Chapter Text
Aizawa looked up from his paper. He had been reading from it in his usual monotone, but underneath his general exhaustion his voice might have held a note of interest. That part might have just been Izuku’s imagination however. It was hard to tell through his racing thoughts.
“That’s about it for your final project. I will distribute a more comprehensive folder with all the information regarding the location and event. Are there any questions?”
Izuku had so many questions. His own mind was instantly suggesting potential answers for them, and one hand was preemptively clamped over his mouth to dull his muttering while the other was writing blindingly fast. To prevent this brainstorm from becoming a paralyzing typhoon he looked around to see where his classmates were in their own states of thinking.
Uraraka’s face was scrunched up while she tapped her pencil on her notebook. Izuku guessed she was in a similar brain jam to him; she once said that when she had too many ideas it was hard to pick one to start writing. Todoroki was writing something down with deliberate slowness, and Shinsou was...sketching? Bakugou was sitting forward and grinning, immediately seeming confident as usual. Iida’s hand had of course shot up as soon as Aizawa had finished talking, and he was aggressively requesting specifics and clarifying points.
“Sensei, does that mean we have complete control over our tactics? Will we answer to convention staff or the other way around? What kind of backup will be available? What are the additional security measures? What-”
He cut off as Aizawa raised his hands in a please stop gesture.
“You will team up into pairs and submit a proposal to me by the end of the week. I will approve or suggest edits to it and help make sure there are as few blind spots as possible. Otherwise, it’s all up to you. All the rest of the information is in the file.” He laid his hand on a very thick stack of folders and continued. “You’re third years now, practically ready to be pros. This kind of logistic work is something we have to deal with all the time. Providing security to a hero convention is a perfect testing ground for you as your final semester project.”
Aizawa paused as if he had meant to finish, then took a breath and continued. “I should warn you. This will be a unique challenge. I almost decided not to give you this assignment because of the nature of your class and the unique popularity you have garnered over your school years.”
An uneasy hush of understanding fell over the class. Of course, the villain attacks and mass media attention had only fed off each other exponentially with each year. In addition to expected events like the sports festival, class 3-A had starred on the national news more often than any high schooler should.
“Despite not even having graduated, you have a spot in the public eye. You have fans, and enemies, and will be managing an event where the most ardent of each tend to congregate. This will be not only a test of how you can strategize against threats, but manage yourself in the public eye as pro heroes.”
He grinned remorselessly. “And just like pro heroes, I’ll be expecting full a full report afterwards.”
That day, lunch was buzzing more than usual. Izuku set down his tray at the table his friends had already claimed.
“Hey guys,” he said. “Any ideas on the project?”
A chorus of sighs and groans met him.
“Sounds like a no, then. What part are you stuck on? Maybe we can all brainstorm together,” Izuku offered.
Iida’s fists clenched on the table. “The scope of the logistics is incredible! Compared to I-Island, this convention is tiny and only lasts one day, yet there’s still so much to read about. It seems like a whole different world!” A blade-like hand began to gesticulate, barely missing Uraraka, who knew how to dodge, and a bowl of udon, who got lucky this time. “And that’s not all! Knowing the maps and logistics are one thing, but how are we supposed to account for the culture?”
Uraraka nodded along after ducking past Iida’s hand, gesturing with a french fry. “Mm-hmm! I hear so many weird stories from conventions, what do we do if they happen to us? I know how to handle a villain, but fans honestly scare me more. Like, there’s so much pressure to be who they expect and all that!”
Izuku deflated a little. “Really? You two have never been to a convention?” He looked over at Todoroki, who was sitting on his other side. “What about you, Todoroki?”
Todoroki looked over, his face blank with mild panic instead of its usual calm. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He blinked and focused in on Izuku. “But you don’t seem worried?”
Izuku’s good cheer, which had deflated during his friends’ laments, began to show itself again. “No, I’m not really worried! I mean-“ he stopped and corrected himself as he was met with multiple looks of disbelief. “I mean I’m not worried about getting the culture and all that. Because…”
Izuku paused as undeserved shame started to churn in his gut, borne of years of ridicule that, while old, still stung.
“I may kind of... go every year? Like, since I was pretty little.”
Even though he trusted his friends more than anyone, even though they had borne each other through life-and-death situations for three years, a part of him still flinched, preparing for an assault of ridicule or worse, cruel dismissiveness. He realized he had sort of shrunk in on himself out of instinct and looked up. He almost reeled back again, this time from the sheer delight emanating from his friends’ faces.
Uraraka’s arms shot up in the air as she floated sideways, exclaiming how they were saved, go Izuku, yay for nerds!
Iida’s arms could have won an all-semaphore spelling bee as he berated Izuku for not speaking up sooner, at the same time demanding all the details and shooting out possible times for a study session.
