Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Uraraka Ochako, at age 15, stood before the gates to her potential future, and found her breath taken away. The absolutely massive gates of UA High School towered over her, and glass covered buildings behind them shone in a way that seemed to chase away the chill of mid-day winter weather. The crowds of potential students’ parted around the girl as she stood and admired the entrance. Nerves boiled in her gut as she stared at the gate, the temptation rising to simply turn around and go home and avoid the stress and potential disappoint-

She slapped her cheeks, refusing to finish that thought. Her naturally pink cheeks, reddened by the chill, stung mildly as she shook her head. Ochako had worked too hard, studied for too long, to give up now. Her parents were rooting for her and, in her heart, she knew that this was the best way for her to pay back sacrifices they had made for her sake. It was the best way that she that she could think of to provide them with the comfortable life that they deserved. They had told her to follow her dreams, and she would do that and go beyond, Plus Ultra.

Ochako closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. The cold travelled up her nose, stinging it a bit, but waking her up further and adding fuel to her determination.

Then she breathed out, and opened eyes filled with fire. She stepped through the gate, some giddiness rising as she moved towards the building. The determined girl looked around as she walked, taking note of her fellow stud- no, they’re competition now- of her competition. She spotted many that stand  head and shoulders above the others physically, built like brick walls that look like they're way too big to be her age, what the heck?! 

Just as she was studying an excited pink girl who seemed to have spotted someone she knew, Ochako stumbled. A split-second of panic before her reflexes, honed by months of training, kicked in and she managed to just barely catch herself before she tumbled past the point of no return. As she returned both her feet to stable ground, Ochako turned to glare at the ground. Specifically, the slightly upturned piece of the path she had the misfortune to catch her shoe on. As soon as she finished mentally admonishing both the ground and herself, Ochako realised that the air seemed to have warmed up, something that she was thankful for.

Looking up, she noticed that someone seemed to be waiting for her to continue to the building. The boy was nearly half a head taller than her, with a slightly tattered grey school uniform. Age had dulled the colour of the jacket, but his shoes were still a vivid red, and a forest of green shoulder-length hair fell like curtains around his face.

Then her attention was brought to said face. The first thing she noticed was the black, metallic looking mask covering the bottom half of his face, decorated with grey highlights. It went from the middle of the boy’s nose to the bottom of his neck, Ochako realised, and looked like a sort of gas mask, complete with five small vertical slits going across where she guessed his mouth would be.

The boy quirked an eyebrow, and Ochako quickly looks up from the mask to his emerald coloured eyes, her face turning red and an apology on her lips.

“O-Oh! I-I’m sorry f-for staring!” Ochako stuttered. The boy continues staring blankly at her. The normally bubbly girl could feel more and more of her face going red from the prolonged eye contact, until the boy glanced over her head towards the building, then back at her.

“O-Oh! Right! Yes! The Exam! Yes! U-Um, sorry. I’m just nervous. It’s a big day ya know! Gosh, I’m so nervous. Sorry for rambling like this! U-Uh… Good luck!” And with that, Ochako ran off, leaving the boy behind, not noticing the previously banished cold return as she neared the building.

'What was that! Why did I run away?! I must have confused him so much! I have to apologise.'

But as Ochako reached the doorway into the main UA building, she shook her head again. 'Later though. For now, I have an exam to ace!'

With those encouraging thoughts, she joined the queues at the entrance and received her information sheet, detailing the timetable for the day, her exam room, and a map of useful areas in the school for the exam day.

Following the map and the throng of students, she made her way to the room she was assigned to and found her desk, laying out her exam supplies on her desk and placing her bag on the floor. As the room continues filling up, Ochako looked around, slightly hoping that the boy wasn’t in the same room as her. She didn’t want to melt into a puddle of embarrassed goo before the exam even started! That could wait until she was back at her rented apartment at the end of the day, when she was tired from the exam and had some Comfort Mochi in front of her. With capitalisation!

Five minutes after the room filled up (thankfully, for the brown-haired girl, without the mask-wearing boy) a man looking like a sentient piece of cement with a grey ponytail and a sleeveless brown one-piece suit walked into the room, and turned to look at the desks filled with now quiet students.

“Good morning everyone. I am Ishiyama and I will be proctoring this exam room. You should all be aware that this room is for entry into the Hero course, but just in case, is anyone in the wrong room?” The room was silent. “Good. Now then, you have three hours to complete this exam. It will be comprised of questions pertaining to subjects you should have covered in school up to this point, though sometimes touching on some more advanced work. Answer each question to the best of your ability. Cheating of any kind will result in your removal from the exam room and an automatic score of zero. I will remind you now to turn off any electronics you have on your person.” Mr Ishiyama paused for second to allow those who had forgotten to follow that reminder.

“Any questions?” The silence returned; though this time filled tension. Hands thumbed the edges of the paper, tensing in preparation. Ochako felt a bead of sweat run down her face as she stared at the Pro Hero proctor, her pen creaking slightly in her hand as her mind turned blank.

“Well then, you may begin.”

Ochako groaned and sat back in her seat as the three hours ended and her exam was collected. She had a headache from all the information she had just forced her mind and body to vomit onto the packet and her wrist ached from all the writing. She felt good about her answers, and, although there were some questions that she hadn’t been sure about, she had done her best. Now she could only hope that her best was enough to pass.

The exam room emptied, and Ochako followed the swarm of students making their way to the dining hall. Her stomach was making complaints and she had heard rumours that the chef at UA was a Pro Hero too! She barely stopped herself from pushing past the other students in her rush for nourishment, and only calmed down a bit when she collected her tray of delicious smelling food. Looking out over the noisy and crowded cafeteria, she finally spotted a relatively empty table.

Rushing over, she claimed a seat and sat down quickly. Digging in, she ignored the other people around her as she practically devoured her rice and fish. When she finally finished, she looked up and around the cafeteria, again looking for the green-haired boy from the entrance. She needed to apologize for running off like that after all, but was disappointed when she didn’t spot him.

Settling down, she read through the news and some social media on her phone to pass the time, before an announcement sounded, telling people to make their way to the auditorium.

Returning to the mess of students, Ochako once again followed the swarm of bodies towards a large open room with a stage as the centre of focus. Checking her information sheet, she found her seat, and sat down.

When the last of the students had arrived, the lights in the room went dark, signalling the start of the presentation and quieting down the whispers of the students. For five seconds nothing happened, and Ochako started to wonder if there hadn't been some technical malfunction.

Then, a spotlight turned on and made its way around the room before stopping at the edge of the stage. A man with long blond styled hair, a leather jacket, and orange glasses strolled into the light with a bright smile on his face. At his appearance, Ochako could feel giddiness and excitement returning and building as the Pro Hero made his way to the centre of the stage and took a deep breath. Ochako knew who this was.

“HEEEEEEYYYYYYY LISTENERS!! WELCOME TO THE SHOW!” The man’s voice travelled through the room with effortlessly, “CAN I GET A HEEEEEYYYYY!!??”

Silence.

“Whew, what a refined response.” Ochako fought down a giggle. The man had used his normal voice, unaided by his quirk to speak to the audience, and despite what he said, he didn’t look too disappointed.

“Well then listeners! The written exam is over, and now the real test is about to begin! I hope you’re all ready and excited to begin! CAN I GET A YEEEAAAAHHH!???”

Ochako nearly cheered at that, but the silence of her fellow examinees and her own nerves kept her rooted in her seat with her mouth firmly shut.

“Great! I’m the emcee for this pre-exam event, Present Mic! Now let’s get down to it! This exam will be an urban combat scenario lasting fifteen minutes where you will each be assigned to a training city and made to fight robots.” The screen behind Present Mic changed, showing silhouettes of three robots surrounding a small cartoon city. “The robots are worth one, two, three points,” he said, as the points values showed up under the respective robots on screen, “and the more robots you destroy, the more points you rack up, and the more likely it is that you will be one of the lucky ones who passes this part! The robots’ difficulty corresponds to how many points they’re worth, so while three pointers may be worth more, they’ll be harder to take down! Of course, attacking other examinees is a big no-no and you’ll lose points or just be removed from the exam! Collateral damage is also permitted within reason, but, if the damage you cause is excessive and harms other examinees, well, the previous rule still applies!”

Ochako was following allowing with Present Mic’s speech while reading the pamphlet on the table in front of her. It mostly summarised what the Pro Hero was saying, and it also had her test site on it, site B. Though there looked like there were some differences.

Suddenly, a tall boy with blue hair stood up several rows in front of Ochako with his hand stiffly up in the air. “Excuse me sir,” he shouted, “there is a discrepancy here! In the pamphlets we’ve been given, it mentions four robots, not three. If this is a mistake, it is shameful that an institution such as UA to make such a careless error!”

