Sex Offender’, huh? Because I could make women do things with my Quirk?” Shinsou asks. He angrily grits his teeth; this is far from the first time someone has implied that to his face.

“I was talking about those shitty bags under your eyes,” Bakugou spits. “You look like a fucking pervert, just like the runt.”

Shinsou hums. That’s the first time he’s heard that. “Well, if it’s just that, then I have to say I’m flattered,” he says. “I’m used to worse.”

Bakugou snarls, a downright demonic sound. “I’ll take that as a fucking invitation.”

“You most certainly will not!” Iida interjects. He grabs the two boys by the shoulder and pulls them apart, then rounds on Bakugou. “Bakugou, don’t antagonize Shinsou! Starting today, he’s your classmate. You need to put aside your distaste and learn to associate with him as a proper colleague, not as an adversary.”

“Huh? Stay the hell out of this, Four-Eyes!” Bakugou snaps. He points a quivering finger past Iida toward Shinsou. “Sex Offender! I’m gonna fucking beat this into your damn head if I have to! Stay out of my goddamn way, you hear me? If you try and trip me up, I swear to shit I’ll burn your ass black and send it right back where it came from!”

Shinsou smirks. “Yeah? If you keep running your mouth like that, you’ll be the one getting his ass charred,” he says. “I might just give you a hand.” His smile deepens as he waits for Bakugou’s reply, or potential lack thereof. If there’s one thing Shinsou can credit to his Quirk, it’s that he always gets the last word in a fight.

Of course, he wouldn’t risk his long-awaited place here for mere revenge, even if Bakugou is begging for some comeuppance.

The spiky-haired boy shoots Shinsou a glare to melt a hole through his skull, but doesn’t immediately reply, and Shinsou can tell that Bakugou is debating his bluff. The reprieve only lasts a few seconds before Bakugou’s lips curl into a terrifying, toothy grin. He’s clearly ready to fire back.

“Hey, Shinsou! Looks like you beat us here!” Sero says, appearing from nowhere to give Shinsou a slap on the shoulder. Behind him, everyone else is slowly filing into the classroom before the beginning of homeroom. Most of them don’t look twice at the scene they walk in on before returning to their conversations.

“You look like you had a rough night last night, huh man?” Kirishima asks, standing casually at an angle between Bakugou and Shinsou and giving the latter someone else to focus on. “I’d have a hard time falling asleep too if I was in your shoes.”

“Butt the hell out, Spiky Hair!” Bakugou growls. Shinsou’s lightly stunned when Kirishima doesn’t react in the slightest. Some of the aggression he’d been feeling drains away.

“…I always look like this,” Shinsou says, irritated but no longer agitated.

Kirishima’s jagged grin falters. “Oh crud, sorry man!” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you or anything. My bad.”

“So Shinsou, how’re you feeling about your first day here?!” A perky female voice chimes in behind Shinsou, who turns to see Uraraka beaming. (Bakugou yells again for him to pay attention, but if no one else is listening to him, Shinsou sure isn’t going to.) “Did Iida and Deku already tell you anything about our schedule? Don’t worry, we’ll walk you through it!”

“A little…bit,” Shinsou replies, catching a bit on her name for Midoriya. He raises an eyebrow. “Deku?” He asks.

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s worthless!” Bakugou roars behind him.

“That’s enough, Bakugou!” Iida admonishes him, then turns back toward Shinsou. “Deku is the Hero name that Midoriya chose for himself. A representation of his desire to soldier onward, I believe.”

He looks to Midoriya, who nods in confirmation. “At any rate, it’s almost time for class to begin, Shinsou. I recommend you take your seat just beyond Midoriya’s desk.”

Iida beckons to the second desk from the back in the rightmost column of seats, the one nearest the windows.

Though his face doesn’t show it, Shinsou feels a bit joyous at where is desk is. He’s always enjoyed staring out the window when class provides no interest, and the view from here looks nice.

