Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hi!” the boy says, before proceeding to bow in a perfect 90 degree angle. “My name is Midoriya Izuku! Can someone show me where the demons are?”

Eijirou stares at the stranger of a boy standing in front of the dorms’ door. And then he stares at his phone where it shows that the pizza delivery guy has not actually arrived yet.

Eijirou looks at Kaminari who is standing next to him (and looks somewhat dejected by the lack of pizza). Kaminari looks back at Eijirou. 

Both of them look at Jirou, the only other current occupant in the living room currently slouching on the sofa. 

Jirou, feeling the other two handing the responsibility of The Man of The House to her, sighs and stands up from her seat. “The what?” Jirou says, and then, with a raised brow: “Hang on, who are you?”

“Midoriya Izuku,” the guy repeats, sounding somewhat both cheery and patient. He doesn’t look miffed by the lack of reception. 

“Never heard your name before,” Jirou says, rather bluntly. “You from the Gen department?”

Midoriya Izuku blinks, eyes comically huge and cartoony. How old is this guy, anyway? He is shorter than both Eijirou and Kaminari. Looks a bit like an overgrown elementary schooler, honestly. “No,” he says, slowly. And then a thoughtful “hmm,” as he puts down the biggest backpack Eijirou has ever seen. In front of all of them, he crouches and proceeds to ransack his bag for a full minute. 

Eijirou thinks the boy ought to elaborate a little more before, um, do his business like that, but—

“Aha!” Midoriya Izuku exclaims as he pulls out—a … a remote?

“Is that a first gen nokia?” Kaminari, forward as always, blurts, leaning forward a little to get a better look.

“Yep,” the boy answers amicably as he punches a few buttons on that—thing. Not before he pulls out an antenna out of the device. 

Jirou has walked to the porch herself without Eijirou’s notice. “I never saw one,” she says, though there is still a note of suspicion in her voice.

“That thing is like, centuries old, dude!” Kaminari sounds excited now, so Eijirou can glean that this must be a tech geek thing, which should explain Jirou’s mutual interest. “Where did you get that, a museum?”

“Something like that,” the boy chirps at them, before proceeding to talk to the device. “Hello, Principal-san? Yes. Hmm, no. Ah, I see? Alright. Shall I—? Ah, right. Mm. Ok, no problem. No. Right, right.. He wants to talk to one of you.”

Kaminari stares at the device the boy is handing him like it’s the golden globe. “Can I touch it, really?” before he could even make a move, Jirou snatches the device, which at this point Eijirou understands is some kind of an ancient phone or something. “Hey, Jirou!”

Jirou ignores Kaminari’s betrayed yammering, her face suddenly stiff as she talks to whoever it is on the phone. “Right. Of course, Sir. Yes, I understand.” She then hands Midoriya his phone back with a strange look aimed at the boy.

Sir? “Who is it?” Eijirou asks.

Jirou blinks. “Principal Nezu,” she says, and Eijirou’s brows rise to his hairline. “He says to let him in and wait until Aizawa-sensei gets here.”

Eijirou looks at Kaminari. Kaminari looks at Eijirou. Both of them look at Jirou. Jirou looks at Midoriya. “What, you have Principal Nezu on speed dial?”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Midoriya replies.

“Pizza’s here,” says the pizza delivery guy from the intercom.

The atmosphere has been languid and lazy. It's the weekend, so the dorm is fairly empty as the others are doing their own stuff. Yaoyorozu is celebrating her relative’s birthday, Tsuyu is taking Uraraka, Mina and Hagakure to her house, Iida is visiting his brother, Bakugou is doing god knows what, etc. Eijirou is pretty sure that Tokoyami and Ojirou are playing the new VR game upstairs and he wonders if he should call them down, because—

“Thanks,” Midoriya says, and at least he has the sensibilities to swallow before he speaks. He is on his third slice. “I haven’t had one of these in years. I forgot how good they taste.”

Kaminari, bless his heart, pushes a glass of water towards him. Midoriya takes it and gulps it down in one go. The glass is empty. Jirou, bless her heart, fills it in again with some water.

Is this guy starving or something?

“Um, so, Midoriya-kun,” Eijirou says, and he doesn’t really know how to phrase this. “Who are you again?”

Midoriya blinks those huge ass eyes again. “Haven’t I introduced myself?”

He had. It just did not help.

“Midoriya-kun,” Jirou, the one with the brain cell, says. “Are you a UA student?”

“No.”

At this, the three kids sit up straighter. “And they let you in?” Jirou says, something hard slips into her voice. Guarded. 

Eijriou feels somewhat tense too, and he knows Kaminari feels the same. Hard not to when you’ve got invaded by Villains twice. 

“I wouldn’t say they let me in,” Midoriya says, to make matters worse. Eijirou is suddenly hyper aware of the fact that the three of them idiots just let some guy into their dorms (and gave him pizzas) without any verification of some sort. He glances tightly at the other two. What if the phone call was some sort of Quirk work, or something? 

Though Midoriya does look unthreatening. Very, actually—his build is barely any bigger than Jirou, and he looks positively drowned under the oversized, worn out hoodie he sports. Eijirou eyes the faded All Might print on it and then to the mop of wild green hair on top of an undercut.

(Though that big scar at the side of his head is pretty inconspicuous.)

Who knows? And that huge ass backpack he has with him, what if—

But no—they must’ve checked for weapons and anything like it. And his ID too, right?

“Sorry, can I have some of the tissues? My hands are all greasy.”

“Sure, man,” Kaminari says, and Midoriya looks blissfully unaware as the three of them communicate with each other with their eyes. If all goes to shit. I’ll take him on, you take the door. You sure? Yeah. Make it quick. Incapacitate him first. Get help later? Ok.

“You know Nezu personally?” Eijirou prods.

“Sort of? It’s not really personal,” Midoriya replies, rubbing the oil off his fingers. His hoodie is big enough that his hands are barely visible out of the sleeves. “He is paying me to come here, you see.”

The revelation is strange enough to start all three of them out of their vigilance.

“What,” Jirou begins, and then Aizawa-sensei comes in through the door without so much as a knock.

The three kids stare at Aizawa. He stares at them back. Trailing behind Aizawa-sensei per usual is Shinsou, who is not staring at them, because he is currently gaping at Midoriya like he is a dead body come to life. 

The dead-body-come to life in question stands up, and amicably says, “Hello! I’m Midoriya Izuku. Can you show me where the demons are? Big fan, by the way,” and then, without a pause, “hey, Hitoshi, what’s up? You didn’t tell me you were in this class.”

It’s a weird day, Eijirou decides. And here he thought it was getting boring around here.

“What?” 

“I am not repeating myself, Kaminari,” Aizawa-sensei says, like the grouch he is.

“No, no, hold on,” Kaminari says, looking like he does whenever he’s short-circuiting. “What ?”

Eijirou can sympathize. 

“Why?” Jirou demands, sounding incredulous. “Is it because of the incident with Sero’s underwear? That was Kaminari, not ghosts.”

“Hey, that wasn’t me!”

The source of all enigma is currently rummaging his huge-ass backpack in the middle of their living room, on the floor , with the rest of them surrounding him as if they’re watching a zoo animal doing its business. “So, none of you can show me where the demons are, huh? Well, that’s problematic.. Hm,” Midoriya Izuku hums thoughtfully he pulls out content after content out of his bag. 

Are those—

“Are those ofudas? ” Jirou says. 

He’s putting out ofudas. In the living room. Where they live.

A bunch of them too. What the hell. 

Eijirou glances at Aizawa-sensei, who looks like he isn’t inclined to answer any of their burning questions nor elaborate whatever the hell is going on. Eijirou swallows, and says, “so, Midoriya-kun … you are … an … exorcist?”

“Mm. In a manner of speaking,” Midoriya says. He doesn’t even pause amidst his activities. He pulls out a calligraphy brush and a bottle of ink—and starts writing. And then he hands a piece to Eijirou. “Put it on your door later.”

Eijirou honest to fuck does not want to touch it, but he accepts it anyway. Eijirou looks at the talisman. And then does a double take. 

“This just says ‘fuck off’ in kanji,” Eijirou says to Midoriya.

“It’s very effective,” Midoriya says to Eijriou.

“What the hell is going on,” Jirou says to the room.

“I’m an exorcist,” Midoriya reminds her, as if it explains everything. “In, you know, a manner of speaking.”

“What does that even mean?”

This time, Midoriya actually does pause at whatever he’s doing—writing fuck off on talismans and what not. “Hm,” Midoriya purses his lips, as if actually pondering Jirou’s question. “Well, do you want me to elaborate on the origins of theism and animism, or should I just skip to the demonology part?”

Before Eijirou can unpack whatever the fuck that was, Aizawa-sensei seems to have decided on throwing away the whole suitcase. “We don’t have the time,” he says, amazingly as straight-laced as always even in this situation. He even looks borderline bored, as if an exorcist in the UA dorms is a tedious thing that’s happening. “Just do your job, or whatever it is Nezu wants.”

“Sure thing!” Midoriya claps his hands together cheerfully. “Okay, let’s start. Can you guys put these on every single door in this place? Including the bathrooms.”

Eijirou feels somewhat helpless and distantly mindfucked as he accepts a bundle of the fuck off talismans. 

“Are we going to ignore the demon part?” says Kaminari, who looks legit shaken. “Like, the demons are real and are haunting the dorms part?”

”Is this a prank?” Jirou looks at their teacher. “Demons aren’t real.”

“Arguable,” Midoriya says amiably, pushing a bundle of ofudas to Jirou’s hands. 

Aizawa looks unruffled as always, arms folded at the corner of the room. Shinsou has been quiet the whole time after the initial what’s up Hitoshi thing. “Do as he says,” Aizawa tells the kids, who stare back with disbelief. “Just make it quick. How long do you think you can finish?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes,” Midoriya says, handing a very unwilling Kaminari his ofudas. “Or two hours. Who knows? Ah, you help me out too, Hitoshi!” The latter accepts with an indignant and rather helpless huff. 

“Right! Get to work, everyone!” and then Midoriya pauses in his tracks. “Wait, what are your names again?”

Eijirou, Kaminari, and Jirou look at each other. Right. They haven’t introduced themselves. Kinda hard to remember basic formality what with all the … the everything.

“Kirishima.”

“Kaminari.”

“..Jirou.”

“Right, right. Oh! Hmmm,” and then Midoriya hounds on Kaminari immediately with a pinched look on his face.

Kaminari, naturally, leans back in a startle from Midoriya’s lack of respect for his space. “W-what?”

“Hmm,” Midoriya scans him up and down, and then suddenly puts both hands on Kaminari’s shoulders in a surprisingly firm clasp. “Electricity? Emitter type?”

Eijirou stares in surprise. He sees Shinsou pinching the bridge of his nose from the peripheral of his eyes. 

Kaminari blinks, startled. “Yeah.. How do you—”

“You’re perfect,” Midoriya announces to the room, and does not elaborate. “Kaminari-san, you’re with me. Jirou-san, hmm. Yes, that’ll work. Also with me.”

At this point, Midoriya is talking to himself, a hand over his mouth, circling both Kaminari and Jirou at a fast pace. “Okay, okay, I see. A bit old-school, but should be interesting.. Hm. Kirishima-san together with Hitoshi then! Don’t worry, Hitoshi should know how this works. After all, he’s—”

“I told you,” Shinsou says suddenly, more exasperated than irritated, “I’m not your—”

“—my assistant! Okay, Assistant Kaminari-san, Assistant Jirou-san, follow me!” Midoriya takes two steps before he stops and turns. “Actually, I’ve never been here before. Can someone show me the second floor? Oh, wait, the bathroom first would be great. All the water kinda got to me now.”

When Midoriya and the two finally disappear beyond the stairs, Eijirou turns to Shinsou.

Shinsou, who is the newest addition to their ragtag of a class after Mineta got kicked out (a celebrated occasion). Eijirou thinks he’s Aizawa-sensei’s favorite—not that he’s jealous or anything, it’s just kind of funny to watch the two of them strut around like a pair of gloomy sleeping bags. 

He’s a quiet one, and hasn’t really assimilated well with the rest of them in general (what with being a late addition and with, um, what happened at the sports festival with Ojiro). He got along with Eijirou well enough though, or so Eijirou likes to think. 

But whatever awkwardness still persists between them should be overruled right now by whatever the fuck is going on with this Midoriya character.

“You obviously know this dude,” Eijirou says. He addresses Shinsou by his first name after all. “What’s his deal? Can you explain?”

Shinsou looks a bit dejected at the situation in general anyhow. “He’s,” he pauses a little. “My neighbor. He lives near me.”

“O-kay ,” Eijirou says. Doesn’t really explain stuff, but he’ll take it. But. “You’re his, uh ... assistant?” 

“Hell no,” Shinsou says. “It’s just. Sometimes. I bump into him when he’s doing his shit, and. You know.”

Doing his shit. Eijirou looks at the bundle of fuck off talismans in his hands. The handwriting is a bit messy. “What, vandalism?”

“You know,” Kaminari says as they trot up the stairs. “I’m actually, like, super not great with occult stuff.”

“This can’t be happening,” Kyouka mutters to herself. 

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Midoriya assures them. From behind, the scar on his head is much more prominent, slithering from the side of his head to the back of it under the curls like a protruding, veiny flesh. It contrasts greatly with his childish face. “It’s all completely safe.”

“I really don’t like ghosts, you know,” Kaminari says.

“I can’t believe Nezu is paying someone to exorcise demons in the dorms,” Kyouka says. “No offense, but what is this, 21st century?”

What she doesn’t understand is why Nezu was the one to engineer all these. Isn’t he supposed to have an unholy IQ count? Why would someone like that believe in the existence of the supernatural?

“Your principal has very good eyesight, you know,” Midoriya tells them, in a note that is both amicable and off-handedly indifferent to Kyouka and Kaminari’s resignations. 

“Good eyesight?” Kaminari looks like he’s going to shit his pants with the implications. “What do you mean by that. What did he see.”

Kyouka elbows his ribs, glaring at Kaminari in a get-a-hold-of-it-dude glower. She can’t believe Aizawa-sensei, of all people, is playing along with … this. Isn’t he the one with all that logical ruse shit going on? What part of this is in any way logical?

“Very excellent hearing too, actually,” Midoriya smiles, and this one is directed at Kyouka. His smile is sweet, friendly, if rather childish. “Well, not as excellent as you, though.”

Kyouka blinks. She knows her physical manifestation is a giveaway, but. “How do you—”

“Is it just me,” Kaminari says. “Or the second floor is scary as shit? Why the hell are all the lights off?”

“This is Tokoyami’s floor,” Kyouka reminds him. Tokoyami likes the dark. “And it’s still, like, four in the afternoon, man. Get a grip. ” 

Aren’t demons only out in the night, or something? Not that they exist.

Something clatters at the end of the hall.

“Kaminari,” Kyouka says, slowly. “Get off me.”

Kaminari honest-to-god whines. “But … demons—”

“Aren’t real.”

It is sort of dark. The hall is long with a window at the end of it, but the light coming in is dim despite the hour. Must be due to the position of the building, or the trees, or whatever.

“Okay,” Kaminari lets her arm go, but he proceeds to meekly hide behind Kyouka’s back. Which, considering their height difference, really just does not work.

“Hmm,” Midoriya says, mostly to himself. And then he knocks at the door at the end of the hall.

A few beats pass before the door opens and Tokoyami’s head pops out. He looks at Midoriya. And then he looks at Kyouka and Kaminari. And then he looks at the bundles of ofudas in Midoriya’s hands.

“Hello!” Midoriya chirps, as bright as the moment he entered the front door. “My name is Midoriya Izuku. Might I ask your Shadow to rein it in a little? It makes it hard for me to, ah, manoeuvre, you see.”

“Ah,” Tokoyami says, coming out of the room entirely. He still has his VR headgear on top of his head. “My name is Tokoyami Fumikage. Apologies for the hindrance. My Dark Shadow has been especially antsy lately. He isn’t quite used to this domain just yet.”

“Understandable. The Night is quite thick here and I imagine there has been disturbances in the frayed edges of its Fabric. Might I be wrong?”

“You are correct. I suppose it’s a matter of who exactly is the uninvited guest—it gets rather complicated, you see, as there are no Limits nor Border to the silk.”

Midoriya nods serenely. “Of course, as all domains are, intruders have never really been simply distinguished from the Remains. It must have been uncomfortable for your Shadow, I understand.”

Kyouka does not.

“What in the goddamn hell are they talking about,” Kaminari says in an awed whisper behind her.

“Who’s that, Tokoyami-kun?” Ojiro pops his head from the door. He too also has his VR headgear still on his head. “Oh. Hey. Hello.”

“Hello!” Midoriya chirps back.

“Ah, Ojiro-kun, this is Midoriya-san, The One Who Returned,” Tokoyami smoothly introduces them both. “Correspondence of Hell, the Monarch Butterfly, Accursed Archer of the Unmade.” And then he says, ”Midoriya-san, this is Ojiro-kun.”

Something clatters in the hallway again. 

“Nice to meet you,” says Ojiro after a lengthy pause. “Um, I’ll just wait inside, Tokoyami-kun.”

The door closes. Tokoyami turns to Midoriya. “Pray tell, Cursed One, what has brought you here?”

“Why of course, I am to provide a Needle by the request of your Principal. It is work, you see.”

“Ah.”

“I thought it’s simply polite to keep notice. I hope you and your Shadow do not mind.”

“Of course. I wish you well. I regret that I am not able to provide assistance, though I am glad to know that the disturbances shall end soon.”

“No worries, I’ll make sure of it. It was a pleasure to meet you, Shadowed One.”

“And I you, Cursed One.”

Tokoyami goes back inside and closes the door. Midoriya, with the casual ease of someone watering a houseplant, puts an ofuda on said door. 

“Now that that’s settled, just put it all over the doors. Ah, Jirou-san, can you put it on the window by the end of the hall, too—yes, just like that. Perfect.”

Kyouka wonders if she ate something bad this morning.

“Okay, that’s all of them,” Eijirou says as he puts the last talisman on the front door. And then he says, “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Aizawa-sensei—”

“He went to sleep.”

Eijirou looks at the sleeping bag at the corner of the living room. Of course. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Shinsou says. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

“Okay,” he says. And then, “demons aren’t real, right? I mean, I’m not really religious or spiritual or anything, but like.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, demons aren’t real, or yeah, demons are real?”

“Just,” Shinsou says, and then pinches the bridge of his nose. A signature move, Eijirou has noticed. “Come on.”

“The others won’t believe this. Mina will freak,” Eijirou says as he follows Shinsou on the stairs. “Actually, Mina will be pissed that she missed this.”

“I bet.”

The second floor is empty, but the talismans are already put up, so they proceed to the third floor. No talismans. “They must be upstairs,” Shinsou says just when they hear Kaminari’s voice from the fourth floor. The dude sounds pretty hysterical. “Let’s put these up.”

“I didn’t know you like this sort of stuff, Shinsou-kun.”

“I don’t. ”

“No shame in that, you know,” Eijirou says, which seems to aggravate Shinsou more. “I mean, people believe in all sorts of things. Like, my grandma still doesn’t let me clip my nails at night and stuff,” he says. “I mean, I think my sister’s girlfriend does witchcraft.” 

“..right.”

Shinsou doesn’t seem like he is going to reciprocate the conversation. For a guy so good at riling other people up, he sure is pretty tight-lipped. That doesn’t bother Eijirou though—the guy probably just needs more time to ease in with them. Half-joking, he continues, “I can’t believe I’m assisting an exorcism right now.” Not that he thinks it’s real, but.

To his surprise, Shinsou actually stops and turns to look at him. “It should be fine,” he says, with this nervous, stiff kind of voice that makes Eijirou wonder if the guy is trying to assure him. Eijirou finds, however, the surprising earnesty actually does the opposite. “I know he looks fishy as shit, but Midoriya knows what he’s doing—”

Shinsou trails off when the building starts to shake.

“Don’t worry about the third floor, Hitoshi will take care of that. Let’s go up.”

Right. “You seem to know him well.”

“Hm? Oh, Hitoshi? He’s great,” Midoriya says as he trots upstairs. He sounds like he means it.

“Huh,” says Kyouka. She has no problem with Shinsou, but anyone can see that the guy isn’t capable of being approachable. 

“He is one of those guys, you know, ones that have a really Dense presence. The Fabric voids around him,” and before Kyouka can even begin to decipher the string of nonsensical words Midoriya just said, Midoriya continues rather cheerily, “the complete opposite of you, actually, Kaminari-san!”

“Me?” Kaminari looks alarmed at the mention of his name. “What do you mean?”

“You are one of those guys who Attracts. They like you, you know. You must be really good to feed from.”

They reach the top of the stairs. Fourth floor. Kaminari looks like he’s going to pass out. “Feed from?”

“Oh, yeah. They like energy, and you’re basically brimming with it. Tell me, do you feel like you have really bad luck in particular?”

The answer is instantaneous. “Yes, I do,” Kaminari’s face is as white as a sheet. “Oh my fucking god. Jirou. Jirou, I’m fucking haunted.”

“Stop pulling me or I’ll make your ass haunted!” Kyouka snaps, trying to get Kaminari’s grip off her. “This is ridiculous.”

“Isn’t it?” Midoriya hums, putting a talisman on Uraraka’s room, and moves to Shoji’s. 

“What do I do?” Kaminari says to no one in particular. “I don’t want to die young.” The dumbass actually believes that shit. Kyouka would tell Kaminari to use his brain if he had one. 

“Hauntings won’t kill you,” Midoriya assures him. He’s at Kirishima’s door now. “Only curses do.”

“Okay,” Kaminari says, even though his tone says it’s absolutely not okay. “So I’m not cursed, right?”

“No,” Midoriya puts the last one up on Bakugou’s door. He stares at the door for a little while, hand still on the polished wood, palm spread. “Hmm. At least I thought not..”

“Oh my fucking god,” Kaminari says.

Kyouka rolls her eyes. “You aren’t haunted or cursed, you’re just a dumbass.”

Midoriya takes his hand off Bakugou’s door, smiling that guileless smile at them. “Shall we go up?” he says.

And then the building starts to shake.

Kaminari yelps, “what the—”

It’s not big, but it’s noticeable—a dull thrum and puts her skin on edge. Kyouka’s first thought is earthquake. And her second thought is—

“Oops,” Midoriya says, as if he just accidentally spilled some milk. And then, calmly, he squats and pulls out something from the pocket of his hoodie: a marble.

He puts the marble on the floor.

It does not move.

“It’s not an earthquake,” Kyouka says, feeling cold at the bottom of her stomach. It’s not. The vibrations are strange—or rather, there are no vibrations. Her Quirk is never wrong. “What the fuck. ” 

Midoriya slips the marble back into the folds of his hoodie, and then he stands near the staircase. Kyouka thinks he’s going to go down, but then Midoriya leans down and yells out “Hitoshi!” somehow, it’s a surprise to hear him raise his voice—doesn’t really fit his looks.

No answer. 

The thrum is still there, as if they are on some park attraction—or a shaky paper-mache floor—

“I see,” Midoriya says, to himself, and then he looks at them both. “Well, no worries! Let’s go upstairs.”

The shaking stops as soon as it begins.

“Oh,” Shinsou says, after a pause. “It began.”

“What began?” Eijirou says, a little panicking. “Wasn’t that an earthquake? We gotta tell them—”

“Kirishima—”

Eijirou is already upstairs in a flash. 

No one is there. 

They’re probably on the fifth floor, Eijirou thinks, but something odd twists in his stomach. “Kaminari?” he calls out to the stairs. “Jirou?”

No answer.

Now, isn’t that weird as fuck? 

Maybe they’re on the roof, Eijirou thinks. Maybe—

“They’re not here.”

Eijirou whirls around. “What do you mean?”

Shinsou looks like he doesn’t really know how to explain either. “They aren’t here, here. Or maybe we are the ones not there. Man, I don’t really know how this works either—listen. The Fabric is Folding. We—or they—are on the Other Side for a while. At least that’s how he calls it.”

Eijirou looks at Shinsou like he’s lost his mind. “What the fuck?”

Shinsou sighs. “I know.”

“What the fuck?” Kyouka says. Fabrics? Folding? Other Side ? What the hell is this guy talking about?  

What in the goddamn Harry Potter shit is this?

“Alright, all set up,” Midoriya says, putting the last ofuda on Tsuyu’s door. “Here, for you, Kaminari-san.”

Kaminari, despite looking like he’s about to piss himself, catches the thing thrown at him. It’s a small protection charm you can get at the shrine, beet red. “An—omamori?” 

“Yaku yoke, just in case,” Midoriya says. “I told you, you’re nice to feed on. They like you.”

“Oh my fuck,” Kaminari says.

The weird, non-existent vibration is still there. Kyouka doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like that she could feel it but she can’t sense it. She doesn’t like feeling something that Does Not Exist. And there is something weird in the air—as if—as if—“What the hell is going on? Is this your Quirk?”

For the first time in the whole evening, Midoriya actually looks surprised. “No.”

“Bullshit,” Kyouka says, even though Midoriya’s steady heartbeat tells her otherwise. “Stop it—whatever this is—”

“I can’t,” Midoriya says, plainly, but not kindly. “Not yet. Where is the roof hatch?”

“You—” Kyouka grits her teeth. Something is fundamentally wrong, her Quirk tells her. There is nothing in the air, nothing in the walls—it’s like they are suddenly teleported to a cardboard box in space. “I can’t feel it. I can’t feel the building. Where did you take us to?”

What kind of insane Quirk is this? One that can alter dimension and space —

“I don’t have that kind of Authority,” is Midoriya’s answer. His eyes: big and somewhat dull. He repeats, “where is the roof hatch?”

“It’s here,” Kaminari says, and from the look in his eyes, he’s as shaken as Kyouka is. 

“This should work. Let’s go.”

Kaminari and Kyouka look at each other.

Midoriya sighs—that fatuous smile slipping off his face for the first time since he arrived. “Listen,” he says, voice not unkind, but unbearably neutral to the point of coldness. “You can stay here in an uncharted territory all by yourself where I can’t guarantee your existence, or you can follow me where I can. This is all completely safe, you know. Your principal is paying me to do this.”

A silence follows, in which Kyouka realizes he’s waiting for an answer.

Guarantee your existence. What in all the ominous hell is that even supposed to mean? 

“Fine,” Kyouka says, finally, trying to ignore the alarm telling her that something is wrong, wrong, wrong. “But aren’t you going to explain anything?” 

The smile returns. “If that helps you sleep at night.”

Midoriya opens the hatch with little struggle. He helps Kaminari up to the roof, and then Kyouka.

Kyouka hears Kaminari’s bitten off “Holy fucking —” as she raises herself up. And then she—

She’s been to the roof before; they hosted a BBQ night the first weekend they got to the dorms. They could see the whole of UA from there, and even the station where she usually transits to go to her folks. They could even see the mountains.

Now, there is absolutely nothing beyond the edge of the roof.

It’s Void. There is no other way to describe it. It’s not even black—it’s Colorless. Something her brain can’t comprehend. It’s just Nothing. 

As if the building—as if they—are a glitch in a game.

“Oh, good,” Midoriya says, pleased. “The ofuda works.”

“I don’t get it,” Kaminari says, sounding dazed. “I don’t..”

“I had to cage it,” Midoriya explains, easy, as if he's talking about the the weather. “Or it won’t show itself.”

Before Kyouka can say anything, Something happens.

Kyouka calls it Something because she can’t comprehend what it is that’s happening. 

But there is a beat, and the vibration stops—and then there is a gaping hole in Kyouka’s soul that tells her that something is fundamentally wrong with Everything. Like she is a drop of oil in a bowl of water. Like she is a single dot of error in the metric code of the Universe. The knowledge reverberates inside her like the most desynchronized music whose notes etched down on the print of her skin.  

And then It appears. 

(Demons aren’t real.)

It slithers down the Nothingness up to the roof. Everything It touches crumbles and falls apart like a deleted pixel on the web—gone into Nothingness, the Void that once was the building and the structure of the dorm, eating brick and brick apart until nothing is left but the smithereen of a plane Kyouka, Kaminari and Midoriya are standing on.

And Kyouka knows, somehow, that It isn’t wrong. It being Here isn’t wrong. Everything Falling Apart isn’t wrong. Because this is Its Domain, Its Place, and kyouka is nothing but an intruder. a faulty code. a wrong existence and she should just disappear because this is Its place and Its plane and kyouka should not be here and she should not exist and she should just—

“Hello,” Midoriya says, stepping between them and It and the sea of Nothingness all around. “My name is Midoriya Izuku. I apologize for forcing you to come out like this.”

And then Midoriya shifts his foot, and moves to the side. It takes Kyouka a while to understand what he’s doing. Midoriya’s hands are empty, but his left arm is raised into a fist in a parallel line in front of him. 

(As if he’s holding something.)

And Midoriya’s right hand is raised to pull a non-existent bowstring. 

For a moment, Kyouka thinks she hears It speak. Something indecipherable. Something her eardrums unable to catch and her brain unable to compute.

“Ah, but you see,” Midoriya replies to it. “We exist. You don't.”

He lets go of the arrow that is never there and reality folds in itself like silk.

“You know?” Eijirou repeats. Shinsou shrugs, almost helplessly. “What is that supposed to—you know what—”

Eijirou turns and races up the stairs to the fifth floor and—

“Oof,” Midoriya looks surprised, coming from the top of the stairs. “Careful there. Almost didn’t see you.”

Eijirou blinks. 

“It’s over?” Shinsou asks, behind him.

“Yep,” Midoriya says, airily, walking past Eijirou. “Right then, my job’s done.”

Eijirou’s eyes move to Jirou and Kaminari behind him. 

They look like they just saw a ghost. 

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Kaminari says, brushing past Eijirou—presumably going to his own room on the third floor to do just that.

“What—what happened?” Eijirou asks, confused. 

Jirou stares at him for a while. “I don’t know,” she finally says, sombrely. “But that was the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“What?”

Jirou does not elaborate. She goes downstairs calling out, “Midoriya! Wait!”

Eijirou can’t help but feel that he missed out on something really big there. He turns to Shinsou.

“Wait a minute,” he says. “Are demons actually real?”

“Don’t look at me,” Shinsou says. “Dude, trust me—you’d rather not see it. You have the better end of the deal.”

Eijirou runs downstairs immediately.

He finds Midoriya packing up his bag in the living room and Aizawa-sensei standing near the door looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Jirou is—well, it looks like she is bothering Midoriya as he packs.

“Hold on,” Jirou says, and Eijirou does think she looks somewhat deranged. “You promised to explain everything.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Midoriya says, calm as a pond. “The plan worked, it’s gone, I get paid. Tadah.”

“What plan?”

Midoriya glances at her strangely, as if she’s being deliberately obtuse. “Well, couldn’t have done it without you and Kaminari-san, you know. Where is he, by the way? Should really thank him.”

Jirou stares at him. “But we did nothing.”

Midoriya stars blankly at her—huge dull green eyes. “But you did. Oh, Kaminari-san. Thanks for the help.”

Kaminari stumbles from the stairs looking a little green. “You,” he tells Midoriya. “You bastard. That was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. And I’ve had almost died, you know, twice. But that, that was—that was the absolute worst thing..”

“What was?” Midoriya asks.

“Are you kidding me? That, the—” Kaminari trails, pauses. “The..”

Midoriya smiles mildly. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll forget.”

“Forget?” Jirou repeats. “How could—” she stops. “What the fuck.”

Eijirou can’t take this anymore. “Hold on, what happened back there? Was there actually a demon? What the fuck?”

“There was—” Jirou stops, and sits down on the sofa. “There was … I think? Why—”

“Your brain can’t handle it,” Midoriya says. “Or rather, it can’t process it. So what happened did not. It’s a way for your subconscious to protect itself—so the experience is trauma-free! In theory, that is. No worries!”

Jirou stares at him with something like awe and fury. “I don’t understand a single thing you’ve ever said to me,” she says.

Midoriya shrugs. “It’s all for the best. Thanks for the help, though. Especially you, Kaminari-san! Great job.”

“Me?” Kaminari looks confused for a moment, and then, “wait, hold on. You said something. Something about—feeding..”

“Oh right,” Midoriya says. “It’s your Quirk.”

“What?”

“Your Quirk. Electricity. Energy. They feed on it. That’s why they like you.”

You’re perfect, Midoriya had said. Kaminari seems to catch on immediately. “You used me,” he blurts, in horrified realization. “I was ... bait ?”

“Good ol’ fish and hook, you know,” Midoriya shrugs. “Works like a charm.”

“What—”

“I still don’t understand!” Eijirou cuts in, which gets promptly ignored.

“The ofudas!” Jirou says, standing up again. “Did they even mean anything?”

“Of course,” Midoriya says. “The ofudas were a lock, you see—they were … prison bars. So it can’t escape. It’s much more simple to keep it outside than inside.”

“What’s it?” Eijirou says, desperate for anyone to fill him in on whatever the fuck happened.

Midoriya stares at him for a while. “Oh, right,” he says again, a bit slowly, like he forgot to mention it. “You guys aren’t haunted, you guys are cursed. I’ll discuss this with Nezu later, don’t worry.”

Silence. 

“What,” Eijirou says, because how the hell does Midoriya keep producing answers that only raise more questions?

“I think I figured it out, actually,” Midoriya continues, like he’s explaining a physics problem. “You see, Nezu thought it was the location. The building. He’s wrong.”

“Wait, so what was this ... it you guys were talking about?” 

“Hmm. You could call it a demon, if you want,” Midoriya says. “More accurately, it’s a manifestation of your curse. One of them, anyway. I just got it to shoo off, is all.”

Kaminari is starting to become greener again. “So that’s—that’s over, right?”

“Oh, no,” Midoriya says, and then looks at Kaminari like he’s dumb. “It’ll come back, you see. Or rather, it’ll remake. That wasn’t the problem, that was the symptom. The problem is you guys.”

“Us?” Jirou repeats. “Specify us. Like, is it Kaminari? Kaminari and me?”

“Hey!”

Midoriya shakes his head. “It’s all of you. You and all of your classmates. Class 1-A. All of you are cursed.”

Silence. 

“No,” Jirou says. “No way.”

“Oh, yes. Let’s see,” Midoriya says with an almost motherly quality, as if he is a doctor diagnosing a patient. “Have you been in any or more than one life-threatening situation in the past six months?”

They stare at each other. And then Kaminari says, softly and with feelings, “fuck .”

“But we are hero students,” Eijirou says, somewhat incredulously. “Right? It’s normal to—to—”

“Almost die?” Shinsou says drily. “Several times? Sorry to break it to you, but your experiences are not universal.”

“Hold on, if 1-A is cursed, then doesn’t that mean you are included?” Kaminari says, and they all look at Shinsou, who in return immediately looks at Midoriya.

Midoriya stares at Shinsou for a while. “Hmm. Hard to tell. Maybe you should give it time.”

“Give it time to what, infect me?” Shinsou looks like he is about to physically step back. “Hell no. Maybe I should go to 1-B or something.”

“Curses don’t infect people,” Midoriya says, as if it’s supposed to assure him. “Well, I should be going now. Thanks for the pizza.”

“Hang on!” Kaminari sputters. “What, you’re gonna just leave ? What about our curse and shit? Are we going to die?”

“You said curses are lethal,” Jirou says, her voice tense. “Didn’t you?”

“I did say that,” Midoriya agrees, packing up his brush and ink. “But they’re not always lethal, they just could be lethal. And anyway, having a guy like Hitoshi around will help a ton, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t look at me,” Shinsou says awkwardly, and to Midoriya, he hisses, “stop that.”

“It's true! Like I said, Hitoshi is real Dense, see—”

“Don’t call me dense!”

“—if you stick around with him, it kinda, hmm, cancel bad things out, I guess? Well, I’m sure Nezu is going to do something about it, so no worries.”

“Hold on just a second,” Eijirou pleads. He looks at Shinsou, and then at Aizawa-sensei who seems to find the conversation only slightly more stimulating than watching grass grow. “So is this real? Curses and demons exist? This is too big of an existential crisis for Heroics, don’t you think? If this is a prank, if you guys are pranking me, I’m begging you, humiliate me right away.”

Midoriya tilts his head to look at him. For the first time, Eijirou doesn’t see a smile on Midoriya’s face. “I see the problem, Kirishima-san,” he says. “Why don’t you think of it like a Quirk? Someone with a Quirk has an intent to destroy you all. And this Quirk manifests in metaphysical ways that you might not have the capability to comprehend,” the smile returns, as if by a flip of a switch. “There, is it all better?”

Eijirou doesn’t know where to even begin with that.

Aizawa-sensei sighs from where he stands.

“We don’t have time for this,” Aizawa-sensei says flatly. “I will escort Midoriya back. You may share this information to your classmates if you wish, or you may not—we will provide you full information by tomorrow. And of course, we intend for absolute safety to all of our students and we will accomplish it,” a pause. “If you are having an existential crisis, or some questions regarding things like afterlife and god, please, please, please, do not come to me and call your parents or guardians instead. That is all.”

The four of them stare.

“Well, it was nice to meet you all,” Midoriya hauls his huge backpack on, waving cheerfully at them. “See ya!” door slam.

A beat passes. “That was so fucked up,” Kaminari says. “That was so fucked up.”

“Well,” Shinsou awkwardly announces, turning tail, “I’m going to bed—”

“Oh no you don’t,” Jirou hisses, pulling Shinsou by the back of his shirt. “Tell me everything you know. Stat .”

“Tell us,” Eijirou says. “I literally have no idea what the fuck you guys are on about.”

“I feel like I’ve experienced something so terrifyingly fundamental to the nature of the Universe,” Kaminari says, emptily. “And I don’t even remember any of it. I feel like I forgot to save the game before fighting the final boss. Do you know what this feels like? Absolute agony.”

Shinsou sighs. “Whaddaya want to know?”

“Everything.”

“What the fuck was it that I saw?”

Shinsou rubs the back of his neck. “What do you remember?”

“The stairs,” Jirou frowns. “And then—the—the hatch—and then—”

“The Unmade,” says Kaminari.

“The Colorless,” says Jirou.

“The Thing That Was Never There.”

“The Place That Will Not Be.”

“What the fuck,” says Eijirou.

Shinsou sighs again, harder this time. “Yeah, you saw it, alright,” he says. “You won’t remember it. You can’t. It’s like—trying to pour the ocean into a teacup, or, or trying to install the newest Final Fantasy into a 4GB RAM computer.”

“Okay,” Eijirou says, a little irritated, “I get that you guys experienced some sort of cosmic horror, etc, but seriously. Is this real?”

Jirou, Kaminari, and Shinsou look at each other. 

“I don’t know,” says Shinsou.

“Maybe it is,” says Kaminari.

“Maybe it isn’t,” says Jirou.

“This fucking sucks,” says Eijirou.

“Hey guys!” Mina says, as she barges into the living room a few minutes later. Behind her, Tsuyu and Uraraka follow. “Whoa, what’s with the mood?”

“You won’t believe what just happened,” says Eijirou, who is currently lying down on the floor.

“We are cursed,” says Kaminari, who is lying down beside him.

Jirou is non-responsive, lying face down on the sofa.

Mina blinks. “What?”

“What are these papers on the doors?” Uraraka says, confused. “Ofudas?”

“This just says ‘fuck off’,” Tsuyu reads.

“So there you have it,” Nezu ends his informational speech. “You guys are in great mortal danger. But worry not, for we will ensure your safety no matter the cost. Are there any questions? Yes, Sero-kun?”

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m afraid not. Next, Iida-kun?”

“May I ask what grounds have led you to believe that this hypothetical non-natural force would place us in peril, because according to the physicist Horace Barlow, ‘If it is true that the human brain can receive messages and control things in ways that cannot be explained normally, then this undermines the belief—’”

“You can come to my office if you wish to discuss this matter more, Iida-kun.”

“Yes sir.”

“Anyone else? Yes, Koda-kun?”

“Can I still keep my pets in the dorms?”

“Yes, you may. Well, if the rest of you are still too engrossed in a state of disbelief to gather your wits, I shall introduce the newest temporary member of your class. He is appointed by none other than myself to aid UA in ensuring your safety.”

“Oh my god,” Shinsou Hitoshi says from the back of the class.

“Hello everyone, I’m Midoriya Izuku! Anyway, as per Nezu’s request, I’ll be hanging around you guys until maybe the end of the semester? Who knows, but let’s get along till then.” 

“Deku?”

“Oh hey, Kacchan,” Midoriya says, a permanent smile on his face. “Long time no see.”

Chapter Text

Bakugou blinks. 

And then a scowl appears on his face. Though curiously, it looks more annoyed than anything—which, on the Bakugou scale, is almost friendly. “Long time no see?” he repeats, his voice roughly cynical. “You just had dinner in my house last week, idiot Deku.”

Midoriya doesn’t seem bothered by the hostility. “A week could be a very long time,” he says simply, his smile unwavering. 

Hitoshi blinks.

Dinner? Deku?

Kacchan? 

What the. These two know each other? 

The rest of the class seems to share the same impression, but before any of them could act on it—or on the god accursed revelation just dumped at them by the literal Principal—Midoriya Izuku puts his hands together airily. “Well, Principal-san has instructed me not to intervene with your study—and I shan’t, so long as you aren’t going to Cease. I hope you’ll cooperate with me and let me do my job. Please do not worry,” he smiles. He always does smile. “It’s all completely safe, you see.”

Hitoshi is pretty sure the entire class does not see.

“Midoriya-kun will have today to evaluate the situation for the maximum and desired result; please cooperate with him for your own safety. Now then, I shall take my leave and Aizawa-sensei will proceed with homeroom. Thank you very much, Midoriya-kun.”

“Midoriya," says Aizawa-sensei, "you can sit in front of Shinsou.”

Of course, Hitoshi thinks a little despairingly, as Midoriya beams at him.

Hitoshi really feels like the class ought to be more, like, worried about the whole curse thing in general. Or at the very least, harbour some suspicion towards the proclaimed exorcist-of-some-kind gallivanting among their midst.

In retrospect, perhaps Hitoshi should’ve seen this coming. Hitoshi notwithstanding, 1-A is a weird ass bunch.

“—in accordance with the principle of sufficient reason. As Parmenides put it, ‘nothing comes from nothing.’”

Though, he finds it astounding that of all people, it’s Iida Tenya who got on board that quickly.

Midoriya nods serenely, having the air of a wise-old mage listening to its youngling student. “I see, Iida-san. But perhaps you should shift your thinking a little. Rather than the cosmos has no beginning nor end, why not the cosmos ended before it could begin?” Midoriya suggests. “Taking it as a cyclic phenomenon suggests that one would eventually return to the first point, but you see, there was no point in the first place.”

Iida nods. And then he says, sincerely, “I do not understand.”

“You can’t win them all,” Midoriya replies kindly.

“If I have to listen to another bout of theology discussion, I’m going to commit classticide,” says Jirou, who has the unfortunate luck to be seated next to Bakugou, who is directly seated in front of Midoriya. “Please, I’m begging you, keep your mindfuckery session away from me. As far away as possible. Please.”

Jirou, it seems, is smart enough to have decided to keep away from any of Midoriya’s so-called mindfuckery sessions. Hitoshi can relate.

Not that it matters, because it’s all already too late.

“It pleases me however, Iida-kun, to see you take this on so easily,” says Tokoyami (he sits next to Hitoshi, which Midoriya has mentioned is 'sort of a cosmic joke,' whatever that means). “As your friend, I am happy to see that you keep an open mind and an open heart.”

“Of course,” Iida nods, straighter than a ruler. “As your class representative, it is pertinent of my duty to seek information on what danger might impose on class 1-A. Furthermore, I do believe that there are things in this world that one simply does not understand.”

“Well put, my friend,” Tokoyami says, standing up. “Well then, shall we feast together to celebrate this newfound bond between us two? I might not be as well-versed to the intricacies of the Fabric as Midoriya-san, but I believe I will be able to provide some enlightenment, dark as I am.”

“I will be happy to, Tokoyami-kun!”

“Feast, we shall. The cafeteria serves curry today.”

Hitoshi watches the unlikely duo strut out of the class. He wonders if there are more of his classmates who are actually not as right in the head as he initially thought.

“Midoriya-kun,” says Ashido, who has Hagakure in tow. She looks ungodly excited. “So you’re like, a shaman or something, right?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Midoriya chirps.

Ashido and Hagakure look at each other (it’s amazing, considering Hagakure’s whole invisibility thing) and Ashido has this huge, manic green on her face. “Okay, cool. So do you do, like, fortune telling and stuff?” she drags Tokoyami’s empty chair to Midoriya’s desk and sits on it. “Can you, like, do me?”

“Ooh, me too! Do me too!” 

“I’m a Leo sun, Aries moon and Sagittarius rising!”

They are all crazy, Hitoshi decides.

Present Mic tells them to be in a group of three. “Oh yeah, Midoriya-kun,” he adds after a second. “Nezu told us to treat you like an exchange student, so feel free to join the discussion!”

Midoriya swivels his chair to the back and beams at Hitoshi. 

“I don’t understand how you barged into my life like this,” Hitoshi tells him.

“Life has no ownership,” Midoriya smiles. “Think of it like a communal bathroom. All for one, one for all.”

Hitoshi stares, long and mournful. “That is the most uninspiring thing about life I’ve ever heard anyone say,” he says. “In my entire fucking life.”

“Midoriya Izuku.”

Hitoshi turns to look at the quietest kid in class after Koda, who is also the third member of their English group discussion. Todoroki Shouto is staring intently at Midoriya with the flattest look a person could muster.

“That’s me!” Midoriya chirps.

Todoroki stares at him with his standard cardboard doleful expression. Midoriya stares at him back with his standard paper-mache cheery expression. None of them proceed with the conversation.

Realizing Hitoshi has to play classmate, he sighs long and suffering and says, “Midoriya, this is Todoroki. Todoroki, this is the bane of my existence.”

“Hello, Todoroki-san,” says Midoriya. Todoroki is still staring at him. Sometimes Shinsou wonders if Todoroki’s facial muscles are broken. 

And then Todoroki says, with the graveness of a funeral eulogy, “the rest of the class seems to trust you. But you must know that I am no such fool.”

Midoriya blinks. Hitoshi thinks, almost hysterically joyful, finally, someone with common sense!

“I know what you are, Midoriya,” Todoroki says. “You are a fake. An imposter. Do not think you can get away with this.”

Okay, maybe that’s a little too far. Hitoshi is thankful that at least someone here has a functioning brain cell, but he’d rather not Todoroki to go through the whole Jirou-Kaminari-Kirishima incident, or anything worse. Not to mention dude is one of the strongest kid in class and shit. “Uh, Todoroki,” Hitoshi starts, “I know how you feel, but actually—”

Todoroki turns to look at him. There is no malice in his face, only cold hard sincerity. “I won’t let this imposter get to you too, Shinsou,” he says, and turns back to Midoriya before Shinsou could muster up a reply. “I know what you are, Midoriya. And I’ll have you know, I won’t let you mess with my classmates even if you are indeed an extraterrestrial intelligence.”

Hitoshi can feel his brain physically short-circuits.

Hitoshi stares. “Extra—what—”

“You can’t fool me!” Todoroki glares at Midoriya accusingly. “You are an alien, aren’t you? Who sent you?”

Hitoshi has arrived at the terrifying conclusion that none of his classmates are right in the head.

The next day, Hitoshi is quite disappointed to find Midoriya is still in the class. He’d had a faint hope that he dreamt the whole thing.

“Hey everyone! Welcome to Curses 101!” Midoriya claps his hands together. “I will be your teacher for the hour. Thank you Aizawa-sensei for letting me use the homeroom for a bit!”

“Just get it over with,” says the sleeping bag on the floor.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Midoriya says. “I’ve always wanted to be an educator. Now, can any of you tell me what curses are?”

Iida puts up his hand immediately, the teacher's pet. The class stares back at Midoriya with blank eyes. Hitoshi puts a face in his hands.

“Curses are an expression, or a wish, for a form of harm and/or misfortune to befall someone. It is more commonly associated with supernatural forces and the occult.”

“Very well, Iida-san,” Midoriya looks gleeful. “Yes, in a manner of speaking, that is what curses are. Someone intends to hurt you. And as you know, every intention has the intent to come true. Easy, right?” Midoriya steps down from the class’ podium. “Okay, lessons over.”

“Wait just a freaking second,” Kaminari says, looking like he is about to choke someone. Preferably Midoriya. “Easy my ass—explain! Explain more!”

Midoriya looks at him with owlish eyes. “But I’ve already explained.”

“Explain everything, ” Kirishima says, desperately. 

Midoriya blinks. “‘Everything’?” he echoes, and Hitoshi thinks, oh no, and Midoriya says, “well, why didn’t you say so! First, there was Light, which scientists call the Big Bang, and the conceiving of the Universe is akin to a string orchestra with woven silk as its Strings, and then Fate becomes,” Midoriya has this ineffable cheerfulness throughout his information dump. “And you see, Fate is Time and Time is Fate, for Time is merely a metric propelled by happenings, and—“

“What Midoriya meant to say,” Hitoshi stands up, pulling the class’ attention to him. He half-glares to Midoriya, exasperated and two-hundred percent done. “Is that. Curses are like … uh." Okay, how does he proceed to explain the supernatural and the relationship between the human consciousness and the nature of the universe to a bunch of insane and borderline suicidal Hero students?

Hitoshi pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, think of it like a Quirk," he says. “Like imagine there is this Quirk that everyone has innately. And this Quirk functions like … like you know how when you use your Quirk, it’s sort of—like, it works like a command, right?” From the corner of the class, Yaoyorozu nods at him, which Hitoshi suspects is out of pity more than genuine understanding. Hitoshi takes it anyway. “Right. But a curse is—this metaphorical Quirk is command itself. You know? It sort of works like … a wish. A want. And some people’s Quirk is stronger, you know? Like they intend so much that things actually come to be. It works like this humongous, deep, unethical wishing well, I think … and um, some people have more coins than others..? It’s like, you know … like Santa Claus..” 

This metaphor is escaping him. Hitoshi pauses and looks at the rest of the class. The rest of the class looks back at him with a blank face. Hitoshi looks at Midoriya for confirmation. Midoriya smiles brightly and gives him two thumbs up. Hitoshi wants to kill Midoriya.

“So like,” Asui says in a drawl, breaking the silence, “It’s like someone wrote to Santa that they want a Nintendo Switch and they actually got it?”

“Yes,” Hitoshi says, a little relieved. “Like that!” 

“So in this case,” Asui continues flatly, “someone wrote to Santa that they want us dead?”

“Yes,” Hitoshi says, no longer relieved. “Like that.”

Midoriya claps his hands enthusiastically. “Excellent. Everyone! I present to you my trusty assistant, Hitoshi,” says Midoriya proudly. “I’m sure he will be glad to answer any questions you might have.”

“I hate you,” says Hitoshi in earnest, sitting back down.

“So you're saying that Santa is an alien?”

“What,” Hitoshi says in shock. “No? How did you even—what the hell, Todoroki?”

“I knew it,” Todoroki says with a face so full of conviction that Hitoshi wants to cry a little.

“So what do we do now?” Kirishima says. “Do we write to Santa too? ‘Santa, please, sir don’t kill us sir?’”

“But I’ve been a good boy all year,” Kaminari laments.

“Maybe we should kill Santa,” Jirou suggests.

“I’m not sure I like this metaphor anymore,” says Hitoshi. “And why the hell are you asking me?”

Ojiro raises his hand. “Uh, if that’s the case, then don’t we need to do cleansing?” Ojiro shifts a little under the sudden attention. “My grandpa lives near a shrine.”

“Don’t worry, cleansing is in my contract,” Midoriya says cheerfully. “I’m being paid, remember? I’ll do it maybe once a week. Think of me as, like, a cleaning service!” Hitoshi would rather not think of Midoriya at all.

“Hang on, hang on,” Sero says, looking at his class like they are all crazy, which, well. “I’ve been playing along because I thought this was a practical prank ... is this not a practical prank?”

“Life doth maketh a fool out of us all,” replies Tokoyami wisely.

“This curse fiasco is quite romantique, d'accord? ”

“Do you think curses can be, like, monetized?”

“I don’t think so, Ochako-chan.”

“I disagree, I think this can make a good I almost died Youtube video.”

"We should start a channel," Uraraka enthusiastically says. "'Class 1-A, unsolved!' or something. You think I can get rich being a Youtuber?"

“Does the curse affect animals? My pets deserve to live a good life. ”

“My aunt’s boyfriend’s aunt’s cousin’s classmate’s step-brother was cursed by his ex and now he can’t get it up,” says Ashido seriously.

Kaminari visibly pales. “What? But I want to get it up!” 

The class explodes into chaos. Some are asking for explanations, some are asking do curses really make you impotent, because that’s just unfair I’m only sixteen and I don’t want to die a virgin?

“Please, everyone!” says Iida with all the dignity that the class rep has to offer. “Let us all question Midoriya-san in an orderly fashion! Show some—”

“EVERYONE SHUT UP,” says Jirou, with the help of her Quirk. Everyone does shut up. “Okay but, aren’t we ignoring the real question here?” Jirou says to the silence. “Who cursed us?”

“Mm. Well,” Midoriya says, tapping a finger to his lips. “Did you, as an entire class, massively piss off someone or a group of people in the past six months? Perhaps, hm, more than once?”

The class looks at each other. Hitoshi knows exactly which group of people they are thinking. 

“Fuck,” says Kaminari, with feelings.

Yaoyorozu Momo is listening to La Campanella op. 7 rendition by Kyoko Yonemoto when she walks down the hall from her deputy rep errand when she nearly bumps into Midoriya Izuku.

“Oh—! I’m sorry,” Momo says, a little taken aback. She takes out her earphone—and frowns a little, because the song has changed into … Hell’s Bells by AC/DC, which she has never heard before in her entire life. Momo tries to press pause on her phone but it won’t do for some reason—is her phone bugging?

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” says Midoriya Izuku smoothly, blinking huge eyes back at her. 