“Thank you for calling in, examinee 1711! Aaaaand, you’re right!” Present Mic said, as a fourth silhouette appeared, with a large zero underneath. “There are four robots in total, but the fourth one is worth a grand total of zero points and is more of an obstacle for you all to avoid than anything else.”

“Thank you for the clarification sir!” the blue haired boy yelled, bowing before sitting down.

Present Mic looked around the room. “Well! If that’s all the questions, then you better get to the busses to the correct exam cities!” the Pro Hero exclaimed. “And remember, the great hero Napoleon Bonaparte once said: ‘True Heroism consists of being superior to the ills of life’! PLUS ULTRA!!! Break a leg, everyone!!”

With that last shout ringing in her ears, and the UA motto stoking her confidence, Ochako followed the group being shepherded towards one of the changing rooms, where she quickly changed into a workout tracksuit and stored her things. Then onto one of the busses to exam site B. During the drive, she closed her eyes and did some breathing exercises. This fifteen-minute exam was sure to push her to the limit, and preparing herself for the pain and the nausea that came with pushing her quirk to that extent would allow her to somewhat cope with the consequences, and maybe allow her to push on for those extra few points.

As the bus pulled to a stop, Ochako got off the bus with the crowd and was blown away once again.

UA had an actual city for them to take their exam in! They had multiple cities if the presentation was anything to go by! Holy cow! How did they get the funding for this? And they said collateral damage wasn’t a big worry!

“UA really is amazing…”, she mumbled as she stared at another massive gate, this one leading into the city.

Ochako shook her head. Now was not the time to be amazed. Focus! She pushed her way to near the front of the crowd in front of the gate. Hopefully this would give her an edge over the competition and would allow her to reach the robots before some others.

As Ochako started stretching and strategizing for the coming trial, a loud noise startled her out of her concentration.

“Excuse me! You are dressed entirely inappropriately for this exam and are making a mockery of this fine institution by distracting other examinees! Are you really a prospective student and not a delinquent seeking to distract other test takers?” the loud voice echoed across the entrance to city. Ochako thought it sounded familiar, so she turned towards the source of the commotion and saw the tall boy from the auditorium seemingly yelling at the green-haired boy with the mask.

The masked boy was wearing a patchy and seemingly slightly burned grey hoody, with sweatpants in a similar condition, and no shoes or socks. He slowly looked up and blinked at the blue haired boy, who seemed to be getting progressively more irritated by the ongoing silence from the person he was questioning/lecturing. Then, green hair looked away, back towards the gate, and got into a sprinters’ starting position, ignoring the tall boy who seemed even more incensed by this dismissal.

Blue hair looked about to go on a rant, and Ochaco started turning to march over and give the other a piece of her mind. Herself coming from a less well-off family, she was keenly aware of how limiting not having enough money was. It was part of the reason she had placed so much on getting into UA despite the statistically low chances. The uniforms were provided free and the scholarships for less financially stable students were amazing! The tracksuit she was currently wearing had been the results of months of saving, and it was a few sizes too big so that she could grow into it. She wasn’t just going to let some stuck up get on someone’s case about their clothes being a bit tatty. This was a fighting exam! Clothes were going to be damaged. If anything, bringing old clothes was a good idea… wait…

Just as she put one step to marching over to defend the green-haired boy – and maybe apologize for running off at the entrance – a very loud noise cut off her thoughts and stopped her in her tracks.

“STAAAAART!!!”

This was followed by a sudden explosion of heat and light, and, as Ochako looked up and away from the source, what looked like a comet wreathed in flames sailed over the crowd and through the slowly opening gates of the examination city, landing just past the gates, and seeming to slide down the main street and turn into an alley way while remaining on fire.

“What are you waiting for?!”, the loud voice of Present Mic sounded out, “Hero work has no countdowns!! GOOOO! Follow that examinee, they have the right idea!!”

As Ochako finally registered those words, she leapt into action, beginning her charge into the city, hoping to reach the robots before the other examinees.

As she passed the alley the comet had gone down, all she saw was fire blocking the path.

'Maybe I should avoid that…'

In a building away from the testing sites, and situated in the main school building, screens filled a wall, displaying shifting scenes of test takers attacking robots or running around the false cities. Observing these, were a group of Pro Heroes. These pro Heroes, teachers at this school, were meant to observe the test takers, mark down time stamps of interest on the footage, in order to facilitate later point distribution, or look for any breach in the rules.

“They’re a lively bunch this year!”, exclaimed Midnight, the R-rated hero. “So full of youthful vigour and determination. Watching them is getting me all fired up!”

“Hmm,” acknowledged another teacher, Ectoplasm. “It is rare that we have examinees that rush in immediately after the signal with no hesitation. To have three in one year is certainly promising.”

“There are many promising prospects this year,” inputted the principle, Nedzu. “From observation specialists,” the screen in front of the mystery mammal showed a tall boy with many arms, each of which has an ear on the end, helping him to detect robots, “to capture specialists,” another screen showed robots being bound up in a tape like substance, completely immobilised, “to pure combat potential.” The screen switched to showing a blond boy standing among piles of destroyed robots and discarded parts, laughing manically, before launching himself offscreen, no doubt to go and destroy some other poor robots.

“Yes, truly a year full of potential.” A tall, skinny blond man grinned, watching the many screens, and hoping to catch a glimpse of his successor. The skeletal man knew that the one entrusted with his power would no doubt pass the exam. Their combat prowess, the speed at which they’d managed to tame their new power, as well as their good nature, would lend well to them getting a good combined score from the villain points, and the secret rescue points. Yes, he had no doubts.

“We got some interesting activity up in site B, 12^th street.” Snipe, the gunslinging hero, informed the rest. The screens in front of him changed to show a street filled with a sea of fire, multiple melted robots and parts of buildings strewn across the street.

“My, my… What seems to be happening here?” Nedzu hummed, searching through his tablet for more camera feeds from the street. “Power loader, there seems to be a lack of video from that area.”

“Yeah,” a short, shirtless man with an excavator claw helmet responded. “Most of the street level cameras stopped working. Probably due to the heat. The drones in the area are still operational though. Drone beta-5 is closest.”

“Excellent.”

With a few typing sounds, the feed in front of the principle shifter to a bird’s eye view of the street. It was like watching a living creature breathing, as the fire shifted, until it suddenly split in two and died down, revealing a figure standing in the middle in grey sweatpants and hoody, though now slightly charred, before they started running down the street, in search other robots no doubt.

Nedzu hummed. “An interesting tactic. Blocking off the street to prevent other examinees from entering and stealing kills, and leaving the area too hot after his passing to prevent anyone following him. How new.”

“A tad overkill for some robots, don’t you think?” the blond man frowned. “Not to mention dangerous and wasteful…”

“Overkill is better when facing new enemies most of the time, All Might.” The skinny man, now revealed to be the number one hero in his weakened form, looked at the source of the voice. Nedzu continued, “and such an attack would both clear out enemies and keep the competition at bay. Plus, it seems that they have the stamina to keep it up. And although such a move would be greatly discouraged in reality, one must appreciate the that the current challenge is, in fact, a competition." The small mammal gestured at the screen again, where another street, previously containing a healthy number of robots, now filled with flame. “Examinee 3150 here will no doubt make it in on villain points alone, so we will hopefully be able to guide him to greater efficiency.”

All Might nodded, not entirely convinced, but conceding the point.

“Anyways, it’s about that time I believe!” Nedzu exclaimed. It had indeed been thirteen and a half minutes, so Nedzu reached towards a big red button covered with a plastic casing reading ‘Release’ in bold letters. “Release the Zero-Pointers!”

Back at the testing site, Ochako was breathing hard, trying to contain whatever her stomach had decided needed to be removed with haste. She had tagged and destroyed a good number of robots, enough to be near the top if the other numbers she heard being called out was anything. She had even saved a boy from being hit by falling debris when another examinee wasn’t careful enough. However, now, with the adrenaline fading. and the aches, exhaustion, and nausea coming to the forefront, she was starting to slow down.

Just as she was looking around, to check on the state of those around her for comparison, the ground shook. Huge plumes of dust and dirt rose into the air as multiple buildings collapsed as a truly gargantuan robot rose from the destruction.

Everyone seemed to freeze. Instinct evolved through necessity and survival through countless generations telling the bodies of the examinees something very dangerous was nearby. Fear ran down their spines like ice, whispering that maybe, if they stayed still enough, the titan of metal and destruction that just rose from the ground may show mercy and spare them.

They had no such luck. The metal behemoth turned to look at the test-takers. It raised one of its massive arms, slowly, letting it glint in the early afternoon sun, before swinging it forward into another building, sending a shower of debris towards the examinees.

