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Kaminari turned over in his steel swiveling chair, steepling his fingers on the cold iron of the bare table. In the single, faint light of the swinging light, his face was mostly obscured behind shadows. “Gentlemen, ladies. The time has come. I need your help.”
Around the table, the bedraggled faces of a selection of his classmates looked back to him from their equally cold seats, each holding a donut or cup of coffee and dressed in their nightclothes. In clockwise order: Midoriya, Momo, Bakugo, Sero, Mina and Hagakure.
“Kaminari, what is the purpose of calling us in at…” Momo checked her watch. “Four thirty in the morning? And why build a secret, underground bunker that you obviously wallpapered to look malicious?”
“Yeah, what fuckin’ gives, sparky?” Bakugo chimed in, feet propped onto the table and half asleep.
Kaminari cleared his throat. “I need your help.”
“Real fuckin’ specific, idiot. I’m going back to sleep.” Bakugo got up to go, but was promptly stopped when a glob of acid sprayed the handle of the door.
“Whoops!” Mina yawned, then gave a cheeky smile. “C’mon, ‘splodey! This could be fun, and judging by the look on Kaminari’s face…This is about Jirou!”
Hagakure, who up until this point was only noticeable by her baby blue night cap, chimed in. “Ooh, confession! Yes, it’s written all over your face, ‘Nari!”
Kaminari had turned bright red, so much so that Midoriya was tempted to take a pin and see if he could be popped. The normally blond, outgoing boy had shrunk into himself, eyes flickering over the surface of the plain table as if it was the most interesting thing in existence.
Kaminari took a deep breath. “Yes. Today is the day. I gotta because I like her and I wanna-”
Bakugo punched the wallpaper, denting what was likely foam behind it. “So that’s what you woke everyone up for? A fucking CONFESSION? Okay then! Grow a pair, walk up to her, do the thing, then fuck her! We done?”
Hagakure promptly punched Bakugo in the back of the head, effectively silencing him for a moment and stopping the inevitable half hour rant. Unfortunately, this directed the full force of a Bakugo grade nuclear bomb straight to the poor invisible girl, who eventually was so covered in ash that her features were discernable through her invisibility.
Turning to leave, Bakugo remembered the handle to the reinforced iron door was melted off from Mina’s acid, then angrily returned to his seat. “Fine then! What the fuck do you need us for?”
Kaminari coughed, then tried to regain his train of thought. “Right right right. As you all might have noticed, Jirou is a little…cold-”
“She’s fucking emotionless, sparky.” Bakugo burst in, earning himself another slap on the head, this time from Mina.
Kaminari shot an annoyed look at Bakugo. “She’s just a little shy! Don’t be so mean to her. Anyways I need something big and flashy to confess and preferably not kill myself in the process. That’s why I have…”
Digging into his bag, Kaminari retrieved a full sized blueprint with dramatic flourish and laid it across the table. “Voila! My master plan, concocted last night, while I was drunk and brain fried! It’s flawless!”
Momo scanned over the entire thing with a look of pure disgust. “Kaminari, rocket is not spelled with two k’s and an x. Moreover, this has an absolutely abysmal chance of success. ”
Kaminari’s face fell, and with it the light level in the room fell by half. “She won’t like it?”
Momo frowned in confusion. “What? No, she’s head over heels in love with you. What I meant is that this is high grade rocket science combined with acid, fire, and what could be considered a medieval form of bondage. You’ll kill yourself trying to attempt it.”
Kaminari nodded solemnly, then perked up in astonishment. “Wait, what was that first thing?”
Momo was absentmindedly scribbling over some numbers and instructions on the page with a thick sharpie. “You’ll kill yourself trying?”
Kaminari made a rolling gesture with his hands. “No, before that.”
Momo capped her sharpie. “Not important. Here, your numbers are fixed and I have calculated the exact percentage of acid to Bakugo’s sweat necessary to create a stable source of fuel. Not that ‘fixed’ is an adequate descriptor, considering your original calculations ended with, and I quote from your barely legible writing, ‘One (1) fuck-ton from that absolute unit’. Failure rate is still at around seventy-two percent, though.”
