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It started with the letter A.
"Ooo lucky," Hitoshi's teacher said. She crouched down to his level, hands on her knees, and pointed to the little A that had appeared on his arm. "Do you know what this means?"
"That I need to go wash?" Hitoshi asked.
He couldn't remember what could have possibly marked him like that, just that his mother would be very cross if he came home with it.
"No," his teacher laughed. "That's the start of your soul mark. It means you have a soulmate, Shinsou."
Hitoshi looked down at the mark, a fuzzy smudge against his skin. He had only just started to learn his figures and characters, but he recognized the letter for what it was. He rubbed at it furiously for 5 seconds, but it was still there. He held his arm and it's mark out to his teacher.
"I need help turning the sink on," he said.
She laughed and cupped his arm, her fingers wrapping around the little A.
"Do you know what a soulmate is?" she asked.
Hitoshi shook his head.
"A soulmate is someone who loves you very much," she said. "You and them share a soul and a fate together. And they will love you forever."
She unfurled her hand and held Hitoshi's own arm for him to see the smudge.
"What will be written here will be the first thing they say to you," she said.
Hitoshi eyed the A. He still didn't get it. His mother and father loved him very much and forever, why did he need anyone else?
"You're very lucky, Shinsou," his teacher said. "Not a lot of people have a soulmate. This makes you special."
Hitoshi grimaced and rubbed his arm again, trying to get the mark out.
"I don't want to be special," he said.
____
"Mama!" Hitoshi cried. "Mama!"
He stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding out his hand. The pot on the stove had started to bubble and boil and spill over. The water splashed onto Hitoshi's thumb and burned him. An angry pink mark itched pain into his skin.
And his mother only stood on the other side of the kitchen, facing the wall, holding perfectly still.
"Mama!" Hitoshi cried, thick tears burning his cheeks. He held up his hand for her to see, but she didn't turn around. Why wasn't she listening? "Mama ow! Ow! Mama!"
He sniffled and carefully walked to her side. She stared straight ahead, mouth open slightly, eyes wide and blank. Her grip on the wooden spoon in her hand was too tight, but she didn't let up. Hitoshi raised his hand again.
"Mama it hurts," he cried.
She didn't even blink. She was always quick to scoop Hitoshi up, to kiss where it hurts, to run his hand under cold water and cover it up with an All Might bandaid. But she didn't. She gripped her spoon and stood still. Boiling water hissed as it rained down on to the wood floor.
"Mama please!" Hitoshi screamed. He grabbed her skirt in both hands and tugged. "Please Mama help! Please move!"
She took a step forward. Hitoshi let go of her skirt and the next wail died in his throat. He watched silently with wide wet eyes as his mother shambled forward like a zombie. She took a step, then another, then another, until she bumped into the wall. Then she took another step.
Hitoshi's mother futilely shuffled up against the kitchen wall, her nose bumping against the wallpaper. An awkward stumbling dance, swaying back and forth.
Hitoshi's face scrunched up, another painful wail building. He ran back to her side and tugged at her skirt again.
"Mama!" he screeched. "Mama, what are you doing!?"
The spoon clattered against the wall with every futile step. Her face bounced gently, pressing and away, as she tried to move forward and got nowhere. Hitoshi tugged and tugged on her skirts. His eyes wide and beginning to hurt from not blinking. Words struggled and he could only blubber out nonsense.
"Mama!!" he screeched. "STOP!"
She stopped.
Hitoshi's mother held stock still, frozen in place with her face pressed against the wall. Hitoshi fell back to the ground and sobbed, great big wails that only a child could manage. Red heat worked its way through layers of skin and the pain in his hand began to do so much more than itch. He put the fleshy part between his thumb and index finger into his mouth and suckled on it, eyes scrunched up and tears leaking from him like a sieve.
Hitoshi sat sniffling on the floor for more than an hour. His mother didn't move, didn't blink. The pot on the stove cooked through until there was barely any water left and it began to smell of burnt salt.
Hitoshi's father came home just as the alarm went off and at the sudden cacophony and presence of another person, Hitoshi screamed again. He wailed at the top of his lungs. His father came running into the room, assessing as much of the situation as he could while running through the kitchen to shut off the burner.
"Hitoshi!" he shouted, crouching down in front of his son. "Hitoshi are you okay?"
He found the burn and inspected it, but Hitoshi only pointed to the real problem.
"Mama!" he screamed. "Mama!"
His father twisted to look up at the statue of a woman. It only took a heartbeat for it to sink in just how unnatural she was. He was to his feet and held her by the shoulders, turning her to face him.
"Mihoko," he shouted in her face. "Mihoko, what is wrong with you?"
Hitoshi watched, terrified his father couldn't make her right either. Tears picked up and he began to cry again.
"Mihoko!" His father shook her and still nothing. "Mihoko! Snap out of it!"
He shook her harder. Hard enough for her head to ragdoll back and forth. The light returned to her eyes, her pupils constricting back into focus. She gasped, like a swimmer coming up for air, and clung on to her husband.
"Mihoko," he said, holding her face and petting back her hair. "Are you alright? What happened?"
"I'm. . . I. . .," she panted.
Then her eyes caught sight of Hitoshi.
She gripped her husband's shoulders and sucked in a breath through her teeth, her eyes going wide. She stepped back, putting Hitoshi's father between them. He looked over his shoulder down at his son.