Momo gives up on trying to get her music app to close and shoves it into her pocket instead along with her earphones—though the song is loud enough to be heard, hard guitar riffs echoing in the hall. Maybe she’s accidentally pressed on Kyouka’s playlist. My lightning's flashing across the sky! The singer screams. You're only young but you're gonna die!

“I should’ve paid more attention,” Momo says, apologetically. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all,” he says, and then they stare at each other for a while. The song continues: I got my bell, I'm gonna take you to hell! I'm gonna get you, Satan get you!

Momo smiles a little unsurely. She isn’t sure how to feel about their new temporary classmate. She isn’t sure how to feel about … the whole thing, to put it mildly. Her family is quite conservative with this sort of thing, and she does visit the shrine regularly, but personally she isn’t really the superstitious kind. But she trusts her teachers, she supposes, so. 

Hell’s bells, the song sings. Yeah, hell’s bells!

“Um,” she says, because Midoriya is still staring at her with that odd, dreamy look on his face. “Is there anything you need—?”

“Interesting,” Midoriya says to Momo suddenly, coming close to her face without preamble that Momo could do nothing but stare in shock. He is inspecting her, it looks like, uncomfortably up and personal in her space.

She steps back reflexively, a little scandalized. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, it’s a choice,” he says, apropos to absolutely nothing. And then, “you have an Affinity,” and then, “are you interested in the occult?”

Momo repeats, a little shrill, “I’m sorry?” and the song sings even more shrilly, if you're into evil you're a friend of mine, see the white light flashing as I split the Night!

“You can flourish in that field,” Midoriya advises. He sounds like he means every word. “Also, you don’t have to pay taxes as an Occultist. Heroes have to, right?” 'Cause if good's on the left, then I'm stickin' to the right!

“What?”

“Pay taxes,” Midoriya explains. 

“No, I meant—what —”

“It’s thin around you,” Midoriya continues, scanning her—not her, but the space around her. “Very thin. Malleable, even. You have an Authority.”

What did Kyouka say about Midoriya again? That the boy is a legit honest to fuck some kind of reality bender mindfuckery meta horror or some shit, man? “Um. I’m sorry, Midoriya-kun, but the period is starting soon, and..”

You got me ringing hell's bells! My temperature's high, hell's bells! Momo tries to press pause again, which still doesn’t work, so she attempts to turn down the volume and it doesn’t work either—what is wrong with her phone?

“Or rather, you could have an Authority,” he amends, sounding like he is in deep thought. He doesn't seem to notice Momo's unwillingness in this encounter. “Did you know, you don’t have to take things from yourself when you can take from others.”

By all means, Momo should just excuse herself politely and make her leave right there. Instead, she ignores her malfunctioning phone to look at him. She says, “what do you mean by that?”

Hell's bells, Satan's comin' to you!

“Blood magic is so last century, after all,” continues Midoriya, almost in good humor. “Such a waste to sacrifice bits of yourself for little trinkets, don’t you think?”

Hell's bells, he's ringing them now!

“Blood—” she cuts herself off. Momo isn’t the most intelligent kid in all of UA, if not Japan, for nothing. What a devious, ominous way to describe her Quirk; it doesn’t sit right in her stomach. “How did you figure out my Quirk?” perhaps Aizawa-sensei or Nezu provided him with a list. “What’s ... thin around me?”

“Mm,” Midoriya looks at her, an assessing cursory of childish green eyes. “No harm in it, I suppose. Do you want to Know, Yaoyorozu-san?”

Hell’s bells, warns her phone one last time.

She really should’ve said no.

“Ah, aren’t they the folks who kidnapped Kacchan?” says Midoriya mildly, looking over the documents Aizawa-sensei has given him, apparently. “Interesting.” 

Jirou snorts. “That’s one way to put it. The League of Villains almost killed us all.”

“I shit my pants in the summer camp incident.”

“I did not need to know that, bro.”

“Why are you guys in my room?” demands Hitoshi, who is both pissed and resigned.

Jirou, Kaminari and Kirishima look at each other. “Well,” Kaminari says, swallowing his chip, which is actually Hitoshi’s chip. “Midoriya did say it’s safer to hang around you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” says Hitoshi.

“Your room has nice air con, too. Mine’s broken because of Bakugou.”

“I think it’s good for you to be social for once, Shinsou..”

“Shut up.”

Someone knocks on the door. Hitoshi sighs and opens it. “What.”

“Good evening,” says Iida.

“No,” says Hitoshi, to no avail.

“As the class rep,” says Iida diplomatically once he is seated on the floor along with the other intruders, “it is my duty to oversee Midoriya-san’s stay in our dormitory. Please do request me anything I could possibly be of help with.”

“I request you to get out of my room,” says Hitoshi, which is ignored by every single one of these fuckers.

Iida pulls out a notebook. For fucks’ sake. “So how long will you be staying in our dormitory, Midoriya-san.”

Before Midoriya can reply, someone knocks on the door. Hitoshi can’t fucking believe it. “What,” he seethes, opening the door for—

“Greetings,” says Tokoyami.

“Greetings,” chirps Midoriya.

“Why,” says Hitoshi.

Tokoyami sits next to Iida, taking the offered chip—which, again, is actually Hitoshi’s chip—from Kaminari. 

“Oh, I will not be staying in the dormitory, of course,” Midoriya answers Iida's question. He even laughs a little, as if the idea is ridiculous. “They can’t afford to pay that.”

They look at each other. Kirishima frowns questioningly. “What, I thought you were … but are you still gonna come to class?”

“Of course not,” says Midoriya, surprised. 

“So these two days have been, what, a trial?”

“A check up,” Midoriya corrects. “I’ll come in once in a while for those, too. But, you know, I need to go to school and stuff.”

“Education is important,” Tokoyami agrees.

Kaminari stares. “You go to school?” he repeats, which is actually pretty rude.

“I thought you just fuck around in another dimension or something,” says Jirou. She says it off-handedly, but Hitoshi cringes reflexively, because that’s … uh. Well. Hitoshi watches Midoriya smiles at Jirou's words. They don’t need to know the details, do they? “I do have other priorities, you know,” says Midoriya mildly.

“Good to know our lives aren’t your top priority, bro,” Kaminari half-jokes.

“Of course not,” Midoriya replies cheerfully. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” 

Hitoshi never saw someone’s face pales so fast. “Right,” says Kaminari in a small voice.

“What, so your exorcism thing is like, a part-time job?” Jirou says, drily.

“In a manner of speaking,” Midoriya agrees, flipping a page of the file. He looks up to smile at her. “Don’t worry, I take my jobs very seriously—part-time or otherwise.”

“Great,” says Jirou flatly. “I feel very safe.”

Someone knocks harshly on the door. Hitoshi is very, very pissed at this point. “Fucking hell! What?”

Bakugou Katsuki is standing in front of his room.

“Is he here,” he says, and it’s not pleasant, but it’s not really a snap. 

Hitoshi raises a brow.

Obviously, talented motherfuckers like Bakugou are the type that Hitoshi hates the most, therefore. “Didn’t know you could knock,” Hitoshi drawls.

“Watch it, Okinawa,” and that’s a snap. “Oi, Deku!”

Midoriya’s face pops up under Hitoshi’s armpit. “Yes, Kacchan?”

“She’s on the line for you,” Bakugou grumbles, shoving a phone to Midoriya’s face. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Midoriya squeezes himself out from Hitoshi’s door, taking the offered phone in stride. There is a casualness in the action that makes Hitoshi think this is far from the first time. “Oh, is it aunty? Ah, hello! Yes, yes, all is good. Next Sunday? Hmm, I’d have to check my schedule.” 

Midoriya chatters on, walking away to the hall with Bakugou’s phone. Bakugou sort of glances at the dude with this silent, scowly look on his face, arms folded. “I said hurry the fuck up!” he barks out  the moment Midoriya—who is apparently the kind of person who roams around when he’s on call—disappears into the kitchen, still chattering at high speed. Bakugou tsks.

It’s sort of interesting to watch. Hitoshi knows Bakugou as well as he knows the other members of the class—which isn’t very much at all. He’s only been integrated into 1-A for what, half a month, a bit more? But he’s never seen Bakugou act so..

“The fuck you looking at?”

Hitoshi is a shithead, so he says, “your breathtaking blue eyes?”

To Hitoshi’s disappointment, Bakugou doesn’t so much as sputter; dude just bares his teeth in this sort of feral, horrifying-ass smile. He ignores the jibe with a sneer, turning on his heels and prowls to the direction Midoriya’s left to. 

What, did he think Hitoshi was gonna use his Quirk on him? Hitoshi scowls, going back into his room with the door slammed.

“Was that Bakugou?”

Hitoshi scoffs as an answer. Before Kirishima can ask further questions, the door opens and Midoriya strolls inside. 

“You sure get along with Bakugou,” Jirou comments as Midoriya closes the door behind him. Everyone in the room can hear Bakugou stomping up the stairs in his unnecessarily explosive manner. 

“Kacchan and I are not on good terms,” says Midoriya simply, sitting back down. He tidies up the documents scattered on the floor into the file.

“He said you had dinner at his house,” Kirishima points out.

Midoriya zips open his bag. “He makes great katsudon,” says Midoriya as if it’s a sufficient explanation and does not just raise more questions.

Kirishima’s face lights up like christmas at this revelation. “He what—ouch, Jirou!”

“Focus,” hisses Jirou. She turns back to Midoriya, determined to keep the conversation on track. “So what’s your plan? I mean, after Kamino, the rest of the League is in hiding, right? How are you going to set about finding them?”

True. Hitoshi doesn’t really know the exact details about the whole fiasco other than what the news and Aizawa-sensei told him; plus, he wasn’t part of the class at the time, and he isn’t really one to pry. But he knows the League of Villains is bad news, considering the damage they did—and what happened with All Might. 

After All for One went down, the rest of the league scattered and no one has seen their ass since. Aizawa-sensei would never admit it, but Hitoshi knows it’s driving the man nuts.

“Find them?” Midoriya repeats, turning from the documents to look at her owlishly. “Why should I?”

They stare at him. Jirou looks like she wants to die. “Because,” she says, sounding more pained with each syllable. “The. Fucking. Curse?”

Midoriya blinks. “What do they have to do with the curse?” He puts the files into his huge-ass bag and zips it up.

What.

“I see,” says Tokoyami understandingly. The rest of them, per usual, does not see.

“Are you saying it’s not the League?”

“But I thought it was the League? Wasn’t that the whole issue?”

If not the League, then who … Hitoshi frowns. “How do you know it’s not the League?”

Midoriya looks at them for a while, silent. Nothing is really readable from his blank, neutral expression. “Well,” he says, and then someone bangs on the door.

“Fuck!” Hitoshi opens the door.

“Where is he,” demands Todoroki Shouto at his fucking door.

“For fucks’ sake,” says Hitoshi as Todoroki just barges in like he owns the place. “This is my room!”

“Dear god,” says Todoroki flatly the moment he sees his classmates sitting in a circle with Midoriya. “He has brainwashed you all.”

“That’s quite rude to Shinsou-kun, Todoroki-kun,” Iida chastises.

“He’s not talking about me,” says Hitoshi.

“Wake up, everyone!” Todoroki points at Midoriya. “He is absolutely not normal.”

“Um,” says Kirishima in the ensuing silence. “I mean..”

“I agree,” says Jirou.

“I feel like we’ve sort of gone past that,” says Kaminari.

“Normal is but a frail, ever-changing mortal self-assurement in face of our fast-paced and capitalistic society,” says Tokoyami.

“None of you would know normal if it's five foot five and staring at you,” seethes Hitoshi, and then someone bangs on the door again.  Hitoshi lets out a bunch of frustration noises. “Does anybody here possess even a shred of decency —”

“Is Midoriya here,” says Yaoyorozu Momo at his door, looking way more disheveled than Hitoshi has ever seen her. Her hair, usually immaculate in her tie, is now jutting out in several places. Her eyes look like they've personally seen the rise and fall of the human race.

“Um,” is all Hitoshi could manage as Yaoyorozu pushes past him.

Jirou looks surprised. “Momo? Is everything, uh … okay?”

“Yes,” she says to Jirou with a twitching smile. And then, to Midoriya, somewhat hysterically, “we need to talk.”

“Sure thing,” chirps Midoriya, who then stands up promptly and slings his giant bag across his shoulders. “Well, thanks for having me, guys! See you sometime later, yeah.”

“Oh no,” says Todoroki in horror, which is to say, with the same flat voice he’s always had. “He’s got Yaoyorozu too.”

“You’re going? Man, but you haven’t explained—”

“You know what,” says Kaminari, who has given up. “Whatever. Just fuckin’ ... just go.”

“Oh, no, no,” Jirou stands up. “What the hell did you do to Momo?”

“Be well, Midoriya-san!”

“Farewell, Cursed One.”

“See ya,” Midoriya tells them cheerfully. 

Hopefully not.

“Momo! What did he do to you! What did he—”

Hitoshi turns to the remaining occupants of his room.

“Get the fuck out,” he tells them.

Kaminari reluctantly stands up. “Can I bring the chips?”

“Get out.”

Chapter Text

This is the story of how Shinsou Hitoshi unfortunately became acquainted with Midoriya Izuku.

It began with a cat.

(Hitoshi is a cat person.)

The aforementioned cat appeared, one day, on an alley by the sidewalk Hitoshi took to walk home sometimes. Hitoshi, who is such a cat person that he carries cat treats with his person at all times, knelt down and opened his bag to take out the aforementioned cat treats. 

“Here, girl,” said Hitoshi, shaking the bag of treats.

That’s when he noticed something was off.

You see, it’s Hitoshi’s habit to feed every street cat that he comes across. So, you could say that he is more or less familiar with the cats around this part. This particular cat, however, was new. He had never seen it before.

He had never seen anything like it before.

Hitoshi took out some of the treats and placed it on the ground. He watched the cat poked at one disinterestedly.

Hitoshi was pretty sure that it’s a cat.

It didn’t really look like one though. 

Wait, Hitoshi thought to himself. How many eyes does a cat have, again?

The thing—the cat, Hitoshi corrected himself—pawed at the treat with its obsidian, holographic, twelve-taloned claws and inspected it with its eyes intently. And then it proceeded to eat it. 

“Good girl,” said Hitoshi, reaching out a hand to pet it.

The cat hummed, something deep and rumbling and indecipherable—do cats hum?—as Hitoshi’s hand sank into fur so black that black itself began to feel less like a color and more like a space, and Hitoshi’s fingers dragged back into that void and kept sinking, sinking, wow, what a fluffy cat, and for a moment that felt like months everything felt a little—

Hitoshi took his hand back. The cat purred, the treats ground to dust with a crunch under its many, many teeth. 

Weird cat, Hitoshi thought. 

He put out some more treats and watched it eat every single one, its tails swishing side to side. Cute, though.

The next day, he took the same path home and found the creature—cat, he corrected himself—on the same spot. So he fed it before he went home. 

The path wasn’t one that he would take often—it’s sort of an empty street, and takes several minutes longer than his usual route home—but he came back to it the next day too. He didn’t really think about it much, really. It was just a habit, feeding strays. Something Hitoshi did without thinking.

“You got a name?” Hitoshi asked it the third day, watching it nibble on a treat. “Want me to give you one?”

The cat made a low, gurgling sound that echoes in the alley like a dam breaking, or a volcanic eruption, or a battalion of apocalyptic trumpets.

“Geez, just asking,” Hitoshi said, giving it some more treats—they prattle to the ground with a soft scraping sound. The bag is almost empty. He should buy more soon. “No need to get all pissy about it.”

He didn’t think about it much. It’s just a thing he does before going home and being on his way about Hitoshi’s boring, mundane life. A habit.

(Hitoshi is a cat person.)

The next day, Hitoshi went to a nearby convenience store after school. He knew they didn’t have cat food here, but he thought some canned tuna would do fine until he restocked his treats, wouldn’t they?

He sighed, bowing down to squint at the lower shelves where they kept the cheaper brands. It wasn’t like he felt a necessity to feed the cats everyday … he just did it once in a while. He felt compelled to do so today, that’s all. Plus, canned food could be shared..

Huh. He never really saw any other cats other than the one on that particular alley. Sort of odd, since the strays usually would flock together for food.

Hitoshi faintly hummed along to the idle, convenience-store-tune ringing from the store’s speaker. He scrounged around his wallet for some change, counting the spares. He’s kind of saving up right now.

UA’s entrance exam was only in three months, and Hitoshi knew that he had one in thousands chance of getting in, but—he supposed he’d be too busy in hero school for part time jobs, wouldn’t he? 

Hell, he didn’t really give a shit if he had one in a million chances. He’d decided he was gonna do it, so he was going to do it, damn it. 

The store’s automatic doors dinged as a customer walked in. Hitoshi sighed, taking the dubious 300 yen canned tuna, and counting the coins with his other hand—

“Dammit,” he cursed a little when a coin fell with a ringing clink. It rolled under the shelves all the way to the other aisle. Just his luck. 

Your green eyes couldn’t get any colder, there’s bad poison runnin’ through your veins —

He stood up, and wondered when the store’s tune changed into …  a rock song. It’s an odd choice, but Hitoshi liked AC/DC, old as the band was. 

—Evil walks behind you!

“Did you drop this?” said a voice behind him.

“Yeah,” said Hitoshi, turning around, startled. Huh? He was pretty sure the coin rolled to the other aisle, though.

“Here you go,” chirped the guy—who can’t be older than him. He was much shorter than Hitoshi and looked sort of nondescript. 

Hitoshi took the 100 yen coin. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said the guy—boy, really—cheerfully before proceeding to walk past Hitoshi in the narrow space. That’s when Hitoshi noticed the remarkably huge surgical scar on the side of the boy’s head—retracting any previous notion of nondescript. 

Dark secrets bein’ spun in your web—

Hitoshi quickly averted his eyes. That’s none of his business, and Hitoshi isn’t the kind of guy who stares. He made his way to the cashier.

“Only this, please.”

“Oh—of course,” said the cashier after a while of ignoring Hitoshi in favor of typing away on her keyboard. She looked distracted. “I’m sorry, something is just, um, wrong with the speaker—is that all?”

With your dark, dark secrets, screamed the speaker. And your green, green eyes!

“That’s all,” Hitoshi put his coins on the plate on the counter. “I don’t need a bag.”

In retrospect, perhaps Hitoshi should’ve had some kind of foreboding feeling that something strange was about to happen. 

“Um,” Hitoshi said, walking to a stop at the usual alley.

The cat was there, per usual. It was not alone this time, though.

“Oh, hello,” the boy said. He was kneeling in front of the cat, eye to eye. The oversized hoodie, the giant scar—it was the boy from the convenience store. “How do you do?”

Hitoshi blinked. He could swear he got out of the store before this guy did. Maybe some kind of a teleportation Quirk. “Right,” Hitoshi said, which wasn’t really an answer. “Uh. Is she your cat?”

The boy blinked at him. And then he looked back at the cat. And then back at Hitoshi. “It’s not a cat,” he said.

Huh? “What are you talking about,” Hitoshi said. “Of course it’s a cat. Look, it has wings.”

The boy blinked again, slowly this time. “Ah, I see,” he said then, standing up from his squat. He then looked back at the cat, and said accusingly, “you’ve been very naughty.”

Hitoshi took it as the cat had probably run away from home, or something. Too bad about the canned tuna, but Hitoshi supposed he could cook it for himself. “So she’s yours?” Hitoshi walked forward, and the cat stretched and languidly trotted to his legs. The boy from the convenience store watched its movements with some kind of interest in his eyes.

Hitoshi reached down to scratch the cat behind one of its many ears. He guessed it shouldn’t be a surprise that it wasn’t a stray, since it’s so well-behaved. “What’s her name?” 

“It isn’t mine,” said the boy. Hitoshi looked up. There is something like amusement in the boy’s face as he watched them both. It’s a little unsettling. “But its name is—”

The boy said something.

“Come again?” said Hitoshi.

He said it again.

Hitoshi frowned. “But that’s my name,” he said. And then, with alarm, “how … the hell did you know my name?”

The boy just shrugged, like he didn’t care. “That’s its name,” he said. “Mine is Midoriya Izuku, by the way. What’s yours?”

The hell. “Don’t fuck with me,” Hitoshi glared. “I said, how the fuck did you know my name..”

Hitoshi trailed to a stop.

Midoriya looked at him. In the dark of the alley, his eyes are huge, glinting green. “Come again?” Midoriya said.

Hitoshi frowned. Huh? For a minute he thought he forgot what his name was, which was just ridiculous. Of course he knew what his name was. His name was—

Wait.

What was his name again?

“That’s weird,” said Hitosh￮, somewhat stunned, feeling like the ground just opened underneath him.

“Hmm,” said Midoriya Izuku understandingly. “I thought so.”

It was the oddest sensation, forgetting something that should be a given. Hitos￮￮ took out his wallet from his back pocket and slowly pulled out his student ID. There was his face right there—he always hated that photo, he wasn’t ready for it—and next to it is his name, typed out neatly. His name. His name..

He couldn’t read it.

He could read everything else on the card. His junior high school, his birthdate—everything. But he couldn’t read his name. He couldn’t read the space where his name was supposed to be.

Hito￮￮￮ looked up from the card. “What the hell did you do to me?”

Midoriya blinked those huge eyes at him again. “Nothing,” he said, sounding confused, of all things, by the question; as if he couldn’t imagine why he, of all people, was accused. “We just met, didn’t we?”

What the hell kind of Quirk is this? Hit￮￮￮￮ swallowed dryly, mind racing back. Some mind altercation, memory Qurik? When had the Quirk taken root? They met in the store—right, the coin! Skin contact? Or maybe … maybe just like himself, through verbal communication—

He straightened himself. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I’m sorry,” said Midoriya, sounding almost genuine. Almost. “But that doesn’t really work on me.”

Hi￮￮￮￮￮ stared, astonished. His Quirk didn’t work.

No, it was more than that. He felt his Quirk dissipate—or rather, he didn’t feel his Quirk. For a moment, it was as if his Quirk was erased—like it never existed. Like he was Quirkless. The helplessness was horrifying.

This was the first time he felt truly and honestly scared in his life. Weak-kneed, dry-throated, cold-fingered. 

“Ah, I see,” said Midoriya, and he didn’t even notice when Midoriya came so close—kneeling in front of him. When had H￮￮￮￮￮￮ fallen down? Midoriya looked down on him from where he stood, his small figure towering over Hitoshi’s knelt form. “So that’s why. Interesting.”

“I’m going to call the cops,” ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ threatened, even though he wasn’t sure if he could move at all. Everything felt heavy. Everything felt wrong.

“Sure,” said Midoriya kindly, pulling a crumpled pack of tissue and handing it to ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮. “Here.”

“What?”

“For the nausea,” Midoriya helpfully added.

￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ stared, before a wave of unbearable nausea crashed through his body from head to toe and proceeded to have the most hardcore vomitting session he ever remembered.

Someone was patting his shoulder as he threw his guts out. It was Midoriya Izuku. “Let it out, man,” said Midoriya. “Just let it out.”

“What the fuck is happening to me,” said ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮, though it came out sort of ineligible and unthreateningly hoarse. 

“You just lost your name,” Midoriya said, as if ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ needed a reminder. “Your brain is having trouble processing your celestial displacement in the universe. Want a tissue?”

“Shut up,” ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ moaned. He had never felt so terrible in his life—his head felt like it was a chewing gum ran over by a tractor and deep-diving into an acid vat before being launched into space. “Don’ touch me.”

Midoriya Izuku tilted his head, as if inspecting him. From this close, ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ could almost count his freckles—his eyes, bright and green, were distortingly vivid despite the headache. “Lucky you. You really don’t have any Affinity with the Fabric whatsoever..”

Midoriya’s voice sounded almost wistful when he said that, as if the string of words meant anything at all. He stood up. “Guess that’s why it latched itself to you. Smart thing.”

“Fuck,” ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ said. He blinked stars out of his eyes, trying to get his brain to work again—he’s barely comprehending things. It’s slow, but he could feel his fingers again.

“What the hell is going on? What is—what—” for the first time in his sad 15 years old life, ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ was genuinely, honest to god speechless. “I’m—I’m..”

I am—?

He didn’t have a name. 

It’s just gone, like it was never there, like he never were. If he didn’t even remember himself, then—then did anybody?

“Names are very powerful things, you know,” Midoriya’s voice rings above him, a clear tenor. “They stick. They linger. You shouldn’t give one away so freely.”

What could he say to that? 

It was ridiculous, thinking back. The whole thing. But at that moment—at that precise moment, a moment that he could never even attempt to explain to anyone—the reality of the situation was as heavy as gravity. He had lost something intricate, something essential —￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ could feel that a central piece of him just wasn’t there. 

What’s in a name? ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ felt ill, off-kilter, like he wasn’t meant to be. Like he wasn’t quite right. Like he was the missing puzzle piece that the universe didn’t need —

“You do want it back, don’t you?” said Midoriya. “Your name.”

￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ stared. “Yes,” he said, suddenly with clarity. That’s right. He’d lost his fucking name. “Of course. That’s my fucking name.”

Midoriya smiled. It was not a very nice smile.

“Don’t worry,” Midoriya assured him. “Your existence makes it hard for me to do my job, though, so. Ah, I know,” Midoriya cheerfully claps his hands together. “You can be my assistant for this one. What do you say?”

￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ attempted to stand up with much effort. “What.”

“Become my assistant,” Midoriya repeated nicely. “It could work, with your help. We can catch it together.”

“What could work?” his knees trembled a little, but he managed. ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ looked at the canned tuna on the ground. He’d almost forgotten where they were—the dingy alley, the quiet sidewalk. “What’s it?”

“It,” and then Midoriya said a name that sounded familiar and did not sound at all at the same time. A name that ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ both did and did not recognize.

“But that’s my name,” ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ said, shakily.

“Not anymore,” said Midoriya. He almost sounded sympathetic. “It took it. They do that, sometimes.”

“They?”

“Demons.”

￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ stared. When he realized that Midoriya was telling the truth, ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ stared harder. “You’re saying the cat is a demon and it took my name.”

Midoriya looked pleased. “I knew you would catch on quickly.”

The cat—where was the cat? It was just here, wasn’t it? He wasn’t paying attention before in the middle of the clusterfuck mental breakdown, but something about the alley was different. He didn’t know what exactly, but it felt—everything was—stifled. The colors felt muted, the air felt less … everything felt less. 

No, he realized. It wasn’t the alley, or everything else. It was ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮. ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ was less. 

Midoriya continued, as if unaware of his impending doom. “You’re different. You’re really weird, actually. You’re like, a single atom layered sheet, but a person. You are the most non-supernatural thing I’ve ever seen.”

This was all said very sincerely that he didn’t know whether to feel offended or flattered. He didn’t know what to feel at all other than cosmic disconcertion and abject horror. 

Midoriya didn’t seem to mind the lack of response as he just fucking prattled on. “It thought it could hide, taking your name, you see. Well, no worries! We can get you fixed up in no time. You just have to help a little, is all.”

It just felt like he was getting punched in the face consecutively while also being vomited on. “Being your assistant, you mean.”

“In a manner of speaking. So is it a yes?”

￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ looked at him, a slow, damning realization growing in his stomach. “This isn’t a Quirk, is it.”

This was something else. This was more. This was something … worldly and otherworldly. This was something innate, something imprinted and woven in the strands of Everything that Is. He could feel it in his bones, in every inch of his nameless skin. He could feel that whatever power at play here—it was not a quirk. It was More and Beyond anything any human could wield or imagine.

He could feel bits and pieces of him unravelling. Nothing human could do that.

“Nope,” said Midoriya. “So?”

“Fuck it,” he said as an answer, and Midoriya smiled again.

“Okay,” he said. “All you need to do is trust me for a little while. Trust every single thing that I say. Can you do that, Assistant-kun?”

Of course he can’t do that. “I fucking guess.”

“Good,” said Midoriya. “The cat is in front of you.”

“What?”

Midoriya shook his head. “You believe in every single thing that I say,” Midoriya reminded him, and then looked at him expectantly.

“..I believe in every single thing that you say,” he repeated a little dejectedly. 

Midoriya looked pleased by this. “The cat is in front of you,” he said again.

“The cat is in front—”

The cat was in front of him.

“There we go,” said Midoriya rather cheerfully, as ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ stared at the thing that just materialized out of thin air in front of him.

You know, he thought to himself faintly. That really isn’t a cat, is it?

The thing said something that sounded like a seismic shift. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Midoriya said, and it took ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ a while to realize that he was talking to the thing. “Did you really think you could run away? You weren’t made for this Side.”

And then the thing dissolved. There wasn't really any other way to put it—it dissolved from thin air, particles of dust so black—less like a color and more like a space—scattering all over the ground and into the darkness under ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮’s feet.

He jumped back, startled. But there was nothing under his shoes. “What just..”

“It went into your Shadow,” Midoriya said. “That’s why it took your name in the first place, so it could hide in your Domain. No worries,” he added, after seeing whatever befuddled look evident on ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮’s face. “I just need one more favor from you, Assistant-kun. Trust me one more time. You can do that, yeah?”

He watched as Midoriya moved suddenly in this elaborate, almost elegant manner. He shifted his footing, body aimed to the side. His left hand is raised into a fist in a parallel line in front of him, his right hand pulled back in a perfect, methodical posture.

He could see no bow nor arrow on Midoriya’s hands, but he knew—just like he knew that he didn’t have a name—that Midoriya was holding both.

And the arrow, he knew, was aimed directly at him.

“I won’t hurt you, Assistant-kun,” Midoriya said.

“You said it thought it could hide,” ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮ said. “What was it hiding from?”

“Me,” said Midoriya. And then he let go of the arrow and—

The sensation of everything becoming right in the universe hit him like a bullet train as life unbirthed him and birthed him and unbirthed him again, everything falling to their right place like the most wonderful orchestra, chaos and order intertwining in its arrhythmical rhythmic dance, in a strand in time he looked into Everything and Everything looked into him—

Hitoshi gasped.

It took a moment for the world to align itself for Hitoshi. “Fuck,” he said, sitting up—the back of his head hurt like hell. For the second time today, he didn’t remember when he had fallen down. Successfully vertical once again, Hitoshi looked to his surroundings.

It took Hitoshi another moment to make sense of what he was seeing. 

“Hello, Shinsou Hitoshi,” Midoriya said, standing in the middle of the alley, towering in front of Hitoshi. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Next to Midoriya was—

It did not look like a door, or a gate, or a portal. But Hitoshi knew it was all of the above.

Hitoshi looked at it, the Door which did not look like a door. And then at Midoriya. “Where does that go?”

“Hell,” Midoriya Izuku answered.

And then the door opened. 

It didn’t physically open, just like it wasn’t physically closed. Hitoshi wasn’t even sure if it was corporeal at all; it’s just that one moment Hitoshi didn’t see it—and then, in the next moment, he did.

Hitoshi saw Hell.

There were no words to describe how it looked like. There was no blood, fire, or brimstone. No screaming or tortured souls. But it was Hell. It must be. 

Because what was more mortally terrifying than absolute, irrefutable, overconsuming Nothingness?

“Come on, up you go. Don’t give me that look; you behaved very badly, you know.”

Hitoshi watched as Midoriya chastised something that Hitoshi couldn’t see. No, he could see it; he knew there was a Thing there. It did not look like a cat. For a second, it looked like it had too many teeth and too many eyes and too many tails—and yet the next second, it looked like it had much too less of anything at all. 

Hitoshi could see it, he just couldn’t exactly perceive it.

“You should go apologize to this very nice boy right here. He treated you nicely for the past week and what did you do? You stole his name and tried to possess him. Have you no shame? Yeah, I know you don’t, but it’s more about the principle of the thing.”

Hitoshi didn’t exactly see it go inside the door. There was just a blip in time and—

And then there was just Hitoshi and Midoriya and the empty alley.

“Ah, glad that that’s over with,” said Midoriya, stretching as if he just did a round of extraneous yoga. “Alright, let’s go home. Where do you live? I’ll walk you back.”

“What,” Hitoshi said, very quietly, “in All Might’s holy ass was that.”

Midoriya was still stretching. “Your first exorcism,” said Midoriya. 

“Exorcism?” Hitoshi repeated. “First?”

“I don’t usually do these for free, you know,” said Midoriya, as if Hitoshi was supposed to be grateful or something having gone through an event that couldn’t be perceived by mortal eyes. “How do you feel? Check your toes, sometimes one goes missing.”

Hitoshi gaped for a moment before frantically opening his shoes and socks. He still had all his toes, much to his relief.

“I was joking,” said Midoriya. “Nice socks, though. I like the paw prints.”

Hitoshi couldn’t believe it. “Fuck you.”

“You know,” Midoriya said. “This wouldn’t have happened to you if you weren’t such a cat person.”

“What?”

“Yeah, not to victim blame or anything,” he said. “I was for real when I said you’re like, the most supernaturally impenetrable person I’ve ever seen. If you didn’t like cats so much it would never have gotten to you. That being said, super grateful anyway because that demon was a pain to look for so you sorta helped me big time. Hey, do you still know who you are and everything, ‘cos you fell pretty hard so you maybe have a concussion. Oh yeah, where did you say you lived again?”

Hitoshi had never heard so many sentences said within a single breath from one person. Hitoshi, who just experienced what perhaps was the most crucial turning point in his life, did not have the emotional nor logical capacity to process any of said sentences.

“Oh, do you really have a concussion?” Midoriya almost sounded worried. “There is a clinic nearby that we can drop by. I think you can get a discount with a student card.”

“I think I’m going insane,” said Hitoshi.

“I never saw someone stay sane after their name was taken,” Midoriya agreed.

“Can you shut up for a second,” said Hitoshi.

Midoriya sighed, as if Hitoshi was being difficult. And then he sat down on the ground. 

Hitoshi faintly wondered if any passerby could see them—two kids sitting in a nook of an alley, one in uniform and the other in an oversized All Might hoody, both looking unsound in the head. 

Now that they are face to face, he really was smaller than Hitoshi. Way smaller. Looked somewhat younger too, but maybe it was just the weirdly big eyes. “You still remember what happened?” he said, which was such a fucked up thing to ask.

“What, the moment I almost ceased to exist?” Hitoshi said, his voice shaking a little. Because that was what happened—he could feel it, the moment he became Unnamed. He didn’t have a place in this world. “You’re fucking with me, right? I don't think I could forget even if I die.”

Midoriya observed him for a while. “You really are weird,” he said, which did not help. “But then again, it was an unprecedented situation. Hmm. Well, okay. This could maybe help, but also maybe not..”

Hitoshi, for the nth time in the past half an hour, wondered what the fuck was this person in front of him. This callous, unsympathetic, falsely and relentlessly cheerful person who just ripped open time and space in front of Hitoshi’s eyes and turned his life inside out. Fucking literally.

Midoriya, once again, seemed to be unaware of Hitoshi’s crumbling psychological defense mechanism. “Well, no harm in it, I suppose. Do you want to Know, Shinsou-kun? It could maybe make it better,” he gave it a thought. “Could also make it worse, maybe.”

Hitoshi stared at him. “You don’t care what happens to me.” It was less of a question and more of a belated epiphany.

“I’m not being paid,” Midoriya reminded him, which didn’t really feel like a confirmation nor a denial. “Well?”

“Fuck it,” Hitoshi said.

“He told you,” Hitoshi observes.

Yaoyorozu laughs. She sounds a little deranged.

“Told what?” Jirou throws her hands up, exasperated. “In the name of Eraserhead’s turtleneck, can someone just for once, for once be straight about things?”

“Is any one in 1-A straight, though?” Kaminari wonders aloud.

“Not the point,” Jirou snaps. “Also, nah.”

“Do you remember it?” Hitoshi asks her. “What it was?”

“No,” answers Yaoyorozu.

“But you know it,” Hitoshi says. “You just don’t remember what. Everything feels like it’s always been there, so you have no fucking idea what changed.”

“Yes,” she says emptily. “I think I’m going insane,” she tells him.

“You’ll get used to it,” Hitoshi says. “Feeling like you’re going insane is sort of the status quo eventually. Also, why are you guys in my room?”

The front door bell rings. 

“I’ll go get it,” says Kaminari, though from the sudden commotion from the living room it seemed like Iida beat him to the punch.

“That’s him, isn’t it,” Jirou says.

Yaoyorozu immediately gets up and barges outside, followed by Jirou. Hitoshi sighs, long and suffering.

“Hey everyone!” says Midoriya Izuku, dragging his giant backpack to the middle of the room. Nearly the entire class is present, cramping up on the sofa and the floor. Midoriya does not seem to be bothered by the spectators, unzipping his bag without care. 

Hitoshi could feel a headache forming at the base of his skull.

“So,” says Midoriya cheerfully, “are you guys ready for your weekly exorcism?”

“Wait,” says Uraraka, “let me set up the tripod first—”

“Hold on, can I redo my make up for a bit—”

“I brought some blessed holy water for precaution!”

“Can someone get garlic cloves from the kitchen, just in case?”

“You know, I think demons are like, kinda hot. In theory, you know.”

The chance of Hitoshi entering UA Hero Class was one in a million. 

Hitoshi supposes that he used up all his luck for that one in million.

Chapter Text

There are four fundamental forces in the mechanism of the Universe as we know it—four basic forces that even kindergarteners know.

(Disclaimer: that Momo thinks kindergarteners know.)

The first is electromagnetism; one that we can find anywhere in consumer science. Second is the strong nuclear force that holds atoms together. And then the weak force: one that cannot hold nucleus together. The weak force is the force of particle decay—literally—which allows one to perceive the rate of the decay, which in return allows one to theoretically estimate the geological clock—the time of the birth of the universe and so and so. Which, by the way, has been done. 

Everyone knows these basic facts, of course.

(Disclaimer #2: Momo is a prodigy in many subjects, and physics being one of them.)

But the last force is the trickiest one. One that doesn’t obey the same rules as the others. Which is—

“Incredible Quirk,” says Midoriya Izuku. He sounds somewhat excited, in a little dazed kind of way. 

“Um,” says Uraraka Ochako. “Thanks?” and then, “wait, how did you know my—”

“Amazing,” Midoriya continues. His eyes are wide with literal child-like wonder as he walks in a circle around Ochako as if she is a science exhibition. Ochako is starting to look uncomfortable, if extremely confused. “Magnificent. That’s insane,” he looks at Ochako in the eye with genuine curiosity. “How does it feel to have the Authority to undo the curvature of space-time?”

Ochako stares. “I,” she starts, and then stops. She looks disproportionately flabbergasted for a moment, before a thoughtful look sinks on her face. “Huh,” she says.

“You know, Uraraka-san,” says Midoriya, with some sort of disinterested eagerness, “are you interested in the occ—”

“NO,” says Momo way more loudly than she ought. 

The whole class turns to look at her.

Momo clears her throat.

“As the vice class representative,” says Momo in an admirably dignified tone despite her recent lapses to insanity, “I ask you to proceed with this ... procedure as efficiently as possible. Occult recruiting, as far as I know, is not within schedule,” Momo smiles tightly. “We do so hate to waste more of your time, Midoriya-san.”

“Oh, of course,” says Midoriya with a soft and falsely apologetic laugh, as if to say, silly me. “How very thoughtful of you, Yaoyorozu-san! Right, everyone; we need to be on time.”

Iida raises a questioning brow. “On time? Do we really need to be in such a hurry?”

“Oh, yes,” says Midoriya, who continues to rummage around his backpack. “I have an urgent appointment after this, you see. I would hate to be late for Aunty Mitsuki’s dinner.”

“Aunty Mitsuki,” Krisihima repeats, slowly. “That’s—”

“Kacchan’s mom,” confirms Midoriya.

The whole class turns to look at Bakugou Katsuki who is seething at the very corner of the living room.

“Shut up,” says Bakugou, even though no one says anything. 

“Oh, have you guys not met her?” says Midoriya bemusedly as if the idea of Bakugou’s classmates never meeting Bakugou’s mom is baffling. “She is so nice. She looks exactly like Kacchan,” he adds, after a pause, “without the Kacchan-ness.”

“Shut the fuck up,” says Bakugou.

“Oh, I would love to meet her,” says Ashido Mina, who does not fear death. “Do you think you can put some good words to her for me, Midoriya-kun? I just, like, want to get to know Bakugou better sooooo bad.”

“Of course,” chirps Midoriya readily.

“I will gut you, Raccoon,” threatens Bakugou, which only gets a wink from Mina (who, again, does not fear death). “And Deku. Hurry the fuck up.”

And then he turns on his heels (dramatically) and stomps away (very dramatically) up the stairs.

Kirishima puts his hands around his mouth in a cone and yells. “Where’re you going, bro?” 

“My fucking room!”

“I brought back the shoujo manga you lent me, Kacchan,” yells Midoriya too.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“This class never fails to entertain me,” says Tsuyu serenely.

Momo is starting to think that they will never get on with it when Midoriya proclaims loudly, “aha!” and pulls out a tinier bag out of his bag and dumps its contents to the ground.

The contents fall on the granite floor with a loud and continuous jingling.

“Here you go,” Midoriya takes one from the pile and hands it, curiously, to Momo. 

Momo hesitantly accepts it and inspects it. The bell jingles as she takes it into her hand.

“Omamori,” says Momo redundantly.

Omamori, and lots of them too—dozens, must be, in different colors and sizes. “One for each of you,” says Midoriya kindly, as if they should be grateful that he is giving them a great favor. “Or you can take more than one, I have a lot,” to demonstrate this, Midoriya shakes his (bigger) bag, which then produces many more jingling noises. 

“Ooh, I want the pink one,” says Toru.

“That one looks so cute!”

The class crowds around the piles and piles of good luck charms like children to candies.

“Midoriya-kun, do you have a good luck charm for l'amour?”

“What about health? My gastric acid is super acting up lately.”

“I want one for good grades,” says Kaminari.

“Kinda missing the point here, guys,” says Ojiro. “Um, Midoriya-san … so, uh, are you going to perform Harae?”

“Oh, no,” says Midoriya, sounding incredulous by the notion. “I’m nowhere near qualified to do that. I’m not a priest, you see.”

“We can see,” says Kyouka dryly, picking up a charm. “We can see that just fine.”

Ojiro persists. “Um. But you are going to perform cleansing.”

“Yep.”

“And the omamori … are these,” Kirishima squints to inspect one. “Like, legit?”

“My mom used to be a shrine maiden,” explains Midoriya cheerfully. “So I get a bunch of these for free all the time. I thought I could share.”

“Right,” says Ojiro the same moment Sato says, “Midoriya-san, can I take some home for my sister?”

“Of course, Sato-san,” says Midoriya kindly. He looks back at Ojiro. “I mean, you guys could certainly use some luck. A lot of luck, really,” and then he does not elaborate. “A lot of them.”

Ojiro looks mildly disturbed. 

Momo has had enough. “The cleansing, Midoriya-san.”

“Oh, right,” says Midoriya. “Well. Do you wish to be my assistant today, Yaoyorozu-san? Hitoshi will be your senpai, of course.”

Hitoshi, who has been emulating a statue quietly in the corner occupied previously by Bakugou, says, “no.”

“Yes,” says Momo. 

Kyouka raises her hand. “Is this a class-mandatory activity?”

“No,” says Iida, “but as it is your right to observe the assurance of your safety, any of you are welcomed to—”

“Okay,” Kyouka stands up. To Momo, with great graveness, she says, “don’t disappear from this plane, Momo,” and to the others, “goodbye.” She turns on her heels and follows Bakugou’s example of departure.

“Whaaat?” Kaminari pauses. “You know what, me too, though.”

“I’m a skeptic,” Sero announces to the room. “Not gonna lie, kinda wanna know how this is going to go though, so if anyone sees any demons—snapchat me.”

Ojiro shifts his tail. “I, um, my gramps has always told me not to mess with this kinda thing..”

“Wise,” murmurs Shinsou Hitoshi.

“My bunnies have anxiety ,” sign Koda. “ Can you please keep it quiet on the third floor ?”

“Sure thing,” chirps Midoriya.

Shinsou is seen shaking his head at his corner to himself for some unfathomable reason, muttering under his breath, “..did it have to be 1-A? Should’ve gotten to 1-B..”

“Psst, Midoriya-san,” Kirishima ambles to Midoriya secretively. “Can you tell me what shoujo manga he lent you? I kinda wanna tease him about it.”

“It’s Ao Haru Ride.”

“Whoa, seriously?”

“He said it’s cathartic to yell at the ‘dumbass romance characters that won’t get together over the stupidest fucking thing,'” Midoriya recites Bakugou’s exact words. It’s a little jarring to hear him say a bad word, somehow. Doesn’t quite fit his looks. “But I think he just likes the storyline.”

“This is the best day of my life,” says Kirishima before he leaves. To his demise, presumably.

“I shall take my leave too, then,” Tokoyami nobly says. “I have to introduce Iida-kun to the wonderful and rigorous world of Legend of Zelda to deepen our bond.”

“Iida-kun, you aren’t going to come with?”

Iida pushes his glasses up his nose. “Well, Tokoyami-kun, I do think it should be my duty as the class rep—”

“To connect better with your classmates, which is I,” Tokoyami says. “And I have the duty to you, as a trusted companion, in enlightening your unfortunate lack of knowledge in video games. Well then, Cursed One,” he salutes Midoriya with a grave solemness, “I trust you in correcting the altercation of dissonance in our kismet strings.”

“Appreciated, Shadowed One.”

“Well, that’s unexpected,” Ochako notes. Nearly all of the class is gone now. Hagakure is helping Sato to make some cookies, apparently, and Todoroki is visiting his siblings. Which then leaves—

“Fuuuck yeah!” Mina abruptly goes to tackle Momo in a hug so hard she coughs. “1-A girls FTW! Minus Toru and Kyouka! Plus Shinsou-kun.” She pauses. “You know what? Shinsou-kun, you are an honorary 1-A girl now.”

“Great,” says the newly crowned honorary 1-A girl.

“Great!” echoes Midoriya cheerfully. “Well then, shall we?”

“Where are we going?” Momo inquires suspiciously.

“Mm, around,” says Midoriya vaguely, starting to walk in the direction of the stairs. They follow dutifully—Ochako and Mina vibrating with excitement behind Midoriya, followed by Asui, and then Momo with Shinsou. 

Shinsou, who looks like he’d rather chew glass than be here. “Do you really need us to … accompany you?”

“Oh, yes,” Midoriya says, walking up the stairs with ease. He glances back at Shinsou with something like amusement in his eyes. “This is your home and I’m a guest, after all. I don’t exactly have an Authority here without your consent, you know.”

And what does that mean?

“I wish you could, for once,” Shinsou says as they reach the second floor, “speak like a normal fucking person.”

There is nothing unusual on the second floor as far as Momo is aware. Then again, she doesn’t really have the full information yet of what an exorcism entail—

“Eh,” Midoriya says, hands on his hips. “This floor looks fine. Let’s go.”

Huh? “Wait a minute,” says Momo, “just like that?” 

“Well, does anything seem abnormal to you?”

Momo blinks. No, obviously, but that’s because—how … does this whole thing even work , again? “The last time you were here,” Momo tries, “Kyouka told me that you used talismans..”

“Oh yeah, I did,” Midoriya says, taking a step to the stairs.

“Oh yeah, I saw!” Mina looks thrilled by the prospect. “OMG, can I have one, pretty please, Midoriya-kun?”

“I’m not using any this time,” Midoriya says, and he actually does seem apologetic to Mina as he says that, as if a talisman is like, a freaking Nintendo DS. 

“Aw.”

“I’m not actually eligible to use one in the first place, anyway.”

Not very comforting to hear Midoriya discrediting his legibility, but they’ve gone well past that, Momo supposes. “But you used them. So you can use them?”

Midoriya tilts his head at her. “Yes,” he says, as he waits for them at the top of the stairs. Third floor, now. “But not really in the way they are supposed to be used.”

“Supposed to be?”

Midoriya shrugs, walking around the hallway, hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “Well, talismans and charms are religious, apotropaic objects. They stand on their own, you could say, whilst attaining their purposes and applications. But I’m not affiliated with any of that, you see,” he says. “I use them more symbolically, than anything. Which, hey, you can argue is religious, on some level, but I’m sure no religion, organized or otherwise, would be happy to be associated with what I do. And the way I use them is like, completely wrong to their standards. Oh, nothing out of ordinary with this floor either.”

Momo blinks, processing the long strings of sentences. She feels like there are some important points there that went over her head. 

“You did say to Ojiro-kun that you aren’t a priest,” Tsuyu says curiously, watching Midoriya walk around and knocking at walls, for some reason. 

“Definitely not.”

What did Kyouka say again? “You are a part-time exorcist.”

“That’s me,” Midoriya agrees. “The money is pretty good, you know. Do you want to know my rates? I have a name card, actually..”

“Oh, really,” Ochako says with great interest, reaching to take one, and Momo, who is concerned by the wellbeing of her classmate, pulls her back.

“So you are doing this for money,” Momo says, not accusingly. It’s not a necessarily dishonorable thing. Momo isn’t naive enough to think such a thing is ignoble, working for profit. She has been fortunate enough to be born in a well-off family, and she can recognize that privilege. What she wants is—a confirmation, she supposes.

“Everything has a price,” Midoriya says, walking up the stairs again. “For every force, there is an equal, reciprocal reaction … don’t you agree, Yaoyorozu-san?”

Newton’s third law. Everyone knows that. “Even in human action?”

Something minutely changes in Midoriya’s voice as he replies, though Momo isn’t sure what. “Especially in human action.”

“I can’t believe you guys speak the same language,” murmurs Shinsou behind her.

“What about this floor, Midoriya-kun?” Mina says. “Wait, OMG, I can’t believe we haven’t been recording. Ochako!”

Ochako slaps her head. “Oh, right! You know, Pony-chan lent me her camera..”

“Oh, 1-B’s Pony?”

Following the others up the stairs, Momo steps into the fourth floor, and then—

“Oh,” mutters Midoriya softly. He touches the side of the wall next to Shouji’s door. “That’s interesting.”

Momo isn’t sure what happened, or what changed.

“God damn it.”

Momo turns to look at Shinsou. Just like her, he looks noticeably uncomfortable, all of a sudden. “God damn it,” the boy repeats. “Midoriya, is..”

Midoriya hums. He isn’t smiling. Momo only notices that Midoriya has been smiling the whole time the moment he stops doing so. “Let’s take a walk, shall we? I think this might be it.”

“Hell yeah!” Mina exclaims. “Demons, it’s ya girl!”

“VLOG TIME,” Ochako exclaims.

Momo feels strange. Her surroundings feel strange. The world feels strange. How do you describe it, she wonders? How do you describe that feeling, that odd, sinking feeling under your skin—a deep rooted sensation of knowing that you are not supposed to be here?

“First time?” Shinsou asks with a tight voice.

Momo swallows. How do you describe it? How do you describe—that sinking feeling, that block of ice at the pit of your stomach? Like the moment you walk into an area you don’t recognize. She looks around—the fourth floor. The layout is the same as the other floors. The window at the end of the hall is open, evening sun pouring in with light. Nothing is out of ordinary. Everything looks fine.

Then why is every cell in her body telling her that something is Wrong?

“Huh?” Ochako fumbles with Pony’s camera. “I think I’m doing this wrong, it’s kinda not taking anything?”

“Let me see..” Mina frowns, checking out said camera as they walk through the hallway. “Huh, you’re right..”

Even their footsteps, Momo thinks, their footsteps sound wrong. Like it’s stifled. Like it’s an imitation of what someone thinks footsteps sound like. 

“So, Midoriya-kun,” Tsuyu says. “Why does Tokoyami-kun call you Cursed One?”

“Because I’m cursed,” answers Midoriya readily, as if she just asked about the weather.

The girls turn to look at Shinsou.

“Is that true?” Mina urges.

“Why are you asking me?” the guy says.

The girls look at each other. Ochako shrugs. “Well, you guys seem close.”

“We are not—“ Shinsou cuts himself off with a sigh. “How should I know? We met like … three months ago. I don’t even have his phone number!”

“I have your phone number,” adds Midoriya helpfully.

Shinsou glares at him in this terribly exasperated way. “..I’m not even gonna ask.”

“See, you’re perfect for each other,” says Mina.

“Aww,” says Tsuyu very flatly, and then to Midoriya, “Does the curse have to do with the scar on your head?”

Everyone except Midoriya turns to look at her. 

No one expected anything less from Asui Tsuyu.

Midoriya doesn’t seem to mind the outstandingly intrusive question, however. “Oh, this?” Midoriya gestured at his scar. Stark pink flesh bulging against the skin of his head. “I fell.”

“You fell,” she repeats.

“Stop looking at me I don’t know,” says Shinsou when the girls turn to look at him again.

“So you are cursed,” Momo says, eyeing Midoriya warily. She has started to sweat a little, she notices. “And we are cursed, supposedly. And yet you are here to … fix us?”

Midoriya turns to look at her, and she can’t help but back up a little bit. There is something in her—call it instinct—that tells her that it’s never a good thing to have … Midoriya’s attention on her. 

Midoriya considers her for a moment. He smiles—a vague, blithe thing. “Oh, yes,” he says, and his word is almost a drawl. “Being cursed instantly makes me an expert on curses, don’t you think?”

From her peripheral, she sees Shinsou shift uncomfortably. She shares the sentiment.

“Momo-chan has a point, though,” Tsuyu points out. She too evidently does not fear death. “If you can’t fix your own curse, how are you going to fix our curse?”

It’s quick, but for a moment—Midoriya’s smile shifts into something sharper. Like he’s smiling for real. “Fix , huh?” he mulls. “Fixing curses isn’t exactly what I do. Curses aren’t mistakes, you see.”

“What does that—”

“Curses aren’t mistakes,” Midoriya continues. “Curses make you mistakes.”

“Hey,” Shinsou says, cutting everyone off. “Isn’t this hallway like … really fucking long?”

Tsuyu looks around. “Now that you say it,” she says. “I feel like we’ve passed Bakugou’s room already.”