The sudden violence seemed to startle the frozen group out of their trance, and then the screaming began. The horde of students hoping to become the next generation of great heroes turned tail and fled, abandoning anyone who wasn’t fast enough and racing to get a head start away from the monstrosity.

'That’s the Zero Pointer?? It’s too big!! What the hell UA!!' Ochako thought as she desperately started to run with the crowd, hoping to escape and maybe gather more points before the end of the exam.

Then, a sudden pang of stomach pain, combined with an unfortunately placed piece of rubble, caused Ochako to fall. Unlike at the beginning of the day however, exhaustion plagued her. There were no reflexes to save her from eating concrete as she slammed into the ground, winding herself.

Cursing gravity – ironically – she started to rise, before something slammed into her legs, and she let out a short scream. Pain and panic clouded her mind for an instant, before she fought through the bile in her mouth and tears in her eyes, and turned to look at what had hit her. Ochako came face to face with a chunk of concrete, no doubts knocked from one of the buildings. resting on her legs. The angle was too awkward for her to turn around to reach, and even if she could, she didn’t know if she could push her quirk to lift the pile. She had caught a lucky break, however; the shape hadn't allowed the bit of rubble to actually crush her legs... which was something she'd appreciate after she got out of this mess.

In the corner of her eye, she saw the approaching Zero-Pointer. Its treads crushing large pieces of rubble and robots as it continued on its slow and inevitable advance forward, straight towards where she was trapped.

Fear crept into her lungs, squeezing the air out. UA wouldn’t let her die, right? They’d stop the robot, right? But what if there was a malfunction? What if they couldn’t see her?

Thoughts and terror formed a spiral in her mind as she quickly turned her head towards the fleeing crowd of fellow students. She could only hope that among that crowd running away from her, someone would hear her above the noise. She placed all her hope, all her desperation into one scream: “HEEELLP!”

No one turned around.

The trapped girl watched, broken hearted, as the crowd, either ignorant of or ignoring her plight, continued to flee, running away from her and the metal giant. The robot was nearly upon her now, and it seemed to not be slowing down. She looked, as best she could in her trapped state, at the approaching doom, and fought down a sob. Tears gathered in her eyes as she clenched her fists in frustration, turning away and closer her eyes. If only she was stronger, better, faster… If only she had trained more. She was leaving her family alone… what would they do without her? What would they feel about her dying for something like this?

'I’m sorry momma, daddy. I’m sorry your little girl couldn’t make you proud…'

Tensing and preparing for the end, she couldn’t hear the approaching Zero-Pointer, the screams of panicked test-takers, the rushing of wind or crumble of rubble under massive treads. Her closed eyes blocked off her sight. She could smell the dust and oil. The faint metallic smell of blood from wounds caused by the debris. She could feel every prod and pock from the pile crushing her legs, every bit of dust, piece of dirt, and drop of sweat clinging to her skin. How her clothes rubbed against her as she struggled. The sting of the cold against raw skin.

But then something new arose. Heat, heat chasing away the cold, calming her bruises, and acting like a balm on her aches. The foreign and unexpected sensation chased away the fear with its newness, but Ochako didn’t open her eyes.

Then the heat grew, and grew. It kept intensifying steadily, growing until it was nearly unbearable. Ochako felt sweat running down her back, her clothes sticking to her skin and her hands slipping on the ground as she scrabbled for purchase. Still, she kept her eyes closed.

Burning.

For a split-second, it was too much. Ochako felt like she was roasting, all her sweat felt like it was boiling and the image of her on a spit over a fire pit came to mind, before the heat vanished, leaving only the rubble, the cold, and the phantom felling of a heat so intense it felt like the surface of the sun.

Ochako opened her eyes.

The Zero-Pointer, the behemoth that had struck fear into the hearts and minds of a whole group of teenagers, all of which were hoping to become top heroes, was gone. Well, not gone. The upper half of its torso, as well as its head, was nothing but molten metal, still glowing from the remnants of whatever had reaped such destruction upon the seemingly invincible machine. The buildings around the street leading to the Zero-Pointer were covered in black scorch marks and any windows were shattered. The street itself was torn up, and the massive robot itself was slowly tearing itself apart under its own weight, now that its structural integrity was lost.

The speakers crackle to life around the city. “AND IT’S ALL OVER!! I HOPE YOU GATHERED ENOUGH POINTS! NOW MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE EXITS OR, IF YOU’RE INJURED, STAY WHERE YOU ARE! MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS ARE ON THEIR WAY!”

The trapped girl wasn’t listening however.

Smoke and dust blanketed everything, and from the cloud obscuring her view, Ochako’s saviour stepped out.

Shoulder length green hair flowing in the breeze left behind from his act of destruction, a black and grey breathing mask on his face, tattered and torn sweatpants, a hoody now missing a sleeve, and no shoes or socks, Ochako recognised them immediately. It was the boy from the entrance!

He walked towards her, feet scorching footprints onto the asphalt, before approaching the rubble holding her down. Being careful not to touch her, he squatted down, fit his hands under the main piece of rubble holding her in place, and strained to lift the no doubt massively heavy bit of cement.

Quickly catching on, Ochako scrambled forwards with desperation fuelling her arm strength, wincing at the pain in her legs. As she escaped the rubble preciously trapping her, the boy let it drop quickly. Ochako flipped onto her back to look at the sky, the events of the day catching up to her and filling her with a weariness down to her soul. She absent-mindedly hoped that she could make it back to the apartment after this.

A green head of hair enters her vision as lidded green eyes stared into hers, and she noticed the slight bags the eyes seem to carry. An eyebrow quirked, and she saw him pointing at her lower half.

Ochako extrapolated. “They hurt; I think one might be broken.” Ochako relayed to the familiar stranger. “Thanks for saving me.”

The boy nodded, then looked away. She followed his line of sight and spotted the crowd. The ones who left her behind as they fled. They were all staring at the mask-wearing boy, who glared back at them, eyes seeming to glow a bit.

“Injuries? Anyone hurt?” a voice sounded out. It was so out of place in the silence following the destruction that it immediately caught the crowd's attention. “Yell if you have any serious injuries, or come get some gummies if you’re just tired. The exits are all over there. Make way, make way.”

“Who’s that?” Ochako wondered, before her mind, muddled by exhaustion, realised she had said that out loud.

“La légendaire Recovery Girl! The cornerstone of UA!” an accented voice announced. To answer her question or just an act of flamboyance, Ochako neither knew nor cared at this point. A small, elderly woman stepped through the crowd and approached Ochako and the green-haired boy.

“Hello dearies. Any injuries I should know about?” she asks. The masked boy shook his head, before pointing at the brown-haired girl lying on the ground. Recovery Girl focused on Ochako. “Oh my. You are in quite a state. Where does it hurt the most?”

“Legs.” grunted Ochako, still on her back.

“Hmm. It doesn’t feel broken, though there is some bruising and swelling. The ankle is sprained though… Hold still, I’m going to use my quirk. Fair warming though, my quirk uses the person’s stamina, and you already seem quite tired, so fall asleep after I use it. Do I have your permission?”

“It’s fine.” Ochako acquiesced. Honestly, sleep sounded lovely right about now. Just as she felt Recovery Girl kiss her forehead and her energy drain, Ochako remembered something. Something important.

The boy! She never introduced herself! Her eyelids were growing too heavy to keep open, and as she gently drifted to sleep, a final thought crossed her mind.

'I never asked his name…'

Chapter Text

Bakugou Katsuki was not a morning person. He did not enjoy the act of pulling himself from his bed at the start of the day, abandoning the warmth of the cocoon provided by his sheets and mattress, all specially treated to resist his body's secretions due to his quirk. Though, he could hardly be called a night-owl, what with his schedule decreeing that he hit the sack at 8pm sharp. It was just against human nature to leave a place of comfort to face a world not nearly as inviting as the one he just forced himself from.

That wasn’t to say it was a herculean task. Sometimes the mattress was too soft, giving him a sinking feeling to match the one in his gut, or the sheets were too warm and all encompassing, forcing his body to produce more of his volatile sweat. His hands would itch with the urge to activate his quirk, to burn and remove the excess before too much was accumulated and his bed turned into a bomb, but the sight of the explosions he produced from his palms, the sudden brightness, the heat and noise, all of it amplified by the dark and silence surrounding him that suddenly seemed too dark and too quiet for the middle of the night in his house, made even worse by the flash messing with his eyes, brought to mind memories of ringing in his ears smoke in the air red white red white screaming so much screaming hoW IS HE SCREAMING…

Katsuki blinked and the world returned to normal. Yeah. Sometimes it was a better idea to just use the chemical neutralisers. His family bought them in bulk anyway. Having three people in one house all producing a different kind of volatile chemical, naturally and unintentionally, could really fuck shit up if they weren’t careful. Plus, the company his dad worked at specialised in that kinda stuff. Lifestyle clothing for difficult quirks, was it? Eh, not important now.