Hitoshi stopped crying, holding his still burnt hand, and knew that for some reason, he was in trouble.
____
"He's got a villain's quirk."
It wasn't the first time Hitoshi heard it.
He lowered his head and gripped his bag tighter, pretending he hadn't heard kids talking behind his back. Hitoshi had been the first in his class to get his quirk, but they hadn't known that. Ever since that first event Hitoshi tried very very very hard to not activate it again. But in moments of weakness, in moments when he really wanted something, it was hard to deny a 5 year old boy who got what he asked for.
Hitoshi learned to stop wanting things.
He shifted his bag and picked up speed. What he really wanted in that moment was for a way to get out of there faster. So he kept his mouth shut.
"Hey Shinsou!"
Against his odds, he stopped. Two of his friends came trotting up to his side. Kaida had been one of the first people Hitoshi met the first day of middle school. He had apparently heard about Hitoshi's quirk and asked if he was the kid who brainwashed people. That left a sour taste in Hitoshi's mouth, but then Kaida said how cool that was and how he wished he had Hitoshi's quirk. No one had ever said something like that before and Hitoshi decided he was okay.
Shimizu was always not far behind and was the second person Hitoshi had met. She would joke, say things like he'd better not make her do anything rude or use his quirk to sneak into the girl's locker room. But she didn’t mean anything by it. It was better than being afraid of him.
"Hey Hitoshi," she said. He hated that she called him by his name but kept his mouth shut.
"Hey."
"So," Kaida said, walking backwards in front of them. "Realm of Embers 3 came out last week."
"Yeah I've heard," Hitoshi said.
"It's only all everyone can talk about," Shimizu said. "I've been spoiled on so much already!"
"We were thinking of going to the game store and picking up a copy," Kaida said.
"The crowds should have died down by now," Hitoshi said.
"That's what we were thinking!" Shimizu said. "No lines!"
"Alright, let's go," Hitoshi said.
"One problem." Kaida stopped him, placing both hands on Hitoshi's shoulders. Hitoshi glared at them briefly before returning a neutral mask to his friends. He didn’t much like being touched.
But he kept his mouth shut.
"I don't get my allowance until the end of the month," Kaida said.
"That sucks," Hitoshi said.
"By then everyone will have played it," Shimizu whined. "And moved on to the next thing."
"That. Sucks?" Hitoshi didn't know what to say.
Kaida squeezed his shoulders.
"We were thinking," he said. "With no one in the store, you could, ya know, have a little chat with the store clerk. And that way we can pick up a copy and all go to my house."
Hitoshi stared him dead in the eye. He took a step back, out from under Kaida's hold. He looked between the two of them, his expression smooth and impassive, as he had trained himself to be so long ago.
These people weren't his friends.
"Why would anyone want to do that?" he asked.
Shimizu balked, but before she could get a word out, Hitoshi was walking away. What he really wanted was to get out of there as fast as possible. He'd ask for a bike for Christmas, already picking out the words to make it sound more like a request and not a command.
____
Hitoshi loved cycling.
There was a freedom to it. Wind brushed through his hair, the light touch on his brakes, the pump of his legs. An exertion and effort to his body that had nothing to do with his mind. Control without any people.
The solitude he deserved.
The second school was done, he would unbutton his jacket, hop on his bike, and fly away from everything else in his life. No one could bother him, no one could touch him. No one could talk to him.
And he couldn’t make anyone do a thing.
On his bike, the only control Hitoshi had was himself and the way forward.
Hills were the best. The speed, the wayward way his bike went faster and faster. He would hover his hands over the handlebars, sometimes sitting up straight and letting them dangle at his side, as his bike slalomed ever downwards. The adrenaline would make his heart race. The uncertainty of how the trip might end. He would simply smile, serene as a still pool of water, and race ever more down and down.
Untouchable.
Hitoshi would bike for hours, under the guise of errands. He’d come home with groceries or homework he had finished in class. All so he wouldn’t have to say a word to so called friends or teachers or his parents.
It had been months since his last accident. He had taken control of a teacher in class and couldn’t figure out how to break it. For a painful 15 minutes, the class laughed at him while his teacher waited on his command. The principal told his parents and his parents took away his bicycle.
Hitoshi stopped talking in class.
The rumors picked up. That he would make people do things, sneak into places he shouldn’t be. Kids would vandalize the school or get into fights and only say ’Shinsou made me do it.’
His parents knew it wasn’t him. They knew his accidents happened from time to time. They saw the good grades, the effort he put into controlling his quirk, how soft spoken he had become. They watched him shrink ever more into himself until one day he would just disappear.
The pity was somehow worse.
So Hitoshi rode his bike and loved every second of it.
The last day of school before it let out for summer was glorious. The sun shone, hot on his back. The shade through the park blinked as the day light passed through trees. The muscles in his legs strained as he pumped up the highest hill he could find. His favorite hill. At the peak he let go.
Hitoshi sat up straight, his hands dangling limp at his sides and threw his head back. He closed his eyes, the bright from the sun dancing colors against his eyelids. The wind whooshed loud past his ears.
He had no control. Let the world and the hill do what they wanted with him.
A peal of laughter interrupted his personal time. Hitoshi blinked his eyes open and at the base of a hill was a group of onlookers. They crowded around a small corner shop. Someone shouted over the crowd.