Midoriya looked over at the calculations and pointed at one particular number in the sequences. “Bakugo’s sweat is more potent than that. I have the documents somewhere…”
Momo raised an eyebrow. “I was taking the basic properties of nitroglycerin for my equations, given his parent’s quirks, but it does ring true the natural body functions would give some variation to calculation. How do you know of this?”
Midoriya smiled bashfully, then retrieved a tattered notebook filled to bursting with tiny, immaculate scrawl. “I, uh, spend my time researching hero stuff. Statistics, interests, weaknesses, etcetera. Comes handy sometimes.”
Taking the book from Midoriya, Momo scanned through three pages in a minute and adjusted her calculations just as fast.
“Fixed, although I would like to know the properties of Mina’s acid for further refinement.”
Momo gestured again, and without blinking Midoriya filed through his stockpile and pulled out a bright pink notebook.
There was more scribbling, and the number on paper boiled down to an ever more precise digit. Momo popped two differently sized test tubes from her arms, then rolled one each to Mina and Bakugo. “My calculations are flawless, but preparedness never hurt a soul. Fill those up to the brim and bring them back carefully. One ounce of difference could kill you both.”
With that warning, Bakugo and Mina began slowly, dripping acid and sweat respectively into their tubes one drop at a time.
Meanwhile, Hagakure had silently made her way up to the head of the blueprint and was appraising the artwork. “Nice stick figures.”
“Thank you Hagakure, they’re the cumulative effort of my nearly three hours of art practice.”
Without looking up from her work, Momo said, “Define cumulative.”
Kaminari shrugged and gave his best poker face. “I dunno. Jirou used it once so now I do.”
Momo gave a disappointed sigh. “Amazing, Kaminari. If she told you to jump off a cliff-”
Kaminari sprung to his feet. “Did she? Quick, where’s the nearest! -”
“It’s an expression!” Momo threw her sharpie at Kaminari’s head, leaving a black dot on the corner of his cheek. “You are completely enamored with her, are you not?”
“That’s the one thing I’m completely sure about!” Kaminari said brightly, striking a confident pose.
“What’s the sum of two and three?”
“Seven?”
“…” Momo rubbed her temples. “Why am I even surprised? You mixed up the words ‘condone’ and ‘condom’ in your essay.”
Bakugo broke in, throwing his cork sealed sweat sample onto the blueprint and getting up again. “There you go, fuckers! Can I go now?”
Momo shook her head, then popped an empty oil barrel from her back along with a dumbbell. “Your duty presents itself as filling this basin in an hour’s time. Do it or you’re stuck here forever. Mina, may I have your progress?”
“Done!” Mina plopped the vial of bright pink goo next to the glistening tube of sweat, then strolled around to watch Kaminari explain the machinations of his plan to Deku, who was nodding fervently and muttering.
“…And then the fireworks will go off, spelling her name across the sky!” Kaminari mimed a huge explosion and traced the trajectory on the smudged page.
Behind him, Momo muttered, “That’ll never work, just settle for fireworks.”
Kaminari paid her no heed.
Deku flipped over to a red bounded notebook and referred to his notes. “Interesting…Do you have those fireworks now? Momo doesn’t have enough energy to create what you need for this contraption given the properties of her quirk.”
Kaminari retrieved five crates of highly dangerous explosive toys. “Yes I do, but they’re not set up yet. Last time I tried I got caught and confiscated ‘cause it was three in the morning.”
“There’s a fifteen-minute free space between teacher shifts when Mr. Aizawa swaps with Present Mic. We can set it up then.” Deku wrote 6:45 on the top of the page with a red marker, then circled it twice.
“Great! Can you do it? I gotta set up the roof stuff.”
“M-Me?! Are…Are you sure?” Deku stuttered and froze, taken aback by Kaminari’s trust in him. “S-Sure! Absolutely! Although I could use some assistance…”
Mina broke in with a smile. “Lemme do it! It’s front row seats, after all! I wanna see the main spectacle!”
Momo turned her head apologetically. “My sincerest apologies, Mina. The machinations of this scheme require at least four barrels of your acid set to its strongest, and during the final stages you must be present on the roof awaiting ignition.”