Shinsou makes his way toward his desk with Midoriya in tow, and they fall into their seats together. As Shinsou sets his bag down next to him, he looks around briefly at the seats surrounding his own. Aside from Midoriya sitting in front of him, Sero is making conversation with his neighbors – Kirishima and Kaminari, with Jirou being pulled in as well by Kaminari – Tokoyami straightens his uniform and glances at Shinsou from the corner of his eye, Todoroki sits and looks straight ahead, and Yaoyorozu smiles and raises her hand in a subtle greeting.

By the time the door slides open and Aizawa-sensei enters the room, every student is waiting in their seat. A wave of silence strikes the room as everyone comes to attention. Clearly, no one wants to be the focus of their teacher’s reproach.

Aizawa-sensei moves to the podium up front and begins speaking without introduction. “As you’re all entirely aware by now, we have a new transfer student,” he says. “You’ve had your chance to make introductions, so we’ll skip all that.”

With that sliver of acknowledgement, Aizawa-sensei continues delivering his morning instruction as though his class now is as it’s always been. The rational part of Shinsou’s brain assures him that his new teacher is simply accepting him without fanfare and tells him not to act like a dumbass by raising a scene because he doesn’t feel sufficiently introduced.

When the bell marking the end of homeroom rings, Aizawa’s voice cuts through the noise. “Shinsou, I need to discuss something with you before you leave. Everyone else, get a move on.”

Shinsou stops in place while bent over to retrieve his bag. He can’t fight the way his heart skips, or the chill it sends through his veins. He hates feeling that way, even though he’s had since elementary school to grow accustomed to it. His eyes flit around the classroom before he can stop them; no one seems to be looking his way intentionally. Even Ojiro, the one most likely to send Shinsou an accusing glare, is busy speaking with Hagakure and Ashido.

That’s good. Shinsou’s fought for the right to be in a class that doesn’t immediately finger him when things are off.

After hanging back enough for everyone else to drain from the room, Shinsou walks up to Aizawa-sensei at the front of the room. “We need to talk about your next steps. You have a lot to catch up on.” Aizawa says, as soon as Shinsou comes to a stop. He doesn’t even look up from his papers.

Shinsou blinks, a bit taken aback. “Really, is that all?” He asks. He’s annoyed – he can’t believe he let himself be psyched out for this. “Well shit, that’s the first I’ve ever heard of that. I-”

Aizawa fixes Shinsou with a glare, and he quickly falls silent. “There’s no substitute for the experience that your classmates have gained through the villain epidemic, so you’ll have to make do as best you can. We’ll speak to Gang Orca about letting you join his remedial lessons. With some luck, you may be able to receive your provisionary license without a long wait.

“In the meantime, you need to provide us with your Hero name and the first version of your costume.” He picks up the top form on his stack of papers and hands it to Shinsou. It’s a request form for a costume from the Support Department. “Fill that out, including anything important you’d like them to know. Draw your costume design on something else, then attach it to that form and return it to me before classes next Monday. As long as you have a modicum of creative ability, that shouldn’t be too great a task.”

One week. Shinsou files that deadline away, scanning the form. It asks for things like measurements, health problems, and a description of his Quirk – a fairly basic request form. He frowns. “I don’t suppose you’d have some advice to start me off, sensei?” Shinsou asks, looking back up. “I’m not really a creative kind of guy. Same goes for my Quirk.”

It’s a problem that Shinsou has been aware of for some time; the almost complete lack of developmental potential that his Quirk possesses. As powerful as brainwashing is on its own, the mechanics of his ability make it a one-trick sort of power.

“Talk to your classmates,” Aizawa replies flatly. “See if any of them can provide you with some inspiration. You already have a need to establish relationships with them, so consider this a means of accomplishing two goals at once.” He straightens out his papers and tucks them into a folder. “Beyond that, Shinsou, you need to find answers yourself. It won’t benefit you if you only get them from other people.”

