Chapter Text
Is it warm in here? Or is it just me?
The buttons at the neck of Izuku's dress shirt feel as though they're trying to suffocate him. He undoes the very top one, tugging his shirt collar away from his skin irritably.
“Let's do something about that hair of yours, kid,” says a voice that sounds as tired as Izuku feels. “You're looking a little scruffy to be on television.”
Izuku blinks out of his reverie to look over his shoulder at Aizawa, who is eyeing Izuku's head of curls pointedly. His teacher is armed and ready with a comb and a bottle of hair gel.
Izuku shoots the items a skeptical look. “I, ah... I've tried, sir. I don't think my hair can really be helped beyond this point,” he shrugs, rubbing at his so-called scruffy head sheepishly.
“I know a thing or to about dealing with stubborn hair,” Aizawa waves him off. “Yours shouldn't be too much of a problem.” The Pro Hero's normally shaggy mane has been effectively slicked back. To Izuku's surprise, his teacher has even bothered to shave for today's event.
“Th-that's okay, Sensei, really. I already fixed it!”
“Yeah. I watched you 'fix' it. It looks exactly the same as before. You need to at least brush that thing, Problem Child.” Aizawa huffs out a sigh. “Look— we're on a time limit here. And I don't mind, kid. Really. Trust me when I say it's good practice to look presentable for things like this.”
Izuku merely shrugs again. Secretly he doubts that anyone will even care, seeing as this is exactly the way he's appeared during all other televised events, anyway. But he doesn't have it in him to argue the point further.
He'd likely be more mortified over having his homeroom teacher step in to fix his unruly hair if he didn't feel so generally... crummy. He wants to blame it all on his nerves, but if he thinks about it, he hasn't felt particularly great ever since their complimentary breakfast this morning. Being forced into nice-yet-stifling dress clothes while his body overheats isn't exactly helping matters. He's crossing his fingers that it's all just nervous jitters versus him suddenly coming down with something, or being a victim of very unfortunately timed food poisoning.
That would be just Izuku's luck, though.
Also— he's pretty sure that Aizawa's severely underestimated what he's up against. The hero grits his teeth and pulls with all his might at a knot on Izuku's head, spitting out a curse here and there and inciting more than a few yelps out of the child. Inko herself tried for years to tame Izuku's curls for picture days before finally giving up and allowing them to just be free. She'd usually given up after Izuku's fourth or fifth "OUCH", though, and to Aizawa's credit, he doesn't seem to be letting those deter him.
Not that Izuku doesn't appreciate his teacher's offer to help. Actually, humiliation and pain aside, the gesture itself is sort of... nice? But it's also foreign. The only person who's ever offered to help Izuku with these kinds of things, other than his mother, is All Might. And even then, it had taken Izuku quite some time to get over being starstruck enough to let that be a normalized thing that didn't warrant a complete embarrassed meltdown.
All Might. The thought of his mentor normally lifts Izuku's spirits but, right now, it stings sharply. That's another touchy subject contributing to Izuku's uncharacteristically sour mood today.
He and All Might had actually had a fight. A fight. Izuku can't discern whether it's shame or his general feeling of unwellness that churns his gut uncomfortably with the thought. He had argued with All Might. Heatedly, too, and though Izuku doesn't necessarily hold his mentor to the nearly god-like standards that he used to (he's come to know the man underneath the symbol, after all; flawed, as all humans are), it doesn't make their parting words to one another any easier to stomach.
To make matters worse, Izuku hasn't had the chance to speak with him at all since. Izuku had had an early start the next day (after barely sleeping a wink the night before and, huh, maybe that's part of why he feels like such crap today) and he hasn't been left alone long enough to piece together anything good or coherent enough to send his mentor over text. Even then— would All Might want to hear from him right now? For all he knows, his teacher could still upset with him. Izuku himself had taken awhile to cool down. But this stretch of silence, he decides, has to be more painful than Izuku letting go of his pride and reaching out first.
No, All Might is no god. But he's still Izuku's idol, his beloved teacher, and the more he's thinking about it, the more Izuku hates that he'd disrespected him— even if he'd felt justified to at the time. He can't bring himself to relive all of that right now, though. He tries his best to push the entire ordeal from mind.
He has to deal with one anxiety-provoking situation at a time. He'll agonize more over his standing with All Might (and craft the world's best written apology!) as soon as today is over.
He's pulled from his worried thoughts when he notices Aizawa frowning at him through the mirror in front of them. Holding Izuku's head to tackle the last of his tangles, he's stopped to press the back of one hand to his student's forehead.