Todoroki’s reaction was not loud or explosive, he only sat forward and looked at Izuku wide-eyed with a little, hopeful smile. Izuku turned toward him.
“I actually have a tiny bit of an idea, but I would need Todoroki’s help.” Without giving himself time to lose his nerve he addressed their small group.
“We’ll need to make sure all the different parts of the convention are covered, right? That means we’ll need people roaming the floor as well as stationed around heavy-traffic areas like photo ops.” Uraraka had floated down and was nodding along, and Iida’s hands had stilled and he was working on his fortunate udon.
Izuku continued, “Remember what Aizawa said? About fans and enemies? I think if we’re ourselves on the con floor we’ll be too big of a target. So while some of us work more officially in the public eye, some of us need to go undercover.”
At this point Izuku turned to Todoroki and said, “And Todoroki, I think you would make the perfect partner!” Wait.
Izuku thought he might have suddenly inherited his father’s quirk right then, because his chest and face immediately heated up enough to combust. Had he really just said that? To Todoroki, no less? He stuttered as he tried to cover it up, hands coming up to alternately wave around and rub the back of his neck. “I-I mean, you’d be indispensable for the plan, and also you’re good at strategy, so, I-I think, yeah. Want to be partners?”
He had blown it. He was sure that he was beet red, and that Todoroki thought he was a moron, and there was no chance of anything but failure now. He might as well go drop out of school and ask to partner with Mineta.
He peeked around at the others, unable to look directly at Todoroki. Iida had thankfully become very interested in his udon, but Uraraka was sitting with her chin on her hand and a dastardly smirk on her face while she snacked on her fries. Izuku glared at her to put those eyebrows down and unwrapped his arms from around his head as he turned to look at Todoroki, bracing himself for damage control.
“I’m in,” said Todoroki before Izuku could get a word out. Izuku was definitely imagining the bit of blush in his cheeks. “Now what’s this plan?”
“Right!” Izuku grabbed on to this lifeline to pull himself out of the conversational hole he had dug himself. “Well first, I had heard about three other teams who were thinking about roaming the floor. That’s Yaoyorozu and Jirou, Hagakure and Ojiro, and Kirishima and Kacchan. All of them are going for different levels of undercover.”
Izuku held up one finger on his left hand. “Yaoyorozu and Jirou are planning to go undercover like celebrities do when they don’t want to get noticed. They’re going to wear sunglasses and masks and hope that nobody recognizes them.” Izuku looked down, saying, “But I don’t think that will work well. If they get recognized, they’ll get held up or swamped whenever they go anywhere.”
He held up another finger on his left hand. “Hagakure and Ojiro are going to go in their hero outfits and plain clothes, respectively. Since Hagakure’s suit lets her be invisible, she’s actually got the best cover of all. However, there’s the danger of being separated, and even though they aren’t nearly as infamous as others in the class they might still be too recognizable.”
Izuku held up a finger on his right hand, far away. “On the other end of the scale is Kacchan and Kirishima. They’re going in their full hero costumes and hoping that declaring their presence will dissuade trouble.” Izuku saw the others nodding. That sure sounded like Kacchan, all right. “While that might work on low-level troublemakers, it won’t have any effect on fans and may actually attract villains.”
Uraraka held up her hand mock-seriously. “But Deku-sensei! If you can’t go undercover and you can’t go in plain sight, there’s no way to win!”
Izuku beamed at her. “An excellent observation, Uraraka!” At this, he clapped his hands together. “That’s why my plan is to be exactly in the middle.”
It had been an uneventful day in the Midoriya household. Now that Izuku was practically moved out, Inko had taken on more duties in the neighborhood association. Although she always missed the energy Izuku brought to the house, she would never say she was lonely. She made sure that all her friends knew her door was always open for a cup of tea or a visit. Just that day she had had a lovely lunch hour with Mrs. Todoroki.
Inko was just finishing watering her windowsill herb garden when she heard her phone ring. It was Izuku’s ringtone- and he almost never called. The old fear dropped into her gut like a rock. She set down the watering pail with a clang and half-skidded through the kitchen in her socks, grabbing at the air between herself and the phone to have it meet her halfway.
She whipped the phone open and demanded, “Hello? Izuku? Is everything all right?”
The tinny voice responded, “Hi, Mom! Sorry for not texting first, I didn’t mean to worry you. Everything’s fine over here.”
Inko collapsed onto the couch. “Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed. Then she sat up straight again. “You know, if you called more often, I wouldn’t get so worried when you do.”
Inko could hear Izuku’s nervous smile through the speaker. “Yeah, probably. Sorry, training and classes and stuff sometimes just takes over my brain.”