Now visibly upset, Mina turned her attention to the four barrels and sulkily began filling them with potent pink acid. “Can I at least blow something up?”
“In fact you can, and I will provide you with a telescopic high definition video camera to record and watch the event if you wish.” Momo popped what looked like a pair of binoculars combined with a toaster oven onto the table and slid it to Mina, who accepted it in open arms.
"Hagakure!” Momo called, voice firm and authoritative. “You need to be present at the gates! Take these walkie-talkies and clear the schoolyard. No witnesses other than those currently present must see the inevitable and spectacular failure!”
“Hey!” Kaminari protested, turning toward Momo.
“No offense!” Momo continued down the line of calculations, fixing up every grammar error she came across in an arc of sharpie fueled determination.
Kaminari laughed it off and then gestured to Sero, who up until this point was happily eating everyone’s donuts. “Yo Sero! How much tape can you make?”
With his mouth full, the only thing Sero managed was a barely audible, “Yes.”
“Yes?” Kaminari tilted his head, intrigued.
“Yes!” Sero nodded fervently, then demonstrated his skills by throwing a line of tape across the room and accidentally gift wrapping Hagakure. The poor girl yelped from within the tape, dropping her walkie-talkie and falling unceremoniously to the floor with a dull thump. Sero crammed the rest of the food into his mouth to free his hands.
“…Oops.” Sero edged past Bakugo and Mina to begin the arduous process of unwrapping Hagakure. He swallowed his food in a painfully loud gulp. “But yeah, I got tape. I got so much tape. Like, at least four tape. Maybe more.”
“Four tape is more than enough.” Kaminari nodded gravely, scribbling down a giant ‘four’ onto his blueprints. Momo batted his hand away before any further damage could be done.
“Kaminari, for your own safety, I implore you to leave the finer details to me. And that is a seven, not a four.” Momo pointed at Kaminari’s addition to the page, then crossed it out with two thick sharpie strokes. “The masterwork is almost complete, but the process to fabricate the chemical needed to function as rocket fuel will take a few minutes. In the meantime…”
Momo began creating an assortment of mechanic’s tools, followed by a disassembled collection of spare parts. A pair of safety goggles popped onto her head. “I’ll create the most important part, then finish the rocket fuel. Everyone else can go. I’ll meet you all at 7:30 sharp, so look over at your stations and do not forget! Kaminari’s love life is dependent on this scheme! Also, the door’s a push door. You can push it.”
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Bakugo slammed his fist against the reinforced iron, and it opened without a problem. “FUCK THIS, I’M DONE. GOODBYE!”
With that, the meeting was adjourned, and one by one the utterly exhausted yet strangely excited students filed out of the room and back towards their own dorms. Kaminari lingered for a moment longer.
“Momo, I have to thank you.” His gold rimmed eyes were unusually solemn.
“There is no need.” Momo looked over from the rain of sparks erupting from the assembly of gadgets, smiling pleasantly.
“No, but, seriously. Jirou means a lot to me. I love her. So thanks for everything, Momo.”
Momo waved the compliment away with a nod. “You are very welcome, Kaminari. I’m touched. However, your confession will never come to fruition if I do not finish this. Go sleep and shower. Oh, and…Do comb your hair. You need to look your best.”
“Thanks, Momo.” Kaminari left the room, and Momo listened to his fading footsteps as he retreated back to his dorm.
Momo stretched, then continued to tinker with the mechanical tools Kaminari would doubtlessly operate incorrectly. She installed so many safety switches and emergency operatives that twice she had to disassemble the contraption to make sense of what it was supposed to be originally.
Momo briefly wondered why she would go to such lengths to aid that helpless idiot in doing something as trivial as a confession. She wasn’t close friends with Kaminari, nor did she implicitly care about the details of his life enough to normally do such a thing.
Momo was bound by logic, driven by it, and with her impressive intelligence it had carried her on a comfortable cloud throughout her life. Now, in the dim light of Kaminari’s secret bunker, she toiled away at impressively complicated machines and perfected schematics only to achieve something without intrinsic value.