“You're warm,” the hero says shortly. The hand is gone as quickly as it came.
“Oh?” Izuku puts his own hand to his head. “Ah, yeah... I'm feeling a little rundown today. It's nothing major, though!”
Aizawa scoffs. “'It's nothing major' doesn't mean anything coming from you, Midoriya. Pretty sure you'd say the same thing on your own deathbed.” He's quiet for a moment. “When did this start?”
“Um... just this morning. I think around breakfast.”
Aizawa purses his lips. “Do you need to stay back?"
"Huh? Oh, no, no! I'm fine,” Izuku assures hurriedly. “Honestly, sir, I think I'm just working myself up. I didn't realize I'd get so nervous beforehand.” Suddenly he feels embarrassed over the sullen state he's found himself wallowing in all day. He's agreed to represent his school here, after all, and he's determined to do it well.
'Here' being a conference about an hour train ride from Musutafu, where UA speaks with some of the surrounding community once a year about things their school is implementing to stand out from the rest. Traditionally three students, accompanied by their homeroom teacher, attend this small event as not only a chance to represent their school, but also as a sort of low-pressure 'practice' for the kids in dealing with the press and unscripted questions from a podium. This year, much to Aizawa Shouta's chagrin, is Class 1-A's turn.
The three students in question were nearly selected by default. Iida Tenya, of course, being 1-A's elected representative. Yaoyorozu Momo as the class' runner up. And thirdly is Izuku himself— not only because he'd technically reigned in the most votes for class representative in the first place, but also due to the fact that he's gained significant media attention during his eventful time at school thus far.
Izuku's first instinct was to try turning it down, insisting that someone else (ergo: someone better at public speaking) go in his place, but Aizawa had pointed out that it would be good practice for him for that very reason. Izuku found himself caving pretty easily on that front. Speaking to public masses is something he wants to be comfortable with, after all, and he won't get there without experience.
This year's conference has an added layer of pressure to it, though. UA's recently garnered attention hasn't exactly been all positive. Many parents of potential future students have written in over their concerns of letting their children to apply to UA. Principal Nezu had made a point in pulling all three students aside before their departure, employing their aid in easing the minds of the public today.
Aizawa had seemed particularly displeased with the request. Izuku has been meaning to ask him why. But as his teacher is currently in the middle of muttering curse words over Izuku's head, now doesn't seem like the greatest time.
Aizawa finally takes a step back. Izuku blinks at his reflection in surprise. The man has actually managed to semi-tame Izuku's hair. The final result is a neater (though still slightly tousled) head of curls.
“Wow. You actually did it!”
“Don't mention it,” Aizawa says, brushing his hands together, admiring his handiwork with a satisfied smirk. Then his expression sobers and he points at Izuku. “I mean that. Tell no one of this. Word gets out, people start asking me to play hairdresser... I want none of that. Hear me, kid?”
“Ah, y-yeah! My lips are sealed! Seriously!”
“Good,” Aizawa nods. Then he turns on his heel to poke his head into the adjacent room. “Iida? Yaoyorozu? All ready to go?”
Iida strolls in from the joined bedroom, adjusting the collar of his pressed shirt with a “Yes, sir!” He grins over at Izuku with approval. “Looking sharp, Midoriya!”
Izuku certainly doesn't feel sharp, with his dress shirt ready to strangle him as his throat begins to swell. But he musters up a weak smile in return. He can definitely fake it through the next few hours. “Thanks. You too, Iida!”
Yaoyorozu follows behind only moments later, pushing her hair behind an ear and straightening out her long dress. “Ready,” she says, smiling shyly at her two classmates. “Everyone looks great. It's not often we have to get this formal, huh?”
Izuku's smile is more genuine this time. He's found himself relaxing a bit in the presence of his friends. He's suddenly extra grateful for Iida's trademark spring-coiled energy, and for Yaoyorozu's calm poise. Izuku himself may be currently working with the energy reserves of a slug, but even if he can't be counted on to keep it together, he knows he can trust his classmates to steer today's event along smoothly.
Aizawa pauses before opening the door that leads out of the hotel rooms they've been allowed to get ready in. He turns back to face all three of his students, mouth twitching into a frown. “I know you were told that you're expected to quell some of the public's concerns today,” he says, “on top of the usual spiel we have to give during this thing. And I just want you to know that I don't necessarily agree with the school's decision to put you in that position.”
“We're happy to help however we can, Mr. Aizawa,” Yaoyorozu assures him. Izuku and Iida both nod their agreement. “We'll all strive to honor UA's ideals and values with our performances today. We won't let you down!” Iida declares with a salute.