Aizawa-sensei picks up his sleeping bag from off the floor nearby and tucks it under his arm, clearly ready to leave the classroom. He reaches into his papers and hands Shinsou a slip of paper. “Here’s a pass, so Cementoss won’t penalize you for being tardy. Don’t wait around.” He leaves without another word, and Shinsou follows shortly behind, mind already cluttered with questions and ideas that he has yet to fit together.  

~~SSCH~~

Cementoss-sensei doesn’t react much to Shinsou’s presence – a simple nod of acknowledgement as he walks in and shows off his pass, and then the lesson continues as Shinsou takes his seat. That suits Shinsou fine; he doesn’t need to establish his transfer to every other teacher in the school.

Shinsou draws a few looks of concern and curiosity from the people seated around him (chiefly Midoriya), but he waves them away for now and pulls out his notebook. He only missed the start of class, but Cementoss is already deep into a discussion about character motivations and Shinsou scribbles character strokes into the pages in a rush to catch up.

Once Shinsou catches up with the lecture, his pencil scratches slow down as the pace of his writing becomes more leisurely. During the brief pauses in the lesson, he flips to the back of his notebook and begins writing other notes in the margins.

Making people talk

Truth serum(?)

Can’t know me

Hiding identity

Costume changes?

Multiples

Actions after brainwashing

Weapons?

Handcuffs

Giving commands

Control

Shinsou doesn’t know how much time he spends on his costume, but suddenly he registers Cementoss’ voice again and he hastily flips back to his lecture notes. It seems he’s missed a sizeable amount of the lesson, so he’ll have to ask his classmates to help fill in the holes.

He sighs, drawing brief looks from everyone around him, then recommits to the lecture at hand. It’s a continuation of the material he was learning in General Studies, so it doesn’t give him much trouble.

When Cementoss-sensei finishes his lecture and dismisses the class, Shinsou doesn’t make it out the door before a hand claps him on the shoulder. “So, what’s up, Shinsou? Was Aizawa-sensei giving you a formal greeting?” Sero asks, quirking an eyebrow. The class moves into the hallway, and everyone splits into their own small groups as they all walk down the hall – save for Bakugou and Todoroki, who both walk alone off to opposite sides.

“He was telling me what I need to catch up on,” Shinsou answers. “I need a Hero name and costume by class next Monday.” He pauses, then admits, “I might need some help.”

Sero grins broadly. “Hey, no sweat! Twenty heads are better than one.” He looks back over his shoulder. “Hey, Tokoyami! Shinsou needs a name and costume! You’re both dark and creepy-looking, so how did you come up with yours?”

Shinsou blinks, unsure whether to be taken aback, and the raven-headed boy wanders into view wearing an irritated look. “I’ll thank you not to debase me or my chosen garments,” Tokoyami says. “My-”

“How about ‘Player Two’?” Kaminari says, cutting Tokoyami off. “Because you’re taking control away from other people?”

Shinsou shakes his head. “I’m not really a gamer.”

“If we’re going the dark and edgy route, how about ‘Mindworm’?” Kirishima suggests. He gestures to Tokoyami. “We’ve already got a bird. You two could be a team! Shinsou sets the bad guys up, and then Dark Shadow takes them down! You could call yourselves, uh…” He snaps his fingers. “Team Tasty!”

Shinsou’s head snaps back, recoiling in bewildered shock. “No!” Tokoyami’s voice mingles with his own, and the two boys look at each other before turning away, flustered. “I want people to take me seriously,” Shinsou grumbles.

“Maybe try thinking back to when you were a kid,” Tsuyu chimes in, joining the small group forming around Shinsou. “What kind of ideas did you have for your Hero identity? Did you ever think up a name or decide how you wanted to specialize? A lot of kids wanting to be Heroes do stuff like that.”

Shinsou tries to remember if he might have done anything like that when he was younger. He doesn’t recall much, mostly a deep desire to throw his future success in the faces of everyone who ever accused him of being a villain in the making. It’s not the greatest motive, admittedly.

“I don’t remember,” he says. “I’ll ask my parents. Maybe they can help.”