A wire sparked below her, singing a smoldering hole into her uniform. Momo frowned, then picked at the torn cloth. Of course, she could fix it, but that would take precious working moments away. Returning to her crafts, a drop of Mina’s acid spilled onto her skirt, melting straight through the fabric, chair and boring a hole into the floor.
Momo didn’t even look away from the careful processes in front of her, but within her mind she was running a full scale debate of why she wanted to help Kaminari.
After an hour of careful consideration, Momo still couldn’t explain to herself why.
Her phone’s notification alarm rang from within her bag.
Momo turned away from the incessant whirring of incomplete machinery to the same incessant whirring of complete ones. Absentmindedly she threw it onto the table and watched the screensaver glow blue in the faint light of the bunker.
Pausing from her work, Momo reached for her phone and unlocked it, intending to read the stockpile of unanswered messages from Todoroki, who after recently discovering the joyous modern age revolution of memes sent them constantly in a flow of pure unadulterated happiness to everyone in the class.
Instead, Momo got stuck on her homescreen. It was a picture of her and Jirou, smiling, eating ice cream, laughing without regard to anyone around and generally being a nuisance to the entire public area.
Momo smiled fondly. It was a good memory.
Then it struck her.
She wasn’t obliged to do any of it for Kaminari. Part of her didn’t even want to. But without her expertise Jirou wouldn’t be happily with him, and she definitely was obliged to keep her friend as happy as possible.
If making Kaminari’s ridiculously overcomplicated confession a reality was what it took, Momo was more than happy to put every ounce of her effort into making it succeed. Jirou’s happiness came before all else in this situation, and Kaminari made her happy.
So Momo would do it.
A burst of smoke dusted the front of her uniform with soot.
No matter the cost.
It took two hours to prepare everything.
The lawn was littered with highly volatile fireworks. A massive steel gong was securely taped to the front arch of the school, obscured by a gray cloth.
Kaminari, Mina, Sero and Bakugo were camping out on the roof of the school, decked out with possibly hazardous contraptions, homemade rocket fuel and acid seared tape.
Midoriya sat patiently to the side of the main building, matchstick in hand, trying the last of the fireworks fuse lines together while peering back and forth from his walkie-talkie, eagerly awaiting commands.
Hagakure managed to steer any suspecting students and teachers away from the area with the threat of a vengeful spirit haunting the grounds. Now positioned behind the wall of the school, she awaited the most important part of the plan.
Momo’s duty in the original plan was to greet and lure Jirou into the heart of the machinations. Even after every revision she could conceive and every gadget she could build, Momo still held the duty of being the initiator and coordinator.
By 6:45, Momo was exhausted, barely conscious, and covered in an assortment of wire burns and machine grease. Standing by Jirou’s door, still in the singed tatters of her uniform patched up during her walk, she rang the bell and promptly rubbed as much sleepiness away from her eyes as possible.
There was the sound of papers being stacked, feet moving across the length of the home and eventually the door opened a crack to peer outside at the visitor.
Jirou’s naturally disinterested eyes were drained and weary, mirroring Momo’s so well it was as if the two girls were staring at their own reflections.
“Wow, Momo.” Jirou appraised her friend her trademark deadpan expression. “You look awful.”
“Compliment accepted, Jirou. Although I must say you look just as well.” Momo stepped aside to let Jirou walk out.
“No, but seriously, you okay?” Jirou poked at an ashy stain of grease drying on the tie of Momo’s uniform. “Oil, spark burns and…What I assume is acid. Wow, Momo, what party did I miss?”
Momo laughed through her mask of utter sleeplessness. “No no, you misunderstand. There was a simple…Ah, project, I had to work on. What of the origins of your tired appearance?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Jirou said as she joined Momo on the short path to U.A, “I was writing…”
Jirou yawned, effectively stopping her sentence, but felt no need to resume it. She continued down the path to U.A, rubbing her eyes and stumbling off path for a moment.
“If I may, what were you writing?” Momo asked. “Homework? More music?”
As she returned to the sidewalk, Jirou shook her head no to both predictions. “Nah, the homework’s just review. That means no homework. The music…Eh, I couldn’t find any inspiration. Or, actually, I could, but it just kept turning out the same.”