Anyway, there were other ways to get a person out of bed. Food was one method, and if what he could smell over the scent of the neutraliser chemicals he was practically lathering his bed in – he may have gone overboard with that… fuck, he’ll be lucky if it only stinks half as much when he gets back home – the old man or the hag probably had the same idea. Probably the old man. All of them were more than competent in the kitchen, but they each had their specialty. He could cook a mean lunch, and, as much as it pissed him off, Bakugou Mitsuki was nigh unbeatable when it came to dinner or any between-meal snacks. His dad, however, just had that extra bit of talent on the rest of them when it came to breakfast. Even when Katsuki was at his worst, and the thought of leaving his room or even his bed filled him with the unholy wrath he was famous for, Bakugou Masaru’s breakfast cooking would be good enough to get him to leave the room. Katsuki pauses. Ok, maybe that’s a bit far. It would probably get him to consider the possibility that maybe the outside world was worth facing on a day like that.

However, food wasn’t the only way to get someone out of bed. Special events were also a good motivator. Events that one had prepared physically and mentally for years for were even greater incentives. What was happening today, Katsuki had been getting ready for it since before he had his quirk. He always knew it was coming. It was an inevitability, but that didn’t mean there weren’t bumps in the road. Hard times that brought questions and doubts. Doubts he’d ended up crushing, crumpling in his palms and blowing them to bits. Using the ashes to fuel his determination and keep growing, keep improving, keep being the best. He’d trained until his shoulders felt like they’d come out of his sockets and his ears rang for hours, he’d practiced his quirk until he could control it perfectly, then repeated the cycle. He’d studied for hours, and when his brain felt like mush, he’d still stuffed more information in. He may be naturally smarter than most kids his age, but he could always be better. He acknowledged his reliance on his quirk, so worked to be the best without it. Mixed martial arts fit his aggressive and unrelenting style well, and even complemented his quirked fighting style, so he learned as much as he could, practicing at a local dojo, as well as adding in moves he’d devised during his own workout. He’d trained and worked his ass off, just so today could happen. He’d left his middle-school peers in the dust in practically everything, but kept moving, because gods know those extra’s were a shit measuring tool.

Now though, all his work was paying off. All his years of effort, of the sweat and blood shed in the name of being the greatest, of being the best. It was all in order to make today happen.

Katsuki grinned as he made his way to the door.

“OI BRAT! YOU STILL ASLEEP OR SOMETHING?! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE AND EAT SOMETHIN' OR YOU’LL BE LATE!!” came the ear-splitting shouting from his mother. She must have gotten to breakfast before him.

“FUCK OFF, HAG! I’M COMING DOWN!” Katsuki shouted back, matching her volume. Making his way downstairs, his grin changed to his signature scowl. He stomped to table where his parents were already sat and took his seat in front of the only other plate at the table. He mimicked his mother and attacked his plate, not inhaling his food, but definitely not taking his time.

His dad smiled slightly, “Are you nervous Katsuki? I can’t imagine what UA’s going to do on the first day.”

“Hell no I’m not nervous! I’m fuckin’ ready! Those fuckers at UA won’t know what hit ‘em!” Katsuki said back.

“Brat! No swearing at table!” his mother said between bites of food.

“I’LL FUCKING SWEAR AS MUCH AS I GODDAMN PLEASE!”

“NOT UNDER MY FUCKING ROOF YOU WON’T!”

Before they could escalate into another early morning shouting match, the old man came to rescue the neighbours’ eardrums, “Honey, we do need to leave soon. You have a meeting before the day starts, and Katsuki needs to get to school.”

“Oh shit, yeah.” Mitsuki seemed to realise, calming near instantly. “Gimme a sec. I’ll wash up and get ready.”

As the matriarch gathered the plates, Katsuki went to his room to get his stuff and finish getting ready. He put on his uniform – with the jacket undone and the tie lost – grabbed his bag, and made his way back downstairs just in time to walk down the driveway with his parents, before they split off to go get the car.

“Have fun on your first day, Kats.”

“Don’t get into any fights, brat.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” he turned around and started off, “I’m off.”

As the ash-blond boy made his way to the train station, he clenched and unclenched the fist that wasn’t holding his bag-strap. He wasn’t nervous…. HE WASN’T. It was excitement… yeah. Excitement at going to the same fucking school, attending the same fucking class as all the top Heroes. The same Hero Course that had made the ones at the top, like Beast-Jeanist or Endeavor. The course that had made the best of the best, the greatest of Heroes, All Might. The one who stood above the others, laughed in the face of danger, and always won. Katsuki’s target. The one he’d beat. The one he had to surpass to become the best that ever was.

He grinned. He was already ahead in some ways. According to his acceptance letter and rat-thing from the recording that was apparently his principle, he’d gotten over fifteen points more than the next person in terms of Villain points. That was already an idea of where he stood compared to the extras he’d be sharing his class with. However…

His grin turned into a scowl. However, he still wasn’t first. Some bullshit deus ex points had pushed someone above him in terms of score. Rescue points. A system they hadn’t even been told about had screwed him out of first place.

His scowl deepened. Second place… That left a bad taste in his mouth. Whatever, he’d prove once and for all when school really started that he stood head and shoulders above the rest.

He allowed his face to settle back nearer to neutrality as he boarded his train. Not perfect neutrality, but a resting angry-face that practically radiated irritation and did a great job at keeping people away from him. Scrolling through the news on his phone, he ignored the whispers that broke out. Shit like that tended to happen when a kid walked around in the grey UA uniform. It probably happened twice as much if that uniform had the hero course badge on it. People probably would’ve come up to talk to him, to congratulate him, to or bother him with questions or some shit, if he didn’t practically ooze an unapproachable aura. Gave him enough breathing room, so he didn’t really care.

Katsuki read through the news. Between the articles about new Heroes on the scene or some scandals, were two articles of actual interest. The first was about an attack on a naval base in the south of Japan, though details were scarce and the info seemed to be second or third hand at best. Katsuki rolled his eyes. Fuckin’ army being useless, typical. This was at least the fourth time this year this kind of shit had happened. If they were having so much trouble, they might as well call in the pro-heroes for help. He snorted a bit at the idea of All Might in a military uniform, marching around and saluting with his signature grin.

The second article caught his eye though. Crime rates in the area and a few surrounding cities was decreasing, and the reporter accorded this drop to the presence of All Might in the city surrounding UA. The rest of the article was lost as Katsuki thought. All Might was in the area he’s be going to school in. That was awesome! Katsuki might even get to see the number one work. Have a proper stick to measure himself against for once. His mouth upturned slightly, before dropping again. Why would All Might be in an area as saturated by heroes as the city near UA? And so far from his Tokyo agency as well… Katsuki had heard rumours of All Might teaching at UA, but those tended to come up at the start of every school year, if the comments online were anything to go by.

He dispelled the thought as he got off the train and followed the path to the – no – his school. The number one hero was probably working on a case nearby, or chasing a particularly dumb villain who, for some reason, decided the best place to commit crime was anywhere near one of the top Hero schools in the world.

Yeah, no way the best of the best would waste his time teaching some kids.

As Katsuki reached the gates of his new school, he removed himself from his thoughts. Looking up as he walked through the gates on the way to the building, he allowed the feeling of the event to wash over him. He was at U-fucking-A, the greatest goddamn hero school in the country, in hero class 1-A, on track to becoming a hero. The minor and forgettable part of his origin story was over. Now it was truly time for it to begin. There had been bumps, mistakes, he would admit that – his palms itched why why why – but what good origin story didn’t? It’s what would make him an interesting character when he finally exploded onto the scene. Now it was time to shine among the extras, to prove that he was truly great, even when surrounded by the best the country had to offer.

But he wasn’t there yet. He still had work to do.

With a scowl that screamed unapproachable and a laser-like focus in his eyes, Bakugou Katsuki marched into the main building of UA high school, and began his search for his classroom.

Which ended up taking ages, because everything in UA is stupidly huge. Katsuki swears the doors have to be at least ten feet tall, which is ridiculous, but he supposes a school like UA can afford to go all out and accommodate absolutely any mutation that quirks could bring to their user.

It is said that many things make up a first impression. The state and style of dress, posture, facial expression, and so on. Thousands of tiny details the mind will subconsciously pick up on to formulate an opinion of an opinion of a someone new.