“Yeah, and even they can’t, you’ve still got plenty of time!” Ashido says. “We’re happy to lend a hand if it means keeping you around, Shinsou!”

A cynical reply bubbles up within Shinsou’s chest – I wonder if Ojiro and his girlfriend would say the same – but he forces it back down. “Sure, thanks,” he says instead. “Know anyone I could start by talking to? I need inspiration.”

~~SSCH~~

The craggy-looking boy jumps slightly when Shinsou drops his lunch tray onto the table and sits down facing him. “You’re Kouda, right?” Shinsou asks. He waits for Kouda’s skittish nod before continuing. “I wanna talk to you about your costume. I need some ideas for creating mine. Is that all right with you?”

Rather than responding, Kouda peers around the cafeteria tables like a meerkat, seeking some sort of release for his anxiety. He finds it a couple tables over, where a small band of his fellow classmates are sitting – Tokoyami, Shouji, Satou, Ojiro, and Hagakure. They all catch his eye as he notices them, and he suspects that they knew about this.

Tokoyami gives Kouda a slight nod. Shouji flashes several thumbs up. Satou grins and pumps his fist. Ojiro glowers briefly at Shinsou and returns to Hagakure and his meal, pretending not to see him. Hagakure makes what looks like a subdued arm-pumping motion before returning to Ojiro.

Kouda deliberates for a moment, then turns back to Shinsou and hesitantly begins moving his hands. I’ll do my best to help. What do you want to know? He signs.

Shinsou’s eyebrow lifts slightly in surprise. Kouda considers hiding his hands in shame, but then Shinsou raises his own hands. “Your Quirk works through your voice, like mine does. Is there anything you did with your costume to complement it?” He asks, signing along as he speaks. His movements are less experienced than Kouda’s – choppier and more hesitant, but his meaning is clear.

Kouda’s eyes light up, his anxiety retreating. He moves his hands again. You know how to sign?

Shinsou holds his thumb and forefinger close, as if to say, ‘a little’. He doesn’t say that he started learning when he was young, just so he could talk to people without terrifying them (it didn’t help; barely anyone understood him that way).

Kouda looks happy regardless. That’s wonderful. I’m glad someone else in my class knows now.

“No one else does?” Shinsou tries to sign along again. He has trouble conveying his question this time, and he eventually lowers his hands in defeat.

Kouda reconsiders. My friends all understand it, but none of them can reply. They don’t need to, since I can hear fine. He looks briefly panicked. Not that I would have a problem if you couldn’t! It’s just nice to know someone else who can speak like this.

“Yeah, sure thing,” Shinsou says, idling eating some rice. A budding sense of satisfaction grows in his gut – it’s rather annoying. “Can you help me out here? What did you do with your costume?”

Kouda rubs his chin in thought. He spends several moments thinking before he replies. I don’t think I did anything fancy with it. I just ensured that it was durable and would allow me to move easily. I added a mouth guard with a microphone in it later, as well as more pockets for food and treats to give the animals. He looks forlorn. Sorry I can’t help you more. I’m not really a creative person.

“It’s fine,” Shinsou says, trying not to let his disappointment show (he always looks disappointed, so hopefully that helps). “I’ll figure something out.”

Kouda continues signing. I’m not entirely sure how your Quirk works. Can you control anyone who hears your voice?

Shinsou shakes his head. “Not quite. I have to say something to them, and then they have to respond to it.” His eyes, already half-closed as usual, darken even further. “And therein lies the problem. I can’t make people talk to me, no matter how my costume looks.”

Kouda looks sympathetic. Would having a microphone help you at all? People could hear you and reply from farther away, and you wouldn’t have to get close as often.

Shinsou blinks. “That’s…not a bad idea,” he says. He can’t believe he didn’t think of it sooner. With a microphone, he wouldn’t have to expose himself before trying to brainwash people. He could hide – remain hidden, where they couldn’t see him. Where they couldn’t figure out who he was until he was already inside their heads.

He thinks about Aizawa-sensei, about Eraserhead, the underground Hero, and feels things clicking into place.