“I know that,” Aizawa sighs, “because you're good kids. Responsible kids. But you are not responsible for the shortcomings of UA. Not every weight needs to be put on your shoulders.” He looks to each student. “I'm not saying this because I don't believe in your abilities. I'm saying this because I think it's... lazy, I'll say, on the school's part. It's not your job to convince people that we're competent.
“That being said,” he continues on, “as much as I pride myself on my ability to avoid most social gatherings, opportunities like this are good. There is value in getting to interact with the community like this. Just... don't feel like you need to answer everything. If anyone asks you anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, don't be afraid to hop to the next question. Traditionally, I'm supposed to stay back and let you handle things, but I'll step in to moderate if the need arises. Got it?”
All three students nod their understanding. Yaoyorozu meets Izuku's gaze, looking a little nervous for the first time. Izuku gives his best attempt at an encouraging smile.
“Alright,” Aizawa declares, opening the door at last. “Let's go, then.”
The first floor of the Imperial Hotel has been mainly barred off from all other guests in order to make room for the conference. The audience members are currently up and out of their seats until the event begins, separated into small groups around the hotel's large ballroom, standing with refreshments in hand as they mingle. Servers visit each group with silver trays full of appetizers.
Izuku eyeballs Iida and Yaoyorozu for their reactions. He wonders why exactly this thing has been set up to feel so... extravagant. UA is fairly prestigious as far as schools go, he supposes, so perhaps it has to do with the type of crowd their reputation attracts.
“Mingle if you want,” Aizawa says flatly. “Or don't. I'll leave it up to you.” He himself looks like he's strongly battling an instinctual urge to whip out his sleeping bag and go curl up in a corner somewhere. His sense of duty seems to win out over this urge, though, because he makes his way over to go speak with some of the panel members, eye twitching all the while.
“Shall we split up, then? Divide and conquer?” Iida asks. He's already heading over to the nearest group of people before either classmate can reply, bowing and introducing himself enthusiastically.
Izuku watches on, ever impressed by Iida's vigor. He clears his throat against the itch lingering in the back of it. Yaoyorozu looks over at him. “Want to start in on the first group together, Midoriya?” she asks, likely mistaking Izuku's physical discomfort as him just being shy. Izuku nods, grateful regardless, and he makes his way over to a group alongside her.
For awhile, it doesn't go too badly. Izuku's never been great at small talk but, thankfully, Yaoyorozu is pretty skilled at it. She does come from a wealthy family; he suspects she's had plenty of practice in dealing with social events like these. She's able to steer most of the conversation with ease, keeping topics both professional and light.
Izuku, on the other hand, feels practically useless. On top of everything else, his head has begun to pound incessantly, making it harder and harder to concentrate on what's being said. He's starting to feel a little groggy, too, which makes coming up with meaningful replies increasingly difficult. So he mainly sticks to plastering on a smile and thanking people here and there. He pipes in a bit when things like his controversial-yet-praised performance in the Sports Festival are brought up, but mostly, he feels like deadweight.
Then someone in the group asks: “Hey, you kids were all there at the Kamino fight, weren't you? When All Might faced down that crazy powerful villain. I remember seeing you guys on screen. Your school didn't allow you to be on the battlefield like that, did they? I should hope not. Were there repercussions for your actions afterwards? How can UA expect to keep any of their students safe if they can't even convince you to follow their rules?”
Alright, then— it looks like they're starting in with these kinds of questions before the conference has even had the chance to begin. Nonetheless Izuku is primed and ready to answer, to fully defend he and his friends' actions that day, but the damn itch in his throat demands his attention now and suddenly he's broken out into an uncontrollable coughing fit.
The crowd around him steps back a bit. One man comes up to gingerly pat Izuku's back in case he's trying to cough something up. Yaoyorozu appears in his line of vision, leaning down to level herself with him, as he's currently hunched over. “Midoriya! Are you alright?”
“Fine,” he rasps out between hacking coughs, and the attempt at reassurance is so pitiful it causes Yaoyorozu to give him a look. She takes him by the arm to lead him away from the crowd, over to the refreshments table in the back. Izuku grabs a glass of water and drinks it greedily.
Yaoyorozu surprises him when she lifts a hand to his forehead. “You're warm!” she exclaims. She pulls her hand back to take him again by the elbow, steering him to sit down in a nearby chair. “If you aren't feeling well, Midoriya, you should sit out and rest.”
“I- uh, that is—”
“Rest,” she repeats sternly, mother-hen mode apparently engaged. Izuku slumps in his seat in defeat. Yaoyorozu's expression changes to a sympathetic smile. “I know you just want to help, Midoriya. You always do. But Iida and I should be able to handle this.”