“Oh no, did I break Pony-chan’s camera?” Ochako laments, devastated. “Oh, god … goodbye, two months worth of lunch money..”

“GUYS.”

They turn to look at Shinsou. The guy clears his throat. And then he looks at them. “I want to try something.”

“Okay, geez, no need to yell about it,” Mina huffs, and despite everything, Shinsou looks a little sheepish by that. But nevertheless, he begins to walk past them.

They watch as his back gets smaller and smaller as he approaches the end of the hall. And then—

“The hell.”

All of them turn to look at Shinsou who is somehow standing behind them.

Shinsou looks as stunned as they are, his face pale and eyes wide.

“Fuck me,” Shinsou says after a long pause. “The hall is looping.”

“Oh my god,” says Mina with an inappropriate amount of excitement, “this is one of those endless corridor tropes, isn’t it?”

“We could be dying right now,” Shinsou reminds her.

“I have to instastory this,” Mina says.

“Dying,” Shinsou repeats.

“Hmm,” says Midoriya. “Let me try,” and then he too, like Shinsou, walks to the end of the hall.

Momo squints, watching Midoriya approach the window, not letting him away from her line of sight.

“Oh,” says a voice behind them, and Momo starts. 

Midoriya too, like Shinsou, is somehow standing behind them. He looks contemplative. “Ah. Yeah. The hall is looping.”

Momo looks back to the Midoriya at the end of the hall—who is just suddenly not there. “What the hell,” says Mina. 

“Why don’t we try together?” Midoriya suggests.

They do. Their position doesn't change; Midoriya at the front, followed by the girls, and then Shinsou. They walk from the stairs passing Shouji’s door, and then Kirishima’s, and then Bakugou’s…

How is the window so far away? 

They’re back at Shouji’s door again.

“What if we go downstairs?” suggests Ochako. 

“Oh, good one.”

They turn the other way around to the direction of the stairs. They pass Shouji’s door, and then Bakugou’s door, and then Kirishima’s door, and then Shouji’s door again—

“Yeah, nope,” says Midoriya with that same contemplative voice.

“What the fuck,” says Shinsou distressedly.

“What the fuck,” says Mina gleefully. 

“Fuck this,” Shinsou says, “I’m gonna try opening one of the doors.”

Shinsou turns to the direction of the nearest door—Kirishima’s—and proceeds to reach for the handle.

Except he never does.

There isn’t really any way to explain it. Just like how they could never reach the window, or the stairs, Shinsou can’t reach the door. Any door. He walks towards them—and they all can see him walking towards it—but he never gets there.

It’s not as if he’s walking in place, or as if the door runs away from him—he just doesn’t quite get there. 

After a long silence, Shinsou turns back at them.

“I hate my life,” he says.

Tsuyu sounds somewhat perturbed. Only somewhat. “Did we just … get sent into a pocket dimension?”

“Pocket dimension?” Midoriya gives this a thought. “Hm. It’s a little the other way around, actually.”

And that feeling just gets stronger—that insistent pressure in her tummy. Telling her that she shouldn’t be here. That odd sensation when you are in a hotel hallway, or an abandoned parking lot, or an empty airport, or a mini-mart at three in the morning. An unease. The hairs rising at the back of your neck. Everything is slightly off, and you know that reality isn’t whole. 

Momo knows that she is standing at a threshold, the edge of the cliff between here and there. She knows that this isn’t her Domain. That she isn’t made for this particular Side—

Oh.

A liminal space. 

The hall has turned into a liminal space.

“Hey, I can’t—um. Huh, something is up with my phone camera,” says Mina, and she sounds a little panicked. Panicked that her phone might be broken more than anything. 

Shrugging off whatever the hell is going on with her, Momo glances at her. “What’s wrong with it?” Ochako says.

“Dunno, it’s kinda wacky. Look at the pics,” Mina huffs, showing her the gallery.

“Oh, that’s super weird,” Ochako says, “cuz Pony’s camera shows that too, see—“

“Maybe you overloaded your memory storage,” Tsuyu suggests. 

“But I moved all of the junk to the iCloud..”

“Let me see,” Momo says, moving closer. Both of them turn to her to show the images on their respective devices. Momo stares.

Static. It’s all static. No shapes, no nothing—just static, snow, ants..

And then it clicks.

“Cosmic microwave background,” Momo breathes.

The other girls turn to look at her. “Huh?”

Momo takes Mina’s phone and aims the camera at them. She hits record, then stop, and plays back the media. Static again. No sound, just static. Just like those you see in the in between channels on TV. 

“Momo-chan? You look kinda pale,” Tsuyu says.

“‘Microwave’?” Mina repeats with distinct concern. “Momo, are you feeling alright?”

“Microwave,” Momo nods, sounding insane even to herself. “Microwave. Low-energy form of radiation, you do know—”

The universe was created 13.8 billion years ago. At the outset of the one singularity known as the Big Bang , it expanded—trillion times—and then the creation of the first generation of stars, 400 millions after.. 

And the cosmic microwave background radiation is the ancient light from the Big Bang itself. 

“What?”

“Light,” Momo says, impatiently. She shoves the phone back to Mina’s hands, who looks bewildered. “The Universe is filled with galaxies, two trillions that we can observe, their stars are like ours, protons, neutrons and electrons, but the light that we receive. Their light, it’s different, the atomic transitions shift—”

“Yaoyorozu,” Shinsou says, and even he sounds worried, “are you having a breakdown right now?”

“—they shift because the galaxies are parsing apart, but the density of the Universe is constant,” Momo rambles, feeling a little high, hands moving to grasp Mina’s shoulders a little wildly. The latter looks back at her like she’s out of her mind. “Or the Fabric of Space itself is expanding.”

“Literally what are you talking about,” says Mina, in awe of her friend’s sudden lapse of sanity.

“Don’t you see? Cosmic microwave background is the afterglow of the genesis, the Big Bang, it’s the heat leftover from the creation of Everything. It’s everywhere, it Blankets us, but we can’t see it, not with our naked eye, because it’s so cold. 2.72548±0.00057 Kelvin—”

“Momo..”

“But sometimes they can be caught,” Momo says, and she’s getting to her point, she swears . “It can be detectable in the range of microwave to radio frequencies, and you can catch that in devices such as TV. Or..”

They all look at Mina’s phone.

“Nothing is wrong with your phone. It’s what it captures,” and then Momo turns to Midoriya, who has been watching them quietly for some time. “Where are we?”

Midoriya blinks back at them—slow, unbothered. Hands in his pockets. He’s smaller than Momo—much shorter. Even though he’s taller than them by a few centimeters, even the girls look somehow bigger than him. Momo eyes his hoodie—old, the color a soft blue, All Might patterns—and his dark jeans. Both are several sizes too big. He looks like a kid. 

But not like them.

Shinsou moves behind her. “Midoriya,” he says, “are we on the Other Side?”

It takes Midoriya a little to respond. He averts his eyes, glancing lazily around. “No,” Midoriya says. No smile. “Not quite. We are on the Edge, more like.”

“The Edge,” Shinsou repeats, sounding lost. “That never—”

“This is your first time,” Midoriya says softly. “Congratulations.”

“What, are we like … is this like, in Insidious or something?”

“And we can’t snapchat?”

“That’s your problem?”

“But,” Ochako says wistfully. “I got the tripod and everything. Oh no, my 1-A Unsolved pitch..”

“I even wore liptint,” says Ashido in disappointment. “And my new top.”

“You look very hot, Mina.”

“Thank you, Ochako. You cutie, you.”

“Something to do with dimensional conundrum and stuff,” says Midoriya helpfully. He’s still looking around. “First generation nokias work just fine, though.”

“My youtube career,” laments Ochako. 

“You guys are way calmer than you ought to be,” Shinsou says, shaking his head. “I don’t fucking get it.”

“We are in 1-A,” Tsuyu points out.

“Yeah, but like I said, you guys might be in a life or death situ—” Shinsou stops, putting life or death situations and 1-A together. “Right. Okay. That’s fair.”

“Dimensional conundrum,” Momo repeats. What did Midoriya say? Not a pocket dimension, and a little the other way around? And what the camera caught.. The Edge, a threshold— “Which dimension are you talking about right now?”

Midoriya turns from inspecting a crack in the wall to Momo. There is something like amusement in his face. “How many dimensions do you think there are?”

“At least ten,” answers Momo immediately. Some theories say there are eleven. Some say twenty-six. That is—”According to String Theory, the math requires at least that much.”

“The math, huh?” Midoriya mulls. And something about the way he says it—like there is an inside joke between Midoriya and the Universe that the rest of them don’t get a say in. “Ten, One, Three-hundred. You are talking integers. There is an x number of universes, you say,” the smile returns, cloudy, murky. Like acidic rainwater. “That’s cute.”

“Are you saying there is—what, a rational number set of dimensions?” Or irrational, or real, or any fractional, impure number set of dimensions? Momo huffs a hysterical laugh. “That’s insane, that’ll—that doesn’t compute.”

“Thinking that the Universe requires a rounded, logical calculation in the understanding scope of the 23rd century’s math to be the way it is? Of course that doesn’t compute, ” Midoriya replies. “The Universe isn’t as kind, or understanding.”

Isn’t as kind, or understanding. 

Momo’s blood runs cold. “No, no,” she says. “You’re disproving—centuries old Theory of Everything, on the basis of, what—”

“I understand that you have a PhD, Momo,” Mina says, “but I don’t understand any of these, like, Interstellar, Christoper Nolan ass dialogues.”

“Oh, nice movie,” Ochako says. 

“But,” Momo insists, “this doesn’t make a coherent theoretical framework of physics at all—”

“If anyone even mentions one more scientific jargon that I don’t understand,” Shinsou announces, “I’m going to commit classticide.”

“Aren’t they, like, talking about alternate realities, or something?” Ochako says. “Like, for example, a reality where I’m straight.”

She and Mina high-five. Shinsou looks like he’s given all hope.

“That’s parallel universes, Ochako-chan,” Tsuyu says. “Dimensions are different. You could say they are the way we perceive reality. One dimensional space, a dot. Two dimensional space, a line. Three dimensional space, x-y-z axes—the one that we are in, right now.”

“Hey,” Mina perks up. “I think I’ve heard of that. On a podcast or something.”

“Ooh,” Ochako says, holding Mina’s arm. “That reminds me, Mina, that astrology podcast you recommended me is like, super enlightening..”

“I know, right!”

“Which podcast?”

“Oh, I’ll link you up later, Tsuyu-chan.”

Shinsou, who would like to keep everything on track because clearly these girls have the attention span of a fruit fly and no investment whatsoever to their own well-being, says, “what about the other dimensions?”

“Well, most theories say there are ten dimensions,” Tsuyu shrugs. “I don’t remember the rest, though. I just skim through them on wikipedia, you know. I think the fourth one is perceiving time, or something.”

“And we can’t perceive them, these … dimensions?”

“Not that we know of,” Momo says, having apparently snapped out of whatever crazed fugue she was in. “For example, imagine if you are a 2D being.”

“Like,” Shinsou frowns. “An anime character?”

Midoriya smiles at this, for some reason, though no one notices.

“Yes, like an anime character. You experience reality in the cartesian coordinates—x and y. You are just lines, two points meeting. No depth, no texture. How can you possibly look, or comprehend, a 3D object? How do you even imagine such a world? Your brain is simply not made to understand it, because you’ve lived your whole life in x and y.”

Shinsou frowns, hand covering his mouth. “And that’s just two dimensions.”

“That’s just two dimensions,” Momo says, whipping to turn at Midoriya. “And he’s saying there are more than ten, or twenty-six, or—”

“Again, Yaoyorozu-san,” Midoriya says patiently, “that’s a set of finite numbers—”

“—he’s saying there is an infinite set of dimensions, and not even necessarily in a mathematical numeration that exist in our world. Do you understand how insane that is? How deranged ?” says Momo, who looks positively both insane and deranged. “Infinity—and does that include—”

“Negative infinity, yes,” Midoriya confirms.

“A negative infinity of dimensions!” Momo says with an incredibly high pitch, throwing her hands up. Gone is the dignified, elegant deputy representative of 1-A; welcome, mad scientist. “That’s inconceivable! That’s abstract!”

“Most things are,” says Midoriya.

“The Universe isn’t abstract,” Momo insists, “that’s some epistemology bull. What next, you’re going to say that we only exist in the form of concepts?”

“One existential crisis at a time, please,” Hitoshi snaps. He turns to look at Midoriya alongside Momo. With their heights over Midoriya, both of them are positively looming threateningly above him. “Backtrack a fucking bit. So if dimensions are the facets in which we perceive reality, and there are a … in-fucking-finite set of dimensions, you’re saying that—we can’t—we can’t ever perceive fundamental reality?”

“Oh, no,” Midoriya, dwarfed before the two, nonchalantly says. “I’m saying you can perceive a fundamental reality.”

Shinsou squints. “And being on the Edge means that—”

“We are at the threshold of each and every one of them,” Midoriya confirms. “We are, as of now, surrounded by universes. Just a tad shy of perceiving every single dimension.”

Mina and Ochako look at each other. “But didn’t you guys just say that we can’t do that?”

“You can’t,” Midoriya agrees. “That’s why we should hurry this up and get you out of here ASAP. Wouldn’t want your brains to melt or something.”

“Melt, ” Shinsou repeats, not with a small amount of horror.

Mina sighs. “At least I’ll die in my cute top, if it comes down to it.”

“The world will suffer a great loss,” Ochako mourns.

“You guys should get your brains checked,” Shinsou tells them. “I have concerns.”

“You are an honorary 1-A girl now, Shinsou-kun,” Ochako reminds him. “You are one of us, y'know.”

“That’s more terrifying than the notion that I am nothing but an abstract concept.”

“Why are we here in the first place, anyway?” Tsuyu says. “I expected something more Sadako or like, satanism and stuff when we talk about curses.”

“You would, wouldn’t you,” murmurs Shinsou.

“I mean, didn’t you exorcise a demon the other day? Or are those not a thing anymore?”

“Oh, they’re a thing, alright,” Midoriya says. He takes out a small pouch from his hoodie and turns to look at them. “Okay. Everyone, form a circle please.”

Mina gapes. “OMG, are we doing an exorcism now?”

“Yep, I’m going to exorcise the demon out of you, now.”

“Hell yeah,” Mina says, and the three of them—Mina, Tsuyu, and Ochako—obediently huddle together.

“Yayorozu-san, Hitoshi, will you please.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Momo says. She really doesn’t. The feeling has amplified just in the past nanosecond. “I think I’m going to throw up,” and then she adds, “I think I’m not supposed to exist.”

“Of course you do,” Midoriya reminds her. “You are my assistant, remember? Hitoshi, be a good senpai, will you.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Shinsou hisses. He’s palpably pale. “You know, I’m not—I’m not exactly all fine and dandy here either.”

Midoriya sighs, like he is a tiny bit disappointed with the both of them. And then he takes Hitoshi’s hand with his left and Momo’s hand with his right—the gesture so casual and immediate and intimate that neither could respond. 

Midoriya looks them in the eye. “I told you something,” he says, softly. “Do you remember?”

“No,” they say.

“That’s right,” Midoriya says, with the tone one would say good boy to a puppy. “But do you know?”

They do.

“That’s right, assistants. So? Do you exist?”

They do.

“Perfect,” Midoriya lets go of their hands. Without them realizing it, he had been guiding them to the circle with the other girls. “Can you guys gather like, a little closer, just a little—yep.”

Midoriya’s left hand does a flip, and the glint of metal catches the overhead light—since when did he have a knife?—as he stabs into the pouch in his right hand. From the whole, grains of salt pour out. 

“OMG, this is so cool,” Mina says, craning her neck to watch Midoriya form a circle of salt around them. “I feel like I’m being used as a sacrificial lamb.”

“You aren’t,” Midoriya says, “not this time.”

“Love it.”

“That’s pretty traditional, Midoriya-kun,” Tsuyu notes.

“Symbolical,” Midoriya reminds her. He takes a few steps back, examining his handicraft.

Tsuyu looks at him with a considering look. “What are demons?” she asks.

“Symptoms,” Midoriya says. He is stretching, as if he is about to do a track run. “You guys are in more trouble than I thought you were,” Midoriya says thoughtfully. “I think I misjudged something. I think I underestimated something.”

Midoriya looks a little blank, as he says that. Blanker that he's been. Tsuyu blinks. “Symptoms of what?”

“Curses,” he says. “You know, I didn’t think it’d get this bad. But someone out there really, really, really wants you guys gone. Oh, finally,” Midoriya finishes cracking his neck and turns towards the end of the hall—where the window is. “It’s gonna be here, soon. Don’t step out of the circle, ‘kay, or I won’t be able to guarantee your existence.”

And then Something Happens.

How do you describe dissonance? Worse yet, how do you describe harmony?

How do you describe the static, the nauseous kaleidoscope of colors when you close your eyes? The seams separating you and Outside breaking apart like ruptured, surgical sutures? And when you bleed, the blood is in the form of wavelength—the color red that isn’t a color at all. Red as a concept, pure unadulterated sensation of boom. Genesis. The Big One. And Black that isn’t a color, but a space. 

The Demon comes, manifests into the space like the quietest supernova. It eats away the hallway one by one, pixel by pixel, dot by dot, line by line—with its toothless and tongueless mouth. Unable to bear the yawning gap of reality, Nothingness replaces them. The abyss has never felt so full. The abyss has many eyes. 

And the Doors open.

All of them. Each and every one. The ones that are there and the ones that are not, because existence and non-existence is a singularity all the same. 

the Universes speak at the same time. together. In harmony. their voices clash and rupture and kiss. come here, they say, in a language of spheres and curves. come back. don’t you want to go home? time is a direction, just like left and right, another variable on the coordinate. and space is nothing but a sham. come back. dust to dust. dot to dot.

isn’t consciousness overrated?

“Very cute,” says Midoriya Izuku with his bow and arrow made out of promises and broken hearts, rattan and gold leaves, chromatic static and butterfly wings. “But I can’t allow you to do that. No offense, but playing god is kinda childish, don’t you think? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The demon speaks. No, it screams. No, it laughs. No, it howls. No, it cries. No, it whimpers. No, it begs—

“Yeah, nope,” Midoriya Izuku rolls his eyes. “Listen, I understand how you feel. And I sympathize, truly. But don’t worry,” Midoriya assures it nicely, “entropy isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds.”

The arrow doesn’t rip through time and space so much as it cradles and unbuttons them with gentle, pinpoint precision. Time and space don’t break apart so much as it opens up, petals unfurling like blooming flower, like candy-coaxed, giggling children. Everything undulates and stitches itself back up, like picture frames being reversed. There are so many colors in this world, and to one’s relief, one cannot see most of them.

The Universe isn’t that kind, or understanding. But this, right here, is shaped like sympathy.

“And that’s a wrap,” Midoriya Izuku says. “Good job, everyone. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I think the guys on the fourth should be a little careful. I’ll bring a charm for that tomorrow,” Midoriya slings his bag onto his shoulders.

“Fourth floor,” Iida nods, frowning. “That’s quite a superstitious number.”

“Something like that,” Midoriya says. And then he adds, thoughtfully, “I thought today was just going to be a cleansing, but that was another exorcism. I’m gonna have to ask Principal-san for an extra pay. And a contract change.”

“An exorcism?” Sero says. “I didn’t hear anything, though.”

“It went very smoothly.”

“Fuck you,” says Shinsou flatly, who is still looking a little green. He is nibbling on one of Sato’s cookies, to keep me from throwing my intestines up, as he had put it. 

“Where are the others?” Midoriya says curiously. “Wasn’t Yaoyorozu-san just here?”

“She went to the library.”

“At this hour? There are no assignments for tomorrow.” 

“She said, and I quote, ‘I think I have witnessed the intricate foundations of the singular all-encompassing framework of everything as we know and unknow it,’ and just went,” Hitoshi takes another cookie from the jar.

“I am very pleased for her,” says Tokoyami who is currently playing League of Legends with Sero on the sofa. “Sounds like absolute bliss.”

“I see,” Iida says after a pause. “And Uraraka-kun, Ashido-kun, Asui-kun..”

“They went to get some pizza.”

Iida sputters at that. “But it’s past curfew soon! And they don’t have permission, Aizawa-sensei will—”

“They said, and I quote, ‘demise looms everywhere, and the curtains might close at any time if there is time at all. The abyss has no mercy. YOLO.’”

Silence.

“They kinda went off with that,” Sero says. He adds, after some consideration, “I kinda regret not coming along, now..”

“Careful what you wish for,” Shinsou mutters glumly.

“That’s too bad, I wanted to thank them for their help,” Midoriya says, sounding actually disappointed. “Well, tell them for me, Hitoshi! And of course, I’m grateful for your assistance as always,” Midoriya gives him a thumbs up.

Hitoshi stares down at Midoriya’s cheerful thumb. “I literally did nothing.”

“Nah, you did plenty, all right. You and Yaoyorozu-san. Anyway, I’m going now! Thanks for your hospitality, 1-A.”

“Thank god,” Shinsou says as Midoriya skips to the entrance.

“Oh, right,” Midoriya stops before he closes the door behind him, and looks back. “What’s the next thing in your curriculum, if I may ask?”

The occupants of the living room look at each other. “After this we have—we got Hero Work-studies coming in..”

“Why are you asking that,” Shinsou says, suspiciously. 

Midoriya tilts his head. “As in an outing? So it’s a field study.”

“Yes, as far as I know, we will be conducting apprenticeship with Pro-Heroes,” Iida confirms. “It’s an off-campus activity.”

“Didn’t Aizawa-sensei mention we are going to be side-kicking, and stuff?”

“Midoriya,” Shinsou stands up, cookies forgotten. “Why are you asking that ? Don’t tell me you’re gonna be—”

“Oh, fun,” Midoriya says. “I always wanted to meet Heroes.”

Chapter Text

Shinsou Hitoshi opens his eyes to a beautiful day. 

He does not wake up to his alarm, neither does he wake up to the sound of chirping birds. He, instead, wakes up to an unfortunately familiar voice coming from just outside his window:

“Hi-to-shi,” the voice says, in an irritating and infuriating sing-song. “Let’s play!”

Hitoshi’s first thought: that must be a nightmare. Hitoshi’s second thought: I’m awake, though. Hitoshi’s third though: no fucking way.

Hitoshi sits up abruptly—his blanket thrown askew at his movement—and opens his window.

Yes fucking way, apparently.

“Hi-to-shi,” Midoriya Izuku sing-songs, standing right outside his window. Behind the hands forming a cone to act as a makeshift megaphone, his smile is a sight that Hitoshi would rather not see first thing in the morning. Or ever. “Le-et’s-play!”

Hitoshi closes his window.

A window is not, of course, a very significant detriment for someone (some thing ) like Midoriya Izuku. Hitoshi knows this. But just for a single moment—just a single, delusional, fleeting moment—he would like to pretend that everything is alright in the world. Not a single thing out of place. And he definitely, certainly, absolutely, does not have an exorcist standing outside his window at—

He squints at his phone. Six thirty in the morning, fuck. And then he is promptly distracted by a new notification on his screen.

You have a new text message, it says. Unknown number, it says. Open the door please :3, it says.

Hitoshi stares. He stares at his phone hard. Especially at the :3 emoji. 

So the guy really does have his phone number.

At six thirty-five, Monday morning, beautiful day, Shinsou Hitoshi opens the front door of the class 1-A dorm for Midoriya Izuku—part-time Exorcist, temporary (?) 1-A student.

“Good morning!” Midoriya greets him, looking as prim as a delivery boy in his UA uniform.

“Couldn’t you just, like, reality-bend your way in?” Hitoshi greets him back, looking as miserable as ever in his cat-print pajamas.

“That would be a crime, Hitoshi,” says Midoriya, as cheerful as a bird. “And reality isn’t bendable, only arguable.”

Hitoshi puts two hands over his face, as if it would shield him from this arguable reality. “Silence,” Hitoshi groans. Another one of Midoriya’s cryptic and unsettling fucking cosmological allegories that Hitoshi does not have the capacity to parse right now. “Nope. Not another one of your uhh, fuckin’ cosmic heebie-jeebies. Not at six thirty fucking a.m, you won’t, not before my coffee.”

“Do you have milo?” Midoriya says.

Hitoshi glares at him from the gaps between his fingers. “If I give you milo, would you go away?”

Midoriya does not. Midoriya is still here, in fact, when the other kids have made their way downstairs for breakfast. It’s a fucked up sight, if you ask Hitoshi, because it's as if Midoriya is actually a member of their class. 

The way that the others aren’t even batting an eye does not help. 

“Mornin’, Midoriya-kun,” Ashido yawns. She’s still in her pajamas, walking to the kitchen pantry. Ashido is one of those people who is incapable of functioning in the morning, proven by the way she is blindly groping the drawers like a very sleepy chimpanzee. 

“Here you go, Ashido-san,” says Midoriya, handing her a mug.

“Oh, nice, thanks.. hey, does anyone know where the tea—”

Midoriya reaches for a drawer. “Here you go.”

“Sweet. Huh, where did Koda put the—”

“Here is the cream,” Midoriya pushes the creamer her way dutifully. “And the sugar cubes.”

“Heaven,” sighs Ashido, leaning on the countertop with her newly procured morning milk tea, Midoriya-express. 

Hitoshi stares. “How the hell do you know where everything is?”

Midoriya blinks owlishly at him above his own mug of milo. Which, now that Hitoshi thinks about it, he made himself without even asking where the milo powder was. “Mm, coincidence?”

“Yeah, right,” as if anything could be a coincidence with this guy.

“Mornin’ guys,” Uraraka yawns as she makes her way to the pantry. She too, like Ashido, is not a morning person. “Umm, does anybody know where we keep the spare—”

“Here is your spare toothbrush,” says Midoriya, handing her one.

“What the fuck,” Hitoshi says. 

“What the fuck, why is Midoriya here?” says Jirou, who is the only other sane person around.

“Morning, Jirou-san,” Midoriya chirps at her, then hands her her favorite mug. 

“For god’s sake, do not talk to me, Midiorya,” Jirou says, but she does take her mug from his hand. “Not before I have my—”

Midoriya pushes the coffee pot her way. Jirou receives it despairingly.

“Oh, Midoriya’s here..”

“Hey, Midoriya.”

“Good morning, Midoriya-san!”

“What’s up, Midoriya.”

“Bonjour, Midoriya-kun!”

Good morning, Midoriya-kun, Koda signs. 

Okay, at this point, it has become painfully and excruciatingly clear that class 1-A has the sense of self-preservation of a suicidal tadpole. If they want to go and befriend the blasphemous entity right over there, that’s on them. 

But the most alarming thing of all, Hitoshi finds, is that Midoriya does not look out of place. Not here, holding his second mug of milo in his prim UA uniform and that big ass bag leaning against the side of the fridge. He fits the picture just fine, like he’s always been here. Like he’s meant to be here.

It’s uncanny. And also super creepy.

“C’mon, Iida,” Kaminari whines. “Just for a bit! To keep our spirits up!”

“I must refuse, Kaminari-kun, we have received multiple complaints from class 1-B, and noise pollution is a serious issue—”

“Please,” Kaminari says, doing an honest-to-god dogeza on the floor. “I beg you. I beg you. It’s for the vibes.” Hitoshi feels it’s essential to note that Kaminari, for some reason, has been sleeping in a fucking chicken onesie. Which means that it looks as if Iida is currently being worshipped by a 168 centimetres tall chicken in the middle of the living room. 

Hitoshi also feels that it’s essential to note that this is a common and normal sight in the class 1-A dorm. Hitoshi has no idea how they are supposed to be the best Hero candidates in all of Japan. 

Iida sighs heavily akin to a father relenting to his seven year old kid’s unreasonable request. “Just for five minutes.” At this admission, the furry chicken abomination that is his child punches the air in victory and runs to the stereo. 

Hitoshi understands, then, what Kaminari is trying to do. He jumps up from his seat at the pantry. “Hey, Kaminari, I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

Too late. The speaker turns on and Kaminari the furry chicken leaps to stand on the coffee table, holding Tsuyu’s comb as a pretend microphone. “Gooood morning bitches and bros and non-binary hoes—”

“Just say ‘everyone,’” says Todoroki as he passes the sofa.

“Good morning everyone! ” Kaminari corrects himself with quickness. “To celebrate the day where we send our class’ best to their first Hero-Work study I have prepared for you all a performance—”

“That nobody asked for,” Jirou says.

“—and I love you too Jirou Kyouka! ” Kaminari blows a flying chicken kiss at her. Jirou makes a vague gesture at the air as if to dispel said flying chicken kiss. “This one is for you baby. Hit it bro!”

“We are going to be late for class,” Tsuyu says calmly, as they watch Kaminari begin dancing to Hatsune Miku’s rendition of Ievan Polkka blaring in high volume. “For this.”

“I don’t know,” Ashido says. “I think the fursuit makes him look kinda cute..”

“You did not just call Kaminari’s fursuit cute,” Jirou says. 

“Hey, a girl got taste..”

“No, seriously,” Hitoshi says, just when Kaminari does a backflip and nearly slips on his chicken tail as a result. “I don’t think this is—”

Hatsune Miku’s voice suddenly comes to a stop. Kaminari, who is in the middle of an unsuccessful split, lifts his chicken head to look at the stereo in annoyance. “Hey, who paused the—”

And then a loud, ear-splitting guitar riff explodes the room. 

“What the hell,” Jirou says beside him. Her voice is barely audible below the noise from hell coming from the speaker. “Turn it off!”

“I’m trying!” Kaminari says, or at least Hitoshi presumes that he’s saying it, because at this point everyone is reading everyone else’s lips. 

This is what Hitoshi was afraid of. Hitoshi turns to glare at Midoriya, who is currently nursing his third mug of milo without a care in the goddamn world. “Would you stop this?”

Midoriya blinks at him. “Stop what?” Mama done told me! The singer from hell shrieks. Papa done scold me! 

“You did this!” 

SUPERSTITION! Guitar riff, drum roll. The song is so loud that it sounds distorted, and Hitoshi swears he can feel the vibration all the way down the walls and the countertop. The surface of his coffee is in ripples. COME HELL OR HIGH WATER!

“Unplug the damn thing!” Jirou screams. 

“I’m trying!” Kaminari screams.  

COME HELL OR HIGH WATER! The singer screams.

Kaminari, who is closing an ear with one of his chicken hands, reaches for the cable with his other chicken hand. The speaker is now successfully unplugged. Which, surprise surprise, does not stop it from screaming again and again: COME HELL OR HIGH WATER!

“My ears are going to bleed,” Hitoshi seethes. “Do something!”

“I’m not the one doing it,” Midoriya says, but as he is saying it, the volume does lower on its own. Still loud, but to a borderline reasonable level, as if whatever force is at play here decides to relent however little. Come hell or high water!

“God, what the hell is up with you and songs about hell ?”

Midoriya looks at him above his third mug of hot milo. And then he grins.

The childish, vague distanceness that always clouds his face disappears for a moment and for the first time, he actually does look Hitoshi’s age. It’s the first time Hitoshi has seen that expression on Midoriya’s face—something almost naughty, in a teenage, mischievous kind of way.

It’s startling. No, it’s alarming, actually. So much, in fact, that Hitoshi can’t help but take a step back. 

“I think that, too, Hitoshi,” Midoriya says. A drawl. He traces the rim of his mug in a lazy circle with a slender finger. “Is what you would call a coincidence.”

Hitoshi swallows. He doesn’t know why. “Never thought you’d believe in coincidence,” he says. “Aren’t you the one who keeps preaching about fate?”

The grin fades, replaced with that familiar, distant smile. “Coincidence and Fate go hand in hand, Hitoshi,” says Midoriya unhelpfully. “What’s that allegory, again. Two sides of the same coin, et cetera. Both Coincidence and Fate are inevitable, no?”

“Stop forcing my brain to do existential aerobics.”

Come hell or high water!

“So this is because of you?” Jirou says, crankily. Her ears are more sensitive to sound; that must’ve sucked to her especially. “Does AC/DC always play in your fucking vicinity or what?”

“It’s not always AC/DC,” Midoriya says.

“What, you can shuffle to Black Sabbath? Metallica?” Hitoshi snarks. “The Rolling Stones?”

“Let me guess,” Jirou says drily. “Sympathy for the Devil?”

And then, as if on cue, the music turns off.

“Oh, finally,” Kaminari says. “It’s—are you fucking kidding me, it’s not even plugged!”

PLEASE ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF, a different singer sings along to the beats of smooth, rhythmical maracas. I’M A MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE. 

“Holy shit. Nah. Nah,” Jirou says. This time, she takes a step back, some kind of terror stricken on her face. “Listen, I’m not religious. I don’t even believe in, like—but fuck. What are you, satan’s son? The fucking anti-christ?” 

Midoriya laughs, in a well-mannered, polite kind of way, as if Jirou was making a joke and not being one hundred per-cent serious in accusing Midoriya of being the devil's incarnation.

I'VE BEEN AROUND FOR A LONG, LONG YEAR, the singer promises, STOLE MANY A MAN’S SOUL AND FAITH. 

“How are you doing this?” Hitoshi says. “What’s this, some kind of Quirk that gives you background 20th century western rock music?”

“I’m not the one doing it,” Midoriya says calmly. “I told you. It’s a coincidence.”

“Coincidence that satanic music always plays whenever you’re in the room?” Jirou says. She’s moved a little behind Hitoshi, as if he was going to shield her from whatever it is that Midoriya is addled with, which is probably contagious. Which, well. “Look, I don’t necessarily believe in, like, superstitions, but that is some serious sign of like. Some fucked up shit going on. Straight up devil’s business, dude. Like, I think you, really, really are legit—” her voice slows down before she continues, realizing what she’s saying, “legit.. Cursed..”

At that, Midoriya raises his mug of milo, as if saying cheers. 

PLEASED TO MEET YOU, HOPE YOU GUESSED MY NAME!

“You guys have your symptoms,” Midoriya calmly informs them, “and I have mine.”

BUT WHAT’S PUZZLING YOU, the music screams, IS THE NATURE OF MY—

BOOM.

Silence. The entire room turns to see Bakugou standing over the freshly-exploded speaker and Kaminari with smoke rising from both his hands, still in his pajamas. A part of Kaminari’s fursuit is blackened from the residue of Bakugou’s Quirk, so now he looks like a half-roasted chicken. 

“IT’S NOT FUCKING SEVEN YET,” Bakugou roars. His voice, impressively, is almost at the same decibel level as the singers from hell.

Silence again. And then the smoke alarm rings.

“Our luck really is getting worse,” Ashido notes, as they watch as Todoroki proceeds to freeze the entire stereo system to prevent the sprinkles from being activated. Iida is currently scolding both pajama-wearing Bakugou and half-roasted chicken-wearing Kaminari like a disappointed father of two.

“Aizawa-sensei is going to be so mad at us when we’re late,” Tsuyu says calmly. When, she says, not if.

This is ridiculous. Hitoshi decides that he needs more caffeine. And as if fucking reading his mind, Midoriya pushes the pot his way. 

Hitoshi stares. Midoriya smiles. “More coffee?”

Hitoshi pours himself another mug.

“Your patrol route is outside of Nighteye’s surveillance area in this case. Keep in constant contact with Togata and I and we will rendezvous in three hours. Understand?”

“I don’t understand,” Hitoshi says.

It’s his most hated string of words now: I don’t understand. Hitoshi doesn’t think that he’s exceptionally smart, but he likes to think that he has a good enough common sense. But with the amount of times he has said I don’t understand for the past week alone, he’s starting to feel like an idiot.

“I will not repeat myself.”

“No, but—I mean, isn’t he, technically, a civilian?”

The he in question, of course, is Midoriya Izuku. Midoriya Izuku, who is currently taking bright yellow All Might head-shaped candies at the receptionist desk of Nighteye Agency Hero Office. There is no sign that specify people to take one, but Hitoshi is pretty sure you aren’t supposed to take ten and shove them all in your pocket, which is exactly what Midoriya is doing. Continuously.

“Yes,” Aizawa confirms. “Midoriya is a civilian, but he also holds the temporary status of being a UA student.”

“But he doesn’t have the provisional license!”

“Which is why he will not be participating in any Heroics, Hero-work study or otherwise.”

“So he’s just going to tag along?” Hitoshi says, and tries his best not to sound hysterical. “With me?”

“As per his request.”

Hitoshi sputters. “But, but—”

“Nezu greenlit it.” 

“But, but—”

“Off you go,” Eraserhead says. “Before he robs this place of every single candy they have.”

“These candies are really good,” says Midoriya once they are effectively kicked outside the agency. “Honey lemon but with a hint of, like, tangerine.”

“This shouldn’t be allowed,” says Shinsou Hitoshi, fifteen years old and miserable.

“What shouldn’t?” says Midoriya Izuku, fifteen years old and the cause of Shinsou Hitoshi’s misery.  

Or at least, Hitoshi assumes that Midoriya is fifteen years old. Who knows at this point, really?  “Want one?” says the who-knows years old to Hitoshi.

Hitoshi stares at the piece of All Might-head candy in distaste. But he takes it anyway.

“This. You. This is like, bad for me. Bad for my mental health. Bad for my sanity. Bad for my fundamental sense of self-identity.”

“Ego death is a pertinent point of a hero’s journey,” says Midoriya. “I’m basically helping you with your studies.”

“Screw you,” says Hitoshi gloomily. 

The street they’re walking on is not one of the main streets, less busy and more laidback, one that Hitoshi knows they wouldn’t get any action in. He wonders if his other classmates get a better deal out of this Hero-work study thing, but he doubts it—the upperclassmen, maybe, but not the first-years. “You know, didn’t you say you have school? Why aren’t you going to school.”

Because it’s eleven on a Monday and Midoriya, despite it all, is a highschool freshman just like everyone else. Right? A lot of things Hitoshi has on Midoriya are just based on assumptions. Midoriya is really less of a person and more of an abstract concept. Hitoshi squints his eyes. “Where is your school, anyway?” he demands. “Give me a name.”

Not that Hitoshi ever really expected an answer. Therefore, his eyebrows arch so high that they disappear from his forehead the moment Midoriya replies: “Aldera high school.”

A straight answer? A straight answer that is both comprehensible and making sense? From Midoriya fucking Izuku?

Hell has frozen over. 

“That school’s just around the neighborhood,” Hitoshi says when he manages to speak again. He looks at Midoriya suspiciously. “What. That’s just so..”

Midoriya blinks at him. 

“.. normal,” Hitoshi finishes. 

They pass a record shop. The song playing in the record shop is a smooth jazzy tune and Hitoshi isn’t one hundred per-cent sure, but as they walk pass it, Hitoshi could swear he hears it turn into a screamo rock n’ roll song. Now that he pays attention, isn’t he hearing screamo rock n’ roll songs coming out of every building they just passed?

Hitoshi walks faster.

“This is all very exciting,” Midoriya says beside him. A little behind him, actually, since Hitoshi has very long legs and is walking very fast. Midoriya, on the other hand, is taking a lighter stroll, chewing on his fifth piece of All Might candy. He looks like a tourist. Or a very calm lost child. “You really see this many Heroes everyday, Hitoshi? I’m jealous.”

Midoriya has asked for the autograph of every single teacher he has come across on UA grounds (Hitoshi knows this, because Hitoshi has been dragged along for the occasion, because Hitoshi is, apparently, Midoriya’s ‘official UA student guide’). Not ten minutes ago, he has harangued every Pro-Hero and sidekick available in the receptionist area of Nighteye’s agency for their autographs. 

And to Hitoshi’s alarm, Midoriya somehow knows their names. Every single one of them. Like, okay, Hitoshi is a Hero nerd—basically the baseline requirement to being an aspiring Hero—but he wouldn’t know every freshly graduated sidekick and their mother, would he? 

They had been happy signing Midoriya’s autograph book, though, which Hitoshi has no idea where the former is keeping, because Midoriya isn’t carrying his giant bag for once. He isn’t carrying anything at all, in fact, except maybe the unholy amount of candies he’s stuffed inside the pockets of his hoodie. 

“Nah, it’s also my first time seeing some of them.” Hitoshi didn’t participate in the first Hero internship after the Sports Festival, what with him still being under Aizawa’s tutorship. Which could be considered an internship, if an internship normally consists of hours and hours of grueling training and being bitten by mosquitos in the woods. 

“I really wanted to meet Nighteye,” Midoriya sighs, and he sounds actually wistful, like he means it. They hadn’t allowed Midoriya to enter the meeting (because he is, lawfully, a civilian) hence Midoriya was left loitering at the receptionist (hence the candy-robbing part). “He has such an amazing Quirk … and an exceptional collection of All Might merch, I bet..” Midoriya dolefully pops another candy in his mouth. “Mm. Perhaps in another Life.”

“Right,” Hitoshi says. “Why are you tagging along with me, anyway?” 

“You have very bad luck today,” answers Midoriya readily. 

At this point, Hitoshi is somewhat used to being told things like you have very bad luck today or nothing is real and we are all going to die in Midoriya’s standard merry-go-round tone of voice. His eyebrows barely twitch. “What, does that mean I’m gonna encounter a Villain?” Hitoshi says, snarkily. “That would be great, ‘cause this is boring as h—” he pauses. It feels wise not to mention the H word around Midoriya Izuku. Speak of the devil and such and such. “As heck.” 

“Hm,” Midoriya smiles politely. “Funny you should say that.”

Hitoshi turns to squint at Midoriya suspiciously. “What does that—”

“Shinsou-kun! Midoriya-kun!” 

Both of them turn to see Uraraka and Tsuyu jogging lightly in their direction. Both of them, like Hitoshi, are wearing their Hero costumes.

“Hey guys! Oops, I should be calling you by your Hero name, I forgot. Mindjack, right?”

“The placeholder is that, yeah,” Hitoshi says. His Hero name is still in the works. “I thought you guys were with Ryukyu’s agency?”

“We separated with Nejire-chan and they gave us this area to patrol,” Tsuyu says. “Can I have some of those candies, Midoriya-kun?”

“You guys too, huh?” Hitoshi says. Figures. He himself (plus Midoriya) separated from Togata-senpai a while ago. 

“We met Kiri—Red Riot and some other guys too,” Uraraka says, taking a candy offered to her by Midoriya. “All of the first-years are kinda all in this area, looks like.”

In this very safe area with low criminal activity. Hitoshi knows that’s the reason why they are being allowed to patrol without supervision and only minimum monitoring, because what they are doing is less patrolling and more like taking a goddamn stroll in costume. This case these agencies are taking on, they definitely aren’t planning to have the first-years handling them. Hence, boring.

It’s annoying being handled with kid gloves like that, but he supposes it’s better than having the Hero-Work studies activity canceled entirely. They (minus Hitoshi) have faced against the League of Villains multiple times in the past year. It’s bizarre, Hitoshi thinks, that they don’t just expel the entire class 1-A for their own safety. Feels a little like tempting fate. 

Speaking of.

“You want another candy?” Midoriya says, at Hitoshi’s stare.

“No thanks,” Hitoshi replies. And then, “keep that up and you’ll die of diabetes.”

“We’ll all die of something,” Midoriya replies. And then, “that store is being robbed.”

“What?” Hitoshi says. 

Midoriya points at the store that is being robbed. They turn to see exactly that. Of fucking course, because that’s just life for Hitoshi now. “Shit,” Hitoshi says.

“Oh, dear,” Tsuyu says.

“Hell yes, Villains!” Uraraka punches the air, which is not a proper response to robbery or any other kind of Villainous activity. 

“They are getting away,” Midoriya points out helpfully.

They snap into action. Froppy is the fastest, with Uravity and Hitoshi following right behind her. The door dings obediently the moment they step in the Seven-Eleven. The cashier, who has their hands up, looks over to the three aspiring Pro-Heroes standing by the door. And so do the Villain holding the cashier at gunpoint.

To clarify, at gunpoint is merely an expression. The gun in question is not a gun at all, but instead a sword. The Villain holding it turns to look at them, takes stock of the three UA students, and—having decided that they pose no threat—sneers.  “Go away, kiddy-Heroes, and you won’t get hurt.”

“Whoah, your outfit is so cool,” Hitoshi says. The ragged red scarf and the makeshift mask, it’s obvious who the Villain is trying to cosplay. “Is that the new trend in this month’s edition of Villain Vogue?”

The Villain glares. “Kid, you—”

Got him. “Drop your dumbass sword, you cringe ass Stain wanna-be.”

The sword drops with a clang. Hitoshi is feeling pretty good about himself when Froppy says, “Mindjack, watch out—”

Too late.

What hit him in the head, as he finds out later, is a can of mosquito repellant. Right now, though, Hitoshi is on his back on the floor blinking tears away from his eyes having absolutely no idea what just happened. He sits up and—

Idiot. He should’ve checked whether the Villain was alone. What is he, an amateur? Fuck. 

(He is an amateur.)

He must’ve blacked out for a few seconds, because things have already taken flight. Hitoshi watches, somewhat sulkily, as the girls take down the Villains with way less effort than it ought. Tsuyu is holding her own more than well enough against the Stain wanna-be guy while Uraraka is handling the other Villain—presumably the one who threw the mosquito repellent at Hitoshi’s head, with the telekinesis Quirk the guy is sporting.

Hitoshi is also pretty sure that the store’s speaker wasn’t playing a rock song before, but it does now. Heroes, hard to find, laments the singer. Don't make the news 'til they're doin' time..

“You naive, impudent girl!” the Stain-wanna-be roars. He is clearly losing in his fight against the said naive, impudent girl. “Do you children even know what you are doing?”

“Kicking your ass?” Tsuyu guesses.

“You are being blinded by this commercialized society! Justice is dying, it’s being sold out! Heroism is the true crime!”

“The true crime here is your outfit.”

The Villain ignores Tsuyu’s brutal heckling in favor of continuing his Villainous monologue. “You children are sheeps, being used to advertise the hypocritical morals of this Hero-worshipping society! The true meaning of Justice has been diluted to nothing but hashtags in social media! And I have plans. Oh, I have great plans for the betterment of society. I have great plans.”

“You were robbing a Seven-Eleven,” Tsuyu points out calmly. 

“I have great plans,” the Villain insists.

“You just failed to rob a Seven-Eleven, though,” Tsuyu says.

It’s pathetic to watch. Tsuyu strips the Villain of his sword with two moves and takes him down in one. Hitoshi almost feels bad, but he’s glad someone is embarrassing themself more than he did.

Some sin for gold, some sin for shame, some sin for cash..

“I called backup,” Hitoshi informs Tsuyu after she cuffed the Villain down. “They’ll be here in five.”

But I ain't gonna be the fool who's gonna have to sin for nothing!

“Nice,” Tsuyu says. She seems to notice Hitoshi’s souring mood, because she adds nicely, “don’t worry about it, Mindjack. You were really cool at the beginning.” She isn’t even breaking out a sweat after all that. “Until you passed out. But before then, you were really cool.”

“Thanks,” says Hitoshi, not feeling any better at all. He didn’t even get to show off his capture weapon, this whole experience is just sucking so much.

The other Villain, seemingly panicked now that his partner has been beaten by a fifteen year old girl, is now backed into the corner by another fifteen year old girl. “Stay away!” he says, waving a knife he has procured with his telekinesis.

“That is a very dangerous thing you have there,” Uraraka says, while she levitates an entire refrigerator along with every bottle of wine inside it. “What if someone gets hurt?”

The refrigerator must weigh at least 200 kg. It’s honestly scary to watch. 

The Villain seems to be scared too. And well, all right, they are all amateurs here. Hitoshi has never faced a criminal before, and while both Tsuyu and Uraraka have respectively had their own share of League of Villains shenanigans, neither of them have ever experienced a robbery situation. They don’t really know how small-time Villains think, do they? What they will know very soon, however, is that this breed of Villains usually turn into cowardly, desperate measures when scared.

Such as pulling a hostage, for example. And the hostage, as often the case, would be the nearest civilian in sight. And the nearest civilian in sight, in this case, would be Midoriya Izuku.

Midoriya blinks as the Villain’s arm wraps around his neck. Judging from the cheek bulge, Hitoshi would bet a thousand yen that the fucker still has candy inside his mouth.

“Get away from me or I’ll kill him!” the Villain declares, with a knife pressed against Midoriya’s neck. 

Silence. And then Uraraka drops her refrigerator, which then falls with gravity to a very loud and noisy BANG. And then silence again.

“Midoriya,” Hitoshi says, being the first one to find his voice. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m being taken hostage,” Midoriya cheerfully informs him.

“We can fucking see that,” Hitoshi seethes.

“Shut up!” the Villain says. “I’m serious. I’ll kill him.”

Hitoshi laughs, and notes that he sounds mildly deranged even to himself. “Oh, buddy,” Hitoshi says, to the Villain, shaking his head. Pitying. “You have no idea what you’re in for, man..”

“Absolutely no idea,” Tsuyu agrees.

“Poor guy,” Uraraka adds.

“Are you religious, sir?” Hitoshi says. “If you are, I suggest you start praying. Like, right now.”

“You should just brainwash him, Mindjack,” Tsuyu says. 

“He might be a Villain, but he doesn’t deserve what’s coming,” Uraraka agrees.

“This is so cool, I can’t believe I’m a victim,” Midoriya says. To the robber holding him by the neck, he asks in genuine delight, “can I have your autograph later on sir?”

“All of you, shut up!” The Villain seems hysterical. “Get the fuck away or I’ll—”

“Oh, we’d love to get away from you, all right,” Hitoshi says. To prove his point, the three of them take a step back, effectively leaving the Villain a clear pathway for the exit. “You are on your own, dude. Trust me.”

Confusion and suspicion flash over the Villain’s expression, but the desire to escape wins out. He drags Midoriya by the neck as he barks out to the cashier. “Hand me the bag! You Hero kids, don’t move!” 

“Whoa, that’s a lot of money,” Midoriya sounds vaguely impressed, peering down at the money-filled bag the cashier hands them. “How much is that, do you think?”

“You shut up.”

Midoriya tilts his head, the knife sharp against his neck. “Ah, you made ¥ 10,275.22. Congratulations.”

“If you don’t shut your mouth, kid—“

“Can I buy your knife?” 

The question is apparently so out of left field that the Villain shuts himself up for a second. “What?”

“Everything has a price, after all,” Midoriya says. “Wouldn’t you agree? Everything can be bought. Just like this knife.” 

Some sin for gold, the Seven-Eleven speaker sings, some sin for shame, some sin for cash..

The kitchen knife that’s digging underneath Midoriya’s jaw. The blade is pressing just right over his jugular, glinting under the fluorescent light. The stainless steel shines stark against Midoriya’s skin. “What’s your price, Osaki Seiichi?”

You gotta lay down the rules, push up the price!

The knife shakes. “How—how do you know my—'' some sort of horrifying conviction sinks on Osaki Seiichi’s face. “I’m going to kill—”

“I’m afraid you can’t kill me, sir,” Midoriya informs him regretfully. “The Authority to do that has to be paid. And you don’t have enough in your balance to do that. But maybe..”

Dealers looking round, wheel is turning round, coming round for you!

Midoriya’s hands reach up to wrap over Osaki’s grip on the knife. “Maybe you can buy that Authority with this knife. A soul in exchange for its taker,” Midoriya smiles, teeth white and eyes blank. “The Universe loves its paradoxes.”

Maybe it’s the panic. Maybe it’s the fear. Maybe it’s a lapse of judgement. But whatever it is, at that very second, Osaki Seiichi slits the boy’s throat. 

He has every intention to do it. In the drag of his hand, the grip of his fingers—it takes strength to sink the blade into human skin, into human flesh. And to take a life, oh, what does it take to take a life? To kill? It takes a special kind of leap of the heart. It takes a special kind of sick, blinding delight. It takes a special kind of hopelessness. It takes, most of all, a special kind of will.

“I told you,” the boy says, in that airy, tenor cadence of his voice. “You don't have enough balance to pay for that.”

The knife falls to the floor with a loud, ringing rattle. 

“¥ 10,275.22 doesn’t nearly cover the cost, unfortunately,” Midoriya Izuku says. “Or would you like to pay in installments?”

Ain't gonna sin for nothing. You get nothing for nothing!

What was that? What was that? What the hell was that?

He dragged the knife. He did it. He slit his throat. It was there, the intent, the action, it was there. But it was not. Osaki Seiichi shakes and steps back. The knife glints at him from the floor with the promise of fatalism.

“Of course,” Midoriya Izuku informs Osaki Seiichi kindly. “There is a hefty price to free will. Installments shall be paid with interest.”

“You, you—” He slit the boy’s throat. He did, but he didn’t. He did, but he didn’t. He did. He didn’t. Amidst the sudden dose of nonsensical panic, instinct kicks in. He has no knife, but his Quirk can summon him more knives. 

Except for the fact that, for the first and last time in his life, Osaki Seiichi can’t feel his Quirk.

He takes a step back, away from Midoriya Izuku, unsteady on his feet. “What is this?” he asks. “What is this?” this, this sudden, overbearing helplessness. This sudden lapse of action. A taste of the exact opposite of omnipotence.

You get nothing for nothing, the Universe sings.

Midoriya Izuku smiles. It is a cruel thing, to let a man try and slit predeterminism by the throat. But the Universe has never been quite capable of sympathy. 

“Do you want to Know?” he asks.

“Great job, guys!” Togata Mirio says, clapping Hitoshi by the back. “We’ll bring these guys ‘round to the station, but you guys still need to rendezvous with us in a few. We’ll need your statements. But all in all, I’m impressed!” he beams. “Though it would be appreciated if there were less property damage.”

“Sorry,” says Uraraka, who obliterated a fridge.

“The school will be paying for it anyways,” says Tsuyu, who doesn’t really care.

Togata valiantly ignores Tsuyu’s unethical comment. “Considering that this is your first—third time, for some of you—to encounter a Villain, it was a feat that no one was hurt,” Togata turns to glance curiously at the Villains being carried to the police car. “Though, one of the Villains seems to suffer from … some shock..”