“May I see what you wrote?”
Jirou immediately slapped her palm to her uniform’s side pocket and clasped it protectively, a look of pure embarrassment on her blushing face. There was the faint crinkle of paper as she hit her side. “N-No! No, no no no. Not this one. This one is private!”
Momo’s gaze stuck to whatever Jirou was attempting to protect. “If so, why did you choose to bring it to class?”
Jirou turned redder. “It’s! It’s…Private, but like, with one more person!”
“Jirou, that’s not the definition of private.” Momo was too tired to elaborate on the exact definition, nor did she believe Jirou needed more anxiety in her current state. “Also, may I be the ‘one more person’ you addressed?”
Jirou shook her head fervently, making her jacks swish left to right with the motion. “N-no, um, no! The person has been…Decided! And…It’s…Not…”
“Jirou, what exactly did you write?”
Dropping her arms and slightly curling into herself, Jirou responded timidly. “Confession note.”
“May you repeat that; I could not hear.”
Jirou repeated her barely audible message at the exact same volume, which was barely even registered over the gentle wind blowing down the street. “Confession note.”
“Jirou, please…”
This time Jirou screamed out of pent up embarrassment. “IT’S A CONFESSION NOTE OKAY? TO THAT…BLONDE IDIOT…FUCK I LOVE HIM SO MUCH.”
Jirou surprised Momo so badly her sleep deprivation was briefly torn away. “My…My word, Jirou! What a brave decision!”
In her mind, Momo was screaming. Jirou, being the shy yet outwardly hostile person she was, chose what was possibly the worst day to confess, considering the mountain of highly volatile idiocy waiting for her at school.
Jirou returned to shy muttering, fruitlessly attempting to hide under her short hair. “M-Man…This is so…I haven’t even brushed my hair…Bags under my eyes, I look like a wreck. Gah! I need a pick-me-up.”
Although she felt awful about it, Momo had to stifle a snort. A ‘pick-me-up’ was most tame way of describing what would aspire in the following moments if all went to plan. Actually, it wouldn’t matter whether or not the whole thing went to plan, since explosions and near death experiences qualified for that anyway. There was so much that could potentially go wrong in that plan.
“Hey, Momo…” Jirou picked the letter from her pocket. “I didn’t even practice. Could you…Help? Just tips, ideas…”
Momo had to stifle another snort. “Jirou, I’m not very good at that. Although I think even without extra practice, the confession will go…Well, it’ll function.”
“Momo please!” Jirou shook her classmate’s arm, the faint dot panic in her eyes. “Gah! I just wish the universe would give me a sign whether or not today’s the right day to do this!”
Momo gave the shorter girl a reassuring pat on the back. “Not to worry, Jirou. By the end of today, regardless of how you picture your confession, I guarantee it will be fine by the end.”
Jirou didn’t calm down much. “But, and I’m sure I’m wrong about this, but…But what if he says no?”
Momo finally let out a snort of laughter. “What? No, he’s head over heels in love with you.”
Jirou froze in place, face turning a deep, deep crimson. Momo stopped and turned, concerned, and waved a hand in front of her face. “Jirou? Are you okay? Did I break you?”
Jirou couldn’t respond. She nodded once for conformation, then began muttering to herself and walking ahead. A coping method, to be sure.
Jirou was still muttering to herself and picking at the wrinkles in her uniform by the time she and Momo reached U.A’s wall and gate. Thankfully, Jirou was too preoccupied to notice the humongous gong valiantly Sero-taped to the arch and the haphazard collection of musical electronics strapped onto it in a similar fashion.
Now on the last stretch of pathing before they reached U.A’s front doors, Momo discreetly popped a wireless transmitter into her ear and connected it to the walkie-talkies after a brief ring of static. Looking at the roof of the building, she could faintly make out a smidges of hair color against the sky. Pink. Yellow. White-Blonde.
“Mina, load the fuel. Deku, wait for my mark to set off the fireworks. Kaminari, you better be ready.”
A variation of responses came back, ranging from Bakugo’s “Fuck you, you’re not my Mom” to Deku’s nervous laugh of compliance.