“I guess these robbers were busy stealing clocks,” she shouted. “They got caught because they were taking too much time!”
The crowd laughed. Two voices in particular laughed loud and hard and uncontrollable.
Hitoshi’s brow furrowed. He’d seen street performers before, but never stand-up comedy. And it wasn’t that funny.
“Or they could’ve been after the ice cream,” the voice shouted again. “And now they’re being brought into custardy.”
Again more laughter. Again those unique painful wails of joy.
Hitoshi reached the bottom of the hill and his bike screeched to a stop. He slipped off of it and walked to the fringes of the crowd, just tall enough to see.
A hero stood in front of the store, dressed in orange and green. She had her hands on her hips and a confident smile across her face. At her feet were two men, wearing ski masks. One had octopus arms and they flopped and flailed on the ground, his stolen goods spread out on the sidewalk.
“It seems they stole my emotions,” the hero said with a mock expression of sadness and a hand to her chest. “And now I don’t know how to feel about this.”
The thieves on the ground laughed harder, unable to do much else except guffaw at everything she said.
She was controlling them. She was making them laugh. With her mind. With her words.
Hitoshi was frozen. He watched the hero smile down at her captured prey, pleased with a job well done. She had saved the store from their crime. Who knew what else she had saved. People from peril? Attacks from villains?
With her mind.
With her words.
“Next they’ll steal from a bakery.” She winked and nudged the air with her elbow. “Bakeries always have the best dough.”
Heroes were just a matter of everyday life. Sure, Hitoshi had his favorites, but he had never really kept up with them. It was too easy to get jealous of their useful quirks, to see the power they could wield. Especially when he had a villians quirk, especially when he was destined to be beat down by those pillars of society. It was hard to watch the heroes and not see the future laid out before him.
He had never seen a hero control another before. Not like her.
“Ah here are the cops!” she said, waving hello to the police. “Officers, these two stole a calendar. They get six months each!”
The villians on the ground howled. Tentacle arms kicked his legs.
As the villains were cuffed and carted away, the crowd dispersed. One by one, people walked away, talking about the feat they had just seen with delight. Hitoshi stayed, watching the hero. He didn’t know when he had started smiling, when delight had bubbled up in his throat, and he could only stare at her in awe.
Until she noticed him.
“Hello,” she said. To him. Right at him. “Are you a fan? Or an air conditioning unit?”
“Uh yeah! Yes!”
He scrambled as he reached into a bag, pulling out his notebook. When he held it out, he saw his hands were shaking. The hero laughed, leaned forward, and used a sleight of hand to pull a pen out from behind Hitoshi’s ear. He couldn’t help but laugh.
She stopped and cocked her head to the side. She tapped his arm with the end of his pen.
“Looks like someone’s got a soulmate,” she said.
“Oh uh.” Hitoshi pulled down his rolled up sleeve, covering up the still illegible letters.
“One of the lucky ones,” the hero said.
“Yeah,” he said looking away. “I suppose.”
“At least you have a full sentence. Eeny meenie minie.” She pulled down the corner of her collar to reveal the word NO on her clavicle.
Hitoshi hadn’t seen many soul marks and had never seen one so short.
“Oh,” he said.
“Do you even know how many people say no to me,” she laughed. “I’m doomed to marry a villain! What's your name kid?”
“Uh its. . .Shinsou. Its Shinsou Hitoshi.”
“You sure about that?”
Hitoshi liked the bubbling laugh under everything she said. He nodded.
She went to sign, but paused. She looked up at him, suddenly serious for the first time that afternoon.
“Do you want to be a hero?”
Hitoshi had never thought about it before. He hadn’t let himself think about it. Why bother with something so futile? But the door was opened that afternoon and all his wants, all his desires, came bubbling to the surface.
He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to show the world that his villian’s quirk didn’t make him a villian. He wanted no one to ever look at him with pity ever again. No one would laugh at him. No one would think he would do something wrong. He wanted so desperately to show the world just how good he could be. He wanted to be a great hero.
With his mind.
With his words.
“Yes."
The hero smiled fondly. She signed his book with a big flourish. Written in red ink over his biology notes was the signature MS JOKE complete with a smiley face.
Hitoshi shook as he took it back.
“Then I’ll be seeing you on the field, Shinsou Hitoshi,” Ms Joke said with a wink.
____
Hitoshi spent his summer honing his quirk.
The second he came home, he threw off his bag and shouted into his house that he wanted to be a hero. His mother and father were stunned, shocked at their son’s decision, and for a moment, Hitoshi braced himself for that pity. But instantly they were supportive. His mother was first on her feet, excited for his decision.
They spent the night researching schools, looking up when entrance exams were, picking out which one Hitoshi would go to.
Every night, they practiced. His mother volunteered, demanding that if Hitoshi wanted to get into school, he needed to get better. Just as strict with his quirk training as she was with his homework. They would go to their backyard and spend hours together. Hitoshi talking, his mother responding, and they would work on his control. He learned how to shut it off, how to pull her out. He learned how to craft his words carefully to make his mother do exactly as he said. They learned his limitations, how far they could go. And each and every time, when she was pulled out, she had nothing but high praise for her son.
A far cry from that first time.