So, Katsuki kicked open the door, making it swing violently on its hinge and hit the wall with a loud smack. He then marched into the room, ignoring the eyes of all the extras already here. Checking the sheet stuck to the board with the assigned desks, he quickly located and made his way towards the desk he would be using this year, before sitting and unceremoniously propping his feet up on the desk. The classroom was still quiet after his loud entrance, before a tall, blue haired boy with square glasses stood up with a violently straight posture and practically teleported across the classroom where his desk was to right next to Katsuki.

“What do you think your doing?!” robo-nerd waved one of his hands about in a chopping motion. Katsuki could already tell this guy was going to be annoying. “Remove your feet from the desk this instant! You are disrespecting the fine craftsmen who went through the effort of manufacturing it, as well as the countless generations of Heroes who have sat in this classroom before us!”

“Haaaa?” drawled the blond. “What’s up with you extra? You always this uptight, or did you shove that stick extra-far up your ass just for the first day?” As the blue-haired teen sputtered, Katsuki gave him a once over. Tall, broad, his legs seemed larger than they should be in proportion to the rest of him, but any obvious mutation was hidden by the trousers. Probably an enhancement type, focused on the legs if not the calves in particular. Probably more speed based if anything. “Whatever. Fuck off before I blast you to bits.”

“Blast me to… What?! How crude and disrespectful! Are you truly here to become a hero? Surely UA wouldn’t allow such delinquents into its hallowed halls!” came the reply. Louder this time. The robot had a boosted volume setting it seemed. Katsuki was going to use the time the robot in front of him was yammering on to take a look at the class, who had gone back to their conversations at this point, but that last comment caught his attention.

'The fuck this asshole extra say!? ' “You wanna say that again, four-eyes?!” the blond growled. His quirk coming to life in his hands, flashing with explosions to boost the intimidating effect he was certain he was radiating.

“And using your quirk in a classroom setting, without the authorization of the teacher or member of staff, or in a permitted training setting, is against the rules! You only further prove yourself unworthy of attendance with every action. Not to mention the state of your uniform! Did you deliberately dishevel yourself to bring shame to this institution in the eyes of the public?” The guy was getting worked up now, his tangents longer, but Katsuki was beyond caring.

'Okay! That fucking does it! ' Just as Katsuki was about to shout back – and was groaning internally. His mother was going to be so smug when he got home after school – when the argument was interrupted.

“Oh, hello! I recognise you! You’re the loud boy!” a bubbly voice said, oblivious to the fact that it had managed to stop a brewing row in its tracks. “We were in the same testing zone! I don’t know you remember me though…”

Katsuki was about to reply – honestly, how couldn’t he? Loud boy was obviously referring to him and he wasn’t about to let some extra show that kind of disrespect – when the robot-extra turned around, took a look at the new student, and said, “Oh! I remember you! You were stuck in front of the Zero pointer!” He then teleported across the room once again. Honestly the speed quirk theory was looking more and more likely. Or actual teleportation… that would be cool.

The extra that had abandoned their argument then bowed what looked to be a perfect ninety degrees to the student that had come in, revealing a short brown-haired girl with a round face and blush marks on her cheeks. “I apologise for not coming to your aid! Had I seen your state of peril, I would have come to assist.”

“It’s fine! It’s fine! Please don’t bow!” the girl looked flustered, waving her hands in front of her face. “You didn’t see me, so it’s not your fault! We’re here to become heroes, so we just have to better next time, right?”

Automaton rose back up, adjusting his glasses with a mildly surprised look on his face. “Yes, I suppose that is true. I will endeavour to be better!” His eyes widened with realisation, and he bowed again “Ah! Forgive me. My name is Iida Tenya, and I’m from Somei academy.”

“Oh! Yeah! I’m Uraraka Ochako! I hope we can get along!” round face said with a smile, before looking around. “Speaking of the entrance exam, you didn’t happen to see the boy who saved me, did you? Green hair, green eyes, the mask?”

Katsuki froze. No. No, there was no way that was who he thought it was. There had to be plenty of people in Japan with those features in this day ang age. Hell, one of the guys in this very room – a guy with white hair, six arms, and a good half foot on everyone in terms of height – had a mask on right now! It had to be a coincidence. The green-haired nerd didn’t even have a quirk. No way was it him.

Before Katsuki could dismiss the comment entirely – she must have been talking about someone who she met at the entrance exam and then failed the test – he saw someone walk into sight through the door frame, behind the unaware girl. All he saw was dark green hair, a black mask, and green eyes that, the instant he noticed them, noticed him too. In that split-second, he saw two green suns, burning with… something. Something unnameable and foreign to him when paired with that face.

'Nope'.'Katsuki quickly turned his head to face the board in front of him, ignoring – avoiding – whatever was happening at the door of the class. Ignoring the way those eyes seem to burn into the side of his head as the very person Katsuki never wanted to run into again in his life, stood in the doorway to his classroom being talked at by two of the extras that were going to be his classmates.

‘No no no no this can’t be happening this can’t be rEAL–'

Katsuki was brought out of this spiral when a new, older voice spoke, “I hope you didn’t join the hero course with the expectation of spending your time making friends.”

Katsuki couldn’t see past the small group of people by the door – ignore the green – but he could hear the exhaustion in the voice, coupled by what could only be described as a… slurping? ‘What the –'

Then, from behind the three students, something rose from the ground. That something was now identifiable for Katsuki as a man. A dishevelled, slouching man who looked like for whom sleep was an ex-lover he was desperate to avoid and shaving was a capital sin. Katsuki was confused for a second, and he was not the only one considering the looks on the faces of the people in his line of sight, because ‘How did a homeless guy get on campus? And how in the fuck did he get this far?’

That confusion was abated when the blond-haired boy noticed the way the man was scanning the room. Assessing. Calculating. ‘There’s no way…’

“It took you all eight seconds to quiet down, and you’re not even all sat down.” with that, round face, roboto, and – ignore ignore ignore – all jumped and near sprinted to their seats, and, because obviously the gods had it out for Katsuki today, the one person he wanted to avoid was seated directly behind him. He could feel those eyes burning holes in the back of his head. ‘Shit!'

“You’re all illogical. That will have to improve.” the homeless man carried on, throwing a pile of blue clothes onto the teacher’s podium, “I am Aizawa Shota, your homeroom teacher. I know it’s a little sudden, but put these on and get to the training field. You have ten minutes, since it’s the first day. If you’re late, don’t bother showing up at all.” And with that stellar introduction, their apparent homeroom teacher turned on his heel and walked out.

For a second, there was stillness. Then a blond guy with a black, lightning bolt shaped streak in his hair chuckled nervously and looked around, “D-do you think he means that?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, before everyone in the room scrambled for the podium, grabbing the blue uniform – which turned out to be a set of UA gym clothes – and booked it out the classroom door, despite four-eyes’ pleas of “No running in the halls!”

It was the first day, and Katsuki was not about to dick around. Pulling up a mental map, he hurried along with the group to the changing room.

‘What a fucking start…’

Aizawa Shota, also known as the hero Eraserhead, was tired. Well, he was always tired, but days like today seemed to just drain all of his energy. First days of any long-term commitment were often some of the most exhausting, and the temptation did exist, in the back of his mind, to just expel his class and be done with it. Then he could crawl into his sleeping bag, roll into a corner or under a desk, and fall into a coma. The pitiful amount of sleep he got could be blamed on the yearly rise in vigilante activities, a trend that usually came after the results to hero programs were announced. Those who failed couldn’t accept it and went out to enforce their ‘justice’. Pathetic fools who thought might still made right, who couldn’t accept their failings and took out their anger on what they viewed as acceptable targets. Idiots like that were why, despite the recent drop in crime in the area, Shota hadn’t been able to get any more extra sleep.

But he supposes he can’t really expel these kids for no reason, Nedzu wouldn’t let that slide. He’d test them, and if they didn’t measure up, then better they fail now then get their hopes up and die later. It was the logical path, and it would be less work for him. And hey, if they do show some talent, some hint of potential, then at least he won’t be wasting his or their time.

As the last of this year’s bunch line up in front of him, pleasingly managing to make it at least ten seconds before his ten-minute timer was up, he spoke up. “You’re going to be doing a quirk assessment test. The government refuses to accept reality and prevents students from using their quirks when performing mandated fitness tests. This attempt at forced equality prevents you from knowing your actual levels. Nobody is really equal.” Shota tossed an orange ball with at a student while simultaneously pulling out his phone, already synced with the devices on the field. The student caught the ball in one hand and stared back at the teacher with a confused expression on his face, “Midoriya, you scored first in the practical portion of the entrance exam, so you’ll be a good demonstration.”  