Have you come up with any ideas? Kouda asks.

Shinsou’s smile is much more genuine than his usual sneer. “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “Thanks, Kouda. I’m gonna have to write all this down.”

No problem! Kouda says happily. I’m glad I could help you, Shinsou!

“Glad to be helped,” Shinsou replies, returning to his lunch with slightly more cheer than normal.

~~SSCH~~

Shinsou falls backward onto his bed with a sigh as the phone rings against his ear. He doesn’t want to be having this phone call, but the messages he’s received throughout the day are forcing his hand. It’s probably better that he gets it over with anyway.

The ringing stops. “Hey, Toshi. That you?” A familiar voice speaks.

Hitoshi rubs his forehead. The anticipation burns in his stomach. “Yeah, Dad. It’s me. You called me a bunch of times today. Why wouldn’t it be me?” It comes out harsh, but he didn’t think to ask whether the school would alert his parents about his transfer. Thinking about his father puts him on edge.

A chuckle comes through from the other end. “Sorry about that, Toshi. I got a little worked up earlier. My bad!” His father replies easily. “Anyway, how’re you going? Are you having a good time on campus?”

“…It’s not bad,” Hitoshi says noncommittally. He can’t tell what his dad is thinking just yet. “I’m trying to talk to people more.”

“That’s great, buddy! Made any new friends yet?”

He thinks of Midoriya and Kouda, and it gives him pause. “…I’m not sure yet,” he manages. Where did that come from?

“Well, if you’ve made progress with anyone, don’t let them go! You gotta keep at them, no matter what.”

(The faces of Ojiro and Aoyama flicker across Shinsou’s mind, stopping his reply again.)

“I’ll remember that,” Hitoshi mutters. “Hey, Dad? I need to…talk to you about something that’s happened here. It’s pretty big, and I’m guessing they already told you about it.”

The voice on the line is silent for a moment. “…I’m guessing they did too, Toshi.” Hitoshi’s father sounds almost resigned. He knows exactly what this is about. “So, how’re your new classmates treating you? They’re not giving you a hard time, are they?”

“Not really,” Hitoshi says. “I mean, there’s Bakugou, but he’s always an ass. Most of them are all right.”

“Are they giving you any grief about your Quirk?”

Hitoshi chews on his lip. “…Just a couple of them. I’ve used it on them before, so it’s fair enough.”

“Hitoshi, don’t,” His father says, concerned but firm. “Don’t start telling yourself that, kid. You might never stop.” A sigh crackles through the line. “Just…be careful of who you spend time around, okay? Promise me.”

Hitoshi sighs. “Dad, it’s—”

“I don’t care what it is. Promise.”

“…Okay, I promise. But it’s fine. Most of them trust me. I’m not gonna turn myself into a martyr just because I messed up with a couple of people. I’d like to make things better with them, but I’m sure as hell not going to kill myself over it.”

“…Okay. Okay, that’s good. I’m glad to hear it. I just…you’ve already had it rough for so long, Hitoshi. I’ve handled it myself for a while, but I hate hearing that you’re suffering too. And now, God, you’re trying to become a Hero? It’s—”

He catches himself, then says, recomposed, “It’s just a lot to handle. Do you really think it’s worth it just to prove everyone wrong, Hitoshi?”

Hitoshi’s jaw stiffens. They’ve gone back and forth over this for years. There was no point in expecting his transfer to change anything, as much as it pains him. “Damn it, Dad, that’s not the point,” Hitoshi growls, even though it probably is, a little bit. “I…I want to help people, Dad. I want to be like…like Best Jeanist or Edge Shot. Like Eraserhead.”

(All men that he identifies with, people who looked at the powers they were given – powers that paled next to All Might’s strength or Endeavor’s flames – and found strength enough in them to stand tall and protect the innocent.)

“I want to be a Hero who helps people, Dad! I know there’s plenty of them like me, who’ve had to prove that they can stand next to the superstars.” Hitoshi gets up and paces around his room, animated beyond the usual. “If they could do it, then I can too! I know I can!”