It was two weeks in when Hitoshi knew where he was going. There wasn’t a doubt.
Overnight, his soul mark finished coming in.
WELCOME TO CLASS A
Hitoshi was going to UA. He was going to UA and he’d get into the Hero course.
Late at night he would stare at his soul mark, at the promise that was forever etched into his arm. He would trace the words, knowing that one day, soon, someone would say them to him. He’d enter, he’d be welcomed.
He would be a hero.
Hitoshi doubled down on his training until he knew it just right. Knew how to let go, knew what he could ask his victim, knew his limitations.
Until finally, the day came.
He stood at the base of UA’s entrance and stared up at the imposing building. The early morning crowd milled around him, all hero hopefuls. Hitoshi could almost ignore them, their conversation drowning out to white noise.
This was it. The final hurdle. He’d take the exam, he’d get in, and he’d be on his way to being a hero. Hitoshi ran his hand over his sleeve, where the promise laid just under the fabric.
It was inevitable.
He side eyed the other hero hopefuls. There were kids of all shapes and sizes. Some with flashy looking quirks, others looked built enough to punch through concrete. There were some kids that looked ordinary, plain. Hardly hero material at all. Hitoshi found himself judging them, thinking that there was no way they’d get in, and then realized that he was among their ranks.
Not just his plain appearance, his non physical quirk, but his villain’s quirk.
Hitoshi breathed in deep, taking his seat at the test. He told himself that Ms Joke was the same, a non physical quirk, a mental one. However, not one that belonged to a villain. She was far from plain and Hitoshi tried to tell himself he was the same.
He looked down at the first page that asked him what department he was testing for. Without hesitation, he checked off the Hero course. He glanced around the room, once again looking at the other hero hopefuls. The confident smiles, the extra limbs, the physical prowess. Faces that belonged on cereal boxes and abilities that were obviously heroic.
Hitoshi checked off General Studies. Just in case.
He was being practical, but he knew it was ridiculous. There was no way he’d fail. He was destined to get into the hero course.
Someone had made him a promise.
____
Hitoshi sat on his bed, his knees pulled up to his chest, and hid his face.
His acceptance letter had come in. It crinkled in his hand as his fist tightened around it.
He had gotten into UA. He’d gotten into General Studies.
Robots. Of all things. Robots. For some reason, he hadn’t anticipated that. There was no voice to latch on to, no mind to control. There was no way for him to defeat one. He attempted controlling someone, getting them to do his dirty work, but it was hard to make anyone respond to him over the fray. When he managed to take hold, they moved too slow. He didn’t know their quirk well enough, didn’t know how to make them do as he asked.
And was promptly knocked out by flying debris.
Hitoshi woke up in the infirmary with negative points on the physical exam.
But he’d done well on the written. He was good enough.
Good enough for General Studies.
“Hitoshi?” Hitoshi’s mother rapped on his door.
Hitoshi didn’t answer. She creaked open the door anyways. The family cat snuck in around her legs, sensing her master’s melancholy. The furry animal hopped up onto his bed and rubbed against his side. With a shaking hand, he raked his fingers through her fur, but otherwise didn’t look up.
“I brought you dinner,” his mother said, setting down a plate.
Hitoshi didn’t feel hungry. Paper crunched as his fist tightened around the failed acceptance letter. Hitoshi’s mother sat next to him, taking his free side, and wrapped her arms around him.
“You tried your best,” she said quietly.
“But I worked so hard.” Hitoshi hated the whine in his voice, how he sounded clogged from tears he didn’t want her to see.
“Yes and you were amazing.”
Hitoshi ground his teeth, still struggling against tears and frustration. His mother reached into his cocoon and gently cupped his face, lifting it so that she may look at him.
“You are amazing,” she said.
She smiled softly, love and confidence for her son radiating from her. A kindness that had always been there, support for a dream that was still too recent.
That terrified expression she had worn when Hitoshi had first taken control of her mind was still etched into his brain. She had come to accept him, to love him, to have all the faith in the world that he would become a hero.
There had been one point she had seen him as a villain.
It was how the whole world would view him.
Hitoshi held fast to his arm, where the words were forever etched into his skin.
“I failed,” he said miserably. “I missed my chance.”
His mother sighed. Just as gentle, she took Hitoshi’s arm and held it as if it were something fragile. She ran her fingers over the words. With a look of determination, she squared her shoulders and looked her son in the eye.
“Then we will just have to find another way.”
____
Hitoshi scanned the 1-A hero class. Stories of what they had been through, the villain attack, all of it had circulated the entire school. They had proven themselves a force to be reckoned with, every last one of them. To go toe to toe with villains and come out the other end alive?
They had proven themselves.
Hitoshi wondered if he would have fared as well.
’Yes,’ he told himself.
He was going to be a hero. He had to believe he could handle villains. He could handle class 1-A.
“Is everyone in the hero course delusional or just you?” he asked the kid in front of him.
Across the room were instantaneous reactions. Anger, offense, confusion. Some had fear. The row of kids behind the ass in front of him waved their arms in warning, that Hitoshi shouldn’t try to provoke him.
But he had to. Controlling his quirk was one thing, but there was more to it than knowing how to control someone’s mind. He had to get that response. He had to know what made them tick, how best to utilize them. And do it all within a second’s notice.