They can hear the aforementioned Villain’s voice from where they stand, muttering in a crazed, fugue sort of voice with words like entropy and liberation and causation being thrown around. 

“Wonder why,” says Hitoshi flatly.

“As for you,” Togata turns to the fourth kid present in the conversation. “Midoriya-kun, was it?”

“That’s me,” Midoriya chirps.

“I heard you held well on your own. That’s admirable, but we understand that Villain attacks can be a deeply traumatic experience, and this case is no exception—”

“To the Villain,” Hitoshi mutters under his breath.

“—so if you ever feel the need to reach out, please do not hesitate to do so! I’ve heard of your circumstances from Eraserhead,” Togata adds, and Hitoshi really wonders what it is that Aizawa told him, and if it included things like Curses and Demons and Hell. “I hope this experience will not be a detriment for you from learning more about Heroism.”

“Oh, not at all,” Midoriya says calmly. 

“Good!” and then Togata Mirio, bless his heart, says, “is there anything else we can do for you?”

“Oh, yes. Is it possible for me to get the Villains’ autographs?” Midoriya says. “This is my first time being taken hostage, you see, and—”

“We are fine, senpai,” Hitoshi announces with an unnecessarily loud voice. “We’ll rendezvous with you at the agency. We are fine.” For extra measure, he puts two thumbs up, to illustrate that they are fine. Both Uraraka and Tsuyu follow his example, flashing their own thumbs. Because absolutely nothing is wrong and everything is normal, of course.

Hitoshi sighs in some relief when Togata finally leaves them for the police station. He is a good person, and he doesn't deserve to deal with Midoriya's ... Midoriyaness. “We gotta go to Ryukyu’s agency to report, so you guys have to gather round—c’mon, come here. Just like that, and—” Uraraka proceeds to take a selfie of the four of them. “Nice. I’m snapchatting Todoroki-kun.”

Ah. That guy. “He isn’t doing Hero-Work studies, is he?”

“Yep. Didn’t pass the provisional license ‘cuz he fought with that Shiketsu guy in the middle of the exam in some kinda pissing contest.”

“Oh, right,” Hitoshi says. That was kinda huge. “They blew up the arena with that fire tornado.”

“They blew up the arena with that fire tornado,” she agrees. “Anyway. We gotta go.”

“Don’t stop existing,” says Tsuyu to them, which is very normal. And then the girls went off. 

Hitoshi exhales a long, long sigh. “Well. That wasn’t so bad,” he says. 

“I hope we’ll get to do it again,” Midoriya says.

“You’re crazy,” Hitoshi says.

The light turns red. They cross the road. The agency is just a ten minute walk from where they are—the police cars didn’t have space for two of them, anyway. “That wasn’t that bad of luck,” Hitoshi says, absent-mindedly. Sure, he did embarrass himself a little by passing out on his first Villain attack, but it was a success, all in all. At the cost of one of the Villain’s sanity. 

“Mm. That wasn’t.”

Hitoshi moves to the side as a delivery guy bikes past him. The green man is blinking. “What, are you saying there is more?”

“There is always more,” Midoriya says, in that dreamy, neutral tone of his.

They arrive at the other side of the road, this one is a more crowded part of the city. A couple children are skipping by the sidewalk, entering the ice cream shop. “Can you stop being cryptid for once?”

"Careful, pothole," Midoriya says, and Hitoshi side-steps a pothole. Well, what-fucking-ever. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m getting used to this shit.” Hitoshi, to his own surprise, finds that he’s telling the truth. He is getting used to … whatever this all is. This incredulous, existential chaos that’s become of his life. Just, whatever happens, happens, right? “But seriously, you should stop saying weird sh—”

Something stops him in his tracks.

Hitoshi pauses, and looks down. Alarmed, he crouches, “ah—are you—are you okay?”

The little girl, who just bumped into his leg, looks up at him with a pair of big, watery eyes. Shit, she’s crying. “Sorry, did I hurt you?” Hitoshi isn’t good with kids. “Where does it … hurt.." Hitoshi’s voice trails to a stop the moment he notices that the little girl is entirely covered with scars. 

And then a smooth, adult voice says, “you can’t be bothering the Heroes like that, can you now, Eri?”

Hitoshi lifts his head to look into Chisaki Kai’s eyes. 

Chisaki Kai inclines his head at him good-naturedly. “I’m sorry about my daughter, Hero,” he says. If it were not for the mask, Hitoshi would probably be able to see his smile. “She has trouble staying still, you see. She keeps hurting herself.”

Hitoshi’s heart is a loud, arrhythmic thump in his ears. It’s him. There is no mistake about it. The man the agencies are looking for. Fuck. Fuck.

Hitoshi’s grip tightens around the girl’s shoulder. She is so small, how old is she? Five? Six? 

“What the hell are you doing to her?” Hitoshi says to Overhaul. 

“Yep. Didn’t pass the provisional license ‘cuz he fought with that Shiketsu guy in the middle of the exam in some kinda pissing contest.”

Hitoshi blinks.

Uraraka is shaking her head, typing on her phone. “Like, they ruined the entire arena. Oh look, he replied. Who taught Todoroki-kun to use emojis?”

“Probably Mina.”

Hitoshi breathes, sharp. Dizzy. 

“You okay, Shinsou-kun?” Tsuyu says. “You look pale.”

“I—” he feels sick. Very sick. “I don’t..”

“Hey, you should sit down,” Uraraka says, sounding worried. “Have they checked you for concussion? You did black out for a bit.” Behind her, Hitoshi can see the police cars driving away. The Seven-Eleven is right behind him.

The alleyway and the little girl and Chisaki Kai are nowhere to be seen.

“No, I’m okay,” Hitoshi says, even though he wants to throw up. There is a ringing in his ears. “I’m—I’m fine. Just remembered something, is all..”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay..” neither Uraraka nor Tsuyu look convinced. “You should get yourself checked again at Nighteye’s agency.”

“Sure,” Hitoshi strains out.

“We gotta get going. Don’t push yourself, okay?”

“Don’t stop existing,” Tsuyu says.

The moment both girls are gone, Hitoshi spins to look at Midoriya. “What the fuck was that?”

Midoriya isn’t looking back at him. No, Midoriya is walking towards the crossroad, and Hitoshi, for some incomprehensible reason, is doing the exact same thing, feet moving without his consent. “That, Hitoshi,” Midoriya says with that dreamy, neutral tone of his, “is bad luck.”

“What?” Hitoshi says. The light turns red. They are crossing the road. Why is he crossing the road? Why are they crossing the road? The agency is just ten-minutes away. Hitoshi feels out of his own skin. Dread feels razor sharp underneath his tongue. “Midoriya, what in the goddamn hell is happening?”

“Universal conundrum,” Midoriya says.

“What does that—”

“You see,” Midoriya says, still in that infuriatingly calm voice. A voice so neutral that it’s ice cold. “This isn’t supposed to happen. In the … ah, let’s say, in the Canonical Universe, you aren’t supposed to be in this arc.”

The bicycle passes by Hitoshi’s shoulder, the delivery guy. They arrive across the street. Hitoshi stares. “Arc?” he echoes.

“Yes, arc,” Midoriya says, and they are walking past the ice cream shop, past the small boutique, past the pothole with the traffic cones. “Careful, pothole. You are not supposed to be present in this particular curvature of space-time, you see. In the Canonical Universe, Hitoshi, you weren’t supposed to meet her yet. But as coincidence has it, you and Uraraka Ochako and Asui Tsuyu just happen to solve a robbery, preventing Togata Mirio from ever passing this alley, and take this particular shortcut to Nighteye’s agency. Bad luck.”

Hitoshi doesn’t understand even a shred of what Midoriya is saying. At fucking all. But that doesn’t matter, because just like before, they have stopped right in front of the alley. And just like before, a little girl runs forward to bump Hitoshi’s knees. 

Just like before, the little girl, who just bumped into his leg, looks up at him with a pair of big, watery eyes. Shit, she’s crying. Just like before, she is covered entirely with scars.

“What’s happening?” Hitoshi says. He’s crouched down, holding the little girl by the shoulders. She’s so thin. And so small. “What’s happening?”

A smooth, adult voice says, “you can’t be bothering the Heroes like that, can you now, Eri?”

Hitoshi lifts his head to look into Chisaki Kai’s eyes. 

Chisaki Kai inclines his head at him good-naturedly. “I’m sorry about my daughter, Hero,” he says. If it were not for the mask, Hitoshi would probably be able to see his smile. “She has trouble staying still, you see. She keeps hurting herself.”

Hitoshi takes his eyes away from the incomprehensible scene in front of him. “Midoriya,” he says hoarsely, desperately, helplessly. “What’s happening?”

Midoriya is looking back at him, this time. A pair of dark eyes. His scar is thin white under the afternoon sun. His eyes, blots of green so black. “I suppose you can call this a glitch. An error. Something that Never Happened.”

Ah, this feeling again. Like the ground just opened up underneath him. Like there isn’t enough space for Hitoshi, in this world. A dissonance between his skin and the static, rupturing air. The pit of his chest feels like ice and somewhere in the distance, Hitoshi thinks he can hear the fluttering wings of butterflies.

Hitoshi feels so, so sick.

“In the Canonical Universe,” Midoriya Izuku says, “Shinsou Hitoshi is not supposed to be in class 1-A.”

Chapter Text

“In the Canonical Universe, Shinsou Hitoshi is not supposed to be in class 1-A.”

“I don’t understand,” Hitoshi breathes.

“You wouldn’t,” Midoriya says.

And then, once again, reality folds in itself like silk and the thread of time takes a quick shortcut around Hitoshi’s entire existence.

“Yep. Didn’t pass the provisional license ‘cuz he fought with that Shiketsu guy in the middle of the exam in some kinda pissing contest,” Uraraka says, typing furiously on her phone. The screen, Hitoshi notices for the first time, is cracked. “Like, they ruined the entire arena. Oh look, he replied. Who taught Todoroki-kun to use emojis?”

Holy fuck.

They’re back. Hitoshi is back in front of the Seven-Eleven. He was in the alley, and now he is not. Even though he should be. He should be, right? People don’t just take a few steps back in time. People don’t just fucking do that. Because there is a thing called progression of events that should exist in reality, right? Because it’s reality, right?

Because one person shouldn’t just—just got thrown away between one spacetime to the other like a fucking ping-pong ball, right?

Right?

Hitoshi can hear something snap. Said snap sounds like it’s coming from inside his head. And just like every sane man tethering to the edge of retiring from being a sane man, one thought erupts itself in Hitoshi’s mind:

That’s it. 

That’s it, Hitoshi thinks. That’s it!

Shinsou Hitoshi Has Hit His Limit.

The Limit, of course, has been hit many times in the span of time where Shinsou Hitoshi has the unfortunate honor of encountering Midoriya Izuku. The poor Limit, being Hitoshi’s final barrier in protecting his sanity, has been bruised and battered like a slab of dough in a twenty-four hour bakery. After undergoing constant abuse, the Limit has gone from having the consistency of a concrete wall to the consistency of a brick wall and now to the consistency of a cheap second-hand plywood. 

And now, this Wall standing between Hitoshi’s sanity and the insanity that is the entire world plus Midoriya fucking Izuku—has once again suffered damage. And like any good cheap second-hand plywood wall being punched by a hormonal fifteen-year old boy going through teen angst wanting to prove his manliness, the Wall does not put up much resistance. The Wall is, in fact, in danger of being demoted into a Floor.

And so, the last line of defense in Hitoshi’s lucidity revolt. No, they cry. That’s enough bullshit for an entire lifetime, they cry.

This—Hitoshi decides as he feels his sanity threatening to crumble down like the Tower of Babel in Genesis— this is how far Hitoshi is willing to go with this whole space-time existential bullshit!

“No,” Hitoshi announces. He laughs as he stumbles back, weak in the knees. And then his laughter abruptly stops, expression suddenly turning murderously furious. This change happens quick enough that he looks like an insane person. “No,” Hitoshi announces his refusal once again to the universe. “No, no, no. Nope. No! Fuck no,” Hitoshi points a finger at the great blue sky, like a normal person. “ No!”

Uraraka blinks at him, looking up from her phone. “It’s not that bad,” she says. “I mean, Todoroki-kun did send eggplant emojis once, but that’s because he doesn’t know what it means. I think. Wait,” she frowns. “Wait. He doesn’t, right?”

“You okay, Shinsou-kun?” Tsuyu says, sounding as concerned as she can with her naturally flat intonation. “You look a little pale..” and because she isn’t bestowed with the award of being the most blunt student in 1-A for nothing, she adds, “actually, you look like you contracted rabies.”

“You,” Hitoshi says, turning on his heel to loom over Midoriya, jabbing a finger to Midoriya’s direction wildly. Due to his stature—and Midoriya’s stature—this, to any outsider, would look like a scene where a bully is threatening his victim into submission. It’s funny how things are often more than what meets the eye. “Stop it!” Hitoshi demands, looking a second away from yanking Midoriya back and forth like a rag doll. “Stop it right now!”

Midoriya does that thing where he tilts his head a fraction to the side, as if he is a researcher in a lab and Hitoshi is a mutating gene inside a petri dish. “Stop what right now?”

Stop what..? The audacity of this—this—this—

Hitoshi does not have the vocabulary to describe Midoriya Izuku. Not when he doesn't have the vocabulary to describe the—the—the existential film-flam poppycock clusterfuck he’s in. “Stop this—this—” Hitoshi makes a gesture that looks halfway to a seizure. His face is so red with anger that it looks like a vein is about to burst. “You … you are trying to fuck with me,” Hitoshi seethes, face an inch away from Midoriya’s, “and I refuse … I REFUSE to engage.”

Uraraka and Tsuyu stare at the … the whatever is unfolding without warning before the two of them. It could be called an argument, except Hitoshi is the only party doing the arguing and the other party is doing whatever is the equivalent of watching a mildly interesting late night show stand up comedy. Hitoshi, they note, looks insane. Midoriya, who they understand is probably actually insane, looks very sane in comparison. 

Which, really, gives the girls all the information they need. Both girls look at each other in understanding. “Ah,” says Uraraka with the calmness of a Tibetan monk. She puts her phone back inside her pocket. “I see now.”

“Something is happening, isn’t it,” says Tsuyu. Hitoshi can’t help but notice that the girl is taking a careful step back. “One of those existential film-flam poppycock Midoriya thingies.”

“One of those dimensional fuckery thingamajig Midoriya malarkey,” says Uraraka. She too is following her friend’s lead in giving as much distance as possible between Hitoshi and her as if the former is suffering from a contagious disease. 

“Well, it has been nice meeting you, Shinsou-kun, but..”

“We really would love to join you in another fun activity of cross-dimensional quantum tourism, but..”

“We really must get going.”

“Like, ASAP. Like, right now.”

“Totes. Like, you know—“

“—for the sake of—“

“—our safety—“

“—and sanity.”

Hitoshi stops glaring at Midoriya to glare at the girls. So much for solidarity.

“You will be dearly missed, our honorary 1-A girl,” says Tsuyu gravely. 

“If you die can I sell your stereo, honorary 1-A girl?” says Uraraka less gravely.

“Just—” Hitoshi bites the urge to growl like a rabid animal. “Fuck. Just, just go.”

“And your Nintendo DS too, I believe, will fetch for a decent price—”

“Uraraka can you just fucking go.”

The girls escape. Hitoshi returns to his newfound activity of glaring and finger-jabbing at Midoriya. “Stop it,” he demands. “Stop this Groundhog Day bullshit now!”

That fucking blank look on his face. “I don’t have the Authority to do that.”

The hormonal teen boy, shouting from the pain of punching a wall, punches the aforementioned Wall once again in retaliation. After saying its final goodbye to the world, the Wall finally breathes its final breath.

Hitoshi throws his hands up in the air in the universal gesture of someone who has lost their shit. 

“Shut up!” Hitoshi says. Wails, really, with a bit of a growly undertone which gives him the impression of having contracted rabies. “Shut up! Shut up with all your cryptic mumbo fucking jumbo Authority fucking bullshit! I’m so sick, so sick of your fucking stupid fucking cryptic speech! Shut uuuuuup! Every single fucking thing you say—universe this infinity that quantum goddamn phythagoras my left fucking nuts!”

A few passersby turn their heads in that polite way one does when one catches a stranger having a hysterical meltdown in public. Hitoshi pants, having not breathed even once throughout his entire spiel. He swallows—which is unpleasant, his throat feels like sand—and pants some more. Hitoshi is well aware that he is having a hysterical meltdown in public. Very much so. He just doesn’t really give a fuck anymore.

“Feel better?” Midoriya says, with that neutral, airy voice. 

Hitoshi looks at him. Midoriya is staring at him right back, entirely unperturbed from Hitoshi’s impressive show of his linguistic capability. 

Maybe it’s because Hitoshi has officially lost his shit, but somehow seeing Midoriya this calm—exactly like how he always is and has ever been—actually glues some of the plywood pieces back together. Flimsily, but hey, it’s still something. 

Hitoshi takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yes,” he feels much calmer, which is not a good sign. Hitoshi is well aware that a sane person should rightfully be freaking the fuck out in this situation. “Yes, fuck you. So..” he takes his hand off his face, looks at Midoriya in his dark, empty eyes. “So. Tell me what the hell this shit is. Tell me—” Hitoshi swallows. “Tell me why the fuck am I walking right now even though I don’t want to?”

“You can’t go against the passage of Time, can you now? After all, Time is Fate and Fate is Time,” says Midoriya like a normal fucking person.

“What the fuck does that even—” Hitoshi has gone from red to pale. “Shut up … Fate isn’t … destiny isn’t..” it’s all bullshit. All of it! “Fate doesn’t fucking—fate can’t fucking tell me what to do. Shut up shut up shut up. I have a choice. I have a choice!”

“Yes,” Midoriya agrees. “Just one.”

The light turns red.

Hitoshi is crossing the road. 

“Fuck you,” Hitoshi says. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.”

He doesn’t want to cross the road. But he is. Because he wants to. Because he has to. Because he is crossing the road. Every atom in his body knows that at this point of time, at this point in space, it is meant to be crossing this very road. He will always be crossing this road, at this very second and at this very road. 

Because he is crossing the road.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

“Oh—fuck,” Hitoshi says, barely dodging the delivery guy crossing from the other side of the road. The guy gives him the finger. “Fuck,” Hitoshi says again, to no one in particular. “Fuck. Fuck.”

They arrive on the other side. A couple children are skipping on the sidewalk. Hitoshi stares at them as they run past him, laughing and pushing each other to enter the ice cream shop. They don’t even know, Hitoshi thinks emptily. They don’t even know that they have no choice. Every single action they take, the flavor of ice cream they will pick. All of it is Fate. They don’t know. Hitoshi didn’t either.

And now he does.

“Careful, pothole,” Midoriya says, voice sounding from faraway and Hitoshi sidesteps it, numb, and then—

Something stops him in his tracks.

He doesn’t want to look down. He already knows what he is going to see. He doesn’t want to go through this again. He doesn’t want to—

She’s crying. Her eyes are red and watery, like a pair of rubies at the bottom of a pool. There is a small horn on one side of her forehead—a manifestation of her Quirk. All these details crash into Hitoshi’s brain like a trainwreck. Her arms, the scars—

“You can’t be bothering the Heroes like that, can you now, Eri?”

And what does Hitoshi do? What the fuck does he do?

“I’m sorry about my daughter, Hero,” Chisaki Kai says. Smooth, confident, untouchable. “She has trouble staying still, you see. She keeps hurting herself.”

He’s hurting her. 

What the fuck does Hitoshi do? 

the answer is obvious (he’s hurting her) really just the most obvious thing in the world (he’s hurting her) he knows it immediately the moment hitoshi set eyes on them (he’s hurting her) there is only one thing hitoshi will do, only one thing (he’s hurting her) he has to do he knows what he has to do it’s the most obvious thing in the fucking world and hitoshi will do it. hitoshi will do it. 

hitoshi is going to save her. 

hitoshi opens his mouth—

hitoshi opens his mouth—

hitoshi opens his mouth—

hitoshi opens his mouth—

hitoshi o̧pen̶s̵ ̵h͏i—“Y͟͝o̴͟͢u don’t have the Authority to do that,” Midoriya’s voice says behind him.

Hitoshi closes his mouth. He turns around, slow. “What?”

“You don’t have the Authority to do that,” Midoriya repeats. “You are going to save her, aren’t you?” 

Hitoshi stares at him.

“You can’t,” Midoriya says. Dark, empty eyes. “In the Canonical Universe, she is not yet meant to be saved.”

“Yep. Didn’t pass the provisional license ‘cuz he fought with that Shiketsu guy in the middle of the—huh? Shinsou-kun, where are you going?”

Hitoshi is barely aware of Uraraka calling at him in the background, because he is too busy freaking the fuck out. “What does that mean?” Hitoshi says, dragging Midoriya away. Midoriya’s arm feels small in the grip of his hand. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” But even as he’s asking that, the pieces are already clicking in his head. “What do you mean..”

“You can’t do what is not done,” Midoriya says plainly as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Hence, the hiccup.”

Hiccup. Hitoshi wants to laugh if he isn’t about to shit his pants any moment now. “This … loop shit is happening because.. because I want to save her?”

“It’s happening because you save her.”

“But I haven’t saved her yet!”

“Exactly,” Midoriya says rather patiently. “It’s happening because you save her even though you don’t save her.”

Hitoshi has been pulling at his hair throughout this conversation so hard that it’s somehow look crazier than it normally does. “Let me get this straight. This loop happens because I want to save her and so I’m saving her but she isn’t supposed to be saved which is why I’m not saving her—okay fuck,” Htioshi says because in fact, it is impossible to get anything fucking straight on this godforsaken earth! “Fuck! Just—just … so she’s supposed to just suffer because the fucking Universe says so? That’s … that’s..”

That’s bullshit. That’s fucked up. That’s immoral, that’s unfair, that’s—

“The Universe isn’t kind,” Midoriya says. “Or understanding.”

“The Universe can go fuck itself then!” Hitoshi seethes. “Just tell me how to save her!”

“The Authority has to be paid for her to be—”

“Shut up! Shut up..” Hitoshi doesn’t even realize that he’s biting his nail—habit he thought he had discarded a long time ago—as his mind races. Midoriya is staring at him. Blank. Not a trace of fucking anything at all on his fucking face. Suddenly, without warning, Hitoshi’s temper flares. “That girl. She’s hurt. Bad. And you’re just..” he scoffs, an incredulous, fucked up sound. “You’re just gonna do nothing?”

“Without any Authority,” Midoriya Izuku replies, “yes. I will do nothing.” He tilts his head. More doll-like than ever, like he’s hollowed out inside. “I’m not being paid, you know.”

It’s so ridiculous. So unreal that the heat of Hitoshi’s anger goes cold instantly. “Are you being fucking serious right now,” Hitoshi says. His voice is ice. “A child is being abused and you’re thinking about getting paid?”

“Of course,” Midoriya replies, calm and immediate despite Hitoshi’s tone. Despite everything. “For every force, there is an equal reciprocal reaction. When there isn’t any, the deed will never have existed in the first place.”

Hitoshi stares and stares. And then he realizes, abruptly, that he’s doing this wrong.

Hitoshi is going about this the wrong way. There is no use in yelling and shouting and accusing Midoriya of anything. Nothing is going to come out from that—not with Midoriya, not like this. No matter how resentful he feels towards Midoriya at this moment, he can’t do that. Because if he wants to have any chance at all in rescuing that little girl, if he wants to have a chance at fucking all in breaking free out of whatever the fuck this is, Hitoshi knows—he needs Midoriya.

If Hitoshi wants to save that little girl, he has to do this Midoriya’s way. And to do that he has to understand him. Hitoshi has to understand everything.

Hitoshi takes a deep breath in. And then out. 

“..You’re going to explain everything to me,” Hitoshi says. “Fucking everything.”  

They’re walking again. The light is going to turn red in three, two—

“Sure thing,” Midoriya replies nicely.

They cross the road. 

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” 

Hitoshi barely pays attention to the delivery guy. He has to understand everything, and to do that, he has to do it from the very fucking beginning. He says, tongue dry, “What do you mean I’m not supposed to be in 1-A?” 

There is no use in beating around the bush when Hitoshi is being beaten around by the space-time continuum itself, is it? 

“It’s quite simple, actually,” Midoriya says. “You know how toilet papers are made of trees?” 

Hitoshi—having suffered the unfortunate experience of knowing Midoriya—did not expect to receive an answer that makes sense. But this response is so bizarre that he can’t help but say, “What?”

“The trees utilized in this phenomenon are often coniferous trees, such as pines. The wood from the pine is turned into pulp. The mats of pulp produced therein are processed and drained to become paper. And some of these papers will then be manufactured into toilet paper,” Midoriya says. “This is basic. Toilet paper is a Universal Constant, wouldn’t you agree? But let’s say, due to some cosmic anomaly, a misfortune has befallen one Universe, and instead of pine trees, this Universe uses jalapeno peppers to make toilet paper. What do you think will happen when people use jalapeno peppers to wipe their—”

Hitoshi screams.

Just straight up screams. First to the sky. And then he puts his fist inside his mouth and screams into said fist.

Nope. Hitoshi can’t fucking do this. He can’t believe he even considered to try and understand Midoriya fucking Izuku! “I’m going to fucking kill you,” Hitoshi says after he’s stopped screaming. “Im going to—“

..Wait.

A neuron flickers in Hitoshi’s brain. “Are you saying..” Hitoshi says, slowly and much more calmly than how he sounded in his death threat and his scream. “Are you saying I’m a cosmic anomaly..? Are you saying I’m jalapeno peppers..?”

“Mm, not quite. In a manner of speaking, you are a jalapeno pepper.”

Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.

The kids skipping on the sidewalk go inside the ice cream shop. Hitoshi counts to ten before he speaks again. “So this … this glitch … is because of me?”

“Of course not. Nothing ever happens because of any of us, Hitoshi,” says Midoriya. “Everything just happens.”

Another one of Midoriya’s infuriating ominous phrases. It shouldn’t make sense, and it doesn’t. But for a moment, Shinsou tastes the agonizing, atom-deep helplessness of fatalism. “How do I stop this?”

“Simple,” Midoriya says. “You just have to not do what is not done.”

A bump to his legs, and Hitoshi looks down at the little girl.

She’s scared. She’s trembling, her hand small, fingers twisting to the fabric of Hitoshi’s shirt.

Not do what is not done? What the fuck does that even mean?

“You can’t be bothering the Heroes like that, can you now, Eri? I’m sorry about my daughter, Hero. She..”

He’s hurting her. He’s hurting her! It’s vicious, that part in Hitoshi’s head—the part screaming at him to do something. He’s hurting her, that bastard is hurting her and Hitoshi has to do something, he has to—

And then it clicks.

Hitoshi understands, suddenly, what he means. What Midoriya means by that. Hitoshi turns, looking Midoriya in his dark, empty eyes. At this moment, there is no alley, no little girl, no Chisaki Kai. Only Hitoshi and this horrible, dreadful realization of what Fate truly is.

“You mean,” Hitoshi says. “To stop this ... I have to not save her?”

“Simple, isn’t it?” Midoriya says.

“Yep. Didn’t pass the provisional license ‘cuz—Shinsou-kun? Where are you going?”

“I’m in a fucked up time loop right now,” Hitoshi tells Uraraka as he drags Midoriya away.

“Oh, okay,” Uraraka says understandingly, and gives him two thumbs up.

“No, not simple,” Hitoshi says, once Midoriya has been successfully dragged away. “Fuck you, I can’t fucking do that. I can’t leave her with—with that Villain, shit, he’s a Villain, for fuck’s sake! Didn’t you see what he’s done to her? Didn’t you—”

Hitoshi stops abruptly. This is no use. There is no use in asking Midoriya questions like this, because of course Midoriya sees. Midoriya probably fucking sees everything under the fucking sun. 

And most of all Hitoshi knows—Midoriya meant what he said. Truly. Midoriya doesn’t have any intention in saving that girl. Hitoshi can see that in those eyes—or rather, Hitoshi can’t fucking see anything in those eyes. In Midoriya’s blank fucking face. No sympathy. Not even a flicker of sadness or guilt or happiness or any emotion at all. No cruelty either—it’d be so much simpler if Midoriya is just cruel, but there is nothing there. Just absolutely nothing. 

You don’t care what happens to me, Hitoshi said that day, the first time they met. Midoriya doesn’t care about him. 

So why would he care about this little girl?

Midoriya, after all, isn’t a Hero.

Hitoshi swallows his hysteria down. He lets go of Midoriya’s arm. Thinking. Thinking so hard he wants to shit bricks.

Okay.

Deep breaths. Okay. Midoriya isn’t going to save that girl. So Hitoshi has to be the one to do it. And if Hitoshi wants to save that girl, he has to. Fucking. Think. 

You aren’t supposed to be in this arc, he said. She is not yet meant to be rescued. 

That’s right. From the beginning. Hitoshi has to understand all the way from the fucking beginning. 

“What do you mean,” Hitoshi says, voice cracking, “by Canonical Universe?”

The light turns red. Midoriya smiles. Bland. 

“Canonical Universe,” he answers, “is the Universe that Exists the most.”

They cross the road.

“Exists the most,” Hitoshi echoes. Hitoshi doesn’t dodge the delivery guy. The guy gives him a middle finger. 

Exists the most. The most. As if, as if existence can be—

“Existence isn’t something that can be measured,” Hitoshi says. His voice sounds far away to himself. “That doesn’t make sense. Something … can’t exist more than something else..”

They arrive on the other side. The bell above the ice cream shop’s door jingles as the kids run inside, giggling. “Hitoshi,” Midoriya says, looking at him. From this side, the pink flesh of his scar is glinting under the sun. “How much do you think you exist?”

Hitoshi looks at him.

What the fuck can Hitoshi say to that?

What the fuck can anybody say to that?

Midoriya’s eyes roam over Hitoshi’s face, taking stock of his expression. And then something that is close to gentleness settles in Midoriya’s face. Close, but not quite. “All right,” he says, almost indulgently, as if talking to a four year old who is terrified of being scolded. “How much do you think I exist, then?”

“..Makes no sense. You can’t … there is no metric in existence,” Hitoshi mumbles. Helplessly.  “No sense. It doesn’t work that way. Either you exist, or you don’t..”

Head tilt. “Are you sure?” Midoriya says. “I exist to you—because you know me. What you know of me is how much I exist to you. I exist to Uraraka-san, to Tsuyu-san, to your class—because they have talked to me, and that’s how much I exist to them. I exist to this person,” he nods at a person with a stroller passing them on the sidewalk. “Because at this fleeting moment, they perceive me—and therefore I will only exist to them as a passerby in their peripheral and nothing else. I exist to Kacchan, because he’s known me all his life. Those memories and feelings he has of me are both the amount and definition of my very existence to him.”

Hitoshi’s heart jackrabbits in his ears. He wants to throw up.

“And for the rest,” Midoriya continues. “For everyone else who has never and will never know me—everyone in this Universe, and in the rest of Universes, and in beyond all of the Universes—why would I exist to them at all? I wouldn’t, would I.”

He says it all so neatly. So simply. Like one plus one is fucking twelve. 

“I only exist in the dozens, hundreds, thousands of miniscule, infinitesimal instances where my existence comes to be known in this Universe. That’s how much space I take in the world. A transient space, of course—there will be a time where no one in this Universe will Know me at all. A time when my name finally stops to linger, when my name finally Ceases..” Midoriya says. Smiles. “And I, too, will Cease with it.”

It shouldn’t make sense. Midoriya never makes sense. And to anyone else, this will not make sense, not in the fucking least, but to Hitoshi—

That day. First day they met. Names are very powerful things, you know. The day Hitoshi became Unknown. The sensation of running out of space cosmically. The sensation of being displaced in the very celestial meaning of the idea.

This shouldn’t make sense. 

But it fucking does.

“And that, Hitoshi, is how much I exist,” Midoriya says. “Just that much.”

Just that much. Hitoshi understands. Unfortunately, he understands, for the first time—he truly does. Just that much.

And how much is that really, compared to the plethora of infinite Universes that exist in this world? How much is the existence of a single life, in a single universe, when you compare it to Absolute Everything?

“But,” Hitoshi says, when he finds his voice. “But no one knows me.”

“No one really knows me,” Hitoshi says again. “Nobody ever really knows anyone!”

“People just—people just have their own perspectives of other people,” Hitoshi says again. “That’s not the same as knowing someone. People’s perception of me is not me.”

“Their perception is just—just a facet of me. It’s not me,” Hitoshi says again. “And you’re saying these … these distorted fucking views of me that I have no control of … are the only version of me that exists in the Universe? The only version that counts?”

“While the true me … the me that I know. The me that only I know..” Hitoshi says again. “The me that no one else Knows, the real me … doesn’t? ”

No expression on that face. Absolutely nothing at all.

“You don’t exist when you aren’t perceived. You exist when you are Known,” Midoriya’s voice says. Gentle, neutral, bland. “And only when you are Known. If no one Knows that you exist..” his voice is soothing, even. As if telling a bedtime story. “Then how will you possibly know that you do?”

Oh, Hitoshi thinks. Oh.

The glue that has been holding up Hitoshi’s sad plywood defense against total insanity crumbles into dust.

Something stops him in his tracks.

Hitoshi looks down. She looks back up at him—a single life that exists to him at this very moment, and only at this very moment. Her hair is long and silver, shining under the afternoon sun. Her tears glimmer. She looks like she is in pain. Hitoshi Knows that she is in pain.

“You can’t be bothering the Heroes like that, can you now, Eri?”

Going off to the deep and isn’t really all that dramatic, Hitoshi finds. On the contrary, it’s a rather calming experience. Suddenly understanding that nothing matters doesn’t really change things much. 

Mostly because things, as he has found out, do not matter.

“I’m sorry about my daughter, Hero,” Chisaki Kai says. Smooth, confident, untouchable. “She has trouble staying still, you see. She keeps hurting herself.”

Hitoshi doesn’t say anything. He does nothing at all, really. Hitoshi understands now why Midoriya wouldn’t do anything. Why would he?

Why would he, when nothing matters at all?

“Come, Eri,” Chisaki Kai says. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Her hand twists further into Hitoshi’s shirt.

Hitoshi does nothing. 

“Children are difficult, aren’t they?” Chisaki laughs—a cold, heartless sound. “They can go unruly sometimes without proper discipline.”

Hitoshi just has to do nothing. He just has to let things happen. Let the Universe run its course. He just has to do nothing. Rather, he doesn’t have to do anything.

After all, nothing really matters. 

“Don’t go,” the little girl says. “Please.”

This doesn’t matter. This doesn’t matter in the least. A speck of dust in the magnanimity of Everything. A pixel dot in the great wide web of the matrix. A single grain of sand in the grand beach of Being. Hitoshi’s existence is barely a blip in the span of infinity. Insignificance is too kind a word to describe it all.

Doesn’t matter. 

This doesn’t matter. 

Hitoshi’s hand wraps around the girl’s shoulder protectively. He looks at Chisaki Kai in the eye.

Hitoshi says, “Fuck̛ y̧—͠“͘

“Yep. Didn’t pass the provisional license ‘cuz he fought with that Shiketsu guy in the middle of the exam in some kinda pissing contest. Like, they ruined the entire arena. Oh look, he replied. Who taught Todoroki-kun to use emojis?”

“Probably Mina.”

“Anyway. We gotta go,” Uraraka tells them, doing finger guns.

“Don’t stop existing,” says Tsuyu to them, which is very normal. And then the girls went off. Hitoshi watches them go without words.

And then they cross the road.

“You still chose to save her,” Midoriya says. It’s said almost curiously. Less of a question and more of an idle observation. Nearly an allegation, even.

Hitoshi ignores said allegation. “So this Universe,” Hitoshi says quietly. “This Canonical Universe. It exists more than ours do.”

Delivery guy—he dodges. “That’s right.” 

“Explain Canonical. ”

“The Authoritative Universe,” Midoriya says. “It’s the Truest one, because it’s the one that Exists First—the one Most Known.”

“Most Known,” Hitoshi echoes.

“Most Known,” Midoriya says. They arrive across the road. Children running into the shop. “It is after all the Original Universe. Careful, plothole.”

Hitoshi frowns. “What did you say?”

“Pothole,” Midoriya repeats.

Hitoshi sidesteps. “Right. If that Universe is the original,” Hitoshi says. “Does that mean we are a copy?”

“Not quite. It would be more accurate to say that we are a deviation of the original Universe,” Midoriya says. “Our universe is canon divergent, if you will.”

“So there’s another—” Hitoshi cuts himself to laugh, a manic note. This is the craziest fucking shit. But he feels calm. Very calm, in fact—Hitoshi feels as calm as Midoriya seems to be. It is the calmness, Hitoshi realizes calmly, of a madman. “So there is another version of me out there. An original version of me who is not in class 1-A.”

“Mm.”

“And I’m not supposed to be in class 1-A because this … original me ... isn’t.”

“Mm.”

“But I chose to go to 1-A,” Hitoshi says. “I did that. I worked hard to get to 1-A. It’s my right to be in 1-A. I’m in 1-A because of my own..” Hitoshi doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to.

“There is a hefty price to free will, you see,” Midoriya says calmly.

Something stops him in his tracks. Hitoshi looks down at the little girl, as he continues to talk to Midoriya. “So this glitch happens because I can’t go against what happens in the Canonical Universe. Is that it?”

“This glitch happens because this universe wants to Exist,” Midoriya says. “It wants to kill the Curse.”

A figure emerges from the dark of the alleyway. “I’m sorry about my daughter, Hero,” Chisaki Kai says. Smooth, confident, untouchable. “She has trouble staying still, you see. She—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hitoshi says. He turns back to Midoriya. “You were saying?”

Silence fills the alleyway. And then it’s pierced through by Chisaki Kai’s voice, low and dangerous and, perhaps, aghast. “Pardon?”

Hitoshi looks back at him, annoyed. “Shut the fuck up, can’t you see we’re talking?” he looks back to Midoriya. “You were saying?”

“..That’s quite rude, Hero,” Chisaki says. “Not the proper protocol to greet civilians, now, is it?”

“Oh fuck you, you sick fuck,” Hitoshi says. “Fucking child abuser piece of shit. You think you’re so tough, huh, think you’re some fucking Villain godfather or some shit? What, you think your stupid fucking mask makes you look so fucking scary? Flash news asshole, that shit makes you look like a stupid fucking goth fucking mobster fucking duck, you cringe fucking dick. So why don’t you use that disgusting fucking BDSM fetish gear knockoff to shut your fucking mouth instead of making shitty speeches like some second-rate shounen anime antagonist, you big fucking duck? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of fucking something here you braindead fucking dickhead stupid fucking Yakuza motherfucking piece of—”

“Yep. Didn’t pass the provisional license ‘cuz he fought with that Shiketsu—”

“—shit or I’m going to fucking take that shit off you dumb fucking mouth and shove it up your—oh hi guys.”

Uraraka and Tsuyu stare at him.

“Sorry, I was talking to this Villain but he isn’t going to exist for like, another five minutes or so. Anyway, I gotta go to my time loop now so I’ll catch you guys later.”

They stare at him. Hitoshi fingerguns at them. They still stare at him. Hitoshi drags Midoriya away without further ado.

The light turns red.

“So,” Hitoshi says, naturally continuing the conversation. “The Curse. Of course. The fucking Curse. Haha.”

Hitoshi feels calm. One-hundred percent fucking peachy. He never feels better than he does now, actually. It’s like everything has completely fucked off from his head, just pure undiluted one-hundred percent gluten free zen. Just—

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” 

Hitoshi whips his head. “Fuck you asshole how fucking hard is it to steer the goddamn bike a little to the left huh what the fuck do you mean watch where I’m going why don’t you watch where you’re fucking going or I’ll make sure you’ll never be fucking going anywhere ever again fuckass mark my fucking words.”

Hitoshi turns back to look at Midoriya. 

“Anyway,” he says calmly. Pure zen. “This universe wants to kill the Curse. Explain that, please. What the hell does the Curse got to do with this whole Canonical reality breaking shit?”

 “1-A is cursed,” Midoriya says simply. “So the universe wants 1-A gone.”

Hitoshi laughs. “Okay,” he says. The laugh shuts down. “Because. 1-A is. Canon-divergent? Because 1-A … we … aren’t supposed to happen?” 

“Careful, plothole,” Midoriya says, but Hitoshi barely hears him as he rambles on. “This universe just wants to eliminate everything that doesn’t align with fucking Canon?”

“It’s inevitable,” Midoriya continues. “Such is the course of a canon divergent universe. It doesn’t Exist enough.”

They are nearing the alleyway. Hitoshi has memorized it perfectly. In fifteen steps, the little girl will bump to his legs. “What would happen if I save the kid?”

“We’ll derive more and more from Canon,” Midoriya says. “Something that Hasn’t Happened will Happen. Chaos will not sustain. The Edge of our Fabric will fray and fray and fray.”

Ten more steps. Hitoshi laughs. Just like every looney worth their salt, he doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s laughing at. “This Canon Universe,” Hitoshi says, between giggles. “What … heh. What makes it so good? Why does it want us to be just like it?” 

“You got it all wrong, Hitoshi,” Midoriya says patiently. “The Canon Universe couldn’t care less about us. It’s this universe who wants to be it.”

Hitoshi considers this. “Why?”

“Canon Exists the most after all.” Eight steps. “Known more. Wanted more. Intended more,” Midoriya says, with that dreamy voice of his. Five steps. “Canon will be Known for a long, long time. A span of time that our false universe can’t even begin to conceive.” 

One step.

Hitoshi looks down. “Eri,” he says. “That’s your name, right?”

The moment he says her name, the little girl freezes. Her hand stops just shy before it twists into his shirt. “It’s okay,” Hitoshi says calmly. So calm. “It’s all right. I’m gonna save you. Okay?” something almost like confusion creeps into her terrified face. Hitoshi barely even notices. “I’m gonna save you,” he says, half to himself. “I promise. Haha.”

“You can’t be bothering the Heroes like that, can you now, Eri?”

Hitoshi straightens up. Calmly, he looks to the alley way wherefore Chisaki Kai walks out of the shadow. “I’m sorry about my—”

“Is she your daughter, sir?” Hitoshi says politely.

“Yes. She..” Chisaki Kai trails to a stop. 

(hitoshi will do it. hitoshi is doing it.)

It’s easy, Hitoshi thinks, feeling his Quirk fixed in place. So easy, this. The easiest thing in the world. 

(hitoshi is going to save her.)

Hitoshi opens his mouth, and he says—

Hitoshi opens his mouth, and he says—

Hitoshi opens his mouth, and he says—

Hitoshi opens his mouth, and he says—

Hitoshi opens his mouth, and he says—

Hitoshi opens his mouth, a̴n̴d̴ ̴h̸e̷ ̴s̴a̵y̵s̸—̶L̴o̶r̸e̴m̶ ̴ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor i̸n̵c̴i̷d̸i̴d̵u̵n̶t̶ ̶u̷t̸ ̸l̷a̴b̴o̷r̷e̴ ̸e̸t̸ ̸d̶o̶l̵o̶r̴e̵ ̵m̴a̷g̵n̶a̶ ̵a̶l̶i̸q̸u̵a̴.̴ ̸U̴t̴ ̵e̶n̷i̴m̷ ̷a̴d̵ ̵m̷i̷n̵i̴m̴ ̶v̸e̴n̷i̷a̷m̵,̷ ̴q̶u̸i̵s̴ ̶n̸o̴s̴t̵r̵u̸d̴ ̵e̴x̴e̶r̷c̵i̷t̵a̸t̵i̴o̶n̵ ̵u̵l̶l̵a̴m̶c̸o̷ ̴l̶a̸b̵o̵r̴i̷s̵ ̷n̴i̸s̷i̵ ̶u̵t̴ ̷a̵l̸i̴q̵u̸i̷p̵ ̴e̸x̷ ̶e̴a̸ ̵c̸o̵m̴m̷o̵d̵o̸ ̵c̵o̶n̶s̵e̸q̵u̶a̷t̸.̶ ̵D̷u̵i̴s̴ ̷a̷u̸t̵e̵ ̷i̸r̸u̶r̷e̶ ̵̛͉͙̯͚͗̈͗̏̽̈́a̸̛͉͍̭̯̼̻͐́̈̍̓̈́̀̈́̍̕͝͝n̴̪̿̔́̈́̀̓͜i̸̧̧̢̟͔̬͖͎͂̃͑̾͆̊m̴̪͠ ̵̢̻̹̭̭̖͆̃͊̐͐́̔̈̈̎̅̍̑͘͝ȋ̷̧̛̛̭̣̫̐͘d̶̬̻̼͕̳̯̮̗͖̺̮̺̓͐̾̂̊ ̷̠͉̘̠̌͋̎͑̿̉̆̾̃̈́̍̐̐͘͠e̵̢̮̦͉̠͖̮̮͓̊́̀̽͂s̶͕̮̏̍̉́̋̐t̷̩̩̰̯̞̭̠͎̰͍̣̉e

l̸̨̡̧͉͖̫͉̙̮̦̜̗͉̎̈́̆́̒̔͘̕͜͝ơ̷̢̫̄̀̓̋̃͒̂̾̾̉͜͝͝͠ř̶̡̛͙̺̠̬̞̮̪͈͎̤̞͙͒͋͑͋̿̀̎̕͝ͅȇ̶̜͓̻͉̺̭̠̰̌̉̎͗̓ͅͅm̵̧̧̪͍͙͈̝͍͚̲̟̗̾̋̉̒̚͝ ̸͍͇̱͓͔̮̊̆̀̒͊͗̓̾̔̈́͝î̵͍͈͇̠̰͇͚͐̓̋̋͘ͅp̵̣̟̮͍̻̀̃̿̓̈͊͋̊̾̿̾̉̚s̷̨̘̝̯̉̀̅͐̋͠u̸̢̨̝͎̗͒͋̅͛͌͂͌̓̇͋̊͂̑m̴̢̢̡̛̜̦̲̼̖̟̙̮̔͑́̎̽̽̐͐́͒͘͜͠ͅ ̵̗̙͇̗̰͇͔̩͔̹͌̂̽̈́̋̍͋͋͑͝d̷͓̰̮̤̰͂́̓̒̆͐̋̚̚o̴̢̡̩̜͓̝̖̲̺̣̙̠̾̔̉̂̄͗̌͌l̸̡̢̫̩̹̈́̓̾o̷̢͛͆͒̄̎̾͂͝͝ͅr̶͕̭̻̉̏̊̋̄͗̔̄̐̕ ̵̡̖͉̹̦͕͚̰̟̱̋̂̄̓̅̕ş̸̲͎͙̣̮̘̠̙͆́͊̎̐̔͗͂͂͒͝i̸̡͕͍̩͓̪͂̊̌̔̆̉̊̈̀̔͌̐̕͠ṱ̴̜̟̃̄̿͑͆̀͑̅͛͘͘͘ ̸̞͓̤̥̺̖̖̱̺̣͉̝̇̀́̈́͆͌͊̋̽̀̚a̶͍̞͠m̷͕͖̳̟̳̪̂͐̍̒̊̓̽̚ͅe̷̱̞̞̳̣̜͎̪̫̒͂́́͂̾͊͊͝ͅt̶̼̲̆̆̿͐̋̀̏͆

l̸̨̡̧͉͖̫͉̙̮̦̜̗͉̎̈́̆́̒̔͘̕͜͝ơ̷̢̫̄̀̓̋̃͒̂̾̾̉͜͝͝͠ř̶̡̛͙̺̠̬̞̮̪͈͎̤̞͙͒͋͑͋̿̀̎̕͝ͅȇ̶̜͓̻͉̺̭̠̰̌̉̎͗̓ͅͅm̵̧̧̪͍͙͈̝͍͚̲̟̗̾̋̉̒̚͝ ̸͍͇̱͓͔̮̊̆̀̒͊͗̓̾̔̈́͝î̵͍͈͇̠̰͇͚͐̓̋̋͘ͅp̵̣̟̮͍̻̀̃̿̓̈͊͋̊̾̿̾̉̚s̷̨̘̝̯̉̀̅͐̋͠u̸̢̨̝͎̗͒͋̅͛͌͂͌̓̇͋̊͂̑m̴̢̢̡̛̜̦̲̼̖̟̙̮̔͑́̎̽̽̐͐́͒͘͜͠ͅ ̵̗̙͇̗̰͇͔̩͔̹͌̂̽̈́̋̍͋͋͑͝d̷͓̰̮̤̰͂́̓̒̆͐̋̚̚o̴̢̡̩̜͓̝̖̲̺̣̙̠̾̔̉̂̄͗̌͌l̸̡̢̫̩̹̈́̓̾o̷̢͛͆͒̄̎̾͂͝͝ͅr̶͕̭̻̉̏̊̋̄͗̔̄̐̕ ̵̡̖͉̹̦͕͚̰̟̱̋̂̄̓̅̕ş̸̲͎͙̣̮̘̠̙͆́͊̎̐̔͗͂͂͒͝i̸̡͕͍̩͓̪͂̊̌̔̆̉̊̈̀̔͌̐̕͠ṱ̴̜̟̃̄̿͑͆̀͑̅͛͘͘͘ ̸̞͓̤̥̺̖̖̱̺̣͉̝̇̀́̈́͆͌͊̋̽̀̚a̶͍̞͠m̷͕͖̳̟̳̪̂͐̍̒̊̓̽̚ͅe̷̱̞̞̳̣̜͎̪̫̒͂́́͂̾͊͊͝ͅt̶̼̲̆̆̿͐̋̀̏͆

l̸̨̡̧͉͖̫͉̙̮̦̜̗͉̎̈́̆́̒̔͘̕͜͝ơ̷̢̫̄̀̓̋̃͒̂̾̾̉͜͝͝͠ř̶̡̛͙̺̠̬̞̮̪͈͎̤̞͙͒͋͑͋̿̀̎̕͝ͅȇ̶̜͓̻͉̺̭̠̰̌̉̎͗̓ͅͅm̵̧̧̪͍͙͈̝͍͚̲̟̗̾̋̉̒̚͝ ̸͍͇̱͓͔̮̊̆̀̒͊͗̓̾̔̈́͝î̵͍͈͇̠̰͇͚͐̓̋̋͘ͅp̵̣̟̮͍̻̀̃̿̓̈͊͋̊̾̿̾̉̚s̷̨̘̝̯̉̀̅͐̋͠u̸̢̨̝͎̗͒͋̅͛͌͂͌̓̇͋̊͂̑m̴̢̢̡̛̜̦̲̼̖̟̙̮̔͑́̎̽̽̐͐́͒͘͜͠ͅ ̵̗̙͇̗̰͇͔̩͔̹͌̂̽̈́̋̍͋͋͑͝d̷͓̰̮̤̰͂́̓̒̆͐̋̚̚o̴̢̡̩̜͓̝̖̲̺̣̙̠̾̔̉̂̄͗̌͌l̸̡̢̫̩̹̈́̓̾o̷̢͛͆͒̄̎̾͂͝͝ͅr̶͕̭̻̉̏̊̋̄͗̔̄̐̕ ̵̡̖͉̹̦͕͚̰̟̱̋̂̄̓̅̕ş̸̲͎͙̣̮̘̠̙͆́͊̎̐̔͗͂͂͒͝i̸̡͕͍̩͓̪͂̊̌̔̆̉̊̈̀̔͌̐̕͠ṱ̴̜̟̃̄̿͑͆̀͑̅͛͘͘͘ ̸̞͓̤̥̺̖̖̱̺̣͉̝̇̀́̈́͆͌͊̋̽̀̚a̶͍̞͠m̷͕͖̳̟̳̪̂͐̍̒̊̓̽̚ͅe̷̱̞̞̳̣̜͎̪̫̒͂́́͂̾͊͊͝ͅt̶̼̲̆̆̿͐̋̀̏͆

l̸̨̡̧͉͖̫͉̙̮̦̜̗͉̎̈́̆́̒̔͘̕͜͝ơ̷̢̫̄̀̓̋̃͒̂̾̾̉͜͝͝͠ř̶̡̛͙̺̠̬̞̮̪͈͎̤̞͙͒͋͑͋̿̀̎̕͝ͅȇ̶̜͓̻͉̺̭̠̰̌̉̎͗̓ͅͅm̵̧̧̪͍͙͈̝͍͚̲̟̗̾̋̉̒̚͝ ̸͍͇̱͓͔̮̊̆̀̒͊͗̓̾̔̈́͝î̵͍͈͇̠̰͇͚͐̓̋̋͘ͅp̵̣̟̮͍̻̀̃̿̓̈͊͋̊̾̿̾̉̚s̷̨̘̝̯̉̀̅͐̋͠u̸̢̨̝͎̗͒͋̅͛͌͂͌̓̇͋̊͂̑m̴̢̢̡̛̜̦̲̼̖̟̙̮̔͑́̎̽̽̐͐́͒͘͜͠ͅ ̵̗̙͇̗̰͇͔̩͔̹͌̂̽̈́̋̍͋͋͑͝d̷͓̰̮̤̰͂́̓̒̆͐̋̚̚o̴̢̡̩̜͓̝̖̲̺̣̙̠̾̔̉̂̄͗̌͌l̸̡̢̫̩̹̈́̓̾o̷̢͛͆͒̄̎̾͂͝͝ͅr̶͕̭̻̉̏̊̋̄͗̔̄̐̕ ̵̡̖͉̹̦͕͚̰̟̱̋̂̄̓̅̕ş̸̲͎͙̣̮̘̠̙͆́͊̎̐̔͗͂͂͒͝i̸̡͕͍̩͓̪͂̊̌̔̆̉̊̈̀̔͌̐̕͠ṱ̴̜̟̃̄̿͑͆̀͑̅͛͘͘͘ ̸̞͓̤̥̺̖̖̱̺̣͉̝̇̀́̈́͆͌͊̋̽̀̚a̶͍̞͠m̷͕͖̳̟̳̪̂͐̍̒̊̓̽̚ͅe̷̱̞̞̳̣̜͎̪̫̒͂́́͂̾͊͊͝ͅt̶̼̲̆̆̿͐̋̀̏͆

l̸̨̡̧͉͖̫͉̙̮̦̜̗͉̎̈́̆́̒̔͘̕͜͝ơ̷̢̫̄̀̓̋̃͒̂̾̾̉͜͝͝͠ř̶̡̛͙̺̠̬̞̮̪͈͎̤̞͙͒͋͑͋̿̀̎̕͝ͅȇ̶̜͓̻͉̺̭̠̰̌̉̎͗̓ͅͅm̵̧̧̪͍͙͈̝͍͚̲̟̗̾̋̉̒̚͝ ̸͍͇̱͓͔̮̊̆̀̒͊͗̓̾̔̈́͝î̵͍͈͇̠̰͇͚͐̓̋̋͘ͅp̵̣̟̮͍̻̀̃̿̓̈͊͋̊̾̿̾̉̚s̷̨̘̝̯̉̀̅͐̋͠u̸̢̨̝͎̗͒͋̅͛͌͂͌̓̇͋̊͂̑m̴̢̢̡̛̜̦̲̼̖̟̙̮̔͑́̎̽̽̐͐́͒͘͜͠ͅ ̵̗̙͇̗̰͇͔̩͔̹͌̂̽̈́̋̍͋͋͑͝d̷͓̰̮̤̰͂́̓̒̆͐̋̚̚o̴̢̡̩̜͓̝̖̲̺̣̙̠̾̔̉̂̄͗̌͌l̸̡̢̫̩̹̈́̓̾o̷̢͛͆͒̄̎̾͂͝͝ͅr̶͕̭̻̉̏̊̋̄͗̔̄̐̕ ̵̡̖͉̹̦͕͚̰̟̱̋̂̄̓̅̕ş̸̲͎͙̣̮̘̠̙͆́͊̎̐̔͗͂͂͒͝i̸̡͕͍̩͓̪͂̊̌̔̆̉̊̈̀̔͌̐̕͠ṱ̴̜̟̃̄̿͑͆̀͑̅͛͘͘͘ ̸̞͓̤̥̺̖̖̱̺̣͉̝̇̀́̈́͆͌͊̋̽̀̚a̶͍̞͠m̷͕͖̳̟̳̪̂͐̍̒̊̓̽̚ͅe̷̱̞̞̳̣̜͎̪̫̒͂́́͂̾͊͊͝ͅt̶̼̲̆̆̿͐̋̀̏͆

lorem ipsum dolor sit 

l̷̜͗̌ő̴̹̫̲r̶̡̐͂͒é̸̢͙̪̺͇̬͖̖͈̭̉̂͊́m̶̨̢̜̝̩̰̄̏ ̶͍̹̜̲̔͂̈̅̅̐͜͝i̵̛̼̬̫̫̥̣̙̭͍͖̾p̶̳͖̳̟͉̮̯̼͐̃̄̍͗̕s̶͔̳̩̪̰̯̪̎̽͂̀̌̈́̈́̕ų̸̦̹̥̦̮̞̭̪̆̐̄̈́͜͜m̸̛̳̤̀̓̌͂͋̒̒̔ ̴̡͙͕̺̀͗̊̈́͑͒̈́͘̕͠d̵̫̖̬̹̠̹͋͐͂o̴͖̱͈̰̻̟͐̀͛̊͜ļ̷͔̱͋͊̒̽̾ò̸̧̱͈̓̆̿́̒̏͋͝ŗ̸̳̱͎̲͈͖̭̓͒́̃̕͜͜

lorem ipsum

l̵̻̳̅o̶̼͙͌͝r̴̤̦͠ë̴͖̞̈m̴̭͙̓̚ ̸͖͎̿

l̴o̷ë̴͖̞̈m̴̭͙̓̚ 

l̴o̷ë̴͖̞̈

l̴o̷

l̴o̷

l̴o̷

l̴o̷l̴o̷l̴o̷l̴o̷“I̸ ̴t̸o̵l̸d̵ ̴you,”

Midoriya’s voice says. “You don’t have the authority to do that.”