From the group of students, a green-haired, green-eyed boy stepped forwards. He was decently tall, not the tallest in class, but somewhere above the middle, and he wore a black mask with grey highlights. According to the boy’s file and medical records, the mask was a medical requirement that actually helped him breathe after an unspecified accident had damaged the boy’s throat and mouth. Shota was actually minorly impressed someone who had taken such a massive hit to their health had managed to perform so well. His medical file was thick with a history of surgeries, ongoing treatments, and future procedures. He had half planned to veto the kid’s entry into the course based on that. No one got a free pass in the hero course. If you couldn’t swim, you sank, and the boy had some heavy weights attached to his feet. But the kid had power, so maybe if he could harness that properly, develop enough discipline, he may keep up. For now, though, Shota would keep an open mind, but a desk-drawer filled with expulsion forms

“What was your best score in middle school on the distance throw?” Aizawa asked the student now standing before him. The boy tilted his head for a second, seemingly in thought, before he shrugged. Right. The teacher sighed, “Doesn’t matter. Stand in the circle and get the ball to go as far as you can. You can use your quirk.” Midoriya nodded, and started to make his way to circle, before Aizawa stopped him. “And don’t hold back,” he murmured, too low for the other students to hear, but loud enough for its intended recipient. “I saw the recording of the entrance exam. I will know if you do.”

With that warning, Midoriya kept making his way to the circle. A bit shaken by the teacher’s subtle warning; he held the ball up to his face as he reached the designated area. Tilting his head again, he considered the task before him, before nodding, making up his mind.

He steadied his stance and held up the ball at a distance in front of him, before pulling back his other hand, fingers clawed as the surrounding temperature started to rise. Then the heat disappeared suddenly and Midoriya stood back up straight, turning to the teacher. [Would you mind moving everyone a bit further back? It’s going to get really hot.] the boy signed.

Aizawa sighed again, he really should have expected this. That much damage to the throat didn’t often leave vocal cords intact. “Alright Midoriya. The rest of you,” he addressed the crowd, some of which looked confused. That may become problematic, “move back. Your classmate needs room.”

As the group of confused students and the teacher took a few steps back, Midoriya resumed his stance. Temperature steadily rising as a small flame formed in the clawed hand. It didn’t grow, but it got brighter as the surroundings grew hotter. The students weren’t spared, despite the distance, and sweat formed as the heat given off by the student kept increasing. An increasingly uncomfortable frog looking girl was starting to move further back when, suddenly, Midoriya chucked the ball straight up into the air. The other students watched, confused, as the ball finished going up, and started its return to earth before, as the ball reached the perfect height, Midoriya’s other hand, the one with the building flame, flew forwards and slammed into the ball.

His hand and the ball detonated, more intense heat washing over the assembled students in a split-second-long wave as a massive explosion engulfed the ball, fire blocking it from sight for a second before it emerged from the inferno on the other side, still on fire.

The ball flew upwards and forwards for a significant distance, before starting to drop. Then the flame still attached to the ball roared to life. Like a missile, the ball was propelled forwards by the rocket like flames it was attached to, before those flames died down too, dropping the ball out of sight.

A few seconds later, Aizawa’s phone beeped. The noise attracted the attention of the stunned crowd, and Aizawa dispassionately noted the results. “Know your limits. That’s the only way you’ll push past them.” Turning his phone around, for the other students to see, the red digits 956m could be seen.

A second of silence, before the crowd started whooping and cheering.

“That was so awesome!”

“That explosion was manly as hell bro!”

“It was really hot for a second there. What an insane quirk…”

“We get to use our quirks like that freely?! This is gonna be so fun!”

That last comment caught Aizawa’s attention. Gotcha. “Fun huh?” That comment killed the noise immediately. “What do you think it is we do here? DO you think these three years are gonna be all fun and games? That’ll you’ll hang out with your friends and the end of the day, going to the arcade or fast-food joints? No, this is the hero course. Here, we’ll work you to the bone every second of every hour you spend here.” His lips pulled into his signature smile, mirthless and filled with sadistic glee. He had been told by damn near everyone it was the stuff of nightmares. He treasured those comments from dear friends. “But if you see it that way, let’s have some fun. Whoever comes last when the overall results of these tests are shown will be deemed to have no potential, and expelled from the heroics course.”

Protests erupted near instantly, ranging from “You can’t do that! We passed the exam!” to “That’s not fair.” Throughout it all, he kept grinning; honestly, it was kinda funny.

“Teachers at UA have a lot of leeway when it comes to how we teach. We’re given plenty of deciding power since we’re the closest and most able to properly assess you.” then his smile dropped, “And whoever it was that said this wasn’t fair, grow up. The world isn’t fair. Natural disasters, terrorist attacks, villain rampages, none of that is fair to those caught up in the tragedy. But the role of Heroes is to walk into hell with their heads held high, face that unfairness, and conquer it in the name of the people they keep safe. If you don’t agree, then leave. I don’t need students who aren’t prepared for reality.”

This was the moment he got a proper look at his class. This was when he could observe their reactions to this very active threat to their futures, and gauge a part pf their potential. How they face adversity was an important point in their psychological profile, and, for the first time in some years on the job, Aizawa was pleasantly surprised, though he didn’t show it on his impassive face. Faces hardened with resolve, eyes burned with determination, and fists clenched and shook as adrenaline started to flow through their body. Oh of course there was nervousness, but it was washed away as the students looked at him, the deciders of their fate, and wordlessly told him to bring it on.

Hidden in his mind, he grinned to himself.

Promising.

Katsuki was smart. He knew he knew a lot of things, had good grades, and he had a pretty good idea how the world was supposed to work as well as his place in it. He was also smart enough to know that there was a lot that he didn’t know. Some of that he would come to know eventually, and some stuff he would never comprehend. He accepted the bounds of his knowledge, accepted that it was temporary, and made peace that he had limits in that respect

So, when something came completely out of nowhere and shattered his perception of the world, he didn’t know exactly how to feel. He felt conflicted, as well as the constant anger, be he wasn’t sure which was dominant or what they made together.

Before, the world was simple. Katsuki was awesome, was going to be the best hero ever, he would surpass everyone one above him, and everyone beneath him would stay where they belonged, beneath him. So, when someone he used to know, someone he barely saw as the dirt beneath his shoe, someone who was meant to stay where he was, a quirkless Deku, suddenly didn’t act as he had before, Katsuki was mentally stuck for a second.

The class lined up to take their turn on the ball throw test. They all achieved mediocre scores, with the highest being in mid hundreds, until a tall beauty with long black hair in a high ponytail pulled a fucking cannon out from under her shirt and fired that shit a kilometre and a half away. Then round-face from earlier took a ball and threw it into god damn orbit! The teacher just mumbled about lost equipment and gave her an infinity, forcing the rest to make peace that first place wasn’t achievable in this one.

Katsuki grumbled as he took his place in the circle. Rolling the ball in his hands to spread his sweat, he gathered some of the extra sweat from Deku’s earlier heat wave in his hand, pulled the ball back, and pitched it as hard as he could, setting off an explosion just as it left his hand. The explosion ignited the sweat on the ball, giving it a little boost. He checked his score when the ball finally landed. 744m. He scowled as he moved away. ‘Shit.’

Next came the 50-meter sprint. Glasses and Frogger went first, with glasses dominating with a 3.04s. So at least that confirmed Katsuki’s speed quirk theory. The rest were pretty uneventful, with some exceptions though. Glitter-fuck used his laser like booster rocket and practically threw himself half the way to the end before the beam cut out and he tumbled to the ground and letting Shitty-hair get passed him, and Ponytail pulled rocket-shoes out of somewhere and got the best score since Glasses, who was still at the top. ‘What fucking overpowered bullshit is that?!'

Then it was Katsuki’s turn. He made his way to the start and took a starting position, with his hands clawed, arms crossed across his chest, and his palms facing outwards. He glanced at his competitor, and ‘Of fucking course. Of all people it just had to be fucking Deku!' Midoriya was in a classic sprinter’s starting position, shoes and socks off, eyes forwards, and completely ignoring Katsuki. A stark contrast to how Katsuki could feel the green nerd’s eyes on him in class.

‘Whatever. I’ll blow him away like I always did.'

Refocusing back on the track, Katsuki’s muscles tensed in preparation as the countdown started, and, when the start was called, he threw his hands back, sweat pooling in his palms as he rocketed forward, continuously using his quirk to keep the momentum going, while also making adjustments to make sure he didn’t face plant into the ground like Glitter-fuck.

‘I got this.’ he thought confidently, as the end approached.