Sure, Izuku's quickly gone from feeling uncomfortable to feeling downright miserable, but that doesn't help ease his guilt over not participating. “I'll rest here until the conference starts,” he bargains, “and then I'll regroup with you guys.” He ignores Yaoyorozu's protests. “Really, Yaoyorozu, I'm fine! I didn't mean to worry you. I'm just feeling a little rundown— I didn't get much sleep last night. I'll get some rest after the conference. Alright?”
“Are you always this stubborn? ... Fine, then,” Yaoyorozu hesitantly cedes, turning to head over to another small group. “Drink lots of water!” she instructs over her shoulder, pointing at his glass. “And let us or Mr. Aizawa know if you need anything. Okay?”
Shouta is barely able to conceal his scowl.
First of all, he refuses to waste time even pretending to engage in something as mind-numbing as small talk, which makes most of these forced encounters painfully awkward for everyone involved. Even still, he's been making an effort to interact with people for the better part of half-an-hour, now, and he decides that that's more than enough to fulfill his duty for the day.
He opts for a moment of respite before the conference begins. Before his students have to go up on stage and defend themselves and their school from these nosy busybodies. If Shouta allows himself a small mental break beforehand, it may just help to stave off the inevitable migraine the whole thing is bound to give him.
Speaking of migraines...
He should go and check in with Midoriya. The last time he'd caught a glimpse of the Problem Child from across the large room, Midoriya had been slumped down in a chair in the back, looking completely checked out. Shouta lets out his umpth sigh of the day.
He'd known the kid had been underplaying how bad he'd felt. It's the same way he underplays everything else that happens to him.
Before he's able to begin making his way over to his worriesome student, however, he's approached hurriedly by one of the waiters— the same one who'd served them their breakfast in the hotel lobby this morning. The man's previously friendly face is now alight with panic. “Eraserhead, sir, so sorry to bother you. There's someone right outside the building who's yelling for help. We've had a few petty thefts in the area recently. I could call the police, if you'd prefer, but since you're a Pro Hero I thought I'd ask—”
“Where?” Shouta interrupts him. When the server points to an emergency exit nearby, Shouta glances back to locate all three of his students, each scattered across the ballroom. Quickly he determines that the exit is close enough by to where he can shout back to them if anything should go awry. There's currently no need to incite panic amongst this already jumpy group of civilians, after all— especially not if this is something Shouta is able to handle quickly.
He's following close at the man's heels towards said exit. The door is opened and the server points frantically. Shouta reaches for his capture weapon, which has been tucked away neatly under his dress shirt. His eyes scan the surrounding area swiftly.
There is no one to be seen. He frowns, taking another step forward.
“What exactly did you—”
There is a 'bang' as the door slams shut behind him.
His head snaps around to find that the man has disappeared behind it, effectively shutting himself in and Shouta out of the building. Immediately Shouta makes his way to reopen the door— but an unseen force thrusts him back and away.
“The hell?” he barks, furious, steadying himself and crouching to ground his stance. Carefully he presses a palm out to feel at the space in front of him. Mind whirling with the possibilities of what could be occurring, here, he wonders if an invisible security measure of the building has just been activated. Something is blocking his re-entrance into the hotel, but it feels nearly... sentient? He's pressing against something that feels almost gooey, and it stretches taut until it threatens to bounce his hand back. It's as though he's pushing against an unseen trampoline.
Something— someone— has made it so he can't re-enter the building.
It's not a security feature. It's someone's quirk.
The server, then. The man, previously so unassuming, had wanted Shouta out of the hotel. Away from his students. And Shouta had sure as hell made it easy for him, hadn't he? He'd just up and waltzed right out the goddamn door.
Fuck. Dammit to hell. This is why Shouta doesn't trust anybody. And now his momentary lapse in judgement has effectively cut him off from his students. “Shit. Shit,” he hisses, hand reaching straight into his pocket for his cell phone.
"I'd like to ask for everyone to please go ahead and silence their phones,” one of the servers says to the crowd, shortly after everyone has been beckoned back into their seats, “and if you have cameras, you may now get them ready. The conference is about to begin.”
Izuku's regrouped himself with Iida and Yaoyorozu to stand and wait at one end of the stage. He and Iida have long since flicked their phones to silent and stashed them away. Yaoyorozu moves to silence her phone, as well. Izuku's eye catches her screen lighting up right before she drops it away into her purse.
The chattering of the audience members begins to die down. Rustling noises fill the ballroom as papers and notes are readied. The clicks of cameras echo throughout the hall.