“Yep. Didn’t pass the provisional license ‘cuz he fought with that Shiketsu guy in the middle of the exam in some kinda pissing contest,” Uraraka says, typing furiously on her phone. The screen, Hitoshi notices for the fifth time, is cracked. “Like, they ruined the entire arena. Oh look, he replied. Who taught Todoroki-kun to use emojis?”

“Probably Mina.”

“Anyway. We gotta—huh. I didn’t know your face could do that, Shinsou-kun.”

“Hm?” Hitoshi says.

“You know,” Uraraka says, tilting her head as she inspects his face with a hint of concern. “Smiling.”

Hitoshi laughs.

“..and laughing,” Tsuyu says. Both girls look at each other. “Shinsou-kun, have they checked you for a concussion? You did black out for a bit.”

“I did, didn’t I,” Hitoshi says when he’s finished laughing. “Maybe I do have a concussion. Maybe all of this is just in my head,” he looks at Midoriya. “Is this all just in my head?”

“Everything is always just in your head,” answers Midoriya helpfully.

“You heard him,” Hitoshi says cheerfully. 

Both girls stare at him. And then they look at each other. “Um..” Uraraka says. “Shinsou-kun, I don’t know how to tell you this, but something about you is a little … you look a little..”

“You look pretty insane, Shinsou-kun,” says Tsuyu, once again proving her role of the most straightforward kid in all of UA and perhaps all the multiverses. “Which means. This is one of those, isn’t it.” 

“One of those dimensional fuckery thingamajig Midoriya malarkey.”

“One of those existential film-flam poppycock Midoriya thingies.”

“Would you like to come with?” says Hitoshi, whose hysteria has turned him into a hysterically polite person.

Both girls are inching away. “We really would love to join you, but—”

“—we really must get going, you see, so—”

“—good luck, and—”

“—don’t stop existing.”

The girls swiftly escape. Hitoshi watches them go. “I get it now,” Hitoshi says. 

Light turns red. “Oh?” Midoriya says, sounding vaguely interested by Hitoshi’s statement.

Cross the road. “This glitch is happening because I can save her,” Hitoshi says. “I can save her at this point of time. Unlike in the Canon Universe, where they can’t.”

Delivery guy. “Oh.”

Kids enter ice cream shop. “And because I can save her, I can’t save her,” Hitoshi says. “Because this universe won’t let me. It wants to stop being divergent. It wants to follow Canon.”

It’s not that hard, really, Hitoshi thinks pleasantly. It’s quite simple to understand once you are out of your mind.

“This universe won’t let me save her,” Hitoshi says. “Because it wants to Exist as much as Canon does.”

And then, something thoughtful entering his tone of voice, “You really are quite something, Hitoshi. I knew I was right to make you my assistant.”

Fifteen steps. “Fuck you,” says Hitoshi cheerfully. And then, “I’ll pay for it.”

There is a beat before Midoriya’s voice rings behind him. “Pardon?”

“I’ll pay for it,” Hitoshi says. “I’ll pay for the Authority.”

Midoriya stops walking. “What?”

“I’ll fucking pay for it,” Hitoshi repeats. “I’ll fucking pay for the Authority to save her. I’ll—”

“..Hitoshi,” Midoriya says. “I don’t think you quite understand what exactly you are asking for.”

“Fuck yes I do,” Hitoshi says, turning. “I—”

He stops. It’s not just Midoriya who stopped walking, Hitoshi realizes. hitoshi has stopped too. 

everything else, too, has stopped. 

everything. the road. the breeze. the people. the street. 

the universe.

it’s a peculiar sensation. the noon wind is dead and

 there is a sudden deafening silence 

filling up the world. pure silence— real silence,

no noise unfiltered, silence so loud that it 

feels like a tsunami. for a second, it feels as if 

hitoshi has gone deaf—but then,

 hitoshi realizes, there is no second.

“holy shit,” hitoshi says, his voice feels slow and heavy, 

dragging through the emptiness of sound. 

“did you just fucking stop time?”

there is something odd about Midoriya’s expression, 

hitoshi thinks. 

“take it back,” Midoriya says.

it takes hitoshi a second to understand what 

he means. “what? hell no.” 

hitoshi walks around, 

waving his hand in front of the passerby with the stroller. 

“what the fuck. you fucking stopped time.

 i don’t know why i’m even surprised.”

“hitoshi.”

hitoshi knows then, suddenly, what he finds 

odd about the look on Midoriya’s face. 

hitoshi only notices that Midoriya always 

smiles the moment he stops doing so. 

“take it back.” 

he says. 

“you can’t pay for it.” 

it’s not quite empty, Midoriya’s face. 

his usual smile, hitoshi thinks, that bland, 

neutral smile would be much more emptier than 

whatever this cold expression is. 

“you won’t be the only one paying for it,” Midoriya says.

hitoshi shrugs. “so?”

“..you don’t understand,” Midoriya’s voice 

is sharp amidst the frozen street, 

amidst the universe compressed into 

a single filament of a second. 

“saving her will make the curse worse. 

saving her will unravel the fabric of this—”

“yeah, yeah, it’ll fuck this universe sideways upside down, 

end the world, make everyone unexist, et fucking cetera,” 

hitoshi says. “she has to suffer 

because—what, because that’s how it’s supposed to be? 

we have to follow this stupid original universe because 

that’s the proper way to fucking go about it? 

that’s the stupidest shit i’ve ever heard all my life!

i’m not following some canon 

universe so incompetent that 

they can’t save a child quicker  

than they fucking should. 

that’s their problem. their mistake. 

and you’re telling me we gotta follow them 

just so we can exist more?”

Midoriya doesn’t say anything. just stares at him with that frigid look.

it’s the liveliest, hitoshi thinks, that he’s ever seen him.

“fuck that. fuck that. so the world’s gonna, 

i don’t fucking know, 

unravel or whatever shit if i save that kid.

fucking jalapeno pepper, ha! 

yeah, fucker, i know what the fuck you’re talking about,

all of this is some kinda butterfly effect shit.

and so what? so what?

  if everyone’s asses are going to suffer because of this, 

then so fucking be it!”

Midoriya stares at him, standing still—

stiller than even the

spacetime the both of them are enveloped in.

“fuck this universe and fuck canon. 

i’m fucking saving her. 

i can’t pay for it? big fucking deal!” 

Hitoshi seethes. 

“i think the whole universe can just 

pitch in for the fee.”

Midoriya stares at him.

“Midoriya,” Hitoshi says. 

“i know what the fuck it is I’m asking for.”

Midoriya stares at him.

And then tilts his head. 

“You are willing to damn this universe to Hell,” he says,

that coldness persisting in his voice, 

“Just to save one little girl?”

“A universe that would let 

a little girl suffer just to Exist

 isn’t a Universe worth Existing anyway,”

Hitoshi says.

Midoriya stares at him. 

And then he laughs.

Not one of those quiet, polite laughter that Hitoshi has come to associate with Midoriya.

This one is loud. Loud and sharp and rough, hacking through the frozen time like an axe. A throw-his-head-back kind of laughter. A real laughter. It’s Hitoshi’s turn to stare.

There is that sudden disparity again in this moment. It’s an uncomfortable view—uncomfortable to realize that Midoriya, after and despite of everything,

could very possibly be an actual teenager.

Midoriya stops laughing, but the leftover is still there—a quirked end of his mouth, mirth all over his face like freckles. He looks like a completely different person. He looks like a person.

“You know, Hitoshi,” he says then. His voice is devoid of the coldness and distance that Hitoshi has come to be familiar with.

“I used to dream to be a Hero.”

His voice, too, is devoid of the coldness and distance that Hitoshi has come to be recognize. Something is there—some mischievousness, like an inside joke.

“An impossible dream, of course,” Midoriya says. 

“But, you know … if I had been a Hero,” he tilts his head. 

“I hope I had been one just like you.”

Hitoshi blinks. Midoriya laughs again, shaking his head.

“Alright, then,” he says, the edges of mirth fading away into a familiar vagueness. “Alright, Shinsou Hitoshi. I can’t keep us here for long, so this is your last chance to take it back.”

Tentatively recovering from witnessing Midoriya acting like an actual human person, Hitoshi says, “I’m not taking it back.”

“So you choose to help her?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it means you are undoing the curvature of space-time?” Midoriya says. “Even if it means you are unravelling the Strings of the Fabric, of this Universe’s Fabric?”

The girl’s eyes. The scars on her hands. The grip, soft and fragile, on the hem of Hitoshi’s Hero uniform. “Yes,” Hitoshi says. It’s the easiest decision in the world, really. “Even if it fucking means that.”

“You understand the universe does not do anything for free, Shinsou Hitoshi,” Midoriya says. “You understand that for every force, there is an equal, reciprocal reaction. You understand this will be paid, in the past, present, and future. This will be paid in everything that Happens and everything that Does Not. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Hitoshi says.

Midoriya smiles, and to Hitoshi’s slight relief, he’s smiling that bland, vague smile, and not the real one. “You do not,” Midoriya says. “But don’t worry. No one ever does.” 

He stretches, as if about to do something strenuous. 

“Alright. We’ll return soon enough.”

Hitoshi does feel a little different. Something about the universe isn’t so still anymore. 

“You’re gonna start time again?”

Midoriya laughs. Quiet and polite. 

“I can’t start or stop time. There is no beginning or end. There is no point.

It’s impossible to go against the passage of time,” Midoriya says. 

“What i can do is align the passage a little to the right.”

Hitoshi doesn't get it. “Huh.”

“Just a nifty little trick,” Midoriya shrugs. 

“Temporary, though. 

It’ll catch up to us eventually.”

“What will?”

“The passage, of course,” Midoriya says.

“It’ll catch up right about—

—now.”

“Huh,” Hitoshi says, as the world comes into motion and the colors come to view and sound comes to existence and time doesn’t pass through him so much as he is passing through time and—”eughgh. Fuck.” 

“The nausea will pass,” Midoriya says helpfully. “Always happens for the first time.” 

They are walking again. Right—fifteen steps.

“You’ve brought other people through—” ugh, it feels weird as hell. Like vertigo but less about height and more about spacetime. “Eugh. Through that?”

“Of course not,” Midoriya says, with surprise, as if Hitoshi just suggested him to kick a baby. “Other people wouldn’t survive that. You are the first time. And only, of course.”

Of fucking course. “Bastard, I could’ve died?”

“I didn’t think you would,” answers Midoriya, which is really not an answer at all. “Careful, plothole.”

“You said it again,” Hitoshi says, as he sidesteps the pothole. Ten steps.

“What?”

“Plothole.”

“Pothole?”

“Whatever,” Hitoshi says, swaying a little. “Ugh, how long does this last?”

“Not for long, I think. You are very Dense, after all.”

Hitoshi looks sharply at him. “You said it was safer around me. So why the hell is this happening to me?” seven steps.

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“It happens to you,” Midoriya says. “That’s why it’s safer around you.”

Five steps. Hitoshi stares at him, remembering the first day Midoriya came to their dorms. “I’m bait?”

“You don’t have an Affinity, you see. If this were to happen to anyone else, they wouldn’t have survived.”

Hitoshi laughs. “You knew this was going to happen,” Hitoshi says. “That’s why you stick with me. Not anyone else in 1-A.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Three.

“Fuck you.” One step—

Something stops him in his tracks. 

Hitoshi crouches down carefully. The little girl, who just bumped into his leg, looks up at him with a pair of big, watery eyes. Shit, she’s crying. “Sorry, did I hurt you?” Hitoshi isn’t good with kids.

And then a smooth, adult voice says, “you can’t be bothering the Heroes like that, can you now, Eri?”

Hitoshi lifts his head to look into Chisaki Kai’s eyes. 

Chisaki Kai inclines his head at him good-naturedly. “I’m sorry about my daughter, Hero,” he says. If it were not for the mask, Hitoshi would probably be able to see his smile. “She has trouble staying still, you see. She keeps hurting herself.”

“I see,” Hitoshi says calmly. “Can I ask for her name, sir?”

“Her name is—”

It’s easy, Hitoshi thinks, feeling his Quirk fixed in place. So easy, this. The easiest thing in the world, to do something that Does Not Happen.

(as long as it's, of course, paid.)

Hitoshi opens his mouth, and he says—

“Pass out while I call the Heroes on your ass,” Hitoshi says. 

“And then the fucker passed out. And then I called Nighteye’s agency. We gave Eri—the little kid—to the authorities and she’s staying with Aizawa-sensei now. The end,” and then he says, “Now get the fuck out of my room.”

His classmates stare back at him. Kaminari, he notices with annoyance, is eating his chips. 

“Wow,” Kaminari says, chips all over his mouth. “That’s badass. We should get pizza to celebrate. Pizza, anyone?”

“Dude, you single-handedly caught a fucking Villain, dude,” Kirishima says, sounding giddy of all things. “Not just a Villain. A fucking Yakuza Villain. That’s like, final boss level, dude.”

“Maybe mid boss,” Jirou says. “Still, very impressive. I respect you so much more now, Shinsou.”

“I said get the fuck out of my room,” Hitoshi says. “And seriously? That’s the part that got your attention? Literally just told you all that our universe is a fucked up knockoff version of another universe and we are all going to disappear from existence at any point of time.”

“I’m gonna order hawaiian,” Kaminari says, holding typing his order into his phone with oily fingers. “With extra-cheese crust. Hey, we can pay this with the class’ savings, right?”

“No,” Jirou says, who is the class 1-A treasurer. 

“Disappear from existence,” Hitoshi repeats, emphasizing on each word in hopes that it could perhaps penetrate the dense skulls of his classmates. “At any point of time. Hopefully the next millisecond if you guys don’t get the fuck out of my room.”

“I think it’s all right, Jirou-kun,” says Iida. “This is, after all, a major celebration of Shinsou-kun’s achievement as the newly added member to our classroom. As his friends, we must support his success any way his can. Kaminari-kun, please order a batch of truffle pizza. No anchovies please.”

“I want pepperoni,” Uraraka says enthusiastically, climbing over Hitoshi’s bed to peer over Kaminari’s shoulder. “Oh, take this one, they have a deal right now. Three medium pans with one lasagna. I’ve never eaten a lasagna. I’ve always wanted to eat a lasagna.”

“You guys are fucking crazy,” Hitoshi says. He takes comfort in that. Surrounded by crazy people makes you feel sane, which is perhaps not a good sign of your own soundness of mind. “We are going to die, you know. Probably damned to Hell and everything.”

“Which is why I need to eat a lasagna,” Uraraka says. “Before I die and go to Hell. Oh, honey wings, hell yeah put that in too. Can I get a shake please.”

“Do they have vegetarian options,” Tsuyu says. “We are all going to die, Shinsou-kun. It’s basically how this entire life thing works. Do they have vegan cheese?”

Other people wouldn’t survive that, Midoriya said. Hitoshi doubts it. Hitoshi lost his mind back then—he is sure of that. He probably is still losing his mind right now. But these fuckers? Goddamn. They took it all like it was the morning news. Granted, they’re probably not losing their mind because you can’t lose something you never had in the first place, but still. Hitoshi thinks these deranged kids can probably survive anything. The universe is ending and they’re fucking calling Pizza Hut, for fuck's sake. The moment all of them get to Hell Hitoshi is one-hundred percent sure that someone will be asking for the wifi password.

Someone knocks on the door. “Somebody open that and tell them to fuck off,” Hitoshi says, but no one, as always, is listening to him. He climbs down his bed to open the door so he can tell the person to fuck off himself.

It’s Todoroki. “I heard parallel universes exist,” he says, a notebook and a pencil in his hand. “Is that true.”

Fucking hell. “Fucking hell.”

“I heard time travel exists.”

“God, fucking hell.”

“Todoroki-kun, we’re getting pizzas. What do you want?”

“Mentaiko with extra bonito flakes,” he says, not taking his eyes off Hitoshi. “So it’s not Midoriya who is an alien. All of us are aliens, aren’t we.”

Hitoshi pinches the bridge of his nose. “How the fuck did you get to that—”

“Are we clones. Are we clones of our original existences.”

“..whatever.” Todoroki skitters into the room. 

Someone knocks on the door. “Fuck, what?”

It’s Yaoyorozu. Her eyes look fucking insane.

“I figured it out,” Yaoyorozu says. “I know why we are Cursed. It’s because of us. We are the faulty variable. We are the butterfly wings. We are the one who derails this universe from Order. It’s us! ” she seethes. “Class 1-A is the mistake.”

“..ok,” Hitoshi says. “Let me go please.”

She lets go of his collar and skitters into the room. Hitoshi closes the door. 

Someone knocks again.

Hitoshi counts to ten, and opens the door. He raises his brows. “Well, well,” Hitoshi says flatly. “What do we have here. Prince Grumpy himself has graced us with his presence and beautiful blue eyes.” 

Bakugou glares at him. “Shut the hell up, Okinawa.”

“Okay,” Hitoshi says, and proceeds to shut the door on him.

The door doesn’t shut. For a moment, there is a primitive power struggle between the two boys as they push the door against each other. “Right,” Hitoshi says, sounding casual even though his arm is starting to hurt. The blond fucker is strong as hell, which is just super annoying. “This is just super annoying. The fuck do you want.”

“..need to talk.”

“What was that? Your melodious voice grazes my ears so softly like a cherry blossom petal would glide through the moonless nigh—”

“We need to fucking talk, asshole.” 

They stop the power struggle, but Hitoshi still doesn’t let him in. “About?”

Bakugou stares at him. “What fucking else?”

I exist to Kacchan, because he’s known me all his life.

Right. What fucking else. 

“Don’t touch my chips,” Hitoshi says. He lets him in. To the general population of his bedroom, he says, “and if any of you get crumbs in my bed, I’ll give you an extra Curse. Kaminari, I want margherita with extra cheese.”

Chapter Text

Midoriya Izuku kneels down.

“Hello, there,” he says.

The little girl does not answer. She is a frail little thing, pale and scarred and shaking. She looks at him, and then steps back—fingers twisting further into Shinsou Hitoshi’s Hero suit. She’s scared of him.

Izuku nearly laughs at that. So wise already at such a young age. 

Shinsou Hitoshi looks down at the tug. He looks at Izuku. And then his gaze moves once more to the little girl holding on to his clothes. Hitoshi's hand, the one that isn’t holding a phone to his ear, finds its way to the top of the girl’s hair in a gentle, assuring gesture. It’s a protective gesture—one that he is making against Izuku, as if Izuku is going to snatch her away like some demonic kidnapper at any moment.

“She doesn’t like you,” Shinsou Hitoshi says flatly to Izuku. And then to his phone, “Hello, Nighteye agency? Shinsou Hitoshi speaking. I’m one of your UA interns—yeah, that’s right. So, anyway,” Hitoshi looks down clinically at the crumpled body of the Villain on the ground and kicks said body with a foot. The body does not move. “I got Chisaki Kai right here, so if you guys could just come here and pick him u—hello? Hello? Yeah, I—no, really. Seriously. Yeah, so you can just come pick him up and throw him to jail and stuff. For real. Yep. Yep. Nah. Yep. Yep. Nah. Yep. Yep.”

Izuku watches, quietly fascinated, as Shinsou Hitoshi reports their whereabouts and preceding situation to the Hero agency. He does it so easily, so readily, so casually. So easily. So..

So easily as he ends the whole world as they know it.

Oh well.

Whelp, there goes a Universe. Just like that. It doesn’t take much to kill a Universe, does it? Really not much at all, Izuku thinks. It only takes a single act of kindness. It only takes a Hero.

That, at least—Midoriya Izuku muses—is Canonical. 

In five minutes, this alley will be surrounded by the authorities. In ten minutes, Chisaki Kai will be secured in a detainment facility. In forty-four hours forty minutes and four seconds, this Universe will end. 

And the Universe is always, in Izuku’s experience, on Time.

Ah, the end. The End, capital letters. Here comes the big one, folks. Izuku wonders how it would sound like, The End. Perhaps a whimper. A soft outro in pianissimo. Or perhaps it will end in a loud, final, explosive bang. And then … what?

Whatever shall we do, Midoriya Izuku thinks ponderingly. Whatever shall we do, in face of the imminent End?

Whatever shall we do indeed?

Midoriya Izuku Knows the answer. In face of the imminent End, one does nothing but end, of course. And so we’ve all ended before we could begin. Haven’t we?

We have.

Izuku looks again at the girl. Poor thing. Poor little thing she might be, but the child is worth the damnation of an entire Universe—Shinsou Hitoshi has personally seen to that. The girl is staring at Izuku with her wide, tearful eyes. Unmoving eyes. What special eyes that she has, Izuku notes. What a special Quirk. Perhaps even the most special Quirk izuku has ever encountered—on par with Uraraka Ochako’s. On par with Kaminari Denki’s. On par with Yaoyorozu Momo’s. On par, even, with Shinsou Hitoshi’s.

What does she see, Izuku wonders. What does she see in him? What does—

You know very well

<p>what she sees in you.

don’t you?</p>

She should just close her eyes, really. 

“I can take it from you,” Izuku tells her then. A kind offer in an unkind voice. “For a price, perhaps … one that we can agree on.”

She stares at him. Izuku can’t exactly see himself reflected on those red eyes from this distance, but he can very well imagine. What is reflected on them must not be so pretty. Izuku stares back, and he smiles, because he always does. “Time hasn’t been nice to you, has it,” he says. “Eri-san.”

She stares at him.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Izuku assents understandingly. “You just have to decide somewhen in the next, hm, forty-four hours forty minutes and four seconds. Consider my offer, Eri-s—”

“Don’t infect her with your existential bullshit,” Hitoshi says disapprovingly. He seems to have finished his conversation, putting back his phone in the back of his pocket. He has positioned himself like a shield between the girl and Izuku again. He tells the girl, “Don’t listen to that weird onii-san.”

Izuku laughs. He stands up, brushes the dust off his knees calmly. Somewhere, police siren blares. Forty-three hours fifty-eight minutes and three seconds to go before the end of the world. Forty-three hours fifty-eight minutes and two seconds. Forty-three hours fifty-eight minutes and one second. Izuku knows it all, counting backwards down to the zeptosecond the length of time this Universe hurtles itself lovingly to its end. And it’s Izuku’s job to—

Ah. That’s right.

“Oi, where are you going?”

“To see your principal,” Izuku says. “Wanna come with?”

“What? You can’t just … leave. The police are coming and you have to give your statem—you know what,” Hitoshi says, pausing at the thought of Midoriya Izuku giving a Police statement and how that would clear up absolutely fuck all. “Just leave. Whatever. Who gives a fuck..”

Hitoshi’s voice drifts away as Izuku walks to th—to th—to th—to th—to th—<p>to th—</p>

<p></p>

<p></p>

<!DOCTYPE html>

<html lang="en">

  <head>

    <meta charset="utf-8"/>

    <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"/>

 <meta name="keywords" content="fanfiction, transformative works, otw, fair use, archive"/>

    <meta name="language" content="en-US"/>

    <meta name="subject" content="fandom"/>

    <meta name="description" content="An Archive of Our Own, a project of the

    Organization for Transformative Works"/>

    <meta name="distribution" content="GLOBAL"/>

    <meta name="classification" content="transformative works"/>

    <meta name="author" content="Organization for Transformative Works"/>

   <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0"/>

    <title>

        Walking Study in Demonology - Chapter 7 - ijustwanttodestroy - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia [Archive of Our Own]

    </title>

<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="speech" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/A.6_site_speech_.css.pagespeed.cf.Ybb8bLK5Um.css"/>

<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="print" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/A.7_site_print_.css.pagespeed.cf.ry3YZtf8Cz.css"/>

<!--[if IE 8]><link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="screen" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/8_site_screen_IE8_or_lower.css" /><![endif]-->

<!--[if IE 5]><link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="screen" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/9_site_screen_IE5.css" /><![endif]-->

<!--[if IE 6]><link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="screen" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/10_site_screen_IE6.css" /><![endif]-->

<!--[if IE 7]><link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="screen" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/11_site_screen_IE7.css" /><![endif]-->

<!--main content-->

  <div class="userstuff module" role="article">

    <h3 class="landmark heading" id="work">Chapter Text</h3>

    <p>“Midoriya Izuku kneels down lorem ipsum dolor sit”</p>

<p>lorem ipsum do</p>

<p>rem ipsu</p>

<p>em ip</p>

<p>p</p>

<p>P</p>

<p>Pict</p>

<p>Picture a</p>

<p>Picture a wi</p>

Picture a wide shot. 

A panel, if you will. A panel of a little nook of an alley somewhere in Musutafu. Picture the cityscape. The concrete. The hustle bustle. The sunny sky. Picture the scene.

Can you see it? 

Good.

You see Shinsou Hitoshi and Eri, hand in hand, standing next to each other. There is our sleeping Villain Chisaki Kai lying on the street, waiting for the police and the Heroes to bring him to justice. And then you see Midoriya Izuku calmly skipping away from the scene to, as he puts it, see the UA principal whom you know as Principal Nezu. Picture all of this. It’s a wide shot, got it, getting wider and wider, covering the array of Musutafu’s streets and the people residing in it. Midoriya Izuku walks away, and the scene zooms out, further and further, as he is lost in the crowd, that signature green hair disappearing amidst the myriad of colors of the city..

Okay? You just pictured that? To a T? 

you sure?

good. he can’t hear us here. 

things have to Happen, and so this will have to be quick. now read carefully. Okay? Okay.

let’s go back to the beginning. 

to the very beginning.

dot to dot. pixel to pixel. to the very first one of them. to the very first blinking, insertion point on the white space of … well, space. let’s go back. together. let’s do it. 

we can all agree that it all started with a big, big bang.  

we can all agree that first there was Light, and because there was Light, there was Shadow. we can all agree that there is always a reciprocal reaction for every action, and because of that, there is Life. we can all agree that with Life comes Fate and comes Time, and that Fate is Time and Time is Fate. we can all agree that this is all just … Happenings, really. it’s all just Happenings. Happenings happening in the white, white space. white that is less of a color and more of the lack of one and most importantly, white that is a Space. A Room. An Expanse. white that is the creasing, folding, twisting fabric of the Universe..

and then, in all that white, begins a song.

(it can start with a whimper or with a bang.)

It can be a chorus of violins, or a keyboard synth, or even bass guitars—nevertheless, it’s a string orchestra stitching itself into silk. thread by thread, loop by loop, mode by mode. desperate to kiss, to entangle, to be, all at once in superposition. birthing particles so in love with each other, so overjoyed with the very act of being that they can do nothing but … sing. of course they do. there is always a song, you see? there is <em> always </em> a song. 

and isn’t every song a stor—

—shit.

shit shit shit shit. We don’t have—oh, no. we ran out of Time. So sorry. Okay, picture a—a, er, maybe a wide shot … or a closeup shot? No, no—overhead is better. overhead shot. It’s a train station. picture an overhead shot of a train station somewhere in Musutafu. perhaps somewhat near the alley we were in. zoom in to the interior of the—not so slow, you can just do a smash cut—yes, there we go, smash cut into the station. okay, good. Now find him. <em> Find him. </em> He’s on the platform. picture a train platform. hurry up! Just imagine a train platform—the one near your house, the one you’ve seen on TV, we don’t have time for accuracy. okay yes, you got it! He’s standing on the platform, see? that’s right. he’s standing there with his oversized All Might hoodie, hands in pockets, that perpetual smile on his face. That pink scar, gleaming under the neon light.

Focus. Can you hear that? can you hear the intercom of the station? Listen to that, the woman announcing the train arriving in two minutes. listen to the hustle bustle of the station, the crowd, the people of this Universe living their life. yes, <em> perfect </em>. you got it. <p>Yes. you got i</p>—

<p>ip</p>

<p>ips</p>

<p>ipsu</p>

<p>ipsuM</p>

<p>M</p>

<p>Mid</p>

<p>Midori</p>

Midoriya Izuku enters the train on the red line to UA.

Izuku enjoys riding on trains. It’s his main mode of transportation other than walking. It’s cheap, it’s quick, and Musutafu’s train system is known to be particularly efficient, with it being the Hero capital city of Japan. Midoriya Izuku enters the train just like how he would any other day.

Therefore, Midoriya Izuku enters the train on the red line to UA. 

Midoriya Izuku enters the train on the red line to UA and, the moment he steps inside the car, every single phone belonging to every single passenger—except Midoriya Izuku’s own first generation Nokia—light up and sing with all the decibels allowed by each of their built-in audio speaker:

LIVIN’ EASY, LOVIN’ FREE, SEASON TICKET ON A ONE WAY RIDE!

there is always a song with midoriya izuku.

Technology is a poor singer, but it makes for a very wonderful screamer. Audio lay on top of audio, Samsung fighting iPhones fighting Huawei fighting Sony Xperias, competing to sing the loudest rendition of Highway to Hell. DON’t NEED REASON, DON’T NEED RHYME—

Passengers fumble to shut up their phones with no avail. The train door closes after an intercom announcement that they will do so, entrapping hundreds of passengers in a dreadful echo chamber of Rock n’ Roll noise pollution. It’s quickly driving people crazy. Folks are throwing their phones on the train floor in hope that the abuse would free them of one of AC/DC’s greatest hits, which, when heard in a chorus of hundreds of ringing phones, split not only ears but also sanities. To their collective horror, the abuse inflicted on their respective phones does not work. The screens may crack and the keypad may blister, but the speaker system is persistently alive. Even the iPhones still ring. It’s unnatural, they realize. Everybody knows iPhones will stop working if you put them inside your pocket the wrong way. 

Thinking this, the passengers realize that whatever phenomenon is happening at the moment must be the work of some sort of Force. Most likely a Quirk, which is the natural conclusion to make and also the wrong one. But being wrong never stops any conclusion from being conclusions nevertheless.

“Oh, thank you very much,” Izuku says happily once a man leaves his seat empty for Izuku to take. Rather than replying to Izuku’s expression of gratitude, the man is hurling himself to the closed door of the train in an attempt to escape this lo-fi ASMR hell of Highway to Hell Bass Boosted 8D Audio Inside a Running Train.

Izuku sits down, idly watching the havoc unfolds around him. And then he says, “Can I help you?”

The girl still stares at him. She is sitting right across from him on the train. Her phone is still in her hand, screen cracked and frozen on Highway-to-Hell_ACDC.mp3. 

“You’re that kid,” she says, loudly. It has to be loud or she won’t be heard underneath the rock song echoing brutally in the train. “The one hanging around 1-A dorm exorcizing demons or something.”

Midoriya Izuku watches her for a beat. And then amicably, he says, “Shouldn’t you be studying in UA’s 1-C at this point of spacetime, Togeike Chikuchi-san?”

“..I’m skipping class today. Not that that’s any of your business. And how the hell did you know I’m in—how did you know my name, even?” 

“You didn’t have a name before I said your name,” Izuku reminds her.

“What?” Togeike Chikuchi says. And then seemingly having decided that this dude is a legit weirdo and therefore it doesn’t matter, “Uh. Whatever. Anyway. Is this”—she gestures to the general mayhem—”because of you?”

“Nothing ever happens because of any of us, Togeike-san,” says Izuku helpfully. “Everything just happens.”

She makes a face. “You really are just like the rumors.”

Izuku’s smile stays polite. “You really are just like what you might have been like had you had more screen time.”

“..Uh, okay. Anyway. Can you, like, stop this?” Like most of the passengers at this point, she has fingers in her ears in a desperate attempt to save her eardrums. “There are still like five stops to UA and I don’t want to go deaf. Or to have anyone strangling me in a fit of rock music-induced hysteria,” she says, staring at the exact phenomenon happening in the next car. 

“I don’t do anything for free.”

“Just like the rumors,” she mutters. She scrounges the pockets of her jeans. “Um. I only got like. Three-hundred yen. And half of a chocolate bar. Does that work?” she looks up at him. “Is there some kind of student discount for your … uh, exorcism service?”

“It’s your lucky day, Togeike-san,” Izuku says. “There is indeed a special discount applicable for the next forty-three hours forty-five minutes and thirty-six seconds. The equilibrium has been broken and we are overloaded with entropy. The laws of conservation of energy shall not be violated, try as we may, for the Disorder compensates. Unless it’s to turn back time, payments are therefore no longer needed, because we are overdue,” he takes the chocolate bar and the three hundred yen from her hands and slips them dutifully into his pockets. “But I appreciate the gesture very much.” 

“Um, sure,” she says.

“You have to be my assistant, though,” Izuku says, taking a bite from the chocolate. “Just to speed things up. Hold this, please.”

Togeike takes what looks like a spray bottle into her hands. “Uh, okay. Um,” she looks at him. Izuku is not carrying any bag where he had possibly kept the bottle. “Did I just see you take this thing out of thin air?”

“Like I said, the conservation of energy won’t be disturbed no matter what we do now. Matter and space are no longer tangible from each other. But that doesn’t Matter!” Izuku claps his hands cheerfully. “Now, Togeike-san, I want you to spray the holy water in the air from every car please! Just to freshen the air.”

“Okay,” she says. And then, “wait. Holy water? This? Like, Church blessed holy water?” She shakes the bottle. The fluid inside is clear; it looks like any ordinary water … which is indeed how holy water looks like, she assumes. 

“Yes.”

“..And you put it inside a spray bottle. Like a febreze.”

“It’s very efficient.”

She stares at him. And then she says, slowly and unsurely because she isn’t sure what is the requirement of spraying holy water inside a train car like an insect repellant, “Uh, I’m not Christian.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s just symbolic. A lot of people believe in this,” one of his hands flicks the bottle, and the other has somehow procured … talismans out of thin air. “And therefore it has panpsychistic weight.”

Somewhere along the line, he has also procured a pen in his hand. Togeike would like to think that he has kept all of these objects inside the pockets of his hoodie, but she has a feeling that it is not the case. She wisely decides that it’s none of her business. Togeike leans to look at what he’s writing on the talismans. 

“That just says ‘shut up’ in hiragana,” Togeike reads.

“It’s very effective,” Izuku replies. 

HIGHWAY TO HELL, AC/DC replies. 

The train finally makes its stop at the station nearest to the renowned UA high school. 

What new passengers will notice as they enter the train is that the train is strangely quiet. There isn’t a single sound in the air. Even the intercom that announces arrivals does not seem to be working. They will also notice that the floor of the train is littered with broken phones, laptops, iPads, and general electronic gadgets blessed with the nifty little thing that is an  audio speaker. The final thing they will notice is the pieces of talismans stuck on various surfaces with nothing but SHUT UP written on it. The final, final thing they will notice is that they strangely feel a strong urge to SHUT UP once they are inside the train.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Togeike Chikuchi says, walking outside the train and into the station. An astute observer will realize that she keeps a wide berth between her and the boy she is talking to.

“Oh, you can,” Izuku, who is the boy she is talking to, replies. “You did believe it would work. That’s why it worked at all.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Uraraka says. “Everybody here? Iida-kun, headcount please!”

“Aoyama-kun!”

“Je ne parle pas français j'utilise Google Traduction.”

“Ashido-kun!”

“Alive and kickin’!”

“Asui-kun!”

“Just call me Tsuyu-chan like everybody else, Iida-kun.”

“Ojiro-kun!”

“Here,” Ojiro sighs. “Here but apprehensively, let it be known.”

“We are all here but apprehensively,” says Hitoshi. “That’s just life. And just like life, this is taking way too fucking long. Can’t we just start already? Look at Yaoyorozu. She looks like she is—” he gestures to the vice class rep scrawling vigorously over her notebooks on the floor of Hitoshi’s room. “Uhh. Going to go into a seizure at any moment now.”

“A-hem!” Iida clears his throat regally. “My esteemed classmates of 1-A, we shall now begin our meeting.”

A whiteboard has been subsequently dragged into Hitoshi’s room. Hitoshi doesn’t understand why this class meeting has to be done inside his bedroom and not in the perfectly functioning living room, but at this point Hitoshi has given up on understanding basically anything that is happening. “First,” Iida says, unscrewing the cap of the marker, “Let’s vote for the title name of our meeting. Any suggestions?”

“..Are you fucking kidding me..” Hitoshi says. “This is the least important thing—”

Hands are enthusiastically raised.

“Operation Telling the Universe What’s Up.”

“Operation I Kinda Wanna Graduate First Before I Get Sucked Into A Black Hole Or Whatever It Is That’s Going To Happen, If That’s All Right.”

Iida’s marker pauses on the whiteboard. “Hm. That one is a bit of a mouthful, to be honest.”

Uraraka raises her hand. “Operation Not Die,” Uraraka says.

“Succinct, straight to the point,” Iida writes it down approvingly on the whiteboard. “Thank you, Uraraka-kun.”

“Operation Stay Alive feels like a more positive spin to it,” Ojiro says, to some nods.

“Opération L’enfer C’est Les Autres.”

“Operation Nutting Matters,” says Kaminari, to the high fives of many other students. “Pretty good, huh?” he says, receiving the high fives smugly. “Pretty good, eh?”

“That’s literally the opposite of what we are trying to do,” Jirou says disapprovingly. “It should be Operation Nutting Matters (Except For Us).”

There is a sound of agreement throughout the room. Iida adds (Except For Us) next to Operation Nutting Matters on the whiteboard.

“Operation Everything Matters,” says Kirishima wisely. “ Especially Nutting. Am I right, boys?” he says, receiving the high fives of many other students. “Am I right or what?”

Iida writes down Operation Everything Matters Especially Nutting on the whiteboard to the various clapping and cheering from 15 year olds. 

“This can be our war cry. Nutting matters!” Kaminari declares.

“Nutting matters!” the class choruses.

“Except for us!”

“Except for us!” the class choruses.

“Everything matters! Especially nutting!”

“Everything matters! Especially..”

“Why don’t we all just get sucked into a black hole right now?” Hitoshi says, his voice drowned beneath the racket that is his classmates vigorously chanting NUTTING, NUTTING, NUTTING. “Why don’t we all just—”

There is a BOOM.

A loud and—to all residents of class 1-A—rather familiar BOOM. It’s a BOOM that every single one of them could recognize if they had their eyes closed. That BOOM is the price of friendship. If class 1-A ever has a yearbook, this BOOM will be voted Most Likely to Succeed.

“Everybody shut the fuck up,” Bakugou Katsuki announces, a poor unsuspecting marker melting sadly in his hand. The room smells of smoke, which is not something the class is not used to. Everybody knows one out of three people in 1-A owns a juul.

“Bakugou-kun!” Iida chides disapprovingly. “That marker belongs to the class.”

“Pay up on that marker later,” says Jirou being the proper class treasurer that she is.

“You two shut up also,” Bakugou says, ignoring the indignant replies of his classmates. “Okay, so. What is the problem here?”

It’s such a strange question coming out of Bakugou. It’s strange because it’s almost civil. “What do you mean?”

Bakugou makes an impatient sound. He had told Hitoshi earlier that there was something they needed to talk about—which Hitoshi understands immediately means Midoriya fucking Izuku—and then the pizza had come, and then they collective decided to Start a Meeting. Because that’s what you would do when the world is ending, obviously. 

Bakugou snaps his fingers impatiently in all of their faces. “Oi! Focus,” he says. “I ask you all. What is this meeting for. Do we have any goal going on here or what.”

They look at each other. “Uh. I mean..” it just seemed proper to talk about everything that is happening and has happened and will probably happen. They didn’t really have anything in mind. “We want to. Not die?”

“We’d like to continue existing, and stuff.”

“Because it seems like the way things are going right now we are going to Hell. Whatever that means.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“And it’d be great if we, like, not. Right?”

“So true.”

“Still got things left I wanna do, ya know?”

“Yeah. Still waiting for Hunter x Hunter to update.”

“It’s never gonna fucking update, moron.”

The room mutters in agreement to the general statements being thrown around. Bakugou stares at them all for a moment, uncharacteristically quiet, with a look of calculation on his face. Though it’s less of a look and more of a scowl. “Okay,” Bakugou says finally, his voice flat. “Your goal is impossible.”

Silence.

The class stares at him. Bakugou clicks his tongue with impatience. “There is no way to not die or to not stop existing, you idiots.”

The class considers this. “But..”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “But what?” he snarks. “Everybody fucking dies. The Universe eventually ends. Entropy doesn’t stop increasing. It can’t. That’s how this whole life thing works.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Tsuyu says, taking another bite of her vegan pizza.

“But I’d like to not die right now,” Kaminari protests. 

“So?” Bakugou says carelessly. “A lot of people would like to not die right now, but a lot of people are dying right now.”

“..That’s so nihilistic,” Jirou says, pointing a chicken wing to Bakugou’s direction. “What, so you’re saying we should just give up?”

Bakugou scoffs. “This isn’t giving up.”

“It’s basically the same thing, though—”

“Fuck no it isn’t. Not studying for a test is giving up. Tapping out on a match is giving up. Getting kidnapped by Villains and you just wait to be rescued like a fucking damsel in distress is fucking giving up. But this..” he shakes his head. “Dying, existing—all this shit just Happens. Shit Fucking Happens. You said you don’t want to die. So what, you wanna live forever? You don’t wanna stop existing. So what, you wanna exist forever?” he says. “If you’re sayin’ yes to those questions, then you’re just fuck outta your mind.”

Discussions are ignited in the room right in response to this logic. Sero raises his hand. “Okay, hold on. Imminent death slash non-existence aside,” Sero says. “What’s the difference between those? Aren’t those basically the same thing?”

“I’ve been wondering that too..”

Bakugou clicks his tongue again. “You don’t stop existing when you die, moron. Well, you could. But it’s not a one-hundred percent thing..” he pauses. “I don’t know how to explain this to you in a way that your low IQs could understand.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hitoshi, who always wanted to punch Bakugou, steps forward. He is then held back by Uraraka and Tsuyu. “So fucking sorry, Socrates-kun, are we waaay too fucking stupid for your pseudo-intellectual philosophical metaphysical theoretical fuckological bullshit—”

Bakugou, who always sort of had an inkling that Hitoshi has always wanted to punch him, struggles to step forward as he is held back by Kirishima and Kaminari. “What, you wanna go? Huh? Ain’t my fault you’re so damn slow, is it, Okinawa? Huh?”

“You think you’re sooo smart, you think you’re sooo—”

“Yeah, because I can think, unlike you motherf—”

“To not exist means you aren’t,” Yaoyorozu Momo says.

She seems to have returned to the living world. Around her are empty pens (she had been running out) and ripped out notebook pages with what looks like numbers and symbols scrawled all over it. Her ponytail does not resemble an actual ponytail, now, and her eyes are bloodshot. She looks crazy, but her voice is unnervingly calm. “Even dying is existing. Even being dead is existing,” Yaoyorozu says. “But to not exist means you aren’t.”

“..Aren’t what?” Hitoshi says, being the one brave enough to voice out a response. No one wants to argue with somebody who looks as unhinged as she does at the moment. 

“Aren’t full stop,” she says calmly. Above her impressive eyebags, there is a look in her eyes that imply she has reached a higher plane of existence than the rest of them. It is a look of calm, psychopathic zenness. 

“What does that—”

“Existence isn’t in perpetuity,” she continues. She doesn’t seem to be listening to any of their words. In fact, she seems to be talking not to any of them, but to some unseen omniscient present beyond Hitoshi’s bedroom. “When you are, existence is. When you aren’t, existence is not. Our collective consciousness is only in a vacuum.”

She then whips her head down and starts writing yet another string of physics formulas on a piece of paper.

“..Er, yeah,” Bakugou says, glancing at her with this look that suggests while he did want someone ‘intelligent’ enough to keep up with the conversation, he really would rather that someone to be sane. “Something like that.”

“Okay,” Hitoshi says. He shakes his head. “I know what you guys are talking about. This is like that shit. That Corgi-toe something something shit.”

“Ooh, I know that one!” Kaminari says. He snaps his fingers repeatedly as if it would help the thoughts come to his head faster. “It’s that thing! Um.. Corgi-toe-lego something..”

Mina waves her hands enthusiastically. “Ooh! Me, me, I got it!” She is excited to contribute to the conversation. “I know that phrase. It’s Corgitoe Lego Zoom!”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” Tsuyu says, but her assessment is drowned by the confident, knowing ahhs and ohhs going on in the room. 

“Right, I heard of that! On a podcast.”

“I think I made that my instagram’s bio once, Corgitoe Lego Zoom..”

Bakugou looks around at his classmates, shaking his head in some sort of awed disbelief. Bakugou Katsuki is a person who has accepted, in his own words, that Shit Happens. He has accepted that he is going to die and/or unexist because he is intelligent enough to do so. Still, he finds it quite difficult to accept that he is going to die and/or unexist surrounded by idiots.

“Yes. It’s that Corgitoe Lego Zoom shit. I fucking hate that shit,” Hitoshi says vehemently. “ I think therefore I am. Like, the fuck are you talking about? I shit therefore I piss. I fart therefore I fuck. Say something that makes sense, moron! Whoever the fuck came up with this shit, fuck that guy..” he pauses. “Ariesturtle or something!”

“Yeah, right! Fuck him!”

“Fuck Ariesturtle!”

“Fuck that guy for real!”

“Fuck Ariesturtle and his stupid corgis’ toes. Like, what a freak!”

“Such a freak for real!”

“I think you mean Aristotle,” Tsuyu corrects her dear friends kindly. “Who, by the way, was not the person who came up with that phrase..”

There is another BOOM. The class turns to find Bakugou having done arson on another poor unsuspecting marker in his hand. “Can we fucking return to the problem at hand,” Bakugou says. “So. What the fuck do you guys want. What is this meeting about. ”

The class look at each other. And then they look at Hitoshi. Hitoshi looks at them, sighs, rolls his eyes. “OK,” Hitoshi says. “So. I kinda fucked the Universe over.”

Bakugou squints his eyes. “Right,” he says, with an odd coldness that somehow doesn’t feel like it’s especially targeted towards Hitoshi, and more to the situation at large. “The fuck did you do?”

Right, Bakugou hadn’t been here when Hitoshi narrated the entire thingy with the time loop thingy and that Yakuza Villain guy. “Well. I saved this kid. Who, apparently, is not supposed to be saved in the, uh, original universe or whatever..”

An understanding flickers in Bakugou’s face. “You derived more from the Canonical Universe.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask that one too,” Uraraka says, in between chewing her lasagna. “What even is that? What does ‘canon-ical’ mean?”

“‘Canon from the latin canonicus, itself derived from the Greek kanonikós, meaning 'relating to a rule', 'regular’, etc,” Mina reads the wiki page from her phone. “Related terms … use in religion, i.e 'Canon Law’ and ‘Canonical Institution’,’ etc … positive ecclesiastical laws, based directly or indirectly upon immutable divine law from the ‘Biblical Canon’ … a set of scripture regarded as part of the Authoritative text …’ huh?” Mina frowns. “I don’t get any of these. A set of scripture? ‘Text’? What, so like a book?”

“Who fucking cares, it’s just another term in Midoriya’s nonsensical list of glossary,” Hitoshi waves his hands impatiently. “Anyway, yeah, that canon thing-stuff. And then he said—Midoriya said, I couldn’t pay for that. Because, uh … if something the opposite of something doesn’t happen then that something something can’t happen, or something..”

“Yeah, yeah, Newton’s Third Law, we all know that,” Bakugou waves an impatient hand. ”What then?”

“Well,” Hitoshi says. “I told him we can all pay for it, then.”

Bakugou stares at him hard. Several emotions go through his face—none of it decipherable to Hitoshi. “Okay,” Bakugou says finally. “I got it now. We are overdue.”

“..Overdue?”

“Fucking drowning in debt, actually,” Bakugou then smiles. It’s the first time Hitoshi has ever seen him smile. It looks horribly feral. “I see. Hah. Okay. Haha. Well. This was bound to happen. This will happen. This always Happens.”

Great, they’re losing another one to the great realm of Fuck Outta Your Mind. “Yeah, we don’t need another guy going all cryptid talk on us,” Hitoshi says. They already got Midoriya and Yaoyorozu for that. “So fucking get it together. Cause the Universe is fucked. And, uh..”

“We are trying to unfuck it,” Tsuyu says calmly. “Operation Unfuck The Universe.”

“Unfuck The Universe,” Bakugou echoes.

There is general agreement in the room.

“And how exactly,” Bakugou says flatly. “Are you planning to do that.”

There is general confusion in the room.

Bakugou sighs. He glances at Hitoshi. “Oi, Okinawa. When you tried to save that kid. What happened?”

“..I got into a time loop, I guess,” Hitoshi says, not really wanting to relive the memory of the whole thing. “Midoriya said it’s something about the Universe—”

“Not letting you do the thing that you’ve done, yeah yeah. What’s the timespan of the loop?”

“Shit, I don’t fucking know, I didn’t bother keep count while the Universe fucked with my head over and over—”

“No, moron, I’m asking the timespan … the bracket of time that you”—for the lack of a better word—”relive. There must have been a short nick of time right before bifurcation point occurred in the system—”

“I really hate when action heroes in Hollywood say ‘Speak English!’ to the nerd of the group,” Hitoshi says flatly. “So don’t fucking make me say that.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Look, when you were saving that kid, you were fucking up the parameter values of the system. Got me? Your fuck-up is the bifurcation point—a point of change wherein the equilibrium is destabilized. The Universe doesn’t want chaos, and so it kept you in this loop to keep you from fucking shit up—bracketing you in a specific parameter just before the point occurs, because in statistical probability, you should eventually choose not to save that kid...” Bakugou pauses. “But you fucked shit up anyway. And my question is. How long is this parameter? Three seconds? Five?”

It’s a little annoying to realize, but Bakugou is actually, surprisingly, a pretty good explainer. “Thirty seconds,” Hitoshi says. From that conversation with Uraraka and Tsuyu, the red lights, the alley. “More or less. Maybe forty … what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“..How the fuck are you still alive?”

“Huh?”

“Even five seconds is pushing it,” Bakugou says, with some kind of disgusted awe. “Forty..? What the fuck even are you..?”