“Hey. Hey, Momo!” Jirou shook her friend by the shoulder. “You’re muttering. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine! Fine! Now, I could ask the same about you.”
Under her breath and through gritted teeth, Momo hissed into the transmitter. “Guys! What’s taking so long? Confirm you’re ready!”
Four “Ready”s were heard through the earpiece, each at varying volumes. Momo could easily picture each person’s face just through their voice:
Bakugo was wearing his usual sneer like a veteran’s badge.
Mina was holding back barely contained excitement.
Midoriya was shaking in anticipation.
Sero was asleep.
Kaminari, being strapped into a possible death machine, couldn’t answer.
Hagakure…Actually, picturing her face was hard. Being invisible and all.
Momo turned to Jirou and made a show of patting down her bag. “Ah! I seem to have misplaced something. Would you wait here while I check…there?”
“Uh, sure, I guess. Would you like me to come with?”
“No no, I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“I insist.”
Momo ran to the front entrance as fast as possible, then hid behind the wall. The transmitter on her ear buzzed to life again. “Guys! Initiate stage one! And I swear to god, don’t fuck it up!”
Momo peeked around the gate and saw Jirou on her phone, completely unaware of the absolute shit ton of tomfuckery that was about to aspire.
On the roof, Kaminari was perched on the guardrail, wrapped in burning tape and sporting for rocket boosters attached to his arms and legs. A pair of entirely too big, googly-eyed steampunk goggles were strapped to his face by an absurd amount of duct tape.
Meanwhile, Midoriya struck the match, and the vicious lines of fuse fire raced up and down the yard like serpents, sending sparks flying in a giant storm of light around Jirou.
Jirou gave the right reaction and screamed, “What the FUCK,” then promptly tripped backwards, surrounded by what must’ve been thousands of live firework ropes.
The fireworks ignited all at once, bursting into the air in a thick blanket, blotting out the sky and raining beautifully colored sparks onto the ground below.
Still awestruck and wildly confused, Jirou could barely appreciate the detail that the colors of the painstakingly arranged fireworks managed to spell her name in full bubbly, barely readable letters out in the sky and around her. The ropes caught, and the firework blanket stalled in a wave twenty feet above the ground, held securely by ropes tying the mass of explosive festivities together like a bundle of hay.
Through Jirou’s clouded mind, the only thing running through was, “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck oh wait that’s my name up there cool what the fuck what the fuck.”
From the rooftop, Kaminari stretched within his machine and tape bodysuit, waiting for the launch signal from Momo. Below him, a wave of fireworks tried to escape the ropes holding them down. If he leaned down even a single inch, he could touch the top of the sea of fireworks.
Mina was behind him, pouring dangerous home made rocket fuel into the gas canister strapped to his back, whispering something about it being a “Thirsty boy.”
“What?” Kaminari turned around in confusion. “Thirsty boy?”
Mina looked up, startled, and almost spilled their precious supply of fuel onto the roof. “Oh fuck, you heard me.”
Kaminari repeated himself. “Thirsty boy?”
“Dude, I was talking about the gas thing. Not you.”
Kaminari was even more confused than before, but shrugged and turned around. He was sure the idle whisperings of “Thirsty boy” would haunt his nightmares.
Behind him, Bakugo was lounging by the bags of flour they had painstakingly dragged up to the roof as a safety precaution. He blasted a shot into the air to get their attention, then spoke without ever looking to them. “Yo, pink idiot, yellow idiot. When the fuck can I go?”
Mina replied as she finished pouring the last canister of fuel into the tank. “Not yet. You still need to light this thing and the tape with an explosion. And have some respect, man. This is some cool shit. Now help me set up my camera.”
“No.” Bakugo rose from the flour, the casually slung one over his shoulder. “I’m gonna lift weights, but with flour.”
“Flour power Bakugo?” Mina snickered.
Bakugo turned around long enough to yell, “What was that, fucker?”
“Nothing. Just be back at Momo’s call, or I’ll find you and melt your dick off.”
“Try me.” Backugo spat on the ground. “And don’t fucking worry, I’ll be there.”
The whirr of static broke over the walkie-takies as Momo spoke again. “Initiate stage two!”