“I know, dear.” Inko smiled fondly, remembering the days just before UA when training became his whole life for a while. “You’re doing great things. It’s just nice to hear from you about the boring things too every now and then.”
“I actually wanted to ask about one of those things,” Izuku said. “Remember that big yard sale a while back? Did you get rid of your sewing machine then?”
“No, I still have it,” Inko responded. “Why, do you need it for something?”
“I had an idea,” Izuku started, “And I’d need your help to make it work.”
Inko paused. “I’m not sure I like how vague you’re being, Izuku. Are you getting yourself into something dangerous?” Inko wished she didn’t have to ask that question. “I don’t want to see you get in trouble again right before you graduate.”
“Oh, no! It’s actually for a school project,” Izuku hastily assured her. “It’s just, it’s kind of a crazy idea, and I’m not too sure it’ll work out yet. But you helping would mean a lot.”
“Izuku, sweetie, you know I’m always happy to help. What can I do?” Inko moved to get a notepad and a pen.
“Remember back in first year, when you made my hero costume?”
Three days later, Izuku and Todoroki stood in front of Aizawa’s desk as Izuku handed over the file of papers they had written for their project proposal. Izuku clenched his fists to stop them from trembling as he watched Aizawa’s face.
This project was way off the wall, he knew that. He watched as Aizawa’s eyebrows fell in suspicion, then rose in shock, followed by a wordless face journey that felt longer than all of Lord of the Rings. Finally, with a sigh, he put down the papers and turned to the pair.
“Why is it always you two?”
Shouto was in unknown territory. He watched as Midoriya went over the paper once more, determination and excitement fighting in his eyes, with a wobbly smile that hadn’t really changed since first year. Aizawa had approved their project proposal with surprisingly little comment, only a commendation on originality and a warning not to get too carried away.
He tried to think about what made him agree to this. Midoriya’s enthusiasm was infectious of course, whenever his passion flared up it pulled others along like a magnetic force. Then there was the idea itself. In the moment it seemed crazy, but in the good way, like this-might-actually-work crazy. This-might-be-genius-level-crazy. And finally, there was the fact that he just could not refuse Midoriya. When he used the word ‘perfect’ in the same sentence as ‘Todoroki’, even when he backtracked over it, made Shouto’s heart skip a beat. Actually, skip several beats before restarting into a frantic pace. And although Shouto knew he imagined the tiny increase in flush in Midoriya’s cheeks, and that his anxious rambling was no more meaningful than usual, he agreed.
But then he had time to sit with it, and his anxiety began nibbling away at his confidence. The more time he took, the more his brain ran around in circles, tearing apart at the idea like a motor without oil wears away at the moving parts.
There’s no way this will work.
We’ll just make fools of ourselves.
What kind of friend am I? Don’t I trust him?
I can’t tell him how I feel about this.
Oh god, Midoriya is going to ruin his hero career and it’ll be my fault for not stopping him.
I’m gonna tell him I can’t do this.
I’m gonna tell him he can’t do this to himself.
But what if he’s right?
What if the plan only fails because I’ve been doubting him?
But what if this time he’s wrong?
He’s never been wrong.
No, but I have.
And so his thoughts went in the following weeks. Through the class periods and planning sessions they settled into a low unease, murmuring every so often but unwilling to stand long in the light of reason. And Midoriya’s plan, to be fair, was looking more and more like it might work. Time passed slowly at first, with the deadline maintaining a state of plausible deniability. The nights came and worried away at rough edges, undermining previously certain foundations, never fully letting him rest easy. Then, like realizing he had been looking through the wrong end of a telescope, he was shocked to discover that time had run out. The day was here.
At 5 AM he found himself pulling out handmade accessories and his first-year hero costume, getting ready to head to the convention.
And, like it or not, they were going undercover by cosplaying as themselves.
Three Weeks Ago
“So, you’re saying that going undercover won’t work?” Shouto was not quite following what Midoriya was getting at.
“At least not in the usual way,” Midoriya replied, “Not in the way Yaoyorozu and Jirou are planning.”
The two were sitting in one of the study rooms in the library the day after the assignment, their own notebooks and the files of logistic information covering the little table. Shouto was picking up papers and putting them down without really taking them in, everything jumbling together in his head.
Midoriya continued, “The worst way to try and blend in will be to make it look like we’re trying not to be noticed. Paparazzi pick up on it all the time, but so can fans. And everyone’s taking pictures all the time at conventions, it only takes one posted to the wrong Instagram or Twitter with us in it to let everyone know we’re here and wandering the floor. We’ll get swamped, or potentially become targets ourselves. And, well, both of us are really well known and it’s kind of hard to hide that.” Midoriya was adamantly looking at a floor plan of the convention, and not Shouto’s hair or scar.