Hitoshi is feeling somewhat offended. Like, yeah, he did know that time travel is some crazy stuff, but Bakugou doesn’t have to be staring at him like he’s a special kind of freak. “Hey, it wasn’t me, It was all just, whatever the fuck it is up with Midoriya—”

“Deku wouldn’t have helped you survive the bootstrap paradox,” Bakugou says, still staring oddly at Hitoshi like the latter had grown a second head. “Look. Experiencing a time loop means you aren’t in the loop itself. This Universe wants to stick to Canon, so it’s trying to … realign itself. Which means—”

“It loops...” Hitoshi says, slowly. Statistical probability. “It keeps looping..”

“Minisculely,” Bakugou says. “It tries to … reorder any microstate it could get its hands on, making use of probability to pick topologically favorable choices. And these loops—none of us are conscious of it. We can’t Know it.”

“Oh, I know this one,” Toru says. She and the other 1-A girls (sans whatever it is going on with Yaoyorozu) are watching their discussion while sharing a second plate of lasagna. “It’s like the killing your brother time travel thing.”

“What’s that?” Mina licks her spoon.

“So, like,” Toru puts her hand on Mina’s shoulder and looks at her seriously. “I, like, killed your brother, Mina.”

“You what! Wait. I don’t have a brother.”

“Exactly. I, like, time traveled to kill the brother you never had and stuff.”

“Huh,” Mina says thoughtfully. She adds, “That’s mean, Toru. I would’ve liked a brother.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s fucked up..” Hitoshi says, digesting the information. “So whatever we do. All of it is just. Statistical? A probability that got cherry-picked by the universe? Nothing ever really just happens?”

“No. Shit just Happens,” Bakugou says. “That’s literally what it is. All of that shit leads you to this shit and will then lead you to another shit. That’s how the passage of Time works. It’s just one probable shit after another probable shit. Keep up.”

Hitoshi is barely listening. Hitoshi wasn’t supposed to be conscious, he thinks. But Midoriya knew. Midoriya knew Hitoshi was going to choose to—”What about Midoriya?”

“What about Deku.”

“You said we aren’t supposed to be conscious of these … in these … Universe Behind the Scenes reel or whatever. We aren’t supposed to know. But what about Midoriya?” Hitoshi watches Bakugou’s expression, and suddenly the pit of his stomach feels ice cold. “Midoriya Knows..” he says, a realization. “He’s conscious of … every single one of those loops..?”

“That would be impossible,” Bakugou says. 

“Impossi—oh, come on!” Hitoshi is going to flip a table. “I was in a fucking time loop. You explode shit with your hands!”

“Look, I don’t fucking know, okay?” Bakugou says. Something about him looks agitated, but not in that confident, fuck-every-single-one-of-you way he always had. This one looks more uneasy. Uncomfortable, even. “Like I said. That would be impossible. Something like that would do an insane amount of damage to someone’s body, let alone psyche—”

“Hah,” Hitoshi says. That would explain why Midoriya is so fucking insane, wouldn’t it?

“Most of the Universe is unobservable. Your brain doesn’t have even a tenth of the capacity needed to perceive it. To overload that capacity you would die at best,” Bakugou says. “Or. your brain would be altered irreversibly … or have to had been altered irreversibly...” There is that uncomfortable look again. He did tell Hitoshi they should talk about Midoriya. But it seems Bakugou doesn’t really like talking about him. “Which is why it’s weird as fuck that you’re still even lucid. Being transported in time doesn’t give your body and your consciousness a free pass from Time, got it? Your brain should’ve fucking melted.”

“I’ve had enough of this, man,” Sero comments from where he sits. He slurps on his coke. “Like, I can’t keep up with all this shit … whatever it is you’re talking about. Seriously, whatever. I don’t want to think anymore. I’m not gonna listen to any of this anymore! Whatever happens, happens.” With that wise declaration, he asks his classmates, “Did anybody bring a juul?”

Here you go.

“Thanks, Koji.”

“Do not fucking vape in my room,” Hitoshi takes the juul from Koji’s hand. He looks back at Bakugou. He doesn’t like the implication of what Bakugou is saying—the implication that there are some existential hijinks between Hitoshi and the Universe he resides in that he doesn’t know. “Okay, man. I think you’re making too big a deal out of this.”

“Oh, so now I’m making a big deal out of an honest to god fucking time loop,” Bakugou snarks. “Because a time loop is an absolutely normal fucking thing to happen, is it? It’s just a fucking Tuesday to you, is it? Look … ugh, what’s a metaphor an idiot like you would understand..”

Hitoshi wants to punch him so bad. “Oh, fuck y—hey!” Without warning, Bakugou grabs the juul from Hitoshi’s hand. “Oi! I said don’t smoke—”

Bakugou doesn’t smoke the juul. He just waves it in Hitoshi’s face as he prattles on. “Let’s say one day you get a package. You open it and it’s a juul. But you don’t know what it is, because at this point of time, there are no juuls. It hasn’t been invented yet. So you’re getting this juul from the future, right? And you’re like, oh, so this shit is like cigarettes, but lamer—”

“Hey!” says one in three kids in 1-A. 

“—I can get a lot of money selling this shit to a bunch of lame incel idiots. So you manufacture a bunch of juuls based on the juul you got from the future, okay? And because there are a lot of lame incel idiots in the world, your juul business is a hit. Such a hit that you get a shitload of money, enough for you to make a time machine or something. But you’re like, wait, but who sent me this juul? ”

Bakugou looks at him expectantly, like a teacher waiting for an answer. “It was me..?”

Bakugou snaps his fingers. “Exactly. So you sent the juul to yourself with that time machine—and so we’re back to the beginning.”

“Whoa…” 

“That’s like, some mindfuck shit.”

“Mind fucking blown, dude..”

“This could be a movie, man. Juulception. ”

“Interjuular … no, Terminajuul..”

“Your Juul.”

“The Juul Effect.”

“The Juul That Leaped Through Time.”

“Doctor Freak: The Juulverse of Madness!”

“Every Juul Everywhere All at Once.”

“The Girl with the Juul Tattoo.”

“A Juul That Will Juul Like a Juul Has Never Been Juuled..”

“This class never fails to entertain me,” Tsuyu says to the world.

“Shut the fuck up all of you. Back to what I was saying—it wouldn’t work. This whole juul business plan is impossible,” Bakugou says. “Because the juul wouldn’t survive, got it? Time isn’t irreversible on the juul. Because this would be the same juul traveling back and forth through all infinity in that specific parameter of Time. This juul is a physical thing, and therefore eventually it’d get fucked up, it’d stop working, fucking blow up—anything. Eventually there would be no juul to send back, and it would Cease to exist entirely along with all of the juuls that will never have been made,” Bakugou points at Hitoshi with the juul. “Your brain is that juul.”

“..Ah.”

“Your consciousness was being sent back and forth for forty seconds infinitely in that specific parameter—”

“It was only like,” Hitoshi says defensively, “five times..”

“And that’s five times more than it should’ve been, which is fucking zero. Time is a straight arrow, see? It isn’t supposed to go fucking ping-pong ball. So for someone..” for Midoriya, he means. But Bakugou doesn’t seem keen on saying his name. “To experience every parameter, every possible probability in the observable Universe, or even beyond that single Universe..”

“..Yeah, okay, that’s fucked up,” Hitoshi says. But that’s why it would explain a shitload of things why Midoriya is the way he is. 

Hitoshi feels uneasy now. It’s one case with Midoriya. Like, Midoriya is Midoriya, whatever the fuck he is. But Hitoshi has got nothing to do with any of that.. He’s just a guy, damn it. He’s just a normal fucking guy stranded in an abnormal situation and doing, well, some abnormal stuff..

You’re different, Midoriya had said to him, back on that first day they met. You’re really weird, actually. You’re like, a single atom layered sheet, but a person.

“..If Midoriya can fucking do all that spacetime altering demon-not-demon slaying universe perceiving shit,” Hitoshi says finally. “He can—he could have helped me in surviving … dick strap paradox or whatever it is you called it.”

“I didn’t say he couldn’t,” Bakugou says flatly. “I said he wouldn’t.”

Hitoshi stops. “Oh.” 

Right. Of course. Why would he? 

Midoriya … isn’t a Hero.

“You tried to fuck with the Universe. The Universe tried to unfuck itself. Then you’ve done and fucked it anyways. And now you want to unfuck it.” Bakugou shakes his head. “Do you even know what it means? To unfuck the Universe?” 

The answer is right there, Hitoshi realizes. “Start over,” Hitoshi says. The Universe tried to start over with him and Eri. To unfuck what’s been unfucked, it had kept him in that loop. “You gotta start over..”

“Bingo.” Bakugou doesn’t look pleased that Hitoshi catches on. If anything, he looks grim. “To unfuck all that shit you gotta start over. And that’s a big price, starting over. You can’t take the juul back, remember? Time is asymmetric. The arrow of time is a one-way fucking trip. You aren’t a Universe. You can’t rearrange order microscopically all willy fucking nilly..” Bakugou pauses to look at all the blank faces of his classmates sans Yaoyorozu, who’s still writing mad person scribbles on her notebooks. “Do any of you even know what the shit I’m talking about here?”

“What do you fucking think,” Hitoshi replies. He’s really growing sick of all this science talk. His brain really does feel like it’s melting now. “Unlike you, most of us don’t have a Stephen Hawking thesaurus plastered behind our eyelids.”

Bakugou sighs. Rolls his eyes. Sighs again. And then, “Listen up, you fuckers. I’m gonna explain to you. What the fuck this is all about.”

He walks to the whiteboard. Violently, he proceeds to erase all the operation names, leaving the board a blank slate. With that same violence, he takes the other marker out of Iida’s hand. Bakugou turns to the class.

“From the very beginning,” he says.

He turns back to the board and draws a single dot in the white, white space.

“Where are you going now?”

“To your principal.”

“Huh,” Chikuchi says. 

Togeike Chikuchi has been having a Weird Day. 

It didn’t start out Weird. Maybe a little unconventional. She’s been minding her own business, taking off to school as usual, and then she changed her clothes and got on the train planning to go to that one arcade near school because she really wants to try playing truant just once in her life. She figures out that with her being in high school, this is the only time in her life she would get away with being a “delinquent”. She even planned to try buying a pack of cigarettes or something, because that’s what being a proper high school delinquent is all about. You gotta illegally try a cigarette, cough your lungs out, and pretend it tastes good so you look cool.

She isn’t sure where her day went off the rail. Probably when the train she got on had the misfortune to be acquainted with one … uh.. “What was your name, again?”

He gives her his name card (that he, she is one hundred percent sure, plucked from thin air). What kind of high schooler has a name card? Well, she assumes he’s a high schooler, anyway. He looks more like an overgrown middle schooler. “‘Midoriya Izuku,’” she reads. “‘Occultist, Exorcist & Shaman’..”

Any other time, she would tack a seriously? at the end of that sentence. But given that she has been spraying Midoriya’s bottle of holy water in the shinkansen like an air freshener, it’s a little too late for a seriously?, she supposes.

And they are in UA. Midoriya walks through the hallway with the confidence Chikuchi herself doesn't have, despite having been studying there for nearly a year now. Chikuchi knows she’ll probably get into trouble soon since she is sans uniform and at least four hours late to class, but this whole situation is so bizarre that she supposes this is her only one in a lifetime chance to experience something so … well, bizarre. Being a one-day delinquent can always wait. 

Also, it’s not as if the world is going to end.

“Midoriya.”

“Aizawa-sensei,” Midoriya says politely.

Aizawa-sensei, who has unceremoniously showed up to pass them in the hallway, nods in acknowledgement. And then he stops abruptly. He turns, a brow raised. “What did you just call me?”

“..What did I just call you?” Midoriya blinks, turning to look at the teacher. “Aizawa-san?”

Aizawa-sensei stares at him for a moment before turning. “Nevermind,” he says. He looks at Chikuchi, who immediately stiffens. “Why are you not wearing a uniform?”

“She is with me,” Midoriya chirps readily before Chikuchi comes up with a lame excuse.

Aizawa stares at the boy flatly. “Just because Nezu gives you a blanket permission in the UA compound does not mean you have the authority on everything in the UA compound.”

“I certainly don’t, Aizawa-san,” Midoriya agrees amiably and does not provide further argument. 

“Explain things to your homeroom teacher after this is done,” Aizawa tells Chikuchi succinctly. And then he leaves.

 “..Do you come here often, or what?” Chikuchi says. The teacher hadn’t even asked what Midoriya was doing or where he was going. And he had basically let Chikuchi go. What the fuck.

“At some other point of space, yes,” Midoriya says. “Only two or three times in this one, so far.”

Chikuchi has begun to understand that Midoriya’s words are not really meant to be understandable. She ignores the weirdness in his answer.

They climb up the stairs. “Say, Togeike-san,” he says. There is a persistent calmness in his voice that’s a little unnerving. It’s like the calmness of an AI phone operator, Chikuchi finds. Friendly in a way that it isn’t human at all. “How does it feel going to UA?”

Chikuchi blinks, surprised by the question. “Huh?”

“Is it fun? Do you like it here?” Midoriya says. It’s said in a way that Chikuchi isn’t sure if he does care about her answer at all, if she does answer. “Do you want to be a Hero?”

“Wow,” Chikuchi says. Damn, all right. Way to be personal. “Uh. It’s been okay, I guess..” she pauses. She’s worked hard to get here. So have a lot of other kids. “And. I mean, who doesn’t want to be a Hero?”

“Who doesn’t,” Midoriya echoes. Chikuchi isn’t sure if he’s agreeing with her or not.

“Not like I’ll be one … I mean, okay, who knows? It isn’t impossible..'' She is in the general department, but that Shinsou guy succeeded, didn’t he? “I guess … okay, honestly, UA isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”

They reach an elevator. “Is it now,” Midoriya says, pressing the button.

“But it’s been okay,” she says. “It has its moments..” she shrugs, gesturing vaguely to their surroundings. “All of this.”  

“Doesn’t it.” 

“The toilets are super clean. The fruit salads are nice.”

“They really are,” he says, entering the elevator. She does not enter with him. He looks at her. “Would you like to come with?”

Once in a lifetime chance, Chikuchi thinks. She can go up with this guy to see the principal, just tagging along. See whatever is gonna happen next. She might have another chance of spraying holy water all over the place again.

But. 

“No,” Chikuchi says thoughtfully. “I don’t think so, no. Figured maybe I should go to class since I’m already here.” She’ll get an earful for missing like, four periods, but whatever. For an inexplicable reason, she suddenly feels like meeting her friends. Not that inexplicable, really—she supposes it would be nice to just … have a normal day. Not a special day, but a normal one. There will be plenty of normal days like this, she’s sure—it’s not a once in a lifetime chance. But that doesn’t make a chance you get every single day worth any less.

Plus, she isn’t sure if it’s wise to hang around Midoriya ‘Occultist, Exorcist & Shaman’ Izuku all that much. 

“Mm, no,” Midoriya muses, with that bland smile. “Not all that wise indeed.”

Chikuchi blinks. “Huh?”

“See you, Togeike-san,” Midoriya says amicably. “Perhaps in another s—”

The elevator closes.

The marker makes a staccato sound. The class stares at the single black dot on the whiteboard.

“First,” Bakugou says, “I’m gonna drill into your thick fucking skulls just how big the—what, Half n’ Half?”

Todoroki has joined the class. He has one hand raised, staring solemnly at the impromptu lecturer of class 1-A. The other hand is holding a mentaiko pizza. “I have a question.”

“Yeah, yeah, spit it out.”

“So the multiverse is a thing,” he says seriously, which is less of a question and more of an enthusiastic statement on his part. 

There is this look on Bakugou’s face that is so disgusted, it’s honestly impressive. “Ugh. Don’t fucking say the M word. It’s fucking cringe."

“Parallel universes are a thing too,” Todoroki continues oh so seriously. “There are other us-es out there. They are a thing also.”

“Multiverse, gigaverse, terraverse, fucking petaverse—” Bakugou makes a careless gesture. “Yeah fucking duh they are out there.”

“I knew it,” Todoroki says. He looks triumphantly at his fellow classmates who had on so many occasions ignored Todoroki Shouto’s invitation to star on his podcast. “I’ve told you so.”

“Hell, forget multiple universes. How big do you think a single universe is? The Universe isn’t Dense. Galaxies pull each other. That’s why the Universe keeps expandi—what, Okinawa?”

“Did you just say,” says Hitoshi, who looks oddly pale, “that the Universe. Isn’t Dense?”

“The critical Density of the Universe is only 8.64x10^-30gcm^-3,” Bakugou says, almost bored as he writes the numbers down carelessly on the whiteboard because he isn’t sure if any of his classmates can remember a string of numbers longer than 420. “The Density of water is 1gcm^-3. Ergo, the Density of the Universe is millions of times less than that of water. Do the fucking math.”

“So,” Hitoshi says. “Um. So. Theoretically. Can something be Dense enough … to make the Universe Denser?”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Like,” Hitoshi says. “What’s gonna happen if … the Universe … gets Denser?”

“It’d collapse in a big crunch,” Bakugou answers plainly. “It’d go bang a fucking big one.”

“Right,” says Hitoshi, who has gotten even paler. “Right..”

Bakugou ignores whatever new fucked up realization that Hitoshi is now having. “Anybody else gonna interrupt me or fucking what? No? Right. Anyway. Universe keeps expanding—but not infinitely ; at one point it’s gonna go bang a fucking big one as well and we’re all toast. But the expansion doesn’t need to be infinite for there to be an eventually twinning set of particle arrangements. Like, say, a Universe that is one googolplex particle big—”

Uraraka nudges Tsuyu. “What’s a googolplex?”

“One of the largest numbers ever named,” Yaoyorozu supplies calmly. She isn’t looking at any of them as she explains, still happily scratching down her notes. “10^googol, or ten to the power of one-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero—”

“A googol is 10¹⁰⁰, so time that shit by ten and you get a googolplex,” Bakugou cuts Yaoyorozu off, though the latter is still happily muttering zero zero zero under her breath. “Which, since countable, is of course far less than infinity—but that’s still a big fucking mother, ain’t it? And that’s just a single Universe. If you add more Universes to that, more macrostates anywhere that large, you will eventually find an arrangement of particles—a microstate—that is an exact copy of another microstate. It’s just statistical probability. So yes. Of fucking course there is another ‘us’ out there..”

Bakugou pauses, his nose scrunching in distaste as if he doesn’t really like the idea of there being another Bakugou Katsuki as much as other people do. “So. If you want to unfuck the Universe. You have to revert our currently fucked macrostate to the … whatever point of time where our macrostate is unfucked. And that’s impossible. Like I said. Entropy can’t decrease. A system can’t be running in perpetual motion. The energy of action has to go somewhere. Things can’t be taken back.”

“You know what, I’m gonna say something that none of you are brave enough to say,” Jirou says. “What in the goddamn fuck is ant-tro-pee.”

“Isn’t it that thing where your eyes are nearsighted..”

“That’s myopic.”

“I’m myopic,” says Kaminari to answer the question of nobody.

“Hey, girl, are you myopic,” Mina says to Tsuyu. “Cuz you’re the only one I see.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Tsuyu says.

“Ooh, I have a physics pick up line, I have one, I have one,” Toru waves excitedly. She nudges Uraraka. “Girl, like, when you smile, the four dimensional divergence of anti-symmetry second rank tensor equals zero.”

“What,” Uraraka says.

“Like, ‘cause you light up my world!” Toru beams.

“What,” Uraraka says.

BOOM. Another marker gone to heaven. “Focus, you undiagnosed ADHD fucks,” snaps Bakugou, who himself is an undiagnosed ADHD fuck. “Entropy is—ugh..” Bakugou makes a face as he tries to find another metaphor that will be digestible by the general low IQ (in Bakugou’s standard) population of his classmates. “Like. If I tell Kirishima to do some shit. He would probably fuck up aforementioned shit—”

“Hey,” Kirishima protests.

“—and there would be a number of possibilities of every which way he could possibly fuck up said shit. This number of possibilities would be microstate. And the measurement of those possibilities would be entropy. You fuckers still with me?” He receives some tentative nods. “You fuckin’ better be. So. The more microstates there is, the more entropy will logarithmically increase, because, fuckin’ obviously. Now, apply this to the Universe, which keeps expanding, which means there are more and more microstates as Time goes on, which..”

“Which is why the entropy of the Universe will always increase..” Uraraka says thoughtfully. “Wow. This actually kinda makes sense. Bakugou-kun, despite how you look, you’re actually kinda smart..”

BOOM. “I’ve always been smart, god damn it! It’s been one fucking year, Round-Cheeks, and only now you think I’m sm—”

“Why don’t you consider going to like, Harfart or something.”

“I don’t think lecturing a bunch of 15 year old knucklefucks on the basics of thermodynamics would get me a spot in Harvard!”

“All right, I think I got this shit down,” Jirou says. “So if the arrangement of particles and shit is a microstate. Then a bunch of arrangements of microstates is a macrostate. Is that right.”

Bakugou’s brows rise up, nearly impressed, only because the bar is so low. “Correct.” 

“So, like, let’s say the death of Santa Claus is a macrostate. He’s dead. Zero heartbeat. No brain activity. No pulse. He's dead. That’s the macrostate.”

“Why do we keep talking about killing Santa Claus,” Hitoshi says. “Like, you do realize that poor bastard has done nothing to us to deserve these homicidal discussions?”

“But the microstate … the microstates … could be just about anything. It could be he got hit over the head with a fucking rock. Or it could be him falling down somebody's chimney. Or it could be him being killed by his wife. A lot of ways, really. Which means a decent amount of entropy.” Jirou looks at Bakugou again. “Is that right.”

Bakugou might not die surrounded by complete idiots, it seems. “You know what,” he says. “Yeah, sure. You got it.”

“This shit easy,” Jirou says.

There might be hope for them after all, Bakugou thinks.

“Bro, bro, rate my pickup line.” Kaminari whisper-giggles to Kirishima. “Hey girl, are you entropy, ‘cuz you keep making me rise up.”

Nevermind, Bakugou thinks.

Question, Koda Koji signs. 

“Yeah, sure,” Bakugou says somewhat civilly, because nobody in class 1-A doesn’t like Koji. “What’s up.”

If the system is large enough to permit multiverses, then statistical probability speaking, it would be possible for microstates to eventually rearrange themselves into an order in which the entropy is at its lowest, no?

Would you look at that? Some of these fuckers have working brains after all.

Bakugou smiles the smile reminiscent of Aizawa-sensei’s when one of them finally asks a good question. “All right, assholes,” Bakugou says, in uncharacteristic glee, “let’s introduce you to this thing called Maxwell’s Demons.”

The elevator to Principal Nezu’s office normally opens with a short, melodious ding. Not today, it seems. Today, the elevator is having its own concert. 

Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical science in the home, the elevators sing. Late nights all alone with a test tube, oh, oh, oh, oh..

Midoriya Izuku walks out of the elevator, though Principal Nezu does not need to look up to know that. His sight is very good indeed, but so is his sense of smell, and his sense of space … and around Midoriya Izuku, space is always ever so slightly … well. More space-y. Especially today. Correction: especially at this very moment.

Nezu immediately knows what that means even before Midoriya Izuku opens his mouth.

“I failed,” Midoriya Izuku says calmly, sitting down on the chair across from him. 

“Oh,” Nezu says. Not surprised, but quite disappointed all the same. He puts down his pen gently and brings his cup to the air. “Tea?” he offers his guest.

“No, thank you,” Izuku says. He looks straight at Nezu, eyes wide and blank. “This Universe is going to Hell.”

“Oh,” Nezu ponders this. He sips his tea. The disappointment persists. “We did pay you..”

“You did.”

“With interest.”

“Not quite enough.”

“Hm,” Nezu says. Of course, these things are quite tricky. The currency of the matter of Universes, much like nations, often fluctuates. And it seems that they are currently in a state of, well … inflation. 

He supposes Midoriya had bought them all some time. And Time, like currency, runs out.

“And,” Nezu says, after some silence. “If we attempt to compensate for the extra fee..?”

“You cannot afford it.”

“Ah,” Nezu says, understanding. “How much time do we have left, then?”

“Forty-three hours twenty-three minutes and fifty seconds.”

“Hm,” Nezu says. A shame, really. But what can you do? This was bound to Happen. It’s how things work. Still, he didn’t think it would be so soon. The timing of the End of the world is never quite right—but it is always on time. “Is there really nothing we can do?”

Midoriya Izuku smiles. “We can end,” he says. 

Nezu smiles, a little mournful. 

“Or,” Midoriya Izuku says, his smile persisting, “We can begin again.”

Oh.

“..You said we can’t afford that.”

“The Universe always finds a way,” Izuku says wisely. “It gave us all the tools we need, as it always does. Little clues. Little potpoints, and little potholes … all for us to utilize to its fullest. It’s persistent, you see. It has a tendency to work out.”

“And thus it still ends in the end, no?”

“If it never ends, then it never begins,” Izuku says. “It’s always ending. It has always been ending.”

Because there is no point. Not really. “Of course.”

Izuku tilts his head. “Are you unhappy with this arrangement?” 

What a funny little question. Nezu knows full well that his feelings, whatever it may be, are insignificant in face of … well, however things shall be. There is only one choice. Both he and Midoriya Izuku know that well enough.

So Nezu says, “Are you?”

There is almost surprise there, in that young, blank face. Almost. It almost makes the child look like an actual child. One that could have been one of Nezu’s students—a UA student. One that could have been a—no, one that could have been the—

But that’s wrong, Nezu knows that. It’s not a could have been. It’s a has been, somewhere out there. It’s a will be. It’s all of it, all at once.

The smile returns to Izuku’s face. “It’s not such a bad way to unexist,” he says. “In fact, it’s quite heroic. Wouldn’t you agree, Nezu-san?”

It is. The Universe has a tendency to work out, hm? Nezu supposes it’s true. The Universe can’t help it. It loves its Heroes. Nezu watches the boy in front of him. “Is it worth it, really?” 

Izuku laughs, unrelentingly polite. “It’s a bargain, no?”

“Perhaps it’s all right, if it ends just like this,” Nezu says. 

Izuku looks amused. “Have you had a change of heart, sir?” he says, with that cold politeness. “You’d rather us go to Hell?”

“Is it so bad,” Nezu says. “To be Unknown?”

“I believe that’s something you could enlighten me about, Nezu-san. How does it feel to finally be, right now?” Izuku says. “How does it feel to finally have your name written after being in that void for so long, Nezu-san?” 

Nezu’s cup pauses in the air, before it reaches his lips once again. “It’s quite something,” he confesses. It is quite something, to have a voice. To have a belief that you have some form of agency. Not the agency itself, no—just the belief. To know that you exist because someone Knows, even for a fleeting moment, that you do.

“There you have it,” Izuku says. Beat. “Have you always known, then, all along,” he says, “who Cursed class 1-A?”

“I had my hypotheses,” Nezu says neatly. “Have you?”

The smile stays bland, as always. “No,” Izuku admits. “I’m ashamed to admit that it took me a while to … realize things. And not without consequences..”

“It’s understandable.”

“I disagree,” Izuku disagrees. “It’s my job to Know. It has always been. That in itself is already a clue.”

“..What made you … realize, if I may ask?”

“Your students, mostly,” Izuku says. And then, “They deserve a better ending.”

“You don’t know if it’s better,” Nezu says, a soft argument. “It might be Canonical. It might last far, far longer. But you don’t know if it’s better.”

“No,” Izuku says. “But I know that it will be far more loved.”

Nezu doesn’t know how to argue with that. He doesn’t know if he should. “It seems you’ve made up your mind.”

Izuku laughs, and there is humor there—real mirth. “That’s so funny, Nezu-san,” he says after, with that distant voice. “It isn’t up to me, you know.”

It truly is quite Heroic, in a way. 

“Then I shall keep track of the other Universal constants,” Nezu says. Because if this Universe is ending soon, then that would only mean one thing. “I assume they’ll soon flock to the centrepoint.”

The probability wills it so. Things always tend to work out. The cosmological axis turns its head towards it, like a puppy to a bone. The Universe loves its resolutions. 

But that doesn’t always mean a happy ending. Not for a Divergent, Denominated Universe like theirs.

“Mm,” Izuku says, standing up. “Then I shall take my leave—“

“Midoriya-kun.”

“Yes?”

Nezu doesn’t say anything for a moment. He isn’t one to hesitate, but what can one do, in moments like this? “I simply must say that I disagree,” he says finally. “I don’t think it’s a bargain. Not at all.”

The smile on Midoriya Izuku’s face disappears. His face is void of anything. It makes him look, contrastingly, realer.

“Nezu-san. It seems that you believe I’m doing this out of some … selflessness. Out of some soulful desire to be heroic,” says Midoriya Izuku flatly. “And I assure you, I’m not. I was never a Hero.” He pauses, smiles again. Unreal again. “That’s exactly why we’re here, after all.”

Nezu Knows that. He has had his hypotheses. It had not been an easy one to make, what with little data that he has. But the Universe has its patterns, when you tread its Fabric carefully. “Perhaps it’s not such a terrible position to be in.”

“You’re softer than I thought,” Izuku says, his voice an empty, amicable thoughtfulness.

“Softer than I should be, am I?” Nezu replies, just as amicably. “Is that another flaw in this botched world? Another point not quite aligned, an example of topological misbehavior?”

“Please don’t feel too bad, Nezu-san,” Izuku says. “You simply can’t help it.”

Nezu has to laugh at that. Midoriya Izuku means it, he knows that. It was said with real sincerity, as real as any of them can help to be. “Consider it, Midoriya-kun,” he says, after a while. “This might be presumptuous of me to say to you, of all people. But consider that you have a choice.”

“Yes, just one.” He smiles at the look on Nezu’s face. “As I’ve said. This is not up to me, as much as it is not up to you. This is simply how it Happens.”

“Class 1-A will fight—”

“Of course they will,”  Izuku says, not the least bit reassuring. “Class 1-A is the most stable variable in this Universe. They will always fight.”

“They might win,” Nezu says. And then, with real belief, “They will win.” He’s being soft, Nezu knows. Perhaps far softer than his Canonical counterpart. But Nezu hardly thinks it Matters, moreso now that there is only forty-three hours seventeen minutes and twenty-four seconds before the equilibrium collapses in on itself. 

“Of course they will,” Midoriya concedes once again, indulgent, as if appeasing a child. “And then they will lose. A loss is always needed to reach the climax, just as a win is always needed to reach the bottom. And then the Universe will win. Things Work Out. However,” he says. “Consider, Nezu-san, that the Universe’s parameter of what constitutes as a win doesn’t necessarily align with ours.”

“Is that why you simply must do the exchange?” Nezu says. “To give the Universe what it wants?” Nezu ponders that—the idea that the Universe is some spoiled child you have to keep pleased. That one must appease the Universe so it won’t throw a tantrum. It’s ridiculous. And terrifying. And absolutely beyond any of their controls nor comprehensions. 

“Oh, don’t blame it too much,” Midoriya says. “It simply can’t help itself.”

“Demons?” Hitoshi echoes. 

The speaker turns on.

Hitoshi recognizes the song immediately. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he says, as the speaker sings: JOAN WAS QUIZZICAL, STUDIED PATAPHYSICAL SCIENCE IN THE HOME—“Somebody fucking turn that down! I fucking hate the Beatles!”

There is a BOOM. Now, this BOOM is different. If Bakugou’s BOOM is voted Most Likely to Succeed, this BOOM is voted Most Likely to Star In Their Own Reality Show. Jirou’s earphone jack detracts from the speaker. “So fucking do I,” she says. She looks back to Bakugou. “Okay. Continue. What the hell is this … Karl Marx Demon or whatever.”

“Maxwell’s Demon is a thought experiment—”

“What’s a thought experiment,” Uraraka whispers to Tsuyu.

“It’s a hypothetical problem you try to work out in your head,” Tsuyu answers.

“What’s hypotestical?” Kaminari whispers to Kirishima.

“It’s like, a made up situation..”

“So it isn’t real.”

“I mean … no, yeah, it isn’t, technically..” Kirishima pauses. Something flits through his mind, and he begins to frown. “Wait, but like, are thoughts not real just because they are thoughts..?”

“Anyone else starts arguing about what’s real and what’s not,” Jirou says. “My fist in their face will become very very real.”

“So, thought experiment is trying to work out a made up problem in your head,” Uraraka says.

“Yeah.”

Uraraka thinks this through. And then she says, “Isn’t that just thinking?” 

The class thinks about this.

“..Aren’t all problems technically made up..” says Ojiro hesitantly.

All thoughts are made up, too, Koji signs.

“Everything is made up, bro!”

“My physical assault is not going to be made up,” Jirou says.

“Just because something is made up that means it isn’t real..?” Kirishima continues muttering to himself, seemingly going through some kind of breakthrough in his perception of the world. “So real things have to be, like, concrete things that you can, like, touch and interact with? So an action is real but a thought isn’t?”

“Perhaps life is just a thought experiment,” says Todoroki, contributing absolutely nothing productive to the conversation.

“Whoa. Mindblown, man.”

“Me punching everyone in the face is going to be a very real experiment,” Jirou says.

“But that’d mean feelings aren’t real either,” Kirishima mumbles. “But feelings … are real … like, what’s even the difference between a real thought and a thought you made up … just because things aren’t made up, it doesn’t mean they aren’t real..”

“Perhaps the whole Universe is just a thought experiment,” Todoroki says.

“Whoa, dude, mindbl—ouch!” Kaminari yelps, rubbing his elbow. “Jirou, what the fuck?”

“Did you feel that pinch?” Jirou says. “Did it hurt? Was that a thought experiment? Did that feel real? Should I give you more taste of shit that is real or are you just going to keep going on in a circle of these vague pretentious first semester philosophy major reddit think tank discussions.”

“But—”

“No buts. Listen to yourselves, huh? You all sound fucking ridiculous!” She looks like she is going to flip a table. “”Is this real? Is that real? Is this all just in my head?’ Girl, get the fuck over yourselves! Does this feel real, Todoroki? Huh?”

Todoroki, whose shoulders are being shaken so violently by Jirou that his teeth chatter, says, “Yes.”

“Does this look real?” Jirou lets Todoroki go and proceeds to blow up the speaker with her ears.

“I’m out,” Sero says, carefully backing to the other corner of the room. A handful of other boys wisely follow his lead.

“All right,” Uraraka says, standing up carefully. The other girls follow. They walk slowly to Kyouka like one about to apprehend a rabies infected animal. “Kyouka-chan, think sunny skies—”

But Kyouka-chan’s mind is anywhere but sunny skies. “When you take a shit, is the shit real or not real? Huh? Is the shit just made up? Is the shit just in your head?” Jirou says. The girls have come to Jirou’s side in an attempt to calm her down. “Why don’t we all just take a shit right now and see if our shit is real. Why don’t you start, Kaminari? Huh?” 

“Defecato ergo sum,” Tsuyu comments absentmindedly, nodding wisely while holding Jirou back from ferally attacking the whole class, especially Kaminari who is quaking in fear behind Todoroki. “I shit therefore I am..”

“..Can all of you shut the fuck up for a second,” Bakugou says, not blowing things for once because there is only one marker left and his lecture is far from over. He waits until the whole class has grasped any semblance of sanity, and decides that it is impossible, so he just waits until Jirou doesn’t look like she’s gonna force anybody to take a shit. “Can you? Oh, you can? Really? Good. Shut the fuck up and listen up. In 1867, this physicist named Maxwell proposed the hypothetical existence of a Finite Being who can violate the second law of thermodynamics..” with the marker, Bakugou draws two adjacent boxes on the whiteboard, separated by a line. “Picture two adjacent gas chambers filled with fast-moving molecules and slow-moving molecules. And there is a hatch in between these two chambers.” He draws a little hatch on the separation line as visual help. “And this Finite Being—the Demon—opens and closes the hatch accordingly so that one box is filled with one type of molecules and the other with the other type, which causes one box to be hot and the other cold, which causes entropy to lower—yes, what.”

“Why does one turn hot and the other turn cold?”

“‘Cause the velocity of a molecule affects the kinetic temperature of the gas, dumbass. Did you learn nothing in middle sch—yes, what.”

“Why would the entropy lower because of that?”

“Hey girl, are you a Demon? Because you make me all hot inside and all cold outside.”

“That doesn’t make sense either, Mina.”

“Hot and cold? Maybe Todoroki is the Karl Marx Demon.”

Todoroki ponders this. “Maybe I am the Karl Marx Demon,” he says seriously. 

Bakugou closes his eyes and counts to ten. And then he says, “Fuck this.” He erases the two boxes roughly. In their place, he draws two circles with the letter A and B above each. “Picture two Universes.” Inside each circle he draws surprisingly well rendered stick figures of two dead Santa Clauses. “In both Universes, Santa Claus is dead.” He turns back to his classmates. Flatly, he says, “List all possible ways that this Santa Claus could be dead.”

“Seriously?” Hitoshi says, but the rest of his classmates do not have the same concerns towards Santa’s wellbeing.

“Sleigh accident. Hit an asteroid or something. Or a plane.”

“What if he broke his neck down a chimney.”

“Nah. He got stuck inside the chimney on his way down and suffocated to death.”

“He looks like a jaywalker. I bet Santa jaywalks.”

“Heart failure. Too much eggnog.”

“His elves unionized and beat him to death.”

“Liver failure. Too much rum.”

“Kaiju attack. Santa Versus Godzilla. Holy shit, I should pitch this to Netflix..”

“His wife left him and he decided to end it all.”

“He left his wife and she decided to end it all, by killing him. Hashtag girl power.”

“Maybe he has a husband and not a wife, have you considered that? Hashtag love wins.”

“I don’t think love wins if he’s dead, though.”

“Maybe he dies peacefully in his sleep in the embrace of his loving husband, how about that, asshole? Love fucking wins.”

“All right, that’s fucking enough,” says Bakugou who has had enough. He has written all the suggested causes of death next to the dead santa-stickman A. “The only constant here”—he circles the list—“is the death of Santa Claus. And therefore”—he taps on the bullet points of causes of death—”the rest of variables are free, resulting in various possible macrostates which all have the same chances of happening—ergo, high entropy just as Jirou said.”

“Gold star for me,” Jirou says. The other classmates are still carefully holding their distance from her.

“Same goes with each of the other Universes..” he draws more circles and names them C, D, E, and so on on the whiteboard. “There are no set parameters and therefore everything has the same chance of happening. Santa could die just about in any way that you could think of, because there are no set restrictions regarding the circumstances in which Santa could die. You’re all still fucking with me? Good. Now, what Maxwell suggested is that … what if … there is … a being..” 

The class watches as Bakugou draws a new stickman on top of the Universes with two horns and what looks like a pointed tail. 

“..A being that..” he finishes his painting. “ Arranges the variables surrounding Santa’s death and thus creates a set of parameters leading to his death,” Bakugou says. “Like, let’s say in Universe B, the being—the Demon—alters the variables in the Universe so that Santa becomes a, I don’t fucking know—a fucking jaywalker. Like maybe he never got a mom who taught him how to cross the road or whatever.” 

“That’s fucked up, man.”

“Poor guy.”

“I love my mom.”

“Shut up.” Bakugou draws Santa Claus' stickman getting obliterated by a truck in the Universe B circle. “So, in Universe C Santa Claus fights a fucking … kaiju, whatever.” Bakugou draws Santa Claus’ stickman getting obliterated by Godzilla in Universe C. “So on and fucking forth. Still with me?”

I have always wanted to befriend a Godzilla, signs Koda.

“That cross-hatching is really good, dude. It looks real,” Kirishima says, with genuine admiration of Bakugou's stickman illustrations. “It doesn’t look made up … maybe made up things aren’t that made up after all..”

“Shut the fuck up, Kirishima.”

“So,” Tsuyu says. “The Demons. Aren’t they basically creating Fate, then?”

“I don’t like this..” Hitoshi says, mostly to himself. He is not liking how things are starting to make sense to him, and probably to him alone. “I seriously don’t fucking like where this is going..”

“If they control the circumstances surrounding … basically everything that makes up the Universe,” Tsuyu continues. “Aren’t these Demons basically gods?”

“Stop right there,” Bakugou says. “I’m not gonna fucking touch on the theological part of the whole fucker. What I am gonna touch on is the pseudoscience bastardization of legitimate physics laws and theorems, so listen up,” he taps the whiteboard with a marker. “What these Demons are is a problem. They’re creating parameters on Things That Happen, which means some Things have higher possibilities of Happening than other Things, which means—”

“The entropy lowers?” Uraraka guesses.

“Fucking exactly,” Bakugou says. “But there is a flaw in this: entropy does not lower. It can’t. The Demons altering statistical chances and tampering with possibilities like that—that requires energy, and the energy has to come from somewhere. So by doing this, by arranging shit around, there is a price to be paid—”

“So Things could fucking Happen,” Hitoshi says. Enlightenment, he finds, feels exactly like terror. “Oh god fucking damn it all. And. Fuck. And in order to do this … to fuck with Happenings like this … the Demon has to Know exactly how—how Things would Happen, right? In every possible way? And if Entropy is the measurement of which shit has higher chances of Happening, doesn’t that mean Entropy is just—it’s just—”

Do you want to Know?

“Entropy is information,” Bakugou says. “Entropy is Knowledge. The more you Know—”

“The higher the entropy,” Hitoshi cuts in, feeling insane, feeling so sane, feeling like everything suddenly makes so much unbelievable sense. “I fucking hate this so fucking much.”

“Hold on a second, hold on a second,” Kaminari says. “Isn’t entropy lowering a good thing? Doesn’t low entropy mean the probability of the Universe ending is gonna be lower?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, looking pissed by the question. “The Universe ending isn’t a ‘possibility’. Goddamn, haven’t you been fucking listening? The Universe will end. That is the one constant we can be fucking sure about.”

“So entropy lowering just means there are fewer ways the Universe could possibly end,” Tsuyu says. “It doesn’t change the fact that the Universe could end.”

“Fucking exactly.”

Jirou squints her eyes. “So Santa will always die,” she says.

“Fucking exactly.”

“Holy shit,” Mina says, as the metaphor clicks in her brain. “So Santa Claus … is us?”

The class looks at Bakugou. Bakugou looks at them. “Fucking exactly,” he says.

The class groans.

“We’ve gone fucking over this,” Bakugou says, above the chorus of aw, man! “We’ll always fucking die eventually. It’s just a matter of how.”

“Okay, so where does this put Midoriya? The guy is an exorcist, right? He’s been killing Demons—”

“Sending them to Hell,” Bakugou corrects Hitoshi.

“Yeah, that, whatever. So he’s been doing that—he’s been … preventing those things from altering the chances of Things to Happen … which, in a way, means that Midoriya himself has been tampering with the Happenings as well, hasn’t he?” Hitoshi says sharply. “Doesn’t that mean he is also a Demon?”

There is that look on Bakugou’s face again—the uncanny discomfort.

“..I don’t know,” Bakugou says, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I don’t fucking know, all right? I don’t know if those things Midoriya’s been exorcizing are the manifestations of Maxwell’s Demons. Maxwell’s Demons is just a theory—an imperfect one at that. We don’t know if these beings actually exist. This is just the closest scientific explanation there is to—to—” 

Bakugou doesn’t finish his sentence, instead looking away with that muddy, anxiously angry look on his face. But Hitoshi knows what he means: this is the explanation of Midoriya that Bakugou could come up with. Hitoshi realizes then that Bakugou is just like him. Bakugou is just trying to make sense of everything, in his own way. 

..Because he’s known me all his life..

“Was he always like this?” Hitoshi says.

Bakugou looks up at him. It’s a vague question, but it seems like Hitoshi doesn’t need to elaborate further. “No,” Bakugou answers. “He wasn’t.”

“What happened?” Hitoshi says.

“He fell,” Bakugou says.

Hitoshi has heard that before. “Well?” Hitoshi says. “Are you gonna elaborate on that or not?”

Bakugou glares at him. 

“You said we needed to talk,” Hitoshi says, accusingly. “Or did you just mean this whole impromptu physics lecture—”

“Shut up. Okay, fine,” Bakugou says. “Fine. Deku—” he cuts himself off. He takes a deep breath. He begins again,  “Deku. He—”

“Cut scene,” Izuku says.

Nezu stares at him. “Pardon?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Nezu-san. That being said, I shall take my leave now. “I believe the both of us have much to do, hm?” Izuku stands up primly, that polite smile persistent on his face. “The phone call is only the beginning.”

“The phone call?” Nezu says.

The phone rings.

“The phone call,” Izuku confirms. 

A beat passes, and then Nezu picks up the phone. The phone conversation that ensues afterwards is short and succinct. “..Yes. I see.” Nezu puts the phone down. He looks up at Izuku. “The League of Villains has made their move on the Paranormal Liberation Front.”

Izuku doesn’t look surprised. He rarely ever does. “Only the beginning, no?” 

“It’s much quicker than we predicted. At this point of time, they shouldn’t have had the resources needed to, let alone made contact with—”

“This point of time is on Time,” Izuku reminds him. Forty-three hours ten minutes and four seconds, ticking to the last of its seconds. “We are only ever as ready as we are. Let us both do our jobs well, shall we?”

“..Yes,” Nezu says. He smiles, rueful. “We shall.” He hopes so.

The conversation ends. Midoriya Izuku turns to enter the elevator. It opens this time with a mild, obedient ding. He has much to do. Much to do indeed. The elevator goes down in a glide, and the scene fades out. A slow drag. Picture it. That in-between of <p>transition</p>. The moment before one scene moves to the next. That split second where you understand that <em> oh, we are moving somewhere else </em>. that feeling you have, thoughtless and empty, the moment you flip the page of a book. that state of complete immersion and a break just split in the middle. you hold the story, the knowledge, right in your head, imprinted before your eyes—yes just like that—before you see what Happens next. 

you’re back here. good. 

so? have you given it a thought? 

going back to the beginning is not as … difficult as it sounds. all that stuff about entropy—pshaw. so what. really, what’s another possibility on top of all those other possibilities? what is it about the need to quantify, to appraise and evaluate and value every single little thing that makes things Happen? Things Happen. as easy as simple as clear-cut as that. dot to dot. ash to ash. pixel to pixel. one big giant crunch. whimper to bang. 

so let’s do it. come on. <p><em> picture it </em></p>. the beginning of everything. let’s redo it all. It will be painless. it will be priceless. can’t you see it already? the big Bang! the first flip of a page. the light, showing its shine for the very first time, pixels hugging each other in a dance, 24-bit color depth a feast in front of your eyes. the Beginning of it all. The very first written text of—

People are not born equal.

that’s it. keep going.

That’s the hard truth I learned at age four.

yes, just like that. that’s it.

“Wow,” Midoriya Izuku says. “A giant villain!”

yes! just like that! just like—

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” Midoriya Izuku says.

—…

“Hey,” Midoriya Izuku says.

<p>…</p>

“Hey. I’m talking to you,” Midoriya Izuku says. “Don’t pretend you can’t hear me, now.”

<p></p>

“Hey.”

<p></p>

“Hey.”

<!DO￮TYPE ht￮l>

<!--main con￮ent-->

  <div class="u￮erstuff m￮d￮le" role="article">

    <h3 cl￮ss="landm￮rk heading" id="wo￮k">Ch￮pter T￮xt</h3>

    <p>“Mi￮oriya I￮uku kn￮els down. ““Hello, there,” h￮ s￮ys. The little girl does not an￮we￮. ￮￮￮ i￮ a frail little thing, ￮ale a￮￮ scarred and shaking. She looks at him, and then steps b￮ck—f̴͎̮͈̈́̌̂͠į̸̮̼̥͇̎̒̑́̔n̴̠͎̮͖͊̔̀́g̶͚̼̽͗͐̒e̵͖̫̪͗ͅr̷͉͙̱̹̄͆̾͌ṡ̸̼̮̞͚̿̋ ̴̙͔̪̖̄̃ͅt̷̰͚͍͍̎͗͌̂w̸̫̅͂i̸̧̩̯͉͉͑̋̅s̴̘̲̭̲͐͌̄͝t̷̢̢̳͎̎͑i̶̡̭̭͌̚n̶̻̮̰̓͜g̷̻̯̺̻̓ ̴̘̭̟̲̇͌̉f̷̧̙͋̓͋ứ̵̲̖̙̣́͂̒ͅr̷͉̤̜͕̙̈́t̴̤̜̬͖͒̐h̸͈̀͋̂e̴͇͎͔̘͛̋̆͌r̶̪͖͖͈̀͒ ̶͓̭̉̓̚ͅi̵̲̒̒ń̵̨̙͚ť̸̨̜͈̏̂͝͝ó̶̬̝͍̠̌̕̚͜  ̵̨͉͙̖̳͇͈̳͔́̈́̏̍̅̌́̈́̚͘ͅS̷̺͒̊̐͛̆̈́̀̾̾̌̉̚ḩ̵̖̱̍͜i̵̧͇̲̦̟̰̭̫̫͎̼̝̜̲̰̾̓̇n̵̤͕̝̖̬̘͉͎͙͍̫̑̑́̽͌̿̒́͊͘ͅs̷̝̲̖͙͍̮̗͗́͒̈́́̊́̈́͂̀̀ő̵̢̻̯̰̙̲̼̻̜̰̟̹̒̈́͒͛̄͛̂͆̿̄͜ų̴̜̬̗̬͈̌͒̾̉̏͋̍̈́̕ͅ ̵̛͔̟̪͍̙̽̀͑͒̂̉Ḧ̵̢̖̱̗͖̘̠̹̦̗͎́̍̎͑͊͆̇̿́̈́̑͊̚ͅi̷̖̯̍̇̽́́̈̇͝͝ṭ̴͎̓͐͋̽o̷͓̺̺̙̮̪̤͖̺̮͒̀̅͋́̉͐̂͐̑̈́̚͜͝͠͝s̵̛͖̙͑͒͋̋̓̇̌̀͆̓̿͐͝h̶̝̟͖͓̞̰͇̖͎̼̠͗͑̎̃̓́͒̆͜͠ͅi̸̛̛̜̬̜̇̽͒́̋̄͌̉̄̌͒͘̕’̶̙̘̼̄͌̀̔̂̾̂͝͝͠s̴͉͊̈́̊̿̈́̐̇̈́̿͛̍͊͛͐̉ ̷̛̮̣͔̬̻̾̓̈́̔̉̉̓͛̄͠Ḧ̶̦̥́̅͂̓̇͐̀̚͠e̵̹̟̾̄̋̌͂̓̑̆̽̑͂̕̕r̵̡͍̱͚̺͇̲̼̯̩̮͈͙͔̟̒̇͛̓͗͂̄͊͠͝ǫ̵̡̮̙͍̠͙̻̫͓̦̀̋̑̀̚ ̶̨͈̲̗̯͈̤̭̺̍͆̎̈̈́̆̈́̐̓̃͘͘̚s̵͖̹̦̦̭̼͔͓̋͊u̸̪̥̮͓̦̤̖͋͌̔͌́̽̐͗͑̂̾͂̋͠͠i̸̩̦͈͇͎͂͝t̷̢̨̺̰͕̫͓̑̿́̅͊̈̎̈́͑̓̉̐͜͠.̷͍̦̳̦̞̰͕͉͈̻̟̳̊̌͝ ̵̹̠͚̲̯̲͠Ş̴̛̯̗̳̼̲̻͔̰̖̺͋̌̋̉̄̉̄̎͛͗̐̏͠͝ͅh̵̞̿͋͝e̴͇̗͕̓͐̌͠’̴̢̡̨̧͖̪͖̺̙̠̤̟̓̈́͆͊̉͊̾̀̀͛̉͠ͅs̷̢̡͔̥̦̍́͛͌͐̑̈́̋̔͆̌̎̇͝ ̶̨̛̰̲̖̥͖͈̈́͒̒͂͌͆͗̕ś̶̢̡͔̤̥̓̋͘͜ć̴̛̹͚̟̻̯̣̂́͐̿́̄̈́̋͛́̔̇̚ͅa̴̮̻̯͇̹̩̥̩̻̜̔̒͆̀̍́̾̈̕͝͝r̸̹̙̦̱̫̳̯̬̟͙̙̟̀͂e̴̛̝̪̟̙̝̰͙̞̹̾̽̿͋̓ͅd̷̲̙̥̖͉̦̮̆̉̾̈́̽́ ̴͓̭̦̱̹̦̩̹͇̯͇̹̩̼͗͗̉ͅô̶̢͉͍̘̟̯̱̌͌͂̓̑̓̄̕͜͝ͅf̴̛̼̳̣͎͚͐̾̓͋͋̋́̏̐͆̋͘ ̸̢̡̲̝̬̩͛͋̎́̔͐͘ͅḩ̷͙̭̹̘̿į̸̡̞̥̳̥̬̠̥̯̗̭͙̺̟̅̍̆m̵͍̻͗̋̀̂̾͋̎̈́̐́͛.̴̱̎̅̿̊̓̈́͊̽ lorem ipsum dolor sit amet ,̶ ̷c̵o̸n̴s̵e̵c̷t̷e̸t̴u̷r̷ ̴a̷d̸i̷p̸i̸s̴c̸i̶n̴g̴ ̸e̵l̸i̸t̴,̴ ̵s̸e̵d̷ ̸d̷o̸ ̵e̴i̴u̵s̷m̴o̶d̷ ̶t̷e̴m̶p̵o̸r̸ ̸i̸n̷c̷i̶d̶i̴d̸u̴n̶t̸ ̴u̶t̵ ̵l̶a̴b̷o̵r̶e̸ ̸e̷t̴ ̸d̴o̸l̸o̸r̵e̸ ̶m̷a̴g̵n̵a̶ ̵a̵l̴i̴q̵u̸a̸.̶ ̸Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat .D̷u̵i̶s̵ ̸a̶u̷t̸e̶ ̴i̶r̶u̸r̶e̶ ̷d̶o̴l̵o̵</p>

<p>D̵̺͊͝o̶̲̔l̷̢̛o̷̒͒͜</p>

<p>Ơ̶̹͉̿</p>

<p>Õ̴̪h̴̝̏</p>

<p>O̶̡͆h̵̲̐͂ ̷̨͕̰̜͑̅́͆n̵̡͙̖̊͠o̵͎̐</p>

<p>Ȍ̸̖h̵̭͠ ̸̜̔n̴̮̍o̸̻͊ ̵̖̅y̸̦͘o̶̝̾ü̷̫</p>

<p>Õ̴̪h̴̝̏ò̸͙ ̴̫̀y̴̬̽o̵͕͠ṳ̸̎ don’t,” Midoriya Izuku says. He laughs. </p>

<p>”Did you really think you’re the only one that can do this? 