That thought was interrupted by a detonation that most definitely did not come from him, and a what looked like a comet wreathed in flame shot passed him, trailing fire in its wake, and beating him to the finish line. Katsuki snarled, taking advantage of the heat to push his quirk further and accelerate past the finish line less than a second later, hearing the announcement of the scores from the machine at the end.

“Midoriya: 3.99s. Bakugou: 4.03s.”

What happened next was not something Katsuki wanted to happen, at least not consciously. Maybe it was the first-day-nerves, or the years of unacknowledged stress a̷̜̗̭͎̖͓͖͚͊̈̋̎̑̈̍̈́͜͝͝n̷̨̯̮̲͚̺̋̈́̇̆̎̂̾̉̍͘d̷̥̰͎̈́̐̑̾̀̅͝ ̷̱͋̈́̿̍̒͗̕t̸͖̗͕̼̖̎͒͑̈́̏͆͠ṙ̸̹̉̿͆̃͑̀̉͘͘a̸̯̖͇̽̾̿̐̈́̎͗̕ṵ̴̢̘͈̯̙͎͖̈̃̚͝m̶̲͊͘a̷̗̩̥͉̰͍̙̣͗ finally exploding outwards at the only target who might understand why, given their background and prior history, Bakugou Katsuki would have this reaction. Or maybe, it was a combination of these factors, mixing together with the fact that his view of the world with himself on top was being crushed under the scores of his classmates, that finally caused it. Whatever it was, Katsuki would, in some part of his mind, acknowledge that he regretted what he was about to do.

Katsuki snarled, rage overtaking his mind as he turned to the target of his ire. The one who had outscored him in both tests so far, who seemed to be looking back at him with that emotion he had seen in the classroom still in his eyes, though that stupid mask still hid whatever expression he was pulling. Whatever was in Midoriya’s eyes, Katsuki didn’t have a word for, but he knew that it wasn’t fear. Fear he recognised, especially on that face, and it wasn’t there now; and, for the first time in nearly five years, Bakugou Katsuki spoke to the boy he had known since they were both in the crib, and lunged.

“DEKUUUUU! "

Aizawa Shota was a subtle individual. It came with the territory, really. Being an underground hero meant being at home in the shadows, in the silence. Being able to blend into anywhere and everywhere. That was why, as his class carried out the tests, he sure none of them saw how he was observing them. Cataloguing reactions, making sure they were putting an acceptable amount of effort into the tests and so on.

This observation was why he caught it. It was a subtle change in the air, a shift in movement, a tensing of certain muscles, as well as a heaping of bloodlust suddenly being focused on one target. It was why, as the explosive blond in his class – ‘Bakugou. Quirk: Explosion. Sweats nitro-glycerine and is able to ignite it in his palms. High level of combat skill. Deficient social skills. History of anger issues.’ – literally launches himself at his classmate, Aizawa’s quirk is already flaring to life, his hair rising as his eyes burn red, and his capture weapon whipping forward and restraining the blond, who drops to the ground as his source of propulsion abruptly cuts off and his arms are restrained to his side, leaving a now angry and confused blond student writhing on the ground.

“What the fuck? What is this shit!” one of future the sources of Aizawa’s headaches yells from the ground, “Why the fuck won’t my quirk work?”

“That’s my quirk.” Aizawa tightens the restraints in warning, before releasing his disgruntled captive, “Don’t make me use it so much, it gives me dry-eye. Also attacking a classmate outside of a training exercise is grounds for expulsion. This is your first and final warning. Am I understood?” Aizawa glares at the blond again, drawing a grumble, but finally a nod as well.

“That goes for you too, Midoriya.” Aizawa now turns his attention to the other future headache. He notes that the boy’s gaze is focused on the blond, almost burning in its intensity. Probably burning literally too, considering the green-haired teen’s quirk. “Turn off the heat. It’s making my eyes ache worse. Now.”

Midoriya looks away, his previously clawed hand tightening into a fist as the surrounding temperature suddenly drops to much more sensible levels. ‘This could be a bigger issue than anticipated.’ Aizawa thinks as he observes the two making their way back to the nervous looking crowd, both making sure to keep a healthy distance between each other.

‘Problems for later.’ Eraserhead looked at the crowd, “Did I say the test was over? Next up is the long jump.”

Class 1-A gathered in front of their teacher with a mixture of nervousness, apprehension, and utter exhaustion. The class hadn’t known Aizawa-sensei long, but a few of them would put money on the theory that the teacher had kept the long-distance-endurance-run for last, when they were all exhausted from the other tests, on purpose, in order to get some kind of sick, sadistic pleasure out of watching them struggle.

Now, here they stood, in dirty, sweaty, and, in some cases, mildly scorched gym uniforms, all waiting to hear who would who would be the unfortunate one to be kicked out of the course, kicked out of their dream, and lose the chance to study and learn in the best hero academy in the country.

As Aizawa finished fiddling with his phone, he looked up at the sea of expectant and nervous faces.

“It would be illogical to make you wait, so here are the scores.”

With those fateful words, a holo-screen lit up next to the teacher, displaying their scores.

‘Again!! That fucking Deku beat me again!!''Katsuki yelled in his mind, part disbelief, part anger. He wasn’t going to be stupid enough to try and attack the nerd again. Oh, he had questions, questions like ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ and ‘How in the fuck do you have a quirk?’, because Katsuki was certain the green shit-head didn’t have one before. If he had, the – nonononono – all that shit would be irrelevant.

Katsuki looked at the top of the board again. He wasn’t even near the top! Fucking Ponytail had dominated, being able to pull out anything she wanted for the test, which gave her a massive advantage in the long run, and the candy-cane looking motherfucker firing off ice everywhere had come third, with Deku in second. The name in last was some irrelevant name he didn’t recognize, Haga- something or another. Judging by how the flowing pile of clothes had gone very still, he guessed that that was the unlucky fucker getting kicked out. Whatever. It wasn’t Katsuki’s problem. If the weak couldn’t crack it, then they shouldn’t be heroes, plain and simple.

‘But, if Deku’s ahead, then–'

“By the way, I was lying about the expulsion. It was a logical ruse to get you to do your best.” Aizawa-sensei said to the crowd, with the subtlety of a landmine being chucked through a window. The hobo smiled his creepy smile, “Plus Ultra, and all that.”

The class immediately erupting into shouts, with the teacher seemingly revelling at the sight of the students’ indignation. Quietly, in the back, the floating clothes sand to their knees and took a deep breath. The other girls gathered around them, offering hugs and quiet words of comfort.

“But don’t think this means you can take it easy.” The teacher’s voice cut through the noise like a buzzsaw through paper, as emotionless as before. “This just means you’ve passed the first hurdle. Congratulations for showing the bare minimum amount of potential. Now we can really start.” The teacher nodded towards the building. “Go get changed and get back to class. There is a syllabus in there for the first term. Then you can either go home, or familiarise yourself with the campus. I don’t really care which, just be rational.” And with that the teacher walked off, letting the class know that they had been dismissed. So, the class made their way back to the changing rooms, unknowingly allowing their new teacher to deal with the third headache that had popped up today.

“All Might.” Aizawa grumbled to the number one hero who was making a frankly sad his best to hide his bulky frame behind the corner of the building. “What do you think you’re doing, spying on my class.”

All Might laughed nervously and looked away, scratching his head. Really, for a man who was over a foot shorter than him, and at least half as wide, Aizawa was really an intimidating person sometimes.

“W-well, I would have observed one-B too, but they were caught up in the entrance ceremony. Speaking of which, I asked the principle about your absence, and he directed me here, and I thought I could learn a thing or two about the teaching method from you! I may be older, but you far outrank me in teaching experience.” All Might laughed again, before looking back at the shorter man, “Speaking of, Aizawa-kun, I didn’t know you were such a jokester! You looked so serious that even I thought you were going to expel one of them!”

“I wasn’t joking. If even one of them showed even a molecule less of potential, they would be out of the hero course and I wouldn’t be having this pointless discussion.” Aizawa casually informed the number one as he walked past to get to an entrance. His work day had ended and he really needed his yellow safe haven, where he could cocoon himself until his responsibilities demanded he emerge.

All Might froze, sweat-dropping a little. “Really?! Why do such a thing?”

“Not everyone has a flashy, all-rounder quirk like you, All Might.” Eraserhead glared over his shoulder at the frozen hero, “If they have no potential, it’s better to stop them now before they start training and realise it’s too hard, or worse, they become actual heroes and people hurt.” The man adjusted his capture weapon and he faced forwards and continued towards the break-room, “Not everyone is suited for this path. Removing those lacking potential early saves lives. Be it others.” He put his hands in his pockets, resisting to urge to clench them, “Or theirs.”