“But how does dressing up like ourselves help? Won’t that make it worse? Isn’t that just, you know, being us?”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on convention forums and such. Cosplays of people in our class are not actually that rare across Japan, and a lot of people are planning to cosplay here. People cosplay all kinds of heroes and villains, even as far back as first year I had started to see some cosplays online of people we know.”
Midoriya seemed to be less concerned about this revelation than Shouto thought he should be. He continued, “And you know what is the best way to be completely ignored at a convention?”
“Not be in a costume?” Shouto guessed.
“Not quite. Be in a just-below-average costume.”
“How does that change anything?”
“When you’re cosplaying a popular person, or character, or what have you, there are always going to be a dozen more people with the same idea. When someone meets the best cosplayers, they want to stop and take photos. But unless you really go Plus Ultra on everything about it, you won’t be picked out of a crowd.”
Shouto blinked. “That actually sounds...terrible. Are people really like that?”
Midoriya winced. “I cosplayed All Might for about five years. I don’t think anyone ever complimented my costume or asked me for a picture. Not even once. Except my mom, of course.”
That couldn’t be right, Shouto thought. That’s impossible. He couldn’t imagine how someone could walk through a room and just have their gaze slide over someone like Midoriya. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
Midoriya’s hand went to the back of his neck, instinctively blocking off his face. “Thanks,” he muttered. “At least I know that as long as I’m on the team, we’ll be bad enough to stay undercover.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Shouto attempted, trailing off awkwardly. He wanted to say something to stop Midoriya from seeing himself as a dumb nerd in a bad costume, but the words wouldn’t form right and caught in his chest. He sat in stalled silence for just a few seconds too long.
Thinking. Thinking always gets Midoriya back on track.
“So, when we cosplay ourselves, we can’t look too much like ourselves. How do you think that can work?” Shouto asked.
Midoriya’s eyes refocused and he straightened up, sliding some papers around. “We’re going to try our hardest to look like ourselves.”
Shouto blinked. “You’ve lost me.”
“Not our current selves! I think we can use our end-of-first-year costume designs. That’ll mean shorter hair and the simple blue jumpsuit for you, and longer hair with the green jumpsuit and smile mask for me.”
Shouto was beginning to see the picture. “And nobody will think we’re us because we don’t look like the current us.”
Midoriya smiled. “Exactly! I want to make it look like we’re cosplayers going all-out and just not getting it right.”
“That’s…honestly genius.” Shouto surprised himself, but realized as he said it that he meant those words fully. “I still don’t exactly understand how that can happen, though.”
Midoriya nodded as he found the papers he had been shuffling around for- not ones from the file Shouto recognized, but his own notes. Shouto blinked as he saw a sketched version of himself among them. “The goal is to strike a balance between not-too-bad and not-too-good. The best cosplayers get photographed, but the on-purpose worst cosplayers get recognized too.”
Shouto nodded as Midoriya continued.
“I called my mom and she agreed to make me another version of my hero costume.” Midoriya looked a little chagrined. “I love her to death and she made all my costumes until I got to UA, but it’s...still pretty easy to tell they’re not hero quality.” He put his hands up. “That’s not to say that she doesn’t do great work! And the hero costume she made the first time was great too, even if it got a little shredded. I don’t want you to think I’m only having her help because she’s doing a bad job, and-”
Shouto held up his hands. “Hey, I trust you. I’ve met your mom, she’s incredible.” It had only been one end-of-semester picnic, but he remembered how Inko Midoriya ran a tight ship while still being a ray of sunshine to all the students. Her son definitely inherited her best aspects.
Shouto brought himself back to the topic. “How are we going to be able to fight? If we need to act I don’t want the costumes to hold us back.”
“I decided to use my real support items on my arms and legs. With some hot glue and craft foam misdirection, I don’t think they’ll give me away. I can deal with a little less strength on the fabric.” Midoriya began sketching on and labeling different parts of his and Shouto’s outfits. “I think you could do the opposite. Your costume is mostly fabric, and I don’t want you to lose the protection of hero-quality material. Remember, any fighting will be in severe close quarters and surrounded by civilians, so you can’t depend on your quirk for distance.”
His pencil tapped Sketch Shouto’s back plate and utility belt. “These however, could be remade in plywood or regular canvas without too much change.” Midoriya grimaced a bit. “Normally to look like a cosplay I’d suggest more to be made of craft foam or thermoplastic, but you can see how that would be a bad idea.”
Shouto nodded emphatically. “Yes, please don’t make me a costume that will melt off me.”
As more details clicked into place, Shouto began to get Midoriya’s vision. Conflicting emotions roiled in his gut: excitement, anxiety, doubt, inspiration. All through the planning session however, the thought would not leave his mind:
What if it doesn’t work?