Bakugo strolled to Kaminari as Mina desperately set up her high definition camera.
Bakugo was just as brash as always, though through his frown Kaminari could see a barely repressed grin. “You ready, yellow idiot?”
Kaminari nodded and finished wrapping the last bandages over his mouth. “mMhHmMnn!”
Bakugo gave a well meaning sneer. “Yeah, whatever that means. Go get her, you idiot.”
With that, Bakugo shot an explosive round into the designated slot, then promptly kicked Kaminari off the guard rail and into the fireworks.
Now, we all know of the highly simplified and incorrect description of Schrödinger’s cat. Once placed in a death trap box, it is both alive and dead. The following events in Kaminari’s confession are like that.
In one reality, Kaminari swoops through the firework cloud, letting them fly through the air and into the infinite sky above. Then, controlling his superhero’s descent, he lands next to and picks up Jirou bridal style, carrying her into the sky and hovering while firing a bolt of electricity at the rigged gong hanging below the school’s gates which plays the first song Jirou ever taught him on the guitar. And just like that, he confesses.
But in real life, it doesn’t go like that. Because real life isn’t some animated dream where visions align perfectly with events.
Kaminari crashed into the fireworks just as Midoriya lost grip on one of the ropes, which immediately caused the collective wave of volatile explosives to launch into the air, coating Kaminari with ash and blinding him as he continued through.
Then the tape trailing behind him caught a few fireworks, twisting them into its folds and igniting the acid residue from the tape engravings.
Kaminari spun through the air, twisting tape around him until he was a veritable toilet paper mummy. Except he was on fire and in danger of exploding from trapped fireworks.
As the fire spread over Kaminari’s death burrito, a spike of acid punctured the gas tank strapped to his back and subsequently sprayed explosive fuel over the full body horror roll.
While Kaminari flailed helplessly in the air, the rapidly destabilizing rocket boots clocked into overdrive and launched him directly into the fake gong hanging from the school’s gate, changing his trajectory and causing him to dive at ninety degrees into solid stone with the sound of a wet sack of sand.
Kaminari tried to raise his head, but was stopped by the air brake parachute attached to the rocket boots which promptly exploded upon coming in contact with his body. The fire began to spread onto the grass around him. Splotches of acid and rocket fuel rained down in fiery debris from above.
Jirou was left watching in horror the entire time. Taking a tentative step towards the crash site, she risked a question. “Kaminari, are-”
The gong, destabilized from Kaminari’s crash, ripped from its tape bound hinges and fell over Kaminari’s still body like the lid of a cooking pot which once again exploded. Faint, distorted music began to play from the music player attached to it before it went up in smoke.
Jirou was rightly horrified. She flashed back to the words she had said not five minutes ago. “I just wish the universe would give me a sign whether or not today’s the right day to do this!”
Was this her fault? Was the timing so bad the universe had to fucking kill him?
Jirou sank to her knees, clutching her confession letter in front of her like a life line. A faint tear dot began tracing its way down her cheek.
From behind her, Mina and Bakugo ran screaming from the front of the building, waving sacks of flour around like barbarians and sporting what seemed to be war paint done with nail polish.
As she watched, the two tore the gong off of Kaminari’s back and began ruthlessly beating his body with sacks of flour until he stopped struggling.
Momo ran from behind the front wall, waving her hands desperately in the air while screaming something about, “Guys no the explosions are pressure sensit-”
Another explosion rocked the schoolyard, and the trio was rocketed out of the vicinity, trailing faint dusty trails of dirty flour while Momo screamed at them through the air.
Kaminari was struggling again, his motions constrained by tape and breathing cut off. The fire around him was beginning to spread.
Jirou gasped and ran to his body, tripping over the debris again and again as she came closer to his self fabricated prison. “Kaminari! Kaminari, you sweet, stupid idiot! Are you alive? Why would you do that?”
Using her earphone jack, Jirou stabbed the tape apart from the seams, slowly unravelling layer upon layer until the faint peach of skin could be seen. Digging from the point with nail and jack, she unearthed the completely unscathed yet seemingly dazed Kaminari.