And it's hot under these stage lights, Izuku bemoans inwardly. Once again he tugs at his collar uncomfortably. Iida bumps a shoulder lightly against Izuku's. He's looking over at his friend, forehead etched in concern. Izuku doesn't even bother faking a smile this time. He's too busy focusing on standing upright without swaying.
A man, nearly unnoticed amidst all the murmurs and the clatter, walks up onto the stage. He flashes the crowd a handsome smile. Grabbing a mic, he gestures over to the three students waiting off to the side. “Before I go ahead and introduce myself,” the speaker begins, “let us all give a warm welcome to three of UA's finest, here.”
The audience in turn claps politely. Izuku's head pounds like a sledgehammer with the noise.
“Remarkable, are they not?” the man crows. “Their school has been through so much in just a year. But these children have so far endured. And these, my friends, are the faces of our future!”
More polite clapping. Iida and Yaoyorozu are both smiling pleasantly, but each looks a little confused. None of them had realized there was going to be a special speaker going before them— or that there was going to be a speech of any kind, for that matter. And the overly-saturated praise is actually making Izuku a little uncomfortable. Not that he's felt anything closely resembling comfortable recently. He wipes away the bead of sweat threatening to drip down his forehead.
“Where's Mr. Aizawa?” Yaoyorozu whispers over to her classmates. Iida hushes her softly, and she levels him easily with a look. Izuku blinks, scanning the front row of the crowd. Indeed, Aizawa's designated spot near the stage is empty. As much as he'd looked like he'd wanted to, Izuku hadn't noticed their teacher slinking off to hide away somewhere. The event has started a little early and abruptly, so it's possible that Aizawa just hadn't been given the heads up. Regardless, his teacher's unexplained absence only adds to Izuku's growing unease.
“Which, in itself, is very telling of UA, isn't it?” the man continues on. He's a natural presence on stage, capturing everyone's attention with an easy air and a smooth voice. The clatter has died down to a minimum. People have their phones at the ready. Cameras are blinking 'on' and pointed up at the stage.
“After all,” the man says, turning to lock eyes with Izuku. Izuku stiffens with the unexpected attention. He meets the man's gaze warily. “A school is only as good as it's brightest students. I'm right, aren't I, Midoriya?” His charismatic smile morphs into something more giddy. “Speaking of you— how are you holding up, there, kiddo?”
Before Izuku has time to wonder where on earth the man is going with this, and be very bewildered at the way he's just been singled out, his vision swims and the world tilts before him. He doubles over as if the wind has been kicked out of him, gasping for air he's suddenly having trouble getting, because his chest is squeezing tight and his coughing fit has returned with a vengeance.
He hears the worried murmurs of the panel, feels both Iida and Yaoyorozu reaching for him, crouching down with him in their concern. In a flash, the room is filled with purple smoke, and Izuku is forcefully yanked forward and out of his friends' hands.
The air clears only moments later, and Izuku finds himself in the center of the stage. Facing the crowd dazedly, half-kneeling on the ground, half-held in place by the announcer.
The nozzle of a gun being pressed to his head ignites cries of panic and outrage all around him. "Shut up," the man demands, voice rough where earlier it had been smooth, and he digs the nozzle into Izuku's head until Izuku can't help but wince. "I said shut up. Any of you try to get close, I'll shoot this kid. Hear me?"
In all the madness, someone has slapped something roughly onto Izuku's wrist. He knows exactly what it is when he moves to summon One for All but is met with nothing but a low, resonating hum. A quirk suppressant.
There's at least one other person working with the man. Izuku attempts to look around and see who else is on stage with him, but the speaker is holding his head too firmly in place. He's currently declaring something over the increasingly rowdy crowd. Izuku's having a hard time deciphering most of it over his own brutal coughing fit.
"Let me start with this," he can make out the man saying. His rapid switch in tone is bizarre; now, it's light and airy, as if he's about to lead an infomercial. "Everyone in this room has been poisoned."
The shocked cries around the room spike significantly in volume. "I've just released the gaseous form of the same stuff I poisoned this kid with earlier today." The man gives Izuku a small shake for reiteration. "This will be all of you soon enough. Low-grade fever, early stages of respiratory failure. Soon worsening and leading to death, of course. But listen, listen!" he insists when some audience members begin to wail. "I never said all hope was lost, now, did I? You have time. He still has time. And I have an antidote. All you need to do to receive it is comply with some demands."
He gives a gleeful wave to one of the cameras. "Oh, yes, I'm talking to you, too. Because you're watching this as well— aren't you, UA?"