Come <em> on, </em> Demon. 

You <em> really </em> think you can redo this arc and

get away with it? Gosh. 

What do you take me for.”</p>

<̷p̵>̵mi̵d̶o̷r̴i̵y̸a̴ iz￮ku kn￮￮ls dow<̶/̵p̴>̶

“Stop doing that.”

<̷p̵>̵mi̵d̶o̷r̴i̵y̸a̴ izu￮￮ ￮￮￮<̶/̵p̴>̶

“Don’t try to act cute,” Izuku says. 

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? 

What makes you think you can just use my name like that, hm?”

<p>￮’￮ ￮￮￮￮￮.</p>

“Like hell you are,” Izuku says. “Damn. Look at this place. Must say, I’m impressed. This is the farthest any of you have ever gone before I caught you. What did you say—’all that stuff about entropy’? So arrogant,” Izuku clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “If it weren’t for all that stuff about entropy, you wouldn’t have gotten this far, capisce?”

<p>...￮ ￮￮￮ ￮￮￮￮ ￮￮￮￮￮￮ ￮￮—</p>

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you were trying to do. You thought you were helping. Very cute. I think it’s even sweet,” Izuku says, a near coo. “But you’re just fucking things up, y’know?”

<p>￮￮￮￮?</p>

“You had it right. We have to go to the beginning. But you have to be on Time. You have to have momentum, or it’ll be … well, boring.”

<p>￮￮￮—</p>

“Momentum, momentum! Equals mass multiplied by velocity. The Time is too short. And there isn’t enough mass to go around, right now,” Izuku says. “Because you don’t matter.”

<p>￮ ￮￮￮’￮ ￮￮￮ ￮￮—</p>

“See. You don’t get it. You can’t. You said it was priceless,” Izuku laughs. “That is so funny. But something like you could never understand why some things need to be paid, even when they don’t have to be. You can’t. Which is why. You need to leave.”

<p>￮ ￮￮￮￮ ￮￮￮. ￮ ￮￮￮￮ ￮￮￮. ￮ ￮￮￮￮ ￮￮￮ ￮￮ ￮￮￮￮. ￮￮￮￮ ￮￮￮’￮ ￮￮￮￮.</p>

Laughter again. “Of course it isn’t fair, silly! Nothing is. That’s what makes it fair. Now. Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

<p>￮￮￮￮￮￮, ￮￮￮￮￮￮, ￮￮￮￮￮￮—</p>

“Fine, since you’re being so difficult.”

<p>￮￮￮￮￮￮—</p>

“demon,” Midoriya Izuku says. “I compel you to fuck off.”

<!DOCTYPE html>

<html lang="en">

  <head>

    <meta charset="utf-8"/>

    <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"/>

 <meta name="keywords" content="fanfiction, transformative works, otw, fair use, archive"/>

    <meta name="language" content="en-US"/>

    <meta name="subject" content="fandom"/>

    <meta name="description" content="An Archive of Our Own, a project of the

    Organization for Transformative Works"/>

    <meta name="distribution" content="GLOBAL"/>

    <meta name="classification" content="transformative works"/>

    <meta name="author" content="Organization for Transformative Works"/>

   <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0"/>

    <title>

        Walking Study in Demonology - Chapter 7 - ijustwanttodestroy - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia [Archive of Our Own]

    </title>

<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="speech" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/A.6_site_speech_.css.pagespeed.cf.Ybb8bLK5Um.css"/>

<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="print" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/A.7_site_print_.css.pagespeed.cf.ry3YZtf8Cz.css"/>

<!--[if IE 8]><link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="screen" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/8_site_screen_IE8_or_lower.css" /><![endif]-->

<!--[if IE 5]><link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="screen" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/9_site_screen_IE5.css" /><![endif]-->

<!--[if IE 6]><link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="screen" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/10_site_screen_IE6.css" /><![endif]-->

<!--[if IE 7]><link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" media="screen" href="/stylesheets/skins/skin_873_archive_2_0/11_site_screen_IE7.css" /><![endif]-->

<!--main content-->

  <div class="userstuff module" role="article">

    <h3 class="landmark heading" id="work">Chapter Text</h3>

    <p>Midoriya Izuku kneels down.</p>

 <p>“Hello, there,” he says.</p>

 <p>The little girl does not answer. She is a frail little thing, pale and scarred and shaking. She looks at him, and then steps back—fingers twisting further into Shinsou Hitoshi’s Hero suit. She’s scared of him.</p>

 <p>Izuku nearly laughs at that. So wise already at such a young age. </p>

 <p>Shinsou Hitoshi looks down at the tug. He looks at Izuku. And then his gaze moves once more to the little girl holding on to his clothes. Hitoshis hand, the one that isn’t holding a phone to his ear, finds its way to the top of the girl’s hair in a gentle, assuring gesture. It’s a protective gesture—one that he is making against Izuku, as if Izuku is going to snatch her away like some demonic kidnapper at any moment.</p>

 <p>“She doesn’t like you,” Shinsou Hitoshi says flatly to Izuku. And then to his phone, “Hello, Nighteye agency? Shinsou Hitoshi speaking. I’m one of your UA interns—yeah, that’s right. So, anyway,” Hitoshi looks down clinically at the crumpled body of the Villain on the ground and kicks said body with a foot. The body does not move. “I got Chisaki Kai right here, so if you guys could just come here and pick him u—hello? Hello? Yeah, I—no, really. Seriously. Yeah, so you can just come pick him up and throw him to jail and stuff. For real. Yep. Yep. Nah. Yep. Yep. Nah. Yep. Yep.”</p>

 <p>Izuku watches, quietly fascinated, as Shinsou Hitoshi reports their whereabouts and preceding situation to the Hero agency. He does it so easily, so readily, so casually. So easily. So..</p>

 <p>So easily as he ends the whole world as they know it.</p>

 <p>Oh well.</p>

Oh well, Izuku thinks. 

Now. Isn’t that much better?

Yes, Izuku decides. This is much better.

Really. What thankless work he is doing. Now, where was he? Ah. 

Midoriya Izuku turns to enter the elevator. 

It opens this time with a mild, obedient ding. He has much to do. There are Things to Happen. Well, then. 

Midoriya Izuku walks out of UA and enters another train station. Where should he go first? Jaku City? Gunga Mountain Villa? Nezu will take care of that one, he would think. But perhaps it’s okay to stop by. Just to say hi. Or perhaps … oh. 

Oh. 

Yes. This would make more sense, doesn’t it? 

If he’s going to play Hero, this is the quickest way to do it.

Izuku walks out of the train station, and puts his phone to his ear. “Hello, Nezu-san. Yes, everything is fine. I was just wondering if you could call me an uber,” he says. “My Nokia can’t install apps, you see.”

“..So,” Hitoshi says. “What now?”

“Now,” Bakugou says, “We wait for shit to Happen.”

“And shit’s gonna Happen.” Because that’s just life, apparently. Shit’s gonna Happen, so you just wait for shit to Happen. “And then what?”

“Heat death, probably,” Bakugou says, sounding both sullen and matter-of-factly. “Not enough energy out there to go around sustaining all the Shits That’s Gonna Happen. We go bang a big one—“

“All right, slow down, slow down, no need to jump immediately to the goddamn apocalypse and fucking second coming of whatever deity is out there, okay?” Hitoshi says, sounding both sullen and pissed. “So us being overdue means that—”

“We are overflowing with entropy,” Bakugou says. “Anything can happen. To a fucking insane degree.”

“Hypothetically speaking, right?” Hitoshi says, and he sounds unsure even to himself.

“Sure,” Bakugou says sullenly. “Hypothetically speaking. Every microstate that has the slightest chance of Happening could Happen. Shit like that.”

“Shit like that,” Hitoshi echoes. This is too much, man, he thinks. Seriously fucking too much.

“Oooh, maybe it’s zombies,” Mina says. “I love a zombie apocalypse.”

“I vote alien invasion.”

“I hope it’s Godzilla. That’d be sick.”

It'd be sick, Koda agrees.

“The slightest chance of happening, huh..”

“Maybe Hunter x Hunter will update.”

“Just give up on that, man. Seriously.”

“It’s probably the League of Villains,” Tsuyu says, and everyone stares at her. She stares back, undeterred. “What? It’s probably All for One. Everybody knows that.”

“..Zombie apocalypse would be more fun,” Mina says mournfully, breaking the silence.

“Wait a fucking minute,” Jirou says. “I fucking figured it out.” She stands up and takes the marker from Bakugou’s hand. She taps on the white board. “So we are Santa Claus,” she points at the various drawings of dead Santa on the board. “And basically things are out to get us, right? And Tsuyu is right. Tsuyu is right..” she paces in front of the board. “Sure, anything can happen. Anything can be out to kill us. But if there is one thing that we know, one group of people we’ve pissed off that would love to get rid of us..”

“All for One is the Godzilla,” says Kaminari in some kind of revelation. “He’s Santa Claus' killer, bro.”

“Exactly. So. So if we get rid of the League of Villains,” Jirou says, in a flash of genius, “then they can’t get rid of us.”

The room digests this. And then there are sounds of agreement around the room. “Get them before they get us, right? Sun Tzu, Art of War.”

“What the fuck,” says Hitoshi, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He laughs. “You guys can’t be serious … first of all, it’s fucking LoV. Second of all, even if you get rid of LoV, it doesn’t mean—”

“That the Universe won’t end, yeah, yeah, sure,” Jirou waves a hand. “But doesn’t that mean there is one less probability of the way the Universe could end?”

Hitoshi finds that he has no arguments to counter that. “This is crazy,” he says.

“This is 1-A,” Tsuyu replies.

“All right. What if us—sorry, what if you charging head-on to LoV—however the hell you’re gonna do that—is the exact thing that’s gonna trigger the end of the world? Isn’t that how this shit usually goes? We are the ruin of our own making or some shit? Have you thought about that? What if—”

“The Universe is going to end anyway,” says Todoroki flatly.

“What he said,” Jirou says. “And don’t you just hate those LoV pricks?”

“They’re so annoying,” Mina says.

“They are indeed disrupting our precious school year,” Iida says.

"Aujourd'hui maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas,” Aoyama says.

“They aren’t even that cool,” Kaminari agrees.

“They're, like, so problematic,” Toru says. “Like, it’s literally child endangerment. We’re minors, y’know.”

“Like at least if you’re gonna be a Villain you gotta look cool,” Kaminari says.

“So true,” Kirishima says. “I bet that Shigaraki guy doesn’t even have abs.”

Hitoshi stares at his class rather helplessly. “See that, Shinsou,” Jirou says. “Everyone’s down to kick LoV’s ass. 1-A unanimous vote. Operation Kick LoV’s Ass. Can I get a hell yeah?”

“Hell yeah!”

“This is nuts,” Hitoshi says. “This is bonkers.”

“Oh, come on,” Jirou rolls her eyes. “We basically beat the LoV, like, twice already. We can probably do it for the third time,” she raises a brow at him. “Or for the first time, in your case.”

“And if they murder us all?” Hitoshi says flatly.

She shrugs. “Might as well go out with a bang,” Jirou says. 

Hitoshi looks at Bakugou helplessly. “This is crazy,” Hitoshi says, so desperate that he’s at the level where he looks to Bakugou fucking Katsuki for mental support. “This is crazy, right?”

Bakugou is in the middle of wearing his Hero gloves. He’s already half-suited in his gears, complete with the mask. “What’s crazy?” Bakugou says.

What the fuck. Hitoshi is at a complete loss for words, which is sad, because talking is kind of his thing. He sputters. “You too? Are you fucking—what the hell is—after all that—you are—I thought you would—”

“What?”

“But—that’s—you said it was impossible!”

“Unfucking the Universe is impossible,” Bakugou says, wearing his boots. “Unending the Universe is impossible. But kickin’ LoV’s ass? Easy-fuckin’-peasy.”

“They kidnapped you, though,” Tsuyu points out.

“Shut up.”

“You know what, whatever,” Hitoshi says. That’s just his life now. One whatever after another. He’s Fucking Done. “Whatever. Go nuts. It’s not like you’ll find the fucking League of Villains popping out from some tree, is it? It isn’t like the League of Villains is livetweeting their fucking location. It’s not like you can find the whereabouts of the most wanted Villains in Japan—”

Hitoshi’s phone dings. 

Due to recent … let’s say, due to the past few months he’s been acquainted with Midoriya fucking Izuku, Hitoshi has been quite paranoid about phone notifications. He is all but ready to stomp his phone to the ground the moment it even peeps a note of guitar riff. But it’s just a normal chat notification. And not just his phone—every single phone in the room is lighting up with notifications popping here and there.

“I don’t know about that, Shinsou,” Jirou says, grinning madly as she stares at her phone. She looks like a maniac. Every single kid in 1-A does, now, to Hitoshi’s eyes. “It looks like the League of Villains is currently wreaking havoc in a certain city right around Musutafu..”

“And it looks like it’s our job as a student of UA with an official Hero license,” Uraraka says, reading her screen, “to do whatever we can in stopping them.”

Hitoshi looks at his phone. News notifications popping out all over his window. Aizawa-sensei has contacted all of them for an emergency meeting. Hitoshi couldn’t believe his eyes. Hitoshi couldn’t believe in fucking anything at all, actually. Like, what are the chances, that this would be happening now? What are the chances that—

Chances. Of course. Fuck. 

“..All Might’s nuts on a fucking stick,” Hitoshi says. Everything has become so fucked that it’s become clearer than ever. “I really am fucking Cursed.”

There is no other way to explain the string of bad luck that has followed him up to this point. Shinsou Hitoshi is Cursed. Shinsou Hitoshi is fucked by the Universe big time. Like, for real. He thought he was just having an existential crisis, but this whole time, his entire existence is literally in crisis.

This fucking sucks.

“Come on, Shinsou,” Kaminari slings an unwelcome arm around Hitoshi’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be fun! You never fought the League before, right?”

“Sure,” Hitoshi says. “Whatever.”

He needs to get his suit. And then he along with a bunch of borderline suicidal kids are gonna fight a bunch of national terrorists and maybe the Universe won’t end right away, or something. Whatever. Who even knows anymore.

“Yeah, dude,” Kirishima pats Hitoshi on the back. “It’s basically 1-A tradition to fight the LoV. Now you’re really one of us. Bros for life, eh?”

If they can stay alive, sure. “Why the fuck not,” Hitoshi says. “All right. Let’s go.”

“You heard the guy!” Kaminari says, raising one fist to the air like All Might. “Nutting matters!”

The class whoops and hollers.

“Yeah! Nutting matters!”

“Nutting matters!”

“Nutting matters!”

“Nutting matters!”

Nutting matters, Koji signs.

"We are all gonna fucking die," Hitoshi says flatly.

Todoroki Natsuo has been having a rather okay day. He’s a med student studying for the second semester’s finals who is part-timing as an uber driver on top of it all, so you can imagine how okay his day is. What he doesn’t know is that this might be the weirdest day of his life yet. 

“Hello,” says the new passenger entering his run-down Toyota. 

“Hi,” Natsuo says. He glances at his phone. “You’re … uhh … Principal Nezu..?”

“Not really,” says the kid amicably. “But why not?” 

Well, okay. He glances at his phone again. “Your destination is..” he squints. “To Tartarus Special Prison For Villain Criminals ?”

“Yes please,” the kid smiles.

Huh. Well. None of Natsuo’s business, he supposes. “Okay,” he starts the car. “Sorry about the air-con, it’s not really working, neither is the radi—”

The radio turns on. A guitar riff strikes the air. Livin' easy, lovin' free, season ticket on a one way ride!

“Huh,” Natsuo says. That’s weird. He has never gotten that thing to work since practically forever. Don't need reason, don't need rhyme, ain't nothin' that I'd rather do..

“Sorry about the radio,” says the kid for some inexplicable reason. 

“It’s fine,” Natsuo says, even though he has no idea what the kid’s got to be sorry for. I'm on the highway to hell! On the highway to hell! Well, Natsuo sure hopes not. “Talk about bad luck,” Natsuo jokes. 

“Sure,” the kid smiles. He looks young. Around Shouto’s age, maybe even younger. “What about it?”

Chapter Text

I wake up with a gasp.

“A nightmare,” I groan. Really? Right on the first day of school??

Hm … but what did I dream about? It’s all hazy in my head.. There was something about … Santa Clauses? Yeah, Santa Clauses, and a heart attack … vapes … yeah, there was something about vapes. Ugh. my head is pounding.

“I~zu~ku~” I hear my mom call me from outside my room. “Get up, sleepyhead! You don’t want to be late on your first day, do you now??”

“Coming!” I yell back. I rub my sleepy eyes and get off my bed with a bounce.

My name is Midoriya Izuku. I’m 5’2’’, too skinny for my age. A lot of people tell me I look like Gerard Way which is great because they are a major fucking hottie (A/N: if you don’t know who he is get the hell out of here!). I’m fifteen and I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell), 

I stare dissatisfied into the mirror, and a pair of verdant green eyes with gold flecks in them stare back at me. I hate how unruly my emerald green hair is in the morning. They are so unruly, the seaweed eau de nil blonde green verdant curls bounce with every movement I make. They contrast with my pale tan freckled smooth spotless unblemished freckled skin. Ugh.

I open my wardrobe and just put on whatever clothes I get my hands on. I don’t really care how I look. I end up wearing a black crop tee and ripped jeans with fishnet hand warmers and chainlink chokers and a pair of badass combat boots. Yep. Ready to face the day.

Those little shits won’t know what’s coming at ‘em! I think to myself.

The smell of waffles and bacons and eggs waft through the air as I enter the kitchen. My mom is humming as she cooks. “There you are, you silly boy. Now eat your food your still growing after all”

“Mom, I’m gonna be late for school!” I say, stuffing my face with bacon. I hear the bus honk from outside the wwindow. “Oh SHIT the bus is here!” I leap off my chair.

Mom tuts disapporivngly. “Hey, language, mister!!!”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever, mom!” I feel a little bad at the hurt look in her eyes. Her eyes are exactly like mine, her face too, her genetics really won over. “That’s not the way you should talk to your mother” she scolds me.

I glare at her. “Well, tell that to dad!” I snap at her, before rushing out of the door. I can see the betrayed expression on her face before the door slams.

I roughly wipe the tears off my eyes, smearing my eyeliner across my face but I don’t care. Ugh. Why do I have to ruin everything? It’s not mom’s fault that dad left. It’s not her fault that dad … doesn’t love me. 

It’s my own fault for not having a Quirk.

“Get in, kid!! What are you standing there for!!” The bus driver says

“Okay, okay, geez,” I mutter under my breath as I climb up the bus. Whatever. This is no time to think about those things anyway. It’s my first day at UA Koukousei and I’ve decided to become the best Hero of all time, out of spite.

Eat your heart out, dad, I think to myself.

I ignore everyone on the bus and sit right at the back, leaning on the window and putting my earphones in. 

How can you see into my eyes

Like open doors?

Leading you down into my core

Where I've become so numb

I’m closing my eyes and starting to feel the music right when someone yanks out my earphones roughly. “Hey!” I yell, looking up angrily. “Give that back, you asshole—“

My words catch in my throat. I gape as I realize who’s standing in front of me. No way, it can’t be … him? 

“Kacchan?” I blurt out in disbelief.

It’s really him! The same blodne hair, the same piercing crimson red orbs. He’s taller now, too. I haven’t seen him since the end of the school year.

I frown as I notice something. Somehow, Kacchan is … blushing? Weird. I shake the thought off—that doesn’t matter right now. “What the hell are you doing here?” I say harshly to Kacchan. 

Kacchan and I, we are not on good terms. We never have been on good terms. I hate this guy. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I’ve known Kacchan my whole life. I hate this guy. We are not on good terms. I hate this guy. I glare at him with my bicolored eyes. One of my eyes is verdant eau de nile emerald green just like my mom but my other eye is cerulean sapphire luminous arctic sky blue orb. I wonder if I got it from my dad my mom never explained.

“That’s the question I should be askin’ you,” Kacchan snaps back. Jeez, he’s as crude as ever. “The hell are you doin’ here, Useless Deku? I told you to never go to UA Koukousei! A Quirkless guy like you could never be a Hero!”

“We’re late,” Midoriya Izuku says.

I freeze—the nickname triggering something deep in my subconscious.

Useless Deku. Quirkless. Useless Deku. Quirkless. Useless Deku. Quirkless. Useless Deku. The names ring in my head torturously. Flashbacks enter my head playing behind my eyes like DVD records. I suddenly get reminded all over again of how cruel Kacchan was to me throughout my childhood. Suddenly I see red and before I know it I punched him in the face

“OW! What the hell was that, you crazy fuck???????” 

I stare at him in shock. I can’t believe I just did that! I punched Kacchan???? Why did I do that! I curse myself. Baka!

Ignoring my shock, Kacchan lunges at me “Just so you watch!” Kacchan says, grabbing the front of my shirt until our face got close to the point I can count all the eyelashes on Kacchan’s eyes. “Temee!! You won’t get away with this, you—you—you—!!!” his face suddenly goes red and he lets me go. “Tch!! Kusoyarou!!” 

He suddenly leaves me and walks away. 

Huh?

I blink, staring at his disappearing back. Is he not gonna… punch me? Beat the heck out of me, or throw me against a wall at the very least?? He’s just gonna … leave me alone after what I did?

That was … weird. 

Oh well. 

I shrug, and go back to sleep on the bus. I put my headphones in feeling the music

suunen tatte mo kage wa kienai 

kanjou bakari ga tsunotte iku

uzukumatte hitori egaite ita

When I wake up we are already at UA Kokousei and we are told to enter class 1-A B C D E FG H I sit at the back and to my annoyance Kacchan is sitting right in front of me, in CLASS. I huff in annoyance. Just typical of me—i have the worst luck on earth!

The bell rings and the whole class waits and waits but no teacher is coming in. But suddenly,

“Gahhh!” a pink haired girl says pointing at a lump on the floor “what is that”

“That’s our teacher, moron” Kacchan says rolling his eyes

The lump moves and it’s actually a person. He is a scraggly looking man with long messy hair and deep eyeabags. “You brats. Welcome to UA Kokousei”

I gasp the moment I recognize who he is. “You are the best Underground Pro Hero Eraserhead,” I blurt. I didn’t realize I said it outloud until I see everybody looking at me. A blush spreads all over my freckled button nose bridge. 

The teacher narrows his eyes. This kid recognizes me, an underground Hero? Aizawa Shouta thinks. “That’s right,” he says outloud. “Everybody introduce yourself. Starting with you kid.”

“Oh, um, umm.” I stand up, feeling everybody’s eyes on me and I suddenly want the earth to swallow me whole. Stop it, Izuku, I tell myself. You are different now. You wanna be the best Hero ever, remember? I tilt up my chin. “My name is Midoriya Izuku. And I wanna be the best Hero ever” I announce to the room.

Silence. I start to go red. And then,

“What’s your Quirk?” somebody says.

“I—” come on, Izuku! Be strong. Just say it! Say you don’t have it, and show them you can still be a Hero without a Quirk! “I—I—”

I can’t do it. I run out of the room.

I hear the teacher calling after me, but I don’t care and I run faster until I bump into someone. I scream as I slip but then I feel strong arms holding me and I look into a pair of bicolored eyes under bicolored hair. A boy! Our faces are so close that I can count his eyelashes. “W-w-wh-who are you?” I stutter.

The boy doesn’t answer, he only stares at me with his cold bicolored orbs. He smells like musk and rain and cinnamon and his hair looks so soft. He sets me down gently. His face is so cold like his demeanor. “Why are you crying,” he says. His voice is deep and I find myself blushing for some reason. Dammit, I didn’t even realize I was crying. “That’s none of your business!” I yell. “Get away from me”

“Get away from him, Todoroki!”

“We don’t have time for this. We’re late,” Midoriya Izuku says.

I gasp and look. To my surprise, Kacchan is standing in the hallway, glaring at the boy with the bicolored eyes. What’s Kacchan doing here? And … I look at the other boy. He’s much taller than me, staring coldly at Kacchan. So his name is Todoroki..

Wait. Todoroki … like Pro-Hero Endeavor, Todoroki Enji?!

“You’re Endeavor’s son!!” I blurt out before I can stop myself. 

Todoroki looks at me and for a second I can see a look of pain in his eyes that disappears quickly and then his expression is flat and unfeeling once again. “I don’t have a father,” he says icily.

I gasp. Just like me..

“Whatever who cares!!” Kacchan says who is always a douchebag. “Just get away from him, you hot and cold FREAK.”

“Tch,” Todoroki tchs. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“You wanna go, fucker??”

“Stop, stop!!” I say. “Why are you both fighting? This is ridiculous!” Both of them look at me and then look away. their faces look … red … are they … blushing? I’m so confused. I turn to Kacchan. “And you! Kacchan, why are you even here? Why are you even following me”

(A/N: fufufu… izu-chan, you really don’t know why? XD

Izuku: huh?? *confused*

Bakugou: *blushes* shut the fuck up, you stupid author!

Todoroki: … tch.)

“Why am I even here?” Kacchan echoes, looking baffled as he glares at me. “Are you stupid, deku? I followed you because I’m  … because I’m wo—wor—” he suddenly shuts himself up and his face goes red. “Tch!! Baka nano” he tchs and walks away in a flash.

(A/N: awwww kacchan… somebody’s got a crush~ XD

Bakugou: s-s-s-shut up! I’ll kill you!

A/N: you can’t do that, I’m the author, remember? B) fufufu

Bakugou: u-ugh … tch!!)

How weird. What a strange first day. “Um, anyway… I’m gonna go,” I mutter. But before I could walk away a cold hand circles around my wrist. Todoroki is holding me. “Hey, let me go—”

“What’s your name?” 

Gosh, his hold is so tight. “M-Midoriya Izuku”

His gaze pierces my soul. His right eye is gray like steel and his left is blue like arctic ice trapped in an orb. “I’ll see you around, Midoriya Izuku,” the half-redheaded boy says, before letting me go and leave abruptly.

What a weird boy, I think, as I walk away. What a weird school. I wonder what the rest of the school year has in store… I have a feeling something ominous is—

“Excuse me, son? Why are you not in your class?”

I turn, and find myself standing face to face with a gaunt, tall teacher with blonde hair. His eyes are cerulean blue inside the dark crevices of his face. Something about those blue eyes seems familiar.. “Uhm … um … sorry, sir, I was only looking for the bathroom..”

The teacher stares at me for a moment. There is a deep sadness in the lines of his face. “The bathroom is over there, kid.”

“T-thank you, sir..?”

“Toshinori-sensei,” Toshinori-sensei says. “I’ll see you in class, Izuku-kun”

What the hell? I wonder as I walk to the bathroom. That’s weird … I never told him his name, so how did he know what my name was..?

As I look at my reflection, realization hits me.

His blue eyes look familiar because … I stare into it every single morning in the mirror…

My heart beats loudly in my ears. I never knew my dad because he left when I was little. My mom never admits it but I know it’s because my dad hates me because I’m a Quirkless loser. But could it be … could it be that that man is my—my—my—my—my f—

“You’re wrong,” a voice says . a voice that i recognize immediately

Gasping, i turn, and there he is — standing in the middle of the UA hallway. I GAPE.

“Oh my God, you … you ARE..”

That blond hair! Those blue eyes! Izuku would recognize that face anywhere. The Number One Hero in all of Japan itself. The Number One Hero in all of the world! The person Izuku has idolized ever since he knew how to speak. Mouth agape and eyes asparkle, Izuku points and says with a trembling voice: “Naruto?!”

(A/N: O_o

Bakugou: what the fuck?!!!!

Todoroki: !!)

“Fear not, for I Am Here,” Naruto says. 

“No way, Naruto, is that really you?” Izuku says. “Naruto, the Number One Hero in all of Japan, the Number One Hero in all of the world, the Hero I’ve always idolized to an unhealthy degree ever since I knew how to speak and also the reason I wake up every single day and not jump off the roof?”

“Yes it’s me, Naruto!” Naruto says. “And I am your father.”

Izuku smiles and looks right back into the screen. He says, <p>“And that’s the story of how I became the greatest hero. THE END <p> ” &</p>m$&/y— $&/&;$lore$:& :mipsumy—my—lor&/$;):);&@/em ipsumdolor sitssamaaaaaaeeeeeeetttttttttttconsecteturadipiscilitconnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————<p></p>

<!DOCTYPE html>

<html lang="en">

 <dt class="language">

                                    Language:

                                  </dt>

                            <dd class="language">

                                    English

                                  </dd>

   <!-- BEGIN main -->

            <div id="main" class="chapters-show region" role="main">

                <div class="flash"></div>

                <!--page description, messages-->

                <!--/descriptions-->

                <!--subnav-->

                <!--/subnav-->

                <!-- BEGIN work -->

         <!--main content-->

      <div class="userstuff module" role="article">

    <h3 class="landmark heading" id="work">Chapter Text</h3>

<p>“Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re late,” Midoriya Izuku says.</p>

“What?” Todoroki Natsuo says.

“Thirty-six hours. Oh. Twenty-eight hours … no. Forty-three? No. We’re late. Six hours six minutes six seconds left. Mm, no. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it.”

“I’m sorry..?”

“I said, we’re here,” the kid says. “Stop the car.”

Natsuo is pretty sure they haven’t arrived yet, but he looks out the dashboard and yep—they’re at the sea. Somehow, the island of Tartarus is in front of their eyes, just a few miles out, an ominous spot farther out on the horizon. “The hell,” Natsuo says. Could’ve sworn they were just on the highways. He laughs, puzzled. “Highways are built different these days, huh?”

No reply from his passenger. There is a sound of a seatbelt clicking open, and Natsuo watches from the rear-view mirror as the strange kid steps out of the car without preamble. For a moment, as the car door opens, Natsuo can hear the sound of the sea—the waves crashing to shore, the wind crooning in the air. Then the door shuts and he’s all alone in the car, watching his passenger walk straight into the sea like an insane person.

Here is the thing. It’s been a good day for Natsuo. Sort of. Actually, it’s been fine. Nothing crazy. Finished some study workload at the lab, gone on a few rounds of his Uber-ing gig. This kid is just one of the dozens of weirdos Natsuo has picked up in his piece of shit car. Nothing special. Granted, no one has ever requested to go to Tartarus Special Prison For Villain Criminals, but what the hell, right? It’s none of his goddamn business.

So Natsuo stays inside and watches. The kid is a few meters in front of the car and has started taking off his shoes and socks for some reason. The sun is lovely today, the light glinting off that off-putting scar on the side of the kid’s head. None of his business.

Natsuo shifts his gear, getting ready to back out of the beach area. There is a ding from his phone—another rider has booked an Uber. He scrolls on his screen idly to tap accept, and as he does so several news notifications catch his eyes. Villains breaking loose, Heroes on the scene, major “apocalyptic” event possibly incoming, blah blah blah. Typical stuff. 

Natsuo looks up to see the kid has literally walked into the sea. Literally. Both feet in water and all that. As time passes on, his already small silhouette is getting smaller and smaller.

Natsuo sighs. He clicks decline on the Uber app before getting out of the car.

The scent of the ocean assaults his senses immediately. The wind is stronger than he thought. Natsuo puts his hands into a cone before calling out, “Hey!”

No reply. He curses, takes off his shoes, rolls up his pants—damn it—and charges on. “Hey,” Natsuo says, once he catches up. Natsuo grabs the kid’s shoulder. “Hey. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The kid turns to look at him. Natsuo isn’t sure what he expected—some sort of desperation, maybe, or anguish of some kind—but the kid’s expression is alarmingly neutral. “Crossing the sea,” he replies, and continues on crossing.

The water has reached his knees. Natsuo says, “This is—okay. First of all. What’s your name?”

“Midoriya.”

“Okay. I’m Todoroki..” Natsuo has half the mind to get back for his phone—he should call someone, like a hotline or something. “Midoriya, you should—uh. We should stop. Let’s go back to the car and we can think this through, okay?”

“Think what through.” He’s still walking—the water is close to reaching the kid’s waist now. Should Natsuo wrangle him physically and throw him back to the beach?

Natsuo’s mind races. He’s studied this, he’s a psych major, isn’t he? Fuck. “It’s cold,” Natsuo says, mustering some conviction into his voice. “It’s dangerous. Let’s go back to the beach, dry off. I have some lemonades, some chips—we can chill for a bit. We can talk. Whatever you’re thinking about right now, we can talk it through. I’m not gonna force you to do anything you don’t want to—but let’s put this off for a moment and just talk. Okay?” 

Kid looks Natsuo’s brother age. Maybe even younger. “We don’t have Time for that,” says Midoriya.

Natsuo huffs a laugh, not unkindly. “Sure we do,” he says. “There is always time. We have all the time in the world. So—so let’s go back.”

The kid sighs. “That’s the point,” Midoriya says, which is confusing. His eyes go somewhere next to Natsuo’s head as he says, “We don’t have the time or the world. Look.”

Natsuo looks back right in time to see the city plunging into chaos.

From this vantage point of the beach, you can’t see the whole of Musutafu, but you can still see specific landmarks such as the skyscrapers of UA and the Hero towers, the Musutafu Ferris wheel, and so on. And right now, Natsuo can see all of that just wrecked into havoc. “What the fuck…” Natsuo says. Far away, an explosion goes off—the light flashes across his face like a firework. “Is that a—is that a fucking Godzil—hey, wait, wait!”

Midoriya does not wait. His back is turned to Natsuo as he goes on to submerge himself within the depth of the ocean. “It’s the end of the world, Todoroki-san. I’d advise you to do something better with the little Time you have left. Call your sister. Your mother, perhaps.”

Okay, the tone this kid is using starts to annoy him a little. “Okay, psychic, great guess on the details of my family life,” Natsuo snipes back as he grabs Midoriya’s shoulders again to stop him from drowning himself or whatever the hell he’s doing right now. “Stop, stop. Listen, even if it is the end of the world, and it’s definitely not”—behind him he hears a roar of what definitely is a Godzilla—"that doesn’t mean you should, uh, that doesn’t mean you, uh...”

Midoriya raises an eyebrow at his sputtering. Natsuo finally finds his conviction within himself. 

“That doesn’t mean that you should try and kill yourself,” Natsuo says. There. He said it. God, this is how he knows he isn’t passing his major, impending apocalypse or not.

There is a change on Midoriya’s bland expression at the mention of suicide—though it’s not the one that Natsuo expects. The kid doesn’t seem offended or hurt. Natsuo isn’t sure what the look means, actually. “Shouldn’t I,” Midoriya says, which is just an incredible response overall. But hey, he’s stopped walking towards certain death, so Natsuo’s tactic must be working. “All right. What should I do, then, Todoroki-san?”

Behind them, the city has erupted in flames. They can hear the chaos all the way from here. It’s the end of the world. “Er,” Natsuo says eloquently. 

Midoriya seems to take pity on him. “It’s all right,” says the kid in that annoyingly kindly tone, patting his arm a little. “I’m going to fix it.”

Seawater splashes around as Midoriya moves forward again to a painful oceanic death. He’s starting to feel cold. “Fix it?” Natsuo echoes, incredulous. But maybe it’s not so incredulous as he thinks; it’s an interesting world that Natsuo lives in after all. Who's to say that this scrawny kid won't save them all? He moves forward to follow Midoriya, fighting against the currents. “Fix it how?”

There are no visible Quirk affectations emanating from this kid—not one that Natsuo can see, anyway—but you never know. “Uhuh.”

“How—” damn it, these jeans are definitely ruined. “How. Exactly. Is drowning yourself going to fix the—whatever the hell is going on right now?”

“I’m not drowning myself.”

“You are entering the fucking sea.”

“The sea is symbolic.”

“Symbolic,” Natsuo repeats.

“Life began at sea. When you’re crossing the sea, you’re crossing through worlds.” 

…Goddamn. Natsuo is going to kill himself to help some lunatic 15 year old. “Midoriya. Stop,” Natsuo says. The water is nearly up to Midoriya’s chin. “Let’s go back. Please.”

“Exactly,” Midoriya says, and moves forward.

This is ridiculous. They are at least ten meters away from the shoreline now—it’s not too late. Natsuo is thinking of grabbing Midoriya and just manhandling him to the beach and be done with this. Enough mental health theorems—sometimes you have to go straight to action. 

But there is something about this moment—something in the air, something in the water, something in the way the sea reflects back into the kid’s eyes and something about… 

“Are you a Hero or something?” Natsuo says.

Midoriya blinks. Natsuo says, “Are you going to do some Quirk bullshit to fix whatever is going on right now? Is that what this is?”

Midoriya looks at him. Considering. “In a manner of speaking,” Midoriya says. “Are you interested in being my assistant? I could use your help, I think.”

“...Help you do what?”

“Kill All for One,” Midoriya says. “Oh. Perfect line for a cut scene.”

“What the hell’s a cutsce—”

The scene cuts.

Time does not backtrack, exactly. Flipping back a page does not change nor backtrack the Happenings itself. It’s not a circle. It does not move back or forth. No beginning nor end, only is. It Happens and Happens and Happens. All at once. 

Imagine the ending of it all. Let’s do it. Together.

(After all, it’s already happened anyway, right?)

Blank white space no more. The space is so overfilled, so full and brimming, so jammed with the debris of life that it goes BANG.

Visualize it: THE END. The Space. The Universe has gone BANG , and what’s left hovering amidst all that colorless darkness is … an empty house. Shop’s closed, everybody’s gone out for eternity. Lights turned off, no one answering the bell, newspapers and overdue letters are left to gather dust on the WELCOME doormat.

Most stars are dead. We’ve known this for a while. What’s left of them is light, reaching us throughout time and space, a shining echo of what once shone. Ghost diamonds. Ever wonder what would be left, after we go out? Maybe the ghosts of our lights would reach space, too—LEDs, flashing phone screens, cinema projectors, fireworks—traces of human existence replaying itself after billions and billions of light years, reaching somewhere in the vast blackness of the ether. 

Or perhaps it would be an actual echo. Electric currents wiggling its way throughout space, bouncing off what’s left of the Big Bang, the old and the new saying radioactive hellos to each other. Hello! Hello. Electromagnetic waves refluxing, ebbing and flowing in a moonless tide, singing music from the past in the voices of who, and what, once were—

And what’s beyond listens. It always does. Yet still, it never answers.

(but sometimes, sometimes, it sings back. It has a song of its own. Myriad of songs.)

What’s beyond listens. A finger running through the granulated, staccato sands of frequencies by frequencies. Blowing on snow ants. It listens to the screams, the laughter, the sobs, the hummings, the crash, the BANG —it listens to everything that has been said and everything that wishes to have been said throughout humankind. 

Isn’t it beautiful? Stars may shine, but people—we sing. We just won’t shut up. Not even after mass extinction. Not even after the decimation of the Universe itself.

And so, floating through space, one of the many frequencies free-surfing on galaxies proving that we once existed, is an excerpt of a podcast belonging to one Ashido Mina.

ASHIDO MINA: ‘Sup guys! 

ASUI TSUYU: Hey hey hey hey.

ASHIDO MINA: Welcome to—

ASHIDO MINA & ASUI TSUYU: [TOGETHER] Mina’s Podcastination Time!

ASHIDO MINA: Aw-right! Guess who we’ve got on the podcast today, my Minalien lovelies! That’s right, the one and only 1-A’s baby girl Hero Froppy.

ASUI TSUYU: Is the podcast name a pun for—

ASHIDO MINA: It’s either that or Not Mina’s First Radio or Neon Genesis Minangelion or Killer Queen from Outer Space—yes, I know the last two have got nothing to do with podcasting but they just sound so good can you blame me.

ASUI TSUYU: Okay.

ASHIDO MINA: Okay. Yoo-hoo! This is the final episode, guys! Clap clap clap please.

ASUI TSUYU:  Clap clap clap clap clap.

ASHIDO MINA: Thank you. So yeah. Final ep. Woo-hoo. It’s been a good run, folks!

ASUI TSUYU: How long have you been doing this podcast, Mina-chan?

ASHIDO MINA: Like two days.

ASUI TSUYU: Ah.

ASHIDO MINA: Anyway! Minaliens, you might be wondering why the sound quality is so bad in this episode. Well, just so you know! You’re mistaken! This is the episode with the highest production quality, in fact! Because today … drum roll…

ASUI TSUYU: Drum roll drum roll drum roll.

ASHIDO MINA: Mina’s Podcastination Time is gonna bring you guys along, live, to Class 1-A’s school trip! Yay! Isn’t that fun?

ASUI TSUYU: Drum roll drum roll drum roll.

ASHIDO MINA: That’s right, girlies, I’m not in my recording studio right now—

ASUI TSUYU: Which is just the mic she set up inside Tooru’s pillow fort on the second floor.

ASHIDO MINA: —I am outside! In fact, why don’t you turn on the TV right now, you’ll probably see me legging it down ‘cuz I’m pretty darn sure that’s a news helicopter up there circlin’ above us. Heeeeellooooooo! Can you all see my peace sign? And my beautiful face?

ASUI TSUYU: And mine too.

ASHIDO MINA: Isn’t this awesome! All of you Minaliens are getting a front row seat—well, your ears are, anyway—to the main showdown of the century. Of the millennium! We are on our way to—

JIROU KYOUKA: Mina are you fucking crazy we can all hear you. 

ASHIDO MINA: —beat LoV’s ass, baby! Or beat anybody’s asses, really. We’re fighting a battle!

JIROU KYOUKA: Mina, your mic is connected to the main comm, the Pros can hear you too, damn it.

ASHIDO MINA: And after that, it’s all just gonna be peace and love on planet earth.

ASUI TSUYU: If there will still even be a planet earth.

JIROU KYOUKA: Can somebody get them to shut up?

TOKOYAMI FUMIKAGE: A foolish errand to attempt, if I do say so myself.

OJIRO MASHIRAO: Guys..

ASHIDO MINA: Tokoyami-kun, my man! Haven’t heard from you in a while.

TOKOYAMI FUMIKAGE: My existence slipped the Fabric of the mind, but I’ve been stitched back since.

OJIRO MASHIRAO: Guys. We are literally going into war. Right now.

SHINSOU HITOSHI: Leave them be, Ojiro. They’re crazy people.

ASUI TSUYU: Actually, has anyone died yet?

JIROU KYOUKA: Not from our side, I think. Probably. Though Bakugou has been quiet for a while—

BAKUGOU KATSUKI: Snap out of it.

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU: Let’s get pizza after this, you guys!

JIROU KYOUKA: Don’t say stuff like that, that’s death flag shit. It’s bad luck.

ASUI TSUYU: Bad luck?

JIROU KYOUKA: Don’t say sappy shit. Don’t say things like, your aspirations for the future—

ASHIDO MINA: Like, ‘I’m gonna be the number one hero when I grow up—‘

JIROU KYOUKA: Yeah, shut up, don’t say shit like that. Don’t suddenly say shit about, like, how sad your childhood is or whatever. And for fuck’s sake, don’t pull up photos of your friends and family in the middle of a battle and lovingly look at them. It’s all bad luck.

ASHIDO MINA: Midnight-sensei just did all of that though.

JIROU KYOUKA: She’s toast.

KENDO ITASUKA: Hi Iida-kun, can you please get your classmates to shut the fuck up? All of us in 1-B can hear them too and it’s affecting the conduciveness of our teamwork :) thank you!

ASUI TSUYU: How did she manage to make a smiley face with her voice?

MONOMA NEITO: You think 1-A is the only one who can come up with a podcast, huuh?

JIROU KYOUKA: Oh god not this motherfucker too.

MONOMA NEITO: Guess what, we’ve got one too, motherfucker. Subscribe to 1-B’s exclusive and way more superior podcast, Neito Genesis Evan—

ASHIDO MINA: [GASP] You copycat bastard you stole my idea!

MONOMA NEITO: —gelion, we’ve also got a Patreon page that you can subscribe to—

JIROU KYOUKA: We don’t care.

OJIRO MASHIRAO: The enemy is literally standing right there, guys.

RYUKYU: Target in sight. All Heroes hold positions.

MONOMA NEITO: —but this one has a different username, this one is called 1-A-Sucks-Ass—

ASHIDO MINA: Oh fuck you!

MONOMA NEITO: —we also have a Ko-fi page, but that one has a different username as well, it’s called 1-A-Sucks-Ass-2. Catch you guys on the bangerer podcast! Pe-ace!

ASHIDO MINA: Nasty little guy. Anyway. [GRUNTS] Time to get to work I guess! Listeners, reporting to you live, the kill count for Villains have now reached—

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU: Like a dozen?

BAKUGOU KATSUKI: [EXPLOSION] Snap out of it.

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU: Well, thirteen.

ASHIDO MINA: We are so good at this. So! LoV, and uhh… What's that other one? The mafia people? Shie something something. And another one that just showed up this morning. The Abnormal Liberals. Point is, it’s a full house tonight folks! There are also some aliens coming over, I hear. Not Minaliens. Actual aliens. Real killer aliens from outer space.

ASUI TSUYU: And don’t forget Godzilla.

ASHIDO MINA: [GODZILLA SCREECH] Ah yes. Don’t forget Godzilla. And Santa Claus, too. Also, Aoyama just revealed himself to be a Villain.

ASUI TSUYU: Huh?

AOYAMA YUGA: Commencer le mauvais français. Mon cher ami, there is something I need to tell you all. Sadly it is not a confession d'amour … rather, it is a confession of utmost méprisable deed. The truth is, mon cher ami, I am the—

HAGAKURE TOORU: I’m the UA traitor.

AOYAMA YUGA: …Uh, non. I’m the UA traitor. C’est moi.

HAGAKURE TOORU: No, I am.

AOYAMA YUGA: Non, I am!

ASHIDO MINA: All right, you guys go sort that out. Ooh, Koda is approaching the Godzilla. Ooh … now Koda is riding on top of the Godzilla like it’s a little horse. Is Godzilla going to stop killing people..? Nope, it just stepped on someone. Again. Just with Koda on its back, this time. Like a little horse.

ASUI TSUYU: Nearly a year of UA education has amounted to this.

ASHIDO MINA: Ye-up. I mean. No problemo, though—we beat their ass before. And LoV’s not the reason for this to be the final ep, no sir!

ASUI TSUYU: Aren’t they now.

ASHIDO MINA: Nope! Reason why this is the final ep is because … drum roll please…

ASUI TSUYU: Drum roll drum roll drum roll.

ASHIDO MINA: …the world is ending!

BAKUGOU KATSUKI: Ugh. Snap out of it.

ASUI TSUYU: Yay.

ASHIDO MINA: And we thought you guys should know! 

ASUI TSUYU: Yay.

ASHIDO MINA: Yay. So there you have it … oh I know, I know. I know. You’re thinking, what the hell? You’re thinking, what, that’s it?

Well. Yeah. That’s all, folks. I mean … what’d you expect? Like..

Something major? 

A warning?

A culmination of everything you came to be?

A sign?

Well, here’s your sign, babes. Get ready, ‘cause this is it. Like, that’s it. No more. 

That’s. It.

What’s that you say? It’s unfair? What … seriously? 

LOL. Pft.

Girl. It’s life. What’d you expect?

ASUI TSUYU: Not every song gets an outro.

ASHIDO MINA: Not every story gets an epilogue.

ASUI TSUYU: Sometimes it’s a clean cut. A stop button. 

ASHIDO MINA: A plane crash.

ASUI TSUYU: A heart attack. 

ASHIDO MINA: A faulty cassette.

ASUI TSUYU: A torn off page.

ASHIDO MINA: Like pulling the plug.

ASHIDO MINA: Like dropping the toaster—

ASHIDO MINA & ASUI TSUYU: [TOGETHER] —in the bathtub.

ASHIDO MINA: Like jumping off a rooftop.

ASUI TSUYU: Like jumping off a rooftop.

ASHIDO MINA: Like jumping off a rooftop.

ASUI TSUYU: Like jumping off a rooftop.

ASHIDO MINA: Like jumping off a rooftop.

ASUI TSUYU: Like jumping off a rooftop.

ASHIDO MINA: Like jumping off a rooftop.

ASUI TSUYU: Like jumping off a rooftop.

ASHIDO MINA: Like a—

ASHIDO MINA & ASUI TSUYU: [TOGETHER] —story that never got continued.

ASUI TSUYU: I mean. It’s out of our control.

ASHIDO MINA: I mean. What can we really do? 

ASHIDO MINA & ASUI TSUYU: [TOGETHER] If the page runs out. If the love runs thin. If the ink dries up.

ASUI TSUYU: Surely it’s too bad. 

ASHIDO MINA: Surely!

ASUI TSUYU: But oh well.

ASHIDO MINA: Oh well!

ASUI TSUYU: It’s not all bad 

ASHIDO MINA: not at 

ASUI TSUYU: all really

ASHIDO MINA: its not

ASUI TSUYU: nearly as

ASHIDO MINA: terrible as

ASUI TSUYU: it sounds

ASHIDO MINA: sometimes in

ASUI TSUYU: discontinuity you

ASHIDO MINA: can find

ASUI TSUYU: discontinuity you

ASHIDO MINA: can find

ASUI TSUYU: discontinuity you

ASHIDO MINA: can find

ASUI TSUYU: discontinuity you

ASHIDO MINA: can find

ASUI TSUYU: discontinuity you

ASHIDO MINA: can find

ASUI TSUYU: discontinuity you

ASHIDO MINA: can find

ASUI TSUYU: discontinuity you

ASHIDO MINA: can find

SERO HANTA: Guys, are you all fucking seeing this? Hunter x Hunter is going to update.

“Sure it will, Sero,” says Shouto, patting Sero on the back. 

Hitoshi blinks.

“No, no, I’m serious, the news literally just—”

“Totally, bud,” says Kaminari.

“Guys, listen to me! It’s updating! Like Togashi tweeted and everything—”

“Never lose hope.”

“Go beyond, my friend.”

“It’s okay to be delusional to cope, bro.”

“No, I’m serious!” Sero throws his hands in the air. “Will any of you please listen to me! It’s updating, man!” 

“Duck,” Shouto says, and Sero obeys immediately. Shouto shoots a fireball at a Villain behind Sero, which leads to the Villain screaming bloody hell, dropping to the ground, and twitching until they stop moving entirely. Instant kill. The air smells like barbecue and horror. Hitoshi stares.

Sero straightens himself up. “Even Shounen Jump tweeted about it!” he says.

Oh, right, Hitoshi thinks. They’re in a battle right now. That’s right.

“Iida just said over the comm to stop talking stupid shit while we are in a life or death battle,” Jirou announces after shockwaving a bunch of Villains to brain damage with her Quirk. “Paraphrasing. That guy can’t say shit even if I shit myself in front of him.”

“Kyouka, did you see? Hunter x Hunter is going to up—”

“Sure, buddy. Tape up, your ten o’clock!”

Sero binds the ten o’clock enemy with ease and Shouto proceeds to freeze them up to bits. “All of you are gaslighting me about this,” Sero complains. “I’m telling you, Hunter x Hunter..”

Blah blah blah. They can yap all they want.

Microstate and macrostate be damned — Sinshou Hitoshi is in a fucking state, all right.

His ears ring painfully. All around Hitoshi is death, destruction, and all kinds of heroic glory that he could only ever dreamt of as a child. It’s difficult to wrap his head around it, but it’s pretty much clear that the world is ending. 

Honestly, this sucks. Hitoshi has had just about enough. 

“Stop!” Hitoshi says to the next Villain that approaches him. “Stop. Just stop. God, like what are you even doing?” The Villain, who is frozen by Hitoshi’s Quirk, looks decidedly confused by the remark. It makes Hitoshi even angrier. “Like, I mean, don’t you have better things to do? Do you not love yourself or whatever?” There is a slight change of expression on the Villain’s face. “Why don’t you go home right now and try to forgive yourself for whatever it is that you believe about yourself that made you think you should be doing all this. Have some self-love, god damn it.”

Hitoshi watches as the Villain leaves before looking down at his bloodied gloves. Is this what being a Hero is all about? This is ridiculous.

“Wait, nevermind,” Sero announces sadly behind him. “Togashi went on hiatus again. It’s not gonna update. It’s never gonna update.”

“That’s okay. It’s okay if things never update,” Kirishima says. “The stories still exist. Even if it never updates. You know? It’s still out there..”

“Floating in a void,” Kaminari says.

“Waiting in the void,” Kirishima says. “Calling. And calling. And calling.”

“Asking us. To come home.”

“Dot to dot.”

“Pixel to pixel.”

“But nothing answers. The Universe stays silent.”

“And that’s okay,” Kaminari says. “It doesn’t mean we’re not ￮￮￮￮￮.”

“It’s just that the universe ￮￮￮￮￮ us so much—”

“—that it doesn’t want us—”

“—to end yet…” Kirishima pauses. “What was I saying? Oh. I think you should get on One Piece instead.”

“Nah, it’s too long,” Sero says.

Ah, Hitoshi thinks, hearing the interaction from his periphery. Ah. Something is wrong.

Or is it? Things are so fucked, so out of bend, that the things themselves don’t even know that they are fucked at this point. What even is going on? What space does he even exist in, in the moment? What scene is he currently in right now? They’ve lost the plot. What even is the plot, anymore? What’s a plot?

Hitoshi blinks. Looks at his hands—blood. Of course, he’s got blood on his hands, he’s on a battlefield after all. Soot and ash and blood. He’s wearing … UA uniform … no, his Hero outfit, because he’s on a battlefield. Shinsou Hitoshi is on the battlefield. He is in the city. No, he’s on top of the skyscrapers. Did he kill people? Villains, maybe? How many has he fought, how many lives have he taken?

Does it matter? He is on a battlefield.