Reading people became a skill that Hitoshi had to learn. He would take long walks, writing notes about people and trying to understand their situations in a flash, but he was still only a novice. With only a matter of days before the Sports Festival, Hitoshi was nowhere near the level of cold reading that he needed to be. What was a little prep, instead?
His gaze jumped from student to student. The normal looking ones were probably best avoided. They were probably clever, like he was. They’d catch on to his game too quickly. The crowd of bigger kids in the back looked more confused and quiet than anything. Not them. The purple spec started in some macho rhetoric. Maybe, but he seemed too small to be useful and Hitoshi didn’t know what his quirk was. He couldn’t even see the invisible girl’s face, but could see her huff. Still, not her.
The enraged explosive kid in front of him would definitely respond to any insult, but everyone knew Bakugou Katsuki to be some kind of prodigy. Hitoshi decided to avoid him.
Goading for a couple of more seconds couldn’t hurt.
“How sad to come here and find a bunch of ego maniacs,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, hoping to look more bored than anything.
That elicited more offended glares and gasps.
The kid with the tail let out a soft, offended ’hey’. He didn’t seem bright. There was one. Another stared sparkling at Hitoshi, as if for attention more than anything else. There was two.
“If any of us do well in the Sports Festival, they’ll transfer us to the hero course. And they’ll have to transfer people out to make room,” Hitoshi said, essentially giving up his hand. The intimidation was worth it.
Just this once, he enjoyed a little antagonization.
“If you don’t bring your very best, I’ll steal your spot right out from under you,” he said.
“Consider this a declaration of war.”
____
The crowd behind him cheered his name. A pride swelled within Hitoshi. He stumbled down the hallway, off the field, trying to hold his head up high.
He’d gotten so very far in the Sports Festival, all the way to the final challenge. He’d used his quirk effectively, getting through round after round, better than he ever had. He had taken control quicker than he ever had, held multiple people at once, commanded them with the efficiency and speed worthy of a hero. Almost without anyone knowing what his quirk was and hiding all of his weaknesses. He was the star of General Studies.
He’d done so well.
It hadn’t been enough.
Hitoshi stumbled and leaned his weight against the wall.
His head hurt from an overuse of his quirk that he wasn’t used to. His back was one big bruise from where Midoriya had slammed him into the ground.
A pressure built up in the middle of his face where that familiar sense of frustration swelled.
Hitoshi shook. He ground his teeth and a whine slipped free. He gripped his arm.
“Liar,” he whispered.
His fingers shook, nails digging into his skin.
“Liar,” he said.
Adrenaline faded and his body slumped into exhaustion. His legs gave out and he flopped to the floor, his head hanging low. The shaded concrete was cold against his knees, even through his uniform.
He’d failed again.
His fingernails scraped across the words on his arm, trying to rid himself of the lie.
“You lied to me,” he accused. “Liar.”
Hitoshi sat on the floor, scratching at his arm until it was red, trying to rid him of those mocking words. The crowd behind him had moved on to the next match, ooing and aahing at the spectacle of the hero course students. Not him.
Slowly, he regained himself and rose to his feet, one leg at a time. They felt like jelly. He would probably sleep for a week.
He pulled at his sleeve, trying to cover up the WELCOME TO CLASS A.
____
Hitoshi settled into his life. There was no need for idealistic dreaming anymore. He could let go of all his pent up hope. He had to take what he would get.
Maybe he was meant to be in General Studies.
There was nothing so wrong with that.
Hitoshi played the statement like a mantra, that it was fine, it was fine, it was fine! Eventually he’d have to believe it.
In a way, he did. The sting of failing his dream aside, there was a lot he had grown to love about his class. The work was challenging, but Hitoshi took to it. He was constantly in the top 5. He’d always been a good student, but at UA, he really enjoyed what he learned. Picking up on statistics and earth sciences to better predict villain attacks and natural disasters. Law enforcement to support the infrastructure and justice system. Even managerial work.
All the little aspects no one thought about that built up this world of theirs.
Hitoshi thought about where he could go, since he couldn’t be a hero. He could become an everyday hero. Maybe work at an agency, support heroes there. Or the National Hero Ranking Bureau. Or he could go into the police force. Becoming a detective might be close to hero work.
Hitoshi bounced his pencil on his notebook and once again thought about becoming a vigilante. He shook his head.
It was against the law. Hitoshi would never break the law. That was too close to being a villain.
He could simply slip alongside the heroes and support them.
It was fine.
“Hey Shinsou, you coming?”
Hitoshi looked up from his book. Togeike and Agoyamato waited at the door, waving at him to join them.
That was the other thing: Hitoshi had friends. Real friends. People who actually wanted to be around him.
It was so foreign to Hitoshi. He had come to the conclusion that the second people learned about his quirk, they would all think he was a villain. As his friends in middle school had, as his mother had at first, as everyone he’d ever met had done. Maybe it was the way everyone found out, but at UA, no one treated him like a villain. Togeike and Agoyamato were even a little protective of him, saying things like the Hero course if full of snobs and they can’t recognize how good Hitoshi was.
It wasn’t just the General Studies class either. He’d pass kids, teachers, anyone in the hallway and they’d either ignore him or even smile at him. He really had become the star of the General Studies class.
No one looked at him like a villain. No one thought he’d do villainous acts. No one wanted him to skirt around the rules. No one pitied him.