She took the opportunity to hug the idiot for a solid minute before realizing that she was standing over more explosives and dragging him to the safety of the school interior.
Everything outside was frazzled, covered in flour, or on fire. Kaminari was all three, and Jirou was the first two.
Taking a deep breath, Jirou put on the the most neutral, unamused face she could, and stabbed Kaminari twice with her jacks in the chest.
Kaminari jolted awake and shook around, shaking the light coating of flour residue that Mina and Bakugo had so graciously donated. “Ah! What the fuck! Oh, uh…Hi.”
Jirou prepared to give the greatest verbal example of an ass beating since the dawn of time. But she stopped short at the helpless look on his face and decided to start simple. “Kaminari.”
“Y-yeah?” He snapped upwards, eyes wide and afraid. Jirou certainly could be outwardly intimidating.
Jirou kept her voice soft, dangerous, to disguise the concern and relief underneath. “What, in the ever loving holy fuck were you trying to accomplish like that?”
Kaminari pouted. “It’s ruined now.”
“So what was it?” Jirou clenched her fist, suddenly aware of the crumpled confession note still clutched tightly there. She hid it behind her back. Despite the situation, a brief wave of embarrassment washed over her for still hiding that stupid note.
Kaminari kicked at the ground. “I can’t tell you now. It’s ruined.”
Jirou rubbed her temples. “Kaminari, just tell me.”
“It was supposed to be special! A cool project that no one else could think of and would work perfectly no matter how insane it was! It was just for you, everything there was for you! The fireworks spelling your name, the gong rigged with your music, the homemade jetpack as a gift…” Kaminari was nearly hysterical, motioning some supreme overarching plan into the air like he was drawing.
Although Kaminari’s pseudo-tantrum was adorably childish, Jirou wasn’t making any progress.
Jirou focused the collective strength of her entire store of sass into a single command. “Kaminari, stop fucking stalling and just tell me.”
“Yes ma’am. I was going to confess to you.” He instinctively froze as soon as he said it, ducking into himself to prepare for a rejection.
Jirou was equally as startled; in an instant her magnificent stockpile of sass was torn away by pure revelation and exhilaration.
Her mind defaulted to the classic image of a flower being plucked of its petals. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me…
“You love me.”
Kaminari gave a weak nod, still cowering. “Is…Is that okay? Did I mess up?”
“Not yet.” Jirou cautioned, waving a chastising finger in front of his face. “Just answer one question. Why that huge…Whatever it was supposed to be? Why not give a letter like a normal person?”
“Well, I love you, and you’re the coolest, most talented and amazing person I know. And like, I felt whatever I should do to confess should be equally cool, so I did this whole thing.” Kaminari gestured outside, where Mina and Bakugo had returned to the scene to resume beating the fires with bags of flour while Momo desperately screamed at them to stop.
Another explosion shook the school and the trio outside were sent spiralling away.
Jirou, despite the outcome of said ‘thing’, smiled at the familiarity in Kaminari’s brand of over-the-top well meaning idiocy. “Was…That…Supposed to happen?”
Kaminari shook his head a fervent no. “Absolutely not. Nuh uh, that was like, the worst possible sequence of mistakes to possibly happen at once.”
“…Okay.” Jirou paused to smooth out her note behind her back. “So say this is your confession…”
Kaminari slouched into himself and sighed. “Yeah, I know. I ruined it. My one chance. And now I can’t confess anymore because I messed up bad.”
Jirou brought out her letter from behind her, crumpled and slightly torn as it was. “Okay, then. You used up your confession. But I still have mine, and I think this is a good time for it.”
Kaminari stared in shock at the letter, only actually taking it when Jirou gently moved his hand and fingers over the worn paper. “Jirou, I…”
“Shush. This is my confession. Ahem!” Jirou stood up straight, extending a hand for Kaminari to join her. “Kaminari, I like you. A lot. More than a lot. And like, this might be the most unoriginal, cliché way to do this but dammit it’s effective. So please, uh…Go out with me?”
A bright grin broke on Kaminari’s face and he rushed forward to hug her. Jirou complied readily, and the two remained there while the fireworks outside reached their arc and exploded, coloring the sky in beautiful rainbow.