Midoriya Izuku walked out of UA high school deep in thought. Up until today, school was something he dreaded, less so in recent years, but it was still something he would rather avoid. He hated the students who though quirks were everything, that the world was a jungle and only the strong could decide the fate of the week. He hated the teachers, and the way their blatant favouritism shaped the way the kids in their care would view the world around them, how they would form the idea that, as long as you had a ‘good’ quirk, the world would let anything slide, which was his third great hatred. He hated how the world made allowances for those with cool, flashy quirks. He hated how it ignored all other traits, all other aspects of an individual until those were shoved in their face, and then, with the facts in front of them, the world made excuses. Excuses for why they hadn’t seen them, excuses for why the facts should be ignored, or excuses that the one presenting the facts was as fault.

He had grown to accept these facts, accept that they would exist for as long as quirks existed, and vowed that he would never accept their existence. He would never be a victim of them again, and would save those he could from that horrible, horrible fate.

Yes, it would not be an understatement to say that Midoriya Izuku despised the school system in Japan, and the mentality it encouraged; which was why he was in thought as he walked down the path to the gate.

Their teacher, Aizawa-sensei, was definitely a hero. What his name was, Izuku couldn’t figure it out. It was bugging him, but that wasn’t the whole point. The man was a hard-ass with a sadistic streak, true, but he hadn’t been impressed by a room filled with a generation of the best quirk users the country could offer. Aizawa had looked at the room of people that, individually, could have cowed a room purely with their presence in most of his old schools, and told them to prove they deserved to be there. The man’s system was purely meritocratic, and Izuku was, for the first time, starting to like a teacher. Okay, maybe like was a strong word, but he had grown a strong respect for the man when he had stopped Bakugou – and wasn’t that a thought. He hadn’t seen the boy in years, and the first time the Bakugou interacts with him proper is to try and attack him. Typical. – Their teacher hadn’t been cowed by Bakugou’s flashy quirk, and even threatened to expel the boy for breaking the rules. What Midoriya wouldn’t give to have known Aizawa sooner.

However, that brought a problem to mind. ‘Bakugou… he actually managed to make it here. Despite everything… and he hasn’t even changed a bit! ' That thought brought anger to the forefront of Izuku’s mind, making his quirk surge and his teeth clench behind his breathing mask. ‘That bastard! ’

Before he could fall further into his own rage, his phone buzzed. Pulling out the device, and extinguishing his quirk and the small flame it caused on his shoulder – ‘I really need better emotional control. I won’t be able to use my quirk to it’s best if it activates whenever I’m angry.’ – Izuku read the text from his father.

‘Hmm. He’s working late… That should mean I’ll be able to get a few more visiting hours out of the way at the hospital after my appointment without compromising movie night.’ Izuku thought, continuing towards UA’s glinting gate. Izuku texted back his acknowledgement of the message, as well as his plan to stay a bit longer at the hospital. He read the thumbs up and winky-face emoji his father sent him and pocketed his phone, rolling his eyes with humour.

As he was about to walk through the gates, he heard a familiar voice yell out. “Midoriya-san!”, as the boy in question turned, he saw the blue-haired teen – ‘I think he said his name was Iida…? Maybe? ’ – speed-walking down the path towards him. When Iida finally reached him, he started chopping his arm in a manner Midoriya was starting to believe might be a part of his quirk. “You were exemplary in the quirk tests. Second place is very impressive! Though I do wonder about our teacher.” the two started back through the gates, “I thought every teacher at UA was a hero, but I do not recognize him. I will have to ask my brother. Though for a teacher to use deception like that... I suppose it was encouraging us to do our best.”

Midoriya started to raise his hands to sign his response, hoping the boy would understand, when another voice called out. Izuku sighed quietly to himself.

“Heeeeeeey, guyyys! Wait up!” the bubbly girl from before came running down the path, out of breath. Midoriya was not really in the mood to talk. He had to get to the hospital soon, and being late wasn’t really in his best interest, especially with how serious the doctor was. So he turned away to keep walking the station, not really paying attention to what the two that decided to follow him were saying, until –

“Yeah! You’re Iida, right? And you, fire boy! You’re… Deku-kun!”

Midoriya stopped dead in his tracks.

‘No…’

That name… That horrible, rotten, disgusting name… The memories that name brought… The meaning it held…

Jeering crowds of kids laughing as he’s beaten up by someone he looks up to. Teachers turning a blind eye at him as he lies defenceless, bleeding, beaten on the ground. Weak, pathetic, WORTHLESS.

‘No! ’

Midoriya whirls around, surprising the other two and stomps up to the brown haired one. He marches straight towards her, and stops just inside her personal space. From here, he can look down at her thanks to his height, and by the way she’s sweating and glancing nervously around, trying to avoid eye contact while stuttering… something, he’s probably activated his quirk a bit. He can see Iida in his personal space sweating as well, frozen too by the sudden attention, but Midoriya’s not interested in him right now. His focus is on Uraraka, and his eyes are green suns.

The two unfortunates watch as the green-haired boy in front of them, now burning with hostility, reaches to the underside of the mask that hides his face and presses a button that they hadn’t seen before. With a click and a whir of electronics starting up, Midoriya says the first words they’d heard him speak.

“What did you call me? ” The voice is horrible, like a demon made of steel, moving parts, and wrath. Despite its monotonous tone, the voice that comes from the mask growls, filled with barely repressed animosity and hatred.

Midoriya feels something building in his throat. Something hot and viscous, moving up from his lungs and building in a knot near where his vocal cords used to be.

“U-u-u-umm, Deku! I-I-I-it’s what t-the other b-boy called you!” Uraraka stutters out. She’s terrified! This is her classmate and she knows he wants to be a hero – hell, he’s already saved her before – but, in this moment, she’s very, very scared. The boy in front of her is looking at her like he wants to use that powerful fire she’s seen and felt before to destroy her, wipe her from the face of the earth. For a second, she remembers the scorching heat she felt for a second when Midoriya saved her from the Zero-pointer, and she trembles even more. She doesn’t know what to do. ‘What did I do?! ’

Midoriya’s anger intensifies. Of course. Of-fucking-COURSE! Why could he never have nice things?! What always came and polluted everything he ever enjoyed. These students, the classmates he’s supposed to spend the next three years training and working with, have already started following Bakugou’s lead. Soon there’ll be teasing, then jeering, then all the bullshit he escaped will start back up again.

The knot in the back of his throat feels like magma. It leaves the taste of smoke in his mouth and iron on his tongue. He feels it bubble with whatever emotion he can feel building up behind his heart and in his eyes. No… no he knows which emotions these are. Which feelings bubble and burn like magma, that seep into everything and everywhere and stain where ever they pass like blood. Anger, rage, hate!

‘NO! Unacceptable! '

He won’t accept it. He’ll prove he deserves to be here, that he’s stronger than any – no - all of them. He won’t let himself be weak, be bullied, be used, and belittled ever again! He will be strong!

‘Firstly…’

“Uraraka,” growls the demonic voice, getting the girl to focus her wide eyes on him. Midoriya leans into her personal space, forcing her to look into his eyes, that are now green suns he’s sure. “Never, and I mean it when I say, NEVER, call me that again. Un-der-stood? ” the last word is said slowly, ground out purposefully and with all the intent that can be forced into each syllable. The short girl nods frantically, anything to get Midoriya to stop looking at her like that.

Midoriya leaned away and turned back around, continuing towards the train station, but this time exuding harmful intent. He wants to get to the hospital, to end this stupid, god-forsaken day. He needs to calm down on the way there though. The hospital staff won’t let him in if he’s running too hot; all of that sensitive medical equipment doesn't mix well with fire damage, after all. Luckily the two idiots he thought could be friends won’t follow him after that, and, well, if they do…

He’s still got plenty of hate left…

Back with Iida and Uraraka, they’re still standing shell-shocked outside the gates to UA, staring at the retreating of their classmate. Their green-haired classmate, who had been quiet all day and they assumed couldn’t speak at all, just did, and to say that?

Uraraka turns to Iida. “What was that? Was it something I did? something I said?” Uraraka was panicking honestly. She just wanted to make friends! And if she made happened to make friends with the boy who had just so happened to have saved her from a giant robot well… even better! Now, she’s on the verge of tears! What did she say to get a reaction like that from the previously impassive teen? And what was that voice? She thought he couldn’t speak!

“Ahem,” Iida pushes his glasses up his nose, hiding the slight tremble in his hands, “I… I believe he mentioned not wanting to be called Deku.”

“But why? Why wouldn’t he like the nickname?”

Iida looks at her for a moment. “Did you know that Deku is short for Dekunobou, like wooden doll, or good for nothing? It is quite a demeaning insult, and that boy with the explosion quirk didn’t