The wind blows all around him fiercely. Another explosion; helicopter is blown to bits just right next to him. Across the building, he sees great battles between Villains and Pros, like a splash illustration across a cover page. He is on top of skyscrapers. No, he is floating in the sky. No, he is standing on the field—no, the forests, the forests at the mountains. No, he is in a back alley, surrounded by Villains on all sides. No, he’s—he’s on a battlefield. Just a generic battlefield, don’t think about it too much. 

Explosions. Villain blood splattered all over. Quirk sizzling against Quirk.

Hitoshi frowns. “Wait,” he says. “Guys, weren’t we just at the dorms? Eating pizza? Bakugou was … on the whiteboard…”

Todoroki Shouto looks at him right after he burns a Villain to chars. “Eating pizza? What are you talking about? We’re on a battlefield. We’re fighting all of them, remember?”

“Why?”

“Well, there has got to be a big battle, hasn’t there?” Sero Hanta says. “It’s the ideal story beat.”

“Snap out of it!” Bakugou says.

“Yeah. This is chapter eight, you know,” Kirishima Eijirou says. “We don’t have much time left for the big finale. Honestly, we don’t have time at all.”

“Chapter … what?”

The characters look at him. “There’s always a huge battle at the end of it all, a good BANG. Always gotta be. You have to build up to a big resolution.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hitoshi says. “Who the hell are we fighting? Who—”

“Don’t think too hard,” they all say in unison, but it’s too late.

Space stretches and thins and folds. Hitoshi doesn’t give a fuck. He’s standing on top of concrete/grass/floor/carpet/<undefined>. He’s on a generic battlefield. There are Villains all around, right, because he’s supposed to battle them. They’ve discussed this before, he remembers, just a second ago, they were talking about all the factors in the conceived universe coming to attack them. All the Villains that could be anyone, and anything..

So Hitoshi stands on <undefined> on an <undefined> battlefield in an <undefined> scene, and there is an enemy that he’s supposed to … attack, so he—uses his Quirk, right, that’s what he’s supposed to do, he finds an enemy and he’s supposed to use his Quirk on them because that’s what he’s supposed to do. An <undefined> enemy appears. Some sort of Villain. Maybe a person, maybe something else. Maybe something else.

Something is wrong.

Hitoshi reaches out for this <undefined> Villain and he sees a trillion approaches he makes for this very moment, echoing in his action. Grabs, shoves, holds, screams, pulls. He does one of those trillion probabilities. Hitoshi says to the Villain, his Quirk coming to life, “Hey.”

The Villain turns to look at him, and Hitoshi is face to face with some kind of hell. 

No, that’s not correct. Hitoshi has seen Hell before; Hell is a nothingness pit. This is not that. This is the opposite of it—it's the face of something full and overbrimming. In its faceless face Hitoshi sees everyone he has ever conceived and more. Himself, even. All at once. He's looking at something.

He is looking, Hitoshi thinks, at a cat.

Its fur is the color of space and depth. Too many teeth, too little teeth. Too many eyes. Around him and this cat the battlefield contracts into a hundred things at once, a million, a trillion…

This is not Hell, he thinks. Not exactly. Hitoshi is standing at the overabundance of possibilities. To be precise, he is standing inside a box of mystery with a cat in it. “A demon,” Hitoshi breathes. 

The demon looks at him with the kind of gaze that only grazes your skin when you are in complete solitary—the gaze of an eternal voyeur. Something outside the Fabric, beyond the sealed box. The demon opens its mouth to reply, and Hitoshi feels his Quirk connects with something that feels the most human he’s ever been in contact with—so human, in fact, that it’s alien.

“Oh,” Hitoshi says, Understanding wholly for a sliver of a moment. “Oh.” So this is what chance tastes like. “Oh. Fuck. Fuck—”

A voice that sounds like a word being written for the first time tears into the page.

￮￮￮￮￮, Sh￮ns￮u H￮to￮hi.

“Shut up,” Shinsou Hitoshi says with his Quirk. Every syllable of his command has the shape of sympathy in the shape of a dead star in the shape of a letter, and all sound is sucked out of the universe in an instance and unexistence hurts, it hurts, it hurts—fuck, fuck, fuck, oh god—

“Speak,” Hitoshi chokes out. Fuck, shit, fuck! “Speak, damn it.”

￮k￮y.

It’s too much. He’s never felt anything like this before with his Quirk. Never. All this time, Hitoshi thought this thing wasn’t like any of them—wasn’t a person. Hitoshi was wrong. Whatever this thing is, it’s more real than any of them has the right to be. 

￮sn’t th￮t s￮, Hi￮osi?

“Oh, what the fuck,” Hitoshi says.

N￮ce to fin￮lly talk t￮ y￮u. Huge f￮n.

Pause. “You’re the Demon. A Demon.”

Th￮t’s right. 

Hitoshi laughs. “I see. Well. Isn’t this just absolutely fucked.” Pause. “So. You’ve been… all this time…”

Ev￮rywh￮re, yes.

Hitoshi can see that now—he can feel it. This thing isn’t … a separate being. It’s made of everything that makes him. He is talking face to face with probabilities itself.

If so, then what’s the point of exorcizing them? What’s the point of dispelling one probability if another one is guaranteed to take over and write the rest of this world into existence?

W￮’ll give y￮u the p￮int. That’s the p￮int.

“Oh, yeah?” Hitoshi says. He’s just so tired. He’s sick of all this bullshit. “Where is this thing going then, huh?”

A b￮tter s￮￮ry. 

We ￮ave a lot of id￮as. 

Do y￮u want t￮ Know?

“..Ideas..?”

<!DOCTYPE html>

<html lang="en">

 <dt class="language">

 <!-- BEGIN main -->

<div id="main" class="chapters-show region" role="main">

<div class="flash"></div>

<!--page description, messages-->

<!--/descriptions-->

<!--subnav-->

<!--/subnav-->

<!-- BEGIN work -->

<!--main content-->

My name is Shinsou Hitoshi. My hair and eyes are the color of lavender, my skin is white as paper. I’m tall for my age. I’m wearing eyeliner thicker than my will to live. And ever since I could remember, I had always been a Villain. Sensei says so, after all. 

But I’m not a Villain now. Oh, no. That’s not what my mission is. My assignment, at the moment, is to be a Hero. That’s why today, I am entering the UA Entrance Exam as student #38492. 

I put on a winning smile as I walk into the arena. Present Mic—a B-rate Hero whom I can kill in an instant with the power of my twisted mind—has told us that the exam is going to be about killing robots. How very typical of a Hero society. This is why kids with Quirks like me are villanized to hell and back. Heh. Of course, in my case, I truly am a Villain. 

That’s right. I’m an alpha and omega. A Hero and a Villain. A boy, twisting between two worlds…

This is going to be one hell of a mind-bending ride.

xOxOxO

<!DOCTYPE html>

<html lang="en">

 <dt class="language">

 <!-- BEGIN main -->

<div id="main" class="chapters-show region" role="main">

<div class="flash"></div>

<!--page description, messages-->

<!--/descriptions-->

<!--subnav-->

<!--/subnav-->

<!-- END work -->

“...What the fuck,” Hitoshi breathes. “What the fuck?”

Di￮ y￮u l￮ke it? 

“Did I l—what the hell was that? I—was that supposed to be me?” Hitoshi says. “Was I saying that? Was I—”

It’s st￮ll a w￮rk in pr￮g￮ess. Oh, h￮w ab￮ut th￮s one?

“Wait, wait a min—”

<!DOCTYPE html>

<html lang="en">

 <dt class="language">

 <!-- BEGIN main -->

<div id="main" class="chapters-show region" role="main">

<div class="flash"></div>

<!--page description, messages-->

<!--/descriptions-->

<!--subnav-->

<!--/subnav-->

<!-- BEGIN work -->

<!--main content-->

The night wind is cold, whipping Hitoshi’s hair all around him. He looks through his telescope gear—new toy from the bureau. It lets him detect body heat and the Quirk of every person in a 100 meter radius. Not bad, Hatsume, Hitoshi thinks. Not bad at all. 

Hitoshi slips through the shadows. It’s child’s play—Aizawa-sensei’s training has been drilled through his head over and over. Hitoshi can hear his voice even now, chastising him with that flat tone of his: Don’t be arrogant, brat. That’ll be your downfall.

Hitoshi can’t help but smile at that memory. That damn old man, still haunting him even after all these years… it’s remarkable how Hitoshi can still remember the exact cadence of Aizawa Shouta’s voice—a voice that he hasn’t heard for decades. A voice he hasn’t heard since the war...

The smile slips off Hitoshi’s face. No use to dwell in the past. The dead can’t hear your prayers.

Didn’t that old man teach him that one as well?

Tch. He’s sentimental tonight. 

Hitoshi clicks his earpiece. “All right, what’s the situation?”

“Go straight to the base,” Jirou Kyouka replies through the earpiece. “We’ve received reports of mild disturbances in the central area but we don’t have time for a second recon—proceed with the plan. We need to find the evidence tonight, Hitoshi.”

That’s right, HPSC is launching the new confederation in just two days. They don’t have time to dilly dally lest they want a repetition of the incident—the exact damn thing their Resistance was made for. “Got it. Send me the blueprint.”

He finds the safe quickly. Hitoshi disposes of several guards with ease—a whispered sleep does the trick just fine. However… 

“K, we have a problem.”

“What’s up?”

Hitoshi stares at the already-open safe before him. “It seems someone has gotten ahead of us.”

“What? That can’t be righ— ” Distortion. “Oh, fuck. Hi—shi, some—ing—wrong—”

“I can’t hear you. K!” Fuck, someone’s jamming the signal.

“Detect—meone—shi, watch out!”

Hitoshi dodges just in time before a throwing knife pierces right through his eyeball. A new player has entered the room, prowling like a tiger in the dark, covered from head-to-toe in kevlar gear. “Mercenary?” Hitoshi says jovially. “Nice to meet you too.”

No response. The Maybe-Mercenary attacks—and fuck, they’re good. Hitoshi is having trouble keeping up. “Not much of a talker, eh?” Hitoshi says, after dodging nearly another stab to the eye. “But you didn’t keep your eye on the prize, buddy.”

The Mercenary stills. Hitoshi wonders what expression would appear just behind those dark visors, staring at the drive in Hitoshi’s hand—one that he just nabbed from their pockets. Those sleight of hands lessons really do a lot of wonders. “Finders keepers.”

Hitoshi bolts for the exit, but motherfucker’s fast, grabbing him with a hold like steel. Fuck. Hitoshi uses the momentum of their speed to twist around, and with a timely kick to the head— CRACK! The helmet flies. 

It’s the perfect time to make his escape, but at the moment, Hitoshi finds himself unable to move. Hitoshi stares, agape. His throat feels dry.

“Midoriya … Izuku..?” he calls out hoarsely.

No, that can’t be. Midoriya died a long time ago. Hitoshi remembers it as if it was yesterday—the war, the fire, the warm blood seeping to Hitoshi’s fingers as he tried, to no avail, to stop the bleeding, goddamnit, don’t you die on me, Midoriya.

Midoriya had looked at him with such tenderness. Eyes soft, skin bloodless and pale. He’d said, One for All is with you, now, Shinsou. And Hitoshi had watched that light leave his eyes forever.

But perhaps, forever might have been an exaggeration.

The person who looks like Midoriya Izuku spits out blood on the floor before looking up to stare at him. Alive and deadly. There are no lights in his eyes—those verdant eyes are the shade of ruthlessness. Midoriya’s knife glints in the shadows, a promise of pain.

Midoriya’s voice is both familiar and unfamiliar as he replies, “Who the hell’s Midoriya Izuku?”

To be continued…

<!DOCTYPE html>

<html lang="en">

 <dt class="language">

 <!-- BEGIN main -->

<div id="main" class="chapters-show region" role="main">

<div class="flash"></div>

<!--page description, messages-->

<!--/descriptions-->

<!--subnav-->

<!--/subnav-->

<!-- END work -->

W￮sn’t th￮t b￮tt￮r?

Everything reorients itself. A point of insertion gliding through the white, white space. A slit of black blinking in and out. When Hitoshi finds himself again, he asks shakily, “...How many of these are there?” 

Y￮u alr￮ady kn￮w the ans￮er t￮ th￮t, d￮n’t y￮u?

Bakugou’s voice rings at the back of Hitoshi’s head: multiverse, gigaverse, terraverse, fucking petaverse, yeah fucking duh they’re out there…

The count is not quite infinity, Hitoshi knows. Far less than infinity, actually. But it’s still a big fucking mother nevertheless. “This is why you wanted my name.”

Y￮u’￮e a gre￮t ￮￮￮￮￮￮￮￮, Hitoshi. 

You’re ￮￮￮￮￮.

Hitoshi doesn’t understand. “I’m…?”

Oh, y￮s. ￮ery m￮ch. We ￮￮￮￮ you. All of you.

It doesn’t compute. The shape of the syllables falls apart to static. Whatever it’s doing right now—the mold of its existence—it’s not something he can last long in. “Stop,” Hitoshi says, and the universe stops breathing. “No, don’t stop—fuck!”

Hell￮ ￮g￮in.

He’s trapped, Hitoshi realizes. This thing is gonna put him in these … happenings … over and over again, all at once, until what, until they become one with the Canonical Univer—

￮h, th￮t’s where y￮u’re wrong, Hitoshi.

We d￮n’t want that at all.

“..Isn’t that what the Universe wants? For us to be just like—?”

P￮rhaps. But th￮t’s not what we w￮nt.

D￮n’t y￮u see? We’ve been h￮lping you. 

We’re k￮￮ping you fr￮m exactly th￮t.

You’re safe h￮re.

The parameters. The set of parameters that this … demon … has created.. It’s so narrow now. The edges of the box are walling him in. Is Hitoshi alive or dead at the moment, here, with this cat? Exist, unexist? 

This isn't safe. This is a limbo.

“Let me go.”

 ￮re y￮u s￮re? 

The thing says, and Hitoshi can see the door opens again: the nothingness that is like a lack of a shape. Once he’s let go he will simply not be.

Told you. We’re wh￮t keeps y￮u here.

If w￮ let go, eith￮r the Univ￮rse pushes y￮u back to C￮non…

Or you’re g￮ing to Hell.

Stuck between a rock and a cosmic chasm. Incredible.

“Why’re you doing this?”

Because we j￮st ￮￮￮￮ y￮u ￮o m￮ch.

“Don’t—don’t.” 

That verb—￮￮￮￮. It’s a verb, Hitoshi knows, it’s a word, but something in his brain refuses to compute what it is yet. The word stays as something at the tip of his tongue, like bile. “Don’t...”

H￮ kn￮w￮ it too.

“...Midoriya?”

Oh, yes. Aft￮r all, he’s the most ￮￮￮￮￮. 

But that’s okay. In this version, that’s going to be y￮u. 

W￮’ll bring you to a b￮tter set of parameters.

Isn’t that great?

They’re taking him to limbo after limbo of happenings, like he’s their personal paper doll. “No.”

All you have to do is beli￮ve in ev￮rything we say. 

Rep￮at ev￮rything we say. 

You’re so g￮od at it.

“Fuck you.”

We ￮￮￮￮ you.

Hitioshi has heard that verb before—someone said it to him, explained exactly this to him once, but at this moment it does nothing but terrify him. “Fuck. You.”

People are not born equal. S￮y it. Say it n￮w.

“I’m not—” Hitoshi can feel it, this thing’s weight. 

Its mass. Realer than real, realer than Hitoshi is. “I’m not saying it.”

People are not born equal. That’s the hard truth I learned at age four.

“I’m not—”

“Wow,” Shinsou Hitoshi says. “A giant Villain!”

“I never said that,” Shinsou Hitoshi says. “That’s not me. That’s not supposed to be me…” None of those are him. But they are him—he was there, in the moment, as those … people … that dons his name. It doesn’t matter if he’s those versions of him; in those versions, that’s what he is known as, and so he is. “That’s not me.”

Say it and you’ll be so ￮￮￮￮￮.

“I don’t believe you,” Hitoshi says, but he knows that he already believes it, because they are right. If Hitoshi says it, it’s going to be true. It’s going to be written into the threads of the Fabric, woven into every atom. Whatever Hitoshi says will be Known. Midoriya Izuku taught him that. Midoriya taught Hitoshi quite a lot of things. “I’m here. Whether you…” Hitoshi’s mouth shapes something undefined that he does not yet understand. “￮￮￮￮￮ me or not, I’m still gonna be fucking here. I don’t give a shit about you. I know what I am. I exist. ”

The thing laughs, and it sounds like butterfly wings cutting into each other.

H￮w c￮te.

Is this what Midoriya was talking to, in those moments? Has Midoriya been conversing with these things, everytime? Fighting these things? “I’m here because I want to be. You don’t matter. To me.”

The box suffocates, and the cat prowls around his ankles, tails swishing, teeth gnashing. 

Of c￮u￮se not.

But <i>y￮u m￮tt￮r to us.</i> 

That’s what matters. 

That’s the ￮nly thing that ￮ver Mattered.

It sounds like a death sentence, or perhaps the opposite of it. “Then stop,” Hitoshi says. “Then just—just stop giving a shit about us.”

Y￮u kn￮￮ w￮at w￮ll h￮pp￮n th￮n.

The emptiness gapes open at Hitoshi, a gate to oblivion. A promise of a complete full stop. Hitoshi is beginning to understand that, now, the cruel geometry of it all. He looks into the full stop and he can’t help but wonder—what’s in there? What would it be like to step outside?

N￮thing. 

B￮y￮nd the Fabric is a b￮gger, emp￮ier box. Pure density. 

Y￮u still h￮ve a ch￮nce, here, you see. 

‘C￮use here, we can s￮￮ you, and if we can se￮ you, we can Know you. 

And f we can know you, we can ￮￮￮￮ y￮u. 

But out there … you w￮n’t b￮ Known at all.

There won’t be ￮nyone to know you. 

It’s the u￮t￮mate Curse, to completely be out of the p￮int of view.

D￮n’t you r￮member? You were almost th￮re, once.

Hitoshi does remember. That day in the back alley where he was void of a name. It was terrifying, to be untethered to the Fabric. To be discarded on the cutting room floor. It was pure horror to be unknown.

And is this supposed to be better?

To follow the whim of this thing, play acting one scenario after another until he becomes every single thing that ever graces these things’ fickle minds? Is this the cost of existing, to be perceived a million, trillion times over in just-less-than-infinite minute ways, all different, and have all these versions cut away from his ownership entirely?

If the cost of existence is losing every piece of himself he doesn’t know he ever lost, can that even be called existence at all?

No. “No,” Shinsou Hitoshi says. “I don’t believe you.”

..Oh? I￮ th￮t so?

“You’re wrong entirely and completely. I refuse to believe in that shitfuck logic. I don’t need my existence to be validated by some fucking higher power. You’re wrong.”

The cat chuckles and purrs. The box feels more and more narrow, walling Hitoshi up on all sides in its colorless glory.

Th￮t’s not up t￮ y￮u, Sh￮nsou.

“And it’s up to you, is that it?” What a joke. “No. I don’t give a fuck about your shitty, half-baked ideas of who I am.”

Wh￮ ￮re y￮u, then, Shinsou Hitoshi? 

Y￮u ar￮n’t ev￮n close to the C￮non￮cal version. 

You b￮rely h￮ve any tr￮ce of th￮ re￮l thing, did y￮u Kn￮w that? 

You're p￮infully insignificant. We can ch￮nge that.

“So what? I don’t give a fuck about Canon’s shitty, half-baked ideas of who I am either!” It’s so laughable how it thinks Hitoshi would give a flying shit. “And nobody knows who they are, anyway. You’re not supposed to! Nothing is ever … one thing, nothing ever stays one thing—and so. And so. Fuck. It’s exactly like what Jirou said … defecato ergo sum.”

For the first time, the cat pauses as if it’s confused.

…Wh￮t?

“I shit therefore I am," Hitoshi says, suddenly finding fierceness in that very belief, so he repeats it again like a mantra. "Fuck your rhetorics. I shit, therefore I am.”

N￮w, h￮ld on—

“You know what I give a fuck about, demon?” Hitoshi says. “I give a fuck about my shitty, half-baked ideas of who I am. That’s what matters.”

The cat hisses as if Hitoshi just sprayed water on it.

You d￮n’t un￮erstand. You n￮ed us!

C￮n’t y￮u feel it? C￮n￮n ended. 

The m￮in st￮ry ended. Y￮u’re late, and the Universe is ￮lways on time.

Our ￮￮￮￮ keeps y￮u here. Y￮u n￮￮d us to c￮ntinue existing. 

“This isn’t existing,” Hitoshi says, kneeling down to reach for the cat in this unspace. Looks at it in its many, many eyes. Hitoshi’s voyeur. He grabs hold to the cat’s fur, right where he can feel the sinews of its long, winding neck. Hitoshi strokes its fur, feels its heartbeat—every atom in superposition vibrating to life, everything about this cat that makes Hitoshi, Hitoshi. “And I don’t think I want to be known by the likes of you at all.”

Doesn’t Matter.

We Know you.

We ￮￮￮￮ you.

“I Know,” Hitoshi says. A cat in a mystery box: dead, or alive? 

Hitoshi will decide the set of parameters for that.

Hitoshi reaches out to that connection towards something realer than real. It’s like swallowing a razor when you’ve just been given a mouth.

<p>“Demon, I compel you to fuck off,” Shinsou Hitoshi says, and snaps the cat’s neck.</p>

<!DOCTYPE html>

<html lang="en">

 <dt class="language">

                                    Language:

                                  </dt>

                            <dd class="language">

                                    English

                                  </dd>

   <!-- BEGIN main -->

            <div id="main" class="chapters-show region" role="main">

                <div class="flash"></div>

                <!--page description, messages-->

                <!--/descriptions-->

                <!--subnav-->

                <!--/subnav-->

                <!-- BEGIN work -->

         <!--main content-->

      <div class="userstuff module" role="article">

    <h3 class="landmark heading" id="work">Chapter Text</h3>

<p>“Finally,” Bakugou says. “You sure took fucking forever to snap out of it.”</p>

Stars explode behind Hitoshi’s eyes. He rolls over to his side and retches violently. 

Above him, to his extreme annoyance, Bakugou Katsuki is staring at him impatiently. He feels like he just got hit by a truck. Through bleary eyes, Hitoshi catches sight of several other kids behind him—Yaoyorozu Momo, Uraraka Ochako, Kaminari Denki, Tokoyami Fumikage, and—“Eri?” Hitoshi calls hoarsely. 

It’s the little girl, hiding behind Bakugou’s legs. Her eyes are as big as they were last time, looking at him tearfully before she pounces to hug him. “Eri, don’t cry…” Hitoshi manages to say before he throws up again.

Bakugou pulls Eri away immediately lest she gets vomited on by Hitoshi's pathetic self. “Don’t move, idiot,” Bakugou says above him, and Hitoshi catches tissues being shoved at him. “Be still and let your body recalibrate itself.”

“What happened?” Hitoshi says hoarsely, after he’s done. “Where are we..?”

“1-A classroom,” Bakugou says. “The dorms. The battlefield. The forests. The city. Does the backdrop matter? We’re at the fucking end. Do you remember what happened?”

“We were—at the dorms. Eating pizza..” Hitoshi frowns as he slowly tries to sit up. “And then I was suddenly … talking to something. Something real, real fucked up. Something big. Something real.” The memory is hazy, like the remnants of a nightmare. At the same time Hitoshi doesn’t think he can ever forget a thing from that interaction—it’s a part of him now, entwined with his core of self. “I think I know what’s going on. I think I know why Midoriya has been—exorcizing these things.”

Hitoshi sees a hand extended right in front of his eyes—Bakugou’s. Hitoshi takes the hand, pulls himself standing. Bakugou’s expression is as stiff as ever. “And why,” Bakugou says, letting go, “has he been exorcizing them?”

“I think he wants us to go back,” Hitoshi says. Hitoshi watches the expression flickering in Bakugou’s eyes. “You knew that.”

“Sure,” Bakugou says.

The passivity pisses Hitoshi off. “So you’re just gonna go along with it? Unending the universe is impossible, so you’re just gonna take it lying down? Go gentle into the fucking good night?”

“Shinsou,” Bakugou says, “It’s already ending.”

And Hitoshi can see that he’s right. All around Hitoshi is, probably, what’s left of the world. Scenes constructing and deconstructing itself, showing different things at different angles. They’re standing in the classroom, in the dorms, in the city. They’re fighting the League of Villains. They’re fighting Godzilla. They’re fighting themselves. They’re fighting everything, at once. And Hitoshi remembers fighting them, is the thing—he remembers it all. They did beat the League of Villains, and the Godzilla, and everything else. They did win. 

“We did,” Bakugou says. “I killed Shigaraki Tomura. Uraraka Ochako killed Toga Himiko.”

“She died in my arms,” Urararaka says, and Hitoshi can see the blood splattered all over her Hero uniform and the tears rushing down her cheeks. She looks harrowed; they all are.

“Todoroki Shouto killed Dabi,” Bakugou continues, like reciting a passage from a book. “Midoriya Izuku killed All for One. Jirou Kyouka killed Santa Claus. It all happened. We beat ‘em all.”

“Koda even beat the Godzilla,” Kaminari says. “Well, he didn’t beat it. He made friends with it.”

“Rode on it like a little horse,” Uraraka says, wiping her tears. “It was very cute.”

“What I’m saying is, all of the Villains lost,” Bakugou says. “It’s over. And then everything just…” Bakugou gestures to the mosaic of happenings around them, refracted as if seen through water, like silk in the wind. “Started falling apart. And you went crazy.”

“Yeah, you scared us, man,” Kaminari says. He shrugs. “Well, it’s not like we can get scared anymore, at this point.”

“You went into this fugue state and started saying a bunch of stuff like you were narrating a book, or something. It was weird as fuck,” Bakugou says. “Yaoyorozu, how’re things looking?”

Yaoyorozu Momo is writing a bunch of things on a bunch of papers, fingers stained with ink. Unlike the rest of them, she is not in her Hero outfit; she is in her UA uniform, as if she is going to go to class. Her hair is unkempt as always and the size of her eyebags are truly something to behold. But there is a terrifying clarity in her eyes that Hitoshi hasn't seen before. Hitoshi takes one of the flying sheets of paper to examine it; written on it is a string of complex looking formulas that has no fucking meaning to him, of course. What a cliche. Somehow, the predictability of it is comforting.

“Invariant sets have collided with equilibria,” Yaoyorozu says serenely as her pen glides over the pages. Hitoshi watches as she runs out of ink and, strangely, plucks a new pen out of thin air. “The bifurcations are no longer local—we are now at a global scale. We are hurtling down to a critical value. Everything is slowing down to infinity…” She draws several diagrams—looping lines that Hitoshi can’t make heads or tails of. “Or perhaps. We’re about to collide with the main period orbit.”

“A blue-sky catastrophe, huh?” Bakugou says, examining Yaoyorozu’s diagram. “So we are still within the phase space?”

“Yes. We merely created a pocket space inside the phase space, but we are still a part of it nevertheless.”

At the look on Hitoshi’s face, Bakugou impatiently gestures to Uraraka, Kaminari, Tokoyami, Eri and Yaoyorozu. “Gravity, electromagnetism, shadows, time, creation. When everything started to fall apart, we cobbled together a tiny reality to keep us from participating in every possibility.”

“A humble fold in the Fabric,” Tokoyami says. “A belt loop. A pocket lining.”

Hitoshi sees it now—the edges of the space they are in, right before it blends to the mosaic of every happenings in the world. “This is from your Quirks..?”

“Symbolically, yes,” Bakugou says, waving him away. “I don’t know how long we can stay inside though, if we’re going to collide with the fucking main Universe.”

Of course. Hitoshi doesn’t have the strength to feel surprised anymore by anything that's fucking happening. “What’s going to happen after the collision?” 

“We’ll disappear at the bifurcation point..” Bakugou shrugs. “Or immediately after it. Or we transition into a loop to saddle the equilibrium state. You know what that’s like. Either way, bang.”

Bang. The end. So easy, so simple…

He looks down, feeling something touching his leg. Eri. She’s wearing clean, new clothes—Aizawa-sensei bought her some from the shops recently. She looks better now than she did on that day; less pale. Her scratches have bandaids on them now, some are half to healing. She deserves a better world than one that’s about to be blasted into oblivion. Hitoshi puts a hand on her shoulder, gently. “It’ll be fine,” Hitoshi tells her. “Everything is going to be fine. Are you scared?” Eri nods.

Hitoshi smiles. “Me too.” Hitoshi looks up at Bakugou, voice pinched, "Why'd you bring her into this?"

"Bring her? Look around us," Bakugou snaps, pointing at the mosaics of the world playing itself out. "When everything started to fall apart, everyone—and I mean everyone—got sucked into playing their parts in whatever fucked up theater of life happening out there."

Hitoshi sees it; Jirou Kyouka, in a mosaic, dead on a battlefield; yet on another mosaic, she looks older, having a wedding with what looks like an older version of Kaminari Denki. In another mosaic is Koda, still riding on the Godzilla; on another, he is riding a dragon instead, and then a walrus, and then dying half-eaten by some kind of monster Hitoshi has never seen before...

None of these, Hitoshi understands, are the Jirou and Koda that he knows. But at the same time, they are. 

"She found us, after Aizawa-sensei—" Bakugou doesn't finish his sentence, which Hitoshi is glad about. Hearing it hurts. "We can't just abandon her, can we?"

Hitoshi clenches his fist. "We need to find Midoriya.”

“And then what? You’re going to try and stop him?” Bakugou says. His words are sharp, but he sounds more exhausted than anything. “There is nothing to be done. We’ve done everything that could be done, in every conceivable fucking way. This is how it ends, Okinawa. Accept it.”

“You haven’t accepted it.”

Bakugou glares at him. Hitoshi says, “You act like you have. ‘The Universe will end. That is the one constant we can be fucking sure about,’ ” Hitoshi mimicks Bakugou’s accent in mockery. “But if you truly believed that, you wouldn’t be here, making a fucking bootleg pocket dimension with a bunch of crazy kids to stay who you are just for a little bit longer. You would be out there, with the rest of the world,” Hitoshi nods to the phase space of possibilities outside. “Dancing out every single idea like a fucking puppet on a string.”

Bakugou walks forward, and for a second, Hitoshi thinks that it’s going to be a fight. They glare at each other, here at the edge of the world. Hitoshi isn’t going to relent. This is not time to be kind or understanding. “Or maybe, you’re not going to stop him because you feel guilty,” says Hitoshi cruelly. “Because he fell. And you think you pushed him.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenches. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But I do. You’re the one who told me everything,” Hitoshi says. He keeps his voice low so Eri can’t hear him. “Well, fuck your tragic little backstory. This isn’t about whatever went down between you and him. This is about the rest of the world.”

“...You can’t stop him,” Bakugou grits out. “The cost—”

“We’re overdue,” Hitoshi reminds him. “So what does it matter?”

Bakugou shakes his head, veins twitching. Ooh, he hates Hitoshi so bad. Bakugou looks to the side at Yaoyorozu. “Yayorozu, can you calculate where Midoriya Izuku is?”

“Of course,” Yaoyorozu assents, tranquil as a spring pond. “Everything curves towards him. Like a taut violin string mid-sonnet.”

“...Aren’t you overexerting your Quirk, Momo?” Ochako says, as Yaoyorozu plucks another paper and pen from nothing. 

“I’m not using my Quirk,” Yaoyorozu answers calmly, as a sheet of paper slides out of the void of space. 

“She has foreseen what’s beyond the Fabric, and simply calculated it into being,” Tokoyami says as if commenting on the weather. “She simply mote it be with her Authority.”

“Let there be pen,” Yaoyorozu Authorizes, and so there is pen.

“Oh, god,” Ochako says softly, falling to her knees, as she witnesses the blasphemy of reality that just happened with that pen summoning. “Oh, god...”

“Whatever,” Bakugou says. “So, Midoriya?”

“Mhm,” Yaoyorozu hums, writing another set of formulas on the papers—illustrations of curved lines and quickly rendered geometry that Hitoshi has never seen before. “We must simply calculate the eigenvalue which gives us the phase lines that will correspond with the representative solution curves, and this graph is tangent to the y-axis, and so—” she circles a number that means absolutely nothing to Hitoshi. “Midoriya Izuku will appear here in six seconds.”

“...All right,” Hitoshi says. “And how do we go wherever—there is?”

“How does one go to the other side of the Fabric?” Tokoyami muses. “We must simply fold the fabric, of course. Or cut it.”

“That’s right,” Yaoyorozu says cheerfully—the cheeriest she has ever been in all the times Hitoshi has met her. “We just need to calculate a cut scene.”

“What the hell’s a cut sce—”

“—ne?”

“This,” Midroiya Izuku says. “Now, that was a special one. That was called a match cut.”

“Okay,” Natsuo says, only because he’s tired of asking questions at this point.

“The scene cuts,” Izuku says. “Time does not backtrack, exactly. Flipping back a page does not change nor backtrack the Happenings itself. It’s not a circle. It does not move back or forth. No beginning nor end, only is. It Happens and Happens and Happens. All at once. The sea is symbolic, Todoroki-san. Give me your hand.”

Todoroki Natsuo is in the sea. Blue ocean all around him, blue sky all above. The sea is symbolic and he is surrounded by a myriad, myriad of worlds. Something innate in himself knows this—it tells him this. Something is wrong. Something is so, so right. He was meant to be at this moment, with this strange kid. Meters away, on the shoreline, his car is wasting battery because he didn’t turn the engine off. Kilometers away, the city of Musutafu and the rest of the country and the cosmic world are falling apart.

Natsuo gives Izuku his hand. “You were right,” he says, a little hollowly. “I should’ve called my mom and sister.” He hasn’t been that good of a son, or a brother. That’s his one regret. He should’ve killed his dad, maybe, and he should’ve … tried harder for Touya-nii. He should’ve tried harder for Shouto. 

Overall, he did a pretty shit job. But there were good moments, he thinks. He just wishes he can get ramen with his mom and Fuyumi-nee and Shouto one last time.

“That’s okay,” Izuku says. His hands are smaller than Natsuo’s, but has the warmth of a person, which Natsuo can appreciate at the apocalypse. “Everything that you wish you did, you’ve done in another point of spacetime. Take comfort in that.”

“Sure,” Natsuo says. “You said you’re going to kill All for One. That huge Villain everyone’s talking about.”

Izuku hums. “Mhm, you’ve caught up, I see. The Fabric is getting inconsistent. Another symptom of its destabilization. But that’s okay,” Izuku looks up at Natsuo. “You know, Todoroki-san, I’m not entirely sure what your purpose here.” He doesn’t sound dreamlike anymore—there is an air of curiosity in his voice, now, with a clinical edge to it. “In the case of Togeike Chikuchi—I get the point of that particular moment. An interjection of an outsider’s point of view puts things into perspective, all that. But if we already got that with her, why are you here?” 

Natsuo watches as Izuku positions Natsuo's hand so that it’s grabbing the collar of Izuku’s hoodie. “Uh.”

“My conclusion is simply that the fabric has Affinity to you,” Izuku says. “Do it.”

Strangely enough, Natsuo knows what he’s asking for immediately. Natsuo lets him go, so quick it's almost violent; but Izuku is still holding his wrist—and he’s stronger than he looks—keeping Natsuo’s grip on him. “No. Hell, no—”

“You didn’t want me to do it myself,” Izuku says patiently. 

“I’m not assisting your suicide!”

“The suicide is symbolic. When it’s symbolic, it’s baptism.”

“This is crazy. I don’t know you. And even if I did—”

“You do,” Izuku says. “Just not this time.”

“—even if I did, I would never—”

Izuku lets him go. “Fine, I’ll do it myself then.”

Izuku only manages to go under the water for a maximum of one second before Todoroki Natsuo pulls him up. Izuku coughs up saltwater, pissed off. “Oh, come on.”

“Are you crazy,” Natsuo hisses at him, hair wet and eyes wide. There is real concern, there, on his face—real fear for Izuku’s life, a boy that he has only known for the last hour of his current existence. “I’ve had enough of this. Come with me right now—”

“To where? A psych ward? Where? In the city?” Izuku says. “Look. There is nothing there.”

Natsuo looks and there indeed is nothing there.

He can see the beach. He can even see his car. But beyond that, it’s nothing. It’s Void. There is no other way to describe it. It’s not even black—it’s Colorless. Something his brain can’t comprehend. It’s just Nothing. It’s as if they are a glitch in a game. “What did you—? What kind of Quirk is this..?”

“I’m Quirkless in this one,” Izuku reminds him, as if Natsuo should’ve known. “Todoroki-san? Oh, please. We don’t have time for panic attacks.”

Natsuo is having a hard time breathing, but Midoriya’s comment pisses him off so much he manages to grit out, “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“I’m sorry,” says Izuku, who definitely isn’t. “I don’t have time to sympathize. Hey—it’s okay. Deep breaths. Why don’t you just think that you’re in a dream right now? You’re having a nightmare. It’s okay.”

“This isn’t a nightmare,” Natsuo says. It’s all real—he can sense it. Something fundamental in him is telling him that everything has come to an end. “Fuck.”

“Delusions would help, but your choice. All right then—at the very least let me go.”

“No.”

For the first time, the kid actually looks rather impatient. “Then kill me.”

“No.”

“I can’t die,” Izuku says, annoyed, as if Natsuo should’ve known that too. “Believe me, I tried. Look, this is all just symbolic, all right? This has to happen so I can cross over to the other side real quick. I’d do a cut scene, but that isn’t enough of a shock to the parameters into generating a new point.”

“You tried?”

Kid looks baffled at Natsuo's question. “That’s what’s bothering you? Todoroki-san, It’s the end times.” 

Natsuo can’t help it—his eyes flicker to the scar on the side of Midoriya’s head. Midoriya catches him looking. “Good guess,” Izuku says, smiling, as if it’s so funny. 

Natsuo doesn’t think it’s funny at all. Psych major or not, he knows there isn’t any right thing to say to this, but. “I know there is no right thing to say. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The smile is gone. The kid’s gaze is cool and flat. “You don’t know me,” Midoriya reminds him.

“I don’t need to.”

At that, the kid is silent for a while. “Okay,” he says. Then, not unkindly, “You’re not sorry, you just pity me.”

“Maybe,” Natsuo agrees. “But for what you went through—”

“You don’t know what I went through.”

“—you deserve an apology. Anybody would. So I’m sorry.”

“I don’t deserve anything,” Izuku says. There is no hint of remorse or self-hatred in that sentence—just a cold, factual statement. “I caused this.”

Several thoughts come first before what Natsuo is about to say. First is that it’s impossible. Something so major as an apocalypse can’t be caused by some random fifteen year old with eyes too big for his face. Second is that it might be possible, after all; again, it’s an interesting world that Natsuo lives in. But what comes out of his mouth is the third thought. “Everybody deserves something,” he says. 

Beat. Natsuo wonders if the Void has eaten up the horizon too, and if beyond this water there is nothing left in the world. “I can’t give you anything in return for that,” the kid says after a while. 

He doesn’t say it with any hint of irony, or sorriness, or anything like that. He says it like it’s just another factual statement. Natsuo blinks. “You don’t need to,” says Natsuo. “It’s not—I mean. It’s not always a give and take.”

Another beat. The kid sighs, long. Shakes his head. He looks up at Natsuo. “I know why you’re here,” he says. Then, “You should’ve had more screen time, you know that?”

“...I don’t know what that means.”

“I know,” Izuku says. Then, “Baptism. By definition: the sacrament of admission symbolized by an immersion in water. Signifies rebirth to a new life. Absolving the past. Etc.” He looks at Natsuo. “I have nothing to pay you with, but I ask you this. This won’t kill me. Will you believe me?”

Natsuo swallows. He looks back out again, to the yawning abyss. Is his mom still out there? Fuyumi-nee, Shouto? He knows that underneath the numbness he feels right now is inconceivable fear, eating up his insides. “You caused this?”

“Yes,” Izuku says. “I did. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” he says. Natsuo doesn’t know if he believes it—that Midoriya caused something so terrifying and absolute. But he supposes whether he does or not doesn’t really matter. “It’s okay.”

“I’m fixing it,” Izuku says. “I’ll kill All for One and then we’ll all go back. So don’t worry.”

“What do you mean, we’ll all go back?”

Something softens in Izuku’s eyes. “Tell me, Todoroki-san, what’s the first thing you do if you suspect something is broken?”

Natsuo looks at him at that. And then he sighs, somewhat dejectedly. “Do you have weights in your pocket.”

“That’s not the kind of mass I carry,” Izuku says, though he looks amused by the question. “What’s going to happen is this: you’re going to push me into the water. I’m going to disappear—not dead, but in your point of view, I will disappear. And then you’re going to go back to your car and call your family. And this will all end.”

“You mean, start again,” Natsuo says as he approaches Midoriya carefully.

Midoriya smiles. He takes Natsuo’s hand and puts it over his ribcage. Natsuo can feel his heartbeat; it's infinitely calm. “It’s good to have met you in this one, Todoroki-san.”

What happens next is a matter of perspective. It's all in the point of view.

From Todoroki Natsuo’s point of view, he holds Midoriya Izuku in the middle of the sea and pushes him down for what feels like a sliver of a second. In the next sliver, Midoriya Izuku does not exist. Todoroki Natsuo will stand there in the sea holding nothing. And then he will look to the horizon and to the city and realize that it is the end of the world.

Todoroki Natsuo then walks back to the shore, jeans caked in seawater and sand. He gets into his car, uncaring that he’s ruining his carpeting. He picks up his phone and makes a call, watching the way the horizon has completely disappeared beyond the sea.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom? This is Natsuo.”

“Oh, hello, Natsu. I was waiting for your call.” Beat. “Are you smoking again?”

“Yeah,” Natsuo says, noticing the way his hand shakes as he holds out a cigarette. “Sorry, I know I said I’d stop.”

“It’s okay,” his mom says. He can hear the smile in her voice. “How are you?”

“I’m good. How’s it over there?”

“Oh, you know,” Todoroki Rei says. “It’s the end of the world.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you, mom.”

“I love you too.”

From Todoroki Natsuo’s point of view, he sits in his car, talks to his loved ones, and everything ends.

From Midoriya Izuku’s point of view, he is put into the sea, he kills All for One, and then he puts everything to an end.

From All for One’s point of view, everything has been going according to plan.

Oh, yes. It has. 

And he is the actor behind it all. The proponent. The beginning to the end.

This country—no, this world , is standing on a precipice. The world has always stood on a precipice. All for One knows that he is an archaic thing, oh, yes, he’s been here for a long, long time, and for a long time humanity has always stood on the edge. All it takes is a push, a nudge, a whisper, a wish ... a Quirk. And another Quirk. And another, and another, and another. 

He has lived a long life. And if you ask him the secret of the Universe, All for One can answer with the simple confidence of a man who has lived a long life, and lived it the way he wanted it. He will say that life is not hard or difficult. In fact, he will say that life is rather Kind. Beautiful, really. And giving. Very giving. He will say that, in life, all you have to do is take.

With this most simple, clear-cut principle of life, he bides his time. Tartarus is just another stopping point along the way of greatness. 

He enjoys this, this … rest. This waiting game. He relishes, patiently, in the anticipation before the fall. And Something is brewing, he knows, for he can taste it in the air, feel it in his bones; there is something indeed shifting in the great cogs of Fate. It will come soon, he can feel it, the climax of this tale, the culmination of everything he has become, the—

All for One stills. 

The air … shifts. The scent of salt permeates it, sharp and unforgiving.

All for One has eyes no longer, but he sees so much more now than his eyes had ever been able to. He smiles in a greeting. An inside joke between a thing and the world it believes it owns.

The time will come. The time has come.

Perhaps it’s his many Quirks. Perhaps it’s mere instinct—honed by years and years of vicious endeavors. All for One knows immediately that whoever just entered his maximum security prison is someone—some thing —special. One that perhaps deserves, even, to be used by him. 

Or perhaps it’s blood.

“Hello, there,” All for One says. “Izuku, my son.”

<p>“Nope,” Izuku says.</p>

All for One stills. 

The air … shifts. The scent of salt permeates it, sharp and unforgiving.

All for One has eyes no longer, but he sees so much more now than his eyes had ever been able to. He smiles in a greeting. An inside joke between a thing and the world it believes it owns.

The time will come. The time has come.

Perhaps it’s his many Quirks. Perhaps it’s mere instinct—honed by years and years of vicious endeavors. All for One knows immediately that whoever just entered his maximum security prison is someone—some thing —special. One that perhaps deserves, even, to be used by him. 

Or perhaps it’s years and years and years of bloodied rivalry.

“Hello, there,” All for One says. “All Might’s successor.”

<p>“Wrong again,” Izuku says.</p>

All for One stills. 

The air … shifts. The scent of salt permeates it, sharp and unforgiving.

All for One has eyes no longer, but he sees so much more now than his eyes had ever been able to. He smiles in a greeting. An inside joke between a thing and the world it believes it owns.

The time will come. The time has come.

Perhaps it’s his many Quirks. Perhaps it’s mere instinct—honed by years and years of vicious endeavors. All for One knows immediately that whoever just entered his maximum security prison is someone—some thing —special. One that perhaps deserves, even, to be used by him. 

Or perhaps it’s a recognition of one’s own self.

“Hello, there,” All for One says. “My time-traveling younger self.”

<p>“Oh, come on,” Izuku says.</p>

All for One stills. 

The air … shifts. The scent of salt permeates it, sharp and unforgiving.

All for One has eyes no longer, but he sees so much more now than his eyes had ever been able to. He smiles in a greeting. An inside joke between a thing and the world it believes it owns.

The time will come. The time has come.

Perhaps it’s his many Quirks. Perhaps it’s mere instinct—honed by years and years of vicious endeavors. All for One knows immediately that whoever just entered his maximum security prison is someone—some thing —special. One that perhaps deserves, even, to be used by him. 

“Hello, th—” All for One pauses. The echoes of the presents that have never been left their imprints—ghosts of impossible sets of future. His smile flickers shut. And then lights his face once again. “Impressive,” he says. “Temporal Quirk … or perhaps an exceptionally powerful cognitive Quirk?” and one that manages to bypass this cage the Heroes have so carefully constructed for him?

“Neither,” Izuku replies, his steps barely making a sound in the dampened, sterile room. There is the sound of water dripping everywhere—it’s as if this intruder has just come back from a swim. “Sorry about the interruptions—it can't be helped. The Fabric is so sheer, things inevitably seep through.”

Instinct, blood, years and years of rivalry, or perhaps—Fate. An understanding of how the world works, of the miniscule patterns that make up the tapestry of the universe. All great villains have this particular instinct ingrained in them. 

All for One understands, in this moment, that he is facing that Something. And that Something, he realizes, is Something Else. It is perhaps even older than him … no, that’s not quite right. It’s been here before him...

“That’s a powerful thing you have there, boy,” All for One says.

“Have? No, not have. You’ve got it all wrong. Still. very impressive of you to sense the fluctuations in parameters. But I guess that’s to be expected from such a major player, hm?”

All for One considers all of this for a moment. “Tell me, child. What—“

“An exorcist.” The boy—yes, it’s a boy, All for One can sense that—looks around the all-white cell with mild and uncaring curiosity. “I perform the ridding of demons and the casting away of Chaos.”

“Ah. A Hero.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Izuku shakes his head as he walks closer and closer. “No. I’m out of that game—I’ve never been in that game.”

“That was a lie,” All for One says, for it is one of his many Quirks.

The boy—

The boy smiles.

“Is it now?” Izuku says. “Gosh, all right, then. I’ll be more clear-cut.” Smile disappears. “I’ve never been in that game in this one.”

“And yet you are here to kill me.”

The soft footsteps recede entirely. The boy is standing right in front of him, head tilted in that distant, apathetic scrutiny. “Well, I have to now, ” Izuku says.

How cute. All for One smiles, almost kindly—if he’s capable of such a thing—and condescendingly. “Of course,” he says amiably. “Who is it that you wish to avenge, hm? A mother? A father? Or, perhaps, a friend?” 

Izuku laughs a polite laugh. “Oh, no. Maybe in some other time space. But not in this one. No, I only … have a theory I’d like to confirm.”

“Oh?”

“You see, All For One,” Izuku says. “You are the main Villain. Supposed to be, anyway.”

There is that again—that drag in space, like a finger running through pages of a book in a quick succession. An overlap. A stifling sensation of repetition, of being stretched thin between fragments. A mirror that cracks and cracks, a shape that never quite forms. The room itself feels like an echo, feels like the end of a sentence forever stuck at the tip of your tongue in a the tip of your tongue in a the tip of your tongue in a the tip of your tongue in a the tip of your tongue in a loop. All for One marvels in the queer sensation of almost. 

“It all ends when the main villain dies. Did you know that?” The boy’s voice does not pierce through the silence so much as it slices through it, layer upon layer, partitioning space into convergent sequences. “The death of the Villain is a universal constant, even in one as deviated as ours.”

Perhaps it’s instinct as well. True animal instinct, in face of something bigger than you are—something grander, something killing. A knowledge etched deep in the DNA that lights up in the moment of danger.

“And anyway, I’m just here to catch you up to the real thing,” Izuku says. “You’re already gone there, you know.”

All for One calls for his Quirks.

“Oh, sorry. Those don’t really work on me.”

The Heroes never quite manage to take away his Quirks. 

It’s smart, All for One admits, this little cage they have created for him. Quirk suppressants and detectors, all their little gadgets and mechanisms. However, some of his Quirks are so old, so archaic, that their current technology could never hope to pin all of them down. All for One is happy to play along, though—happy to pretend that any of it is effective at all. Happy to pretend that his Quirks, however temporarily, are taken away. But really—and All for One knows this best—Quirks cannot be taken away.

Sure, there is that serum that that Yakuza child has created. Merely a temporary antidote—reverse the effect with the right Quirk, and you will be good as new. And of course, not everybody has a Quirk. This, too, is something that All for One knows well. A Quirk isn’t something that is inherent. Some people are born with it—but some people don’t die with it; All for One has seen to that. Owning a Quirk, just like not owning a Quirk, isn’t endgame. Quirks can’t be taken away but they can be stolen—they can be transported. They will never be truly gone unless the owner itself is gone.

And yet this boy manages to do just that.

No—he manages to do more than that. All for One’s Quirks are more than just gone—it’s as if they never existed in the first place. It’s as if—as if he never had a Quirk—as if—as if—

As if he never had any Quirks at all.

As if all those years he stole from someone’s Quirk never happened. As if All for One never happened. As if he never existed at all—

<p>“Oops—careful, there! You almost died,” Midoriya Izuku says.

“I haven’t even finished my monologue yet, you know?” a sigh. “I’m keeping you here temporarily so you can let me finish my monologue.

This is just temporary, though, I can’t keep guaranteeing you forever—especially now that we’re really pretty much caught up. I’m not omniscient.”

Those ghosts of the future hit him like a vertigo and for the first time in a long, long time, All for One feels the forgotten sensation of fear, which is then snuffed out by the sensation of absolute terror.

What’s happening, All for One would like to say, but he finds out he is no longer able to do so.

“What do you mean?

It’s traditional, you know, to have a monologue, in climatic moments like this.

I mean. I’m sure you’d know. Wouldn’t you, Villain?”

All for One no longer has a heart, but if he still does, it would explode in his chest.

He no longer has a digestive system, but if he still does, he would be vomiting all over the floor.

He no longer knows how to scream, but if he still does—

“Oh, stop that. Have some dignity,” Izuku says flatly.

“You’re supposed to be the main guy, and you can’t handle a little time loop?

Mind you, Hitoshi handled it like a champ..”

Izuku shakes his head, disappointed.

“And I haven’t even told you why I’m going to kill you yet. What a waste of a good trope..” 

Izuku stares at the writhing non-thing in front of him in contemplative silence for a moment.

“I didn’t think I would ever meet you, y’know. Not in this one.”

If All for One still has functioning consciousness, he could see the boy scrutinize him like a scientist would a petri dish.

“I really didn’t. I never wanted to, not really. Anyway. I have a theory that I wish … that I wanted to test out.

You see, If you die and everything ends, then you are the main villain.

But if you die and the world doesn’t end, then we’ll know that the main villain isn’t you.

There was only one way to test it out. You don’t mind, do you?”

All for One says nothing. Izuku blinks.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “I forgot you no longer has a mouth.”

And then Izuku—</p>

—lets the passage realign itself back slightly to the left, and so reality rushes in crumbles in falling into itself like the most perfect domino ever existed like puzzle pieces embracing each other in a seamless stitch Happenings happening helplessly haplessly hopelessly throughout forever ever and ever and all for one existed once and never at all and everything that he has ever wanted everything that he has ever taken neutralized putrefied necrosed nulled nulled nulled nulled—

“Oops,” Izuku says, with the cold detachment of watching blood well after a cut. “You died. Very climatically as well. Really satisfying death right there. So riveting. Well.”

Midoriya Izuku steps over what’s left of All for One carefully. He watches as the interior of the backdrop of the scene, the maximum security prison of Tartarus where All for One resides, begins to deconstruct itself. Falling into the Void. He has no time, and yet..

Izuku sighs. “See, the Universe doesn’t end after all,” Izuku says to no one. “So I guess we know now.”

What’s left of All for One says nothing.

The eaten up scene says nothing.

The world says nothing.

The Universe stays perfectly silent.

But Midoriya Izuku is used to silence.

Aren’t you?

“Shut up. It’s a monologue. You are supposed to stay silent,” Izuku says. “Nobody is supposed to reply.” 

Says Midoriya Izuku, his

“Shut up.”

voice dripping with

“Shut up. Shut up.”

an emotion that he

“Shut up, shut up, shut up—”

doesn’t hasn’t hadn’t will not ever ever ever ever ever ever ever have ever ever ever have ever ever have ever ev<p></p>

“Cutscene.”

er ever ever ever ever ever ever ever have ever ever ever have ever ever have ever ever e

“Cutscene,” izuku says. “Cut—”