The sound of Hitoshi’s breath cuts through the silence. He blinks away the prickling of tears in his eyes. “So why can’t you just believe in me, Dad? I’m already trying my best here.”

The line is quiet, save for the breathing on the other end. Hitoshi waits for a reply for far longer than he wants.

“…I know that, Hitoshi,” his father says at last, and he sounds genuinely shameful. “I know all that, and I’m sorry if I’ve made you think I don’t believe in you. I know you can do anything you put your mind to. I just…it’s already dangerous enough out there when you’re not actively looking for a fight. If you’re gonna be a Hero, then I’m absolutely going to worry about you, Toshi. I’m your father, that’s my job.”

Hitoshi listens, then closes his eyes and takes calming breaths to further lessen the weight in his chest. “Okay…okay. I get it. I’m sorry I yelled at you, Dad. I just…I want to be a Hero. I always have,” he says.

Despite his clashes with his father over the years, Hitoshi is grateful to have parents who love and care for him as much as his do. Even when everyone else shunned him and his power, his mother and father were always there to comfort him.

As if responding to his thoughts, Hitoshi’s father speaks again. “I know you do, buddy. And I’m glad you’ve finally found people you might call your tribe. I just hate seeing your Quirk get in the way of your happiness. Life loves putting down people like us sometimes.”

Hitoshi doesn’t know much about his father’s experiences with his own Quirk, but he’s seen the aftereffects. “Drone”, they’ve always called it – his father emits a pheromone that makes anyone who smells it more open to his suggestion. It’s a nuisance at best and its own crime wave at worst, and it doesn’t have an off switch.

 “A villain’s Quirk”, Hitoshi is sure people have called it, just like his own power – itself a hybrid of “Drone” and his mother’s Quirk. There’s a reason why Hitoshi’s father has to work from home (where, thankfully, his child and wife are immune) and why he puts on a whole hazmat suit each time he leaves the house.

(Hitoshi will never forget the riot at the grocery store a few years back. To this day, bananas make him feel uneasy.)

“I’ll be fine, Dad,” Hitoshi says, putting those thoughts behind him. “I think things will be different this time.” He’s a little surprised to realize that he means it. When he remembers everyone cheering him on after his loss in the Sports Festival, his dream doesn’t seem so farfetched.

“…All right, I’ll trust you, kid,” says Hitoshi’s father, not quite convinced but putting it aside. “But it sounds like you’re still in for a lot of work, Toshi. There’s a lot of training to be a Hero.”

“I know.”

“Have you done anything yet?”

“Not yet. Tomorrow’s my first Heroics class.”

Hitoshi tries to ignore the sudden chill in his gut. This is what Aizawa-sensei trained him for. He’ll figure it out.

“Have you told Mom about what’s going on?”

Hitoshi absently shakes his head. “I sent her a text, but I think she’s busy. She hasn’t replied.”

“Probably,” Hitoshi’s dad notes. This isn’t uncommon; her job as a translator keeps her plenty occupied with travel and official business. Still, Hitoshi knows she’ll reach back out to him soon. She always does.

Hitoshi’s dad sighs, and it crackles over the phone. “Well, if you think you’ve got this, I won’t push you too hard, Hitoshi. Just…I’m still worried about you, kid. That’s not gonna change soon. Try and take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” Hitoshi promises.

“Okay, I’ll let you go for tonight,” Hitoshi’s father says. “I love you, Toshi. I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, but I’m so proud of you, of what you’re trying to become. Be careful, okay? I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt.”

“I got it,” Hitoshi replies through his tightening throat. “I love you too, Dad. Thanks for everything.”

“G’night, kiddo. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

And the line goes dead.

Shinsou falls back onto his bed with a mighty sigh. His first Heroics class is tomorrow, and he has no idea what to expect (neither did anyone else – evidently All Might enjoys surprises). He can’t help but understand his father’s worries a little better now.

Eventually, after too long, he falls asleep for the second time in his new life.