He was just simply Shinsou Hitoshi.
And then there was his soulmate. The liar.
Hitoshi tried to figure out why his soulmate would say such a thing. Maybe he would one day transfer schools and end up in another class A. Maybe it would be the name of a hero agency he’d join. Maybe his soulmate was cruel and making fun of him.
Whatever it was, Hitoshi had to move on from their still as yet to be said proclamation. He had to settle with his life.
It was fine.
“Coming,” Hitoshi told his friends and rose to join them.
They walked alongside one another and Hitoshi was content to listen to his friends talk. They went on about their upcoming PE class and how they didn’t want to run laps. Hitoshi had to agree with them. He’d rather be biking than running. Running was hard. The PE at UA was hard. If they weren’t training to be heroes, why did they need to strain with physical activity. Its not like Hitoshi had strength to spare.
“Shinsou,” a voice behind him said.
The three General Studies students stopped and turned.
Behind them was a teacher. Hitoshi recognized him as the home room teacher for class 1-A. Eraserhead, underground pro hero. He was one of the announcers from the Sports Festival, the reluctant one. The man was half wrapped in bandages and looked ridiculous, but something about his stare demanded respect.
“Yes?” Hitoshi asked.
Eraserhead turned in place and walked away, waving one hand over his shoulder.
“Follow me,” he said.
Hitoshi shared a look with his friends. Togeike shrugged.
Hitoshi followed Eraserhead to see what it was he wanted.
____
Gravity yanked Hitoshi to earth and he dropped with all the grace of a thrown brick. Branches cracked as he fell through the trees. He fumbled with his capture weapon, trying to find something to latch onto, anything. He managed to get the free end wrapped around a thick branch and pulled.
He should have swung away. He should have been moving on to the next tree, into hiding, but his capture wasn’t sitting right. Tangled straps tightened around his body, trapping his arms at his side. His bindings squeezed tight and he choked as the air was pushed out of his lungs.
Like a bagworm, Hitoshi dropped from the last layer of branches, dangling just short of the ground in a knot of human limbs and taut cloth.
Aizawa stepped into view.
“Villains on you in 15 seconds,” he said, looking at a stop watch.
Hitoshi struggled against his bindings, wriggling in the air. Carbon fibers dug into his skin and he only succeeded in tightening the weapon’s hold.
Aizawa crouched in front of him.
“And you’re dead,” he said, flicking his forehead.
“I have 10 seconds left, at least!” Hitoshi whined.
“Villains don’t care about your schedule.” Aizawa spun the stopwatch around his fingers. “Not that you could’ve gotten out of this mess in that time.”
“I could’ve,” Hitoshi grumbled. His body went slack as he slowly spun in place.
Aizawa’s brows rose as something caught his eye. He reached out and took hold of Hitoshi’s wrist, turning his trapped arm until the inner side was in view. Until he could read WELCOME TO CLASS A. Hitoshi tried to yank it back, wriggling in his self imposed trap.
Aizawa snorted, unamused.
“Is that why you’re so determined to get into the Hero course?” he asked.
“No,” Hitoshi spat, attempting to look over his shoulder as he rotated in the air.
With a solid pull, Aizawa yanked Hitoshi’s capture weapon free of the tree. Hitoshi thudded to the ground in a cluttered heap, landing on his head, ass over tea kettle. With absolutely no grace, Hitoshi’s legs folded over his head and he flopped to his side. Aizawa watched patiently.
“People who live their lives around soul marks are illogical,” he said.
“I’m not doing this for some soul mate,” Hitoshi said, carefully pulling the capture weapon over his head. “I wouldn’t go through all of this for someone else.”
The capture weapon whumped in an uncoordinated pile onto the grass, giving Hitoshi enough freedom to sit up. He held the limp cloth in his hands and inspected it, not wanting to look up at Aizawa.
“I’m doing this for me,” he said. “I’m doing this to be a great hero.”
He looked up to meet Aizawa’s eyes. The man was perpetually unreadable, no matter how much Hitoshi practiced his cold reading.
Hitoshi ran his hand over his arm. He had allowed himself to believe the promise on his arm again. Each gentle touch was an apology for ever doubting the words, for ever punishing his skin like he had. He would trace the words as he had so long ago. The shape became a good luck charm for Hitoshi and each pass was another prayer.
“This,” he said. “This just gives me hope.”
The two let the moment of silence pass between them. Birds sang between the branches and the trees crackled as they settled from Hitoshi’s descent. His still developing muscles sang out in pain, begging him to stop.
It was moments like that where Hitoshi felt the same thing he did when he first saw Ms Joke. There was someone else like him out there, someone who didn’t have the flashiest quirk or brute force or a heroic standing whatsoever. That it was all in the execution, it was all in what they did not what their quirk was.
Maybe Aizawa had gone through the same things Hitoshi did. Maybe someone called his quirk villainous behind his back. Maybe he’d been pitied for the way people viewed him. Maybe someone asked Aizawa to erase someone’s quirk so they could steal something or get in somewhere they didn’t belong.
Aizawa had chosen not too. He’d chosen to be a hero.
Just like Hitoshi.
He ran his fingers over the words again and felt the same hope.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aizawa said. “You don’t need some soul mark to tell you who you are. You have potential. Otherwise I wouldn’t be out here.”
Hitoshi tucked his chin into the limp capture weapon around his neck, hoping to hide a smile. Still, he ran his fingers over the words.
There was the briefest of flashes in Aizawa’s eyes. He looked from Hitoshi’s arm, to his face, then away again. Hitoshi wasn’t sure, but he thought he could read that one.
“Sensei,” he said, dipping his toe into dangerous waters. “Do you. . . have a soul mark?”
Aizawa glared, jutting out his lower lip. That one was easy to read, clear as day. Hitoshi smiled and couldn’t keep the teasing nature out of his expression.
“What does it say?” he asked, mockingly.
“Thats none of your business, brat,” Aizawa said flatly.
He leaned, trying to find it on open skin, but Aizawa kept so covered up. Hitoshi wondered if that was part of the reason why. So much for not doing things for the sake of other people.
“Have you met your soulmate?” Hitoshi teased.
Aizawa spun the stop watch again, catching it in his hand. Without breaking eye contact, he clicked it on.
“2 minutes until villains,” he said.
Hitoshi scrambled to his feet, his capture weapon coming to life around him. This time he had better control over it. His legs screamed in protest, but he worked through them. Villains didn’t care that he was sore and tired and apparently they didn’t work on his schedule either. He aimed his weapon into the air and this time when he pulled, he swung.
He was on his way.
____
“This was a test for a transfer, wasn’t it?”
Failure didn’t sting this time. An aching pride over took any sense of shame. For once in his life, Hitoshi could believe it: he’d done well.
The success of the first Class A vs Class B match wasn’t exactly a cake walk. He’d strained and tried and it took effort, but they’d won. He’d won.
The last match however. . .
Hitoshi didn’t feel bad about it. It wasn’t the mad scramble of the entrance exam where he had no idea what he was doing. It wasn’t the curb stomp that was the Sports Festival.
Hitoshi had trained for this. He adapted. He had new tricks, new techniques. He had the skill. His voice distorter to mimic his foes' voices. The capture weapon that he could now handle with ease. The ability to think quicker, move faster, read people before they could even open their mouths. Working with teams, which he never thought would happen. Working around the fatal flaw that was his quirk’s weakness: silence.
Even the rematch with Midoriya. The last time had been embarrassingly bad. All he had was the trick of his quirk and Midoriya had worked around it. With more tools in his belt, he would be able to keep up with the kid from the Sports Festival.
It was a shame that Midoriya had kept improving too.
This time, when Hitoshi hit the concrete, he couldn’t help it. He grinned, he was happy. He’d done so well. He’d kept up with Midoriya, fought him and held his own for so long. He was stronger. He was better. He was worthy of being a hero.
And he had failed. Again.
That didn’t stop the pride.
“He knew!?” Vlad King shouted, looking to Aizawa. “Who told?”
“It was just a guess. . .” Hitoshi said quietly.
The assessment of the final match went by in a blur. Aizawa grilled Midoriya, questioning him about his new ability, and Hitoshi tried to pay attention. He held back the sulking, held back the absolute joy of what he’d done. A storm of emotion swirled inside him.
“If Shinsou hadn’t used his brainwashing to knock me unconscious, I don’t know what would’ve happened,” Midoriya said, going off a mile a minute. “Thanks!”
Hitoshi spared Midoriya a long lingering look before glaring at the ground. There was another gap between them. The way Midoriya, the way all of them viewed the world. How true they were to becoming heroes, focusing on saving those in need and not just themselves.
Hitoshi was so far behind in all regards.
“I wasn’t doing it for Midoriya’s sake,” he said. “I did what I did because I wanted to fight him. And beat him.”
If Hitoshi got another chance, he’d do better. He’d focus on his team, on who needed saving. Even if he couldn’t be a hero, he could carry that knowledge into his work going forward.
Hitoshi was satisfied.
“I was focused on myself and what I wanted,” he said.
He missed the shadow that loomed over him. Two strong hands grabbed the ends of his capture weapon and pulled. The air was cut off from Hitoshi’s throat and he choked. Aizawa's frowning face glared down at him, that silent admonishment of what an idiot he was being. Students around them balked, unused to such familiarity.
“Nobody was asking for any more than that from you,” Aizawa scolded. “Everyone here has already spent months training to become heroes who save people. You’ll never protect anyone until you find whatever strength you need for yourself.”
Hitoshi frowned, his brow furrowing. He’d grown used to that angry look of disappointment from his teacher, but it was different this time. His cold reading picked up on the micro expressions that gave Aizawa away.
“Your actions earned you more than a passing grade,” he said.
Hitoshi’s grimace dropped. His eyes went wide and he stared up at his teacher. Was he saying. . .?
Midoriya went off, agreeing with Aizawa in his way. He went on and on about Hitoshi’s strengths, his feats, every little detail from the quick skirmish they just had. Hitoshi side eyed the kid, still rocked from the words Aizawa was saying, and there it was again.
Friends.
People who saw him as not just not a villain, not just someone they wanted to hang out with, but a true hero. Just like them. Alongside them.
Hitoshi’s gaze shifted slowly back to Aizawa, waiting on him. Waiting on everything he wanted to hear.
“We’ve still got some deliberating to do,” Vlad King said. “But more than likely, Shinsou will be joining the hero course as of his second year here at UA.”
The ground dropped out from under him. His blood rushed cold in his veins. All thoughts, everything in the years, everything that brought him to that moment, rushed through his head at once. Every feeling played out at the same time. His failure, his success, all of it.
Hitoshi froze and didn’t know what to do or say. He gripped his capture weapon tight, staring up at the impassive expression of his teacher. Eventually he’d have to move, have to walk off the field, but in that moment, he let the thought finally settle.
He was going to be a hero.
He was a hero.
“Wooooah which class!? A or B?” someone shouted.
“All in good time,” Vlad King said.
Hitoshi ran his hand over his arm.
He already knew.
____
The first day of his second year, Hitoshi walked the halls alone. He showed up early, head held high, and enjoyed the silence.
This was it. No more General Studies, no more second guessing or settling for less or hoping. He was done hoping.
This was it.
He shuffled along the still darkened, quiet hallway, wanting to enjoy these moments for as long as he could, and listened to his feet skuff along the floor. He marinated in his success. Enjoyed being where he was meant to be before the work started up again.
Hitoshi stood in front of the 2A door and let out a quick puff of air. He wanted to be there early, to enjoy the empty classroom long before anyone else, enjoy the quiet and the atmosphere of his new class. It’d look a little silly when the first of the class started filing in, but for this experience, it was worth it.
He had done it.
Hitoshi opened the door and his smile immediately dropped.
He wasn’t alone.
The towering boy stood hovered over what was supposed to be Hitoshi’s desk, three neat stacks of papers laid out on top of it. He was holding more, gingerly divvying them up, and looked up at Hitoshi with surprise.
Hitoshi vaguely recognized him. He’d see this kid a couple of times. A speedster with the pedigree background, a hero family. Iida something.
And he was infringing on Hitoshi’s time.
Iida stood up straight, a large smile splitting his face. He bustled through the maze of desks, quickly making his way into Hitoshi’s space.
“Welcome to class A!” he said too loudly. “You must be Shinsou Hitoshi, our newest addition. I’ll admit, I was not expecting you so early, but you are proving yourself to be quite the good student, I’m impressed. However, I am not quite ready for you yet.”
Hitoshi glared at the arm that swung through the air, punctuating each point.
“My name is Iida Tenya, class representative for class A.” The annoying buzz just kept going and going. “It is my duty to function as your welcome wagon and bring you up to speed. First we must assess what gaps there are between what you’ve learned in the General Studies course and what you need to know for the Hero course. I have developed a questionnaire for just such an assessment.”
Iida flitted through the stack of papers in his arms, found the pop quiz Hitoshi didn’t ask for, and waved it in the air.
“I have also supplied a dossier of all equipment you may need, a schedule of your day, face cards so you may familiarize yourself with your new classmates–”
“Are you always this lame?”
Iida shut up. He recoiled, as if Hitoshi had flicked him, his eyes going wide.
Hitoshi didn’t care if he’d offended Iida, or he at least tried not to, and got back on track with his intended morning plans. He brushed past the class rep and headed to the desk covered in papers. Sorely tempted to just brush them to the floor, Hitoshi stacked them up and placed them inside his desk. Maybe he’d look at them later.
He sat down at his desk, settled into his rightful spot, leaned against his palm, and stared out the window. Iida was thankfully silent, allowing Hitoshi to enjoy his quiet reverie.
The view from the window was the same as General Studies and yet it was entirely different. It was the eyes that were looking through it. The way he perceived the world. The joy and sheer happiness shifted the grey morning into something all the more glorious.
Hitoshi smiled into his palm, letting out a long contented sigh. By sheer habit alone, he ran his hand over the inside of his arm, tracing the shape of his good luck charm. Of his hope. Of the promise that had been made to him.
The promise that had. . .
Hitoshi’s smile dropped. Slowly, he looked down at his arm, words obscured by his sleeve, but he knew what was there. The words that he had never heard out loud.
Until just a minute ago.
Hitoshi turned his head slowly, his neck stiff, and looked up at the large boy who still stood stock frozen in the doorway. Iida returned his expression, his mouth dropped open, and eyes still wide in surprise.
He had said it. He’d said the words. This rambling, well intentioned, straight edged nerd had said the words out loud. Had been his silent cheerleader this whole time, the person who was just waiting for Hitoshi, to tell him what had been forever etched on to his arm.
Iida, who had unknowingly made Hitoshi a promise.
Iida was the first to recover. He dropped his hands to his side, straightened out his jacket, and cleared his throat. With strong purposeful strides, he once again closed the gap between them. He stopped just short of Hitoshi’s desk, standing stick straight and serious.
“I have waited a very long time to say this,” he told Hitoshi.
He pointed a stiff hand at his soulmate. Hitoshi went cross eyed trying to look at it.
“You,” he said. “Are very rude.”
Hitoshi’s eyes slowly travelled up Iida’s arm, settling on his face and the restrained smile. How pleased Iida was with himself, with the situation, but it was nothing compared to Hitoshi’s. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what those words had meant, the hope he had provided, the world that Hitoshi was in. Knowing that some day he’d land in that very spot.
All because of the words Iida said.
For once in his life, Hitoshi didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the correct way to craft all his gratitude, to explain what he’d gone through, what Iida had done for him.
So he said what he could.
“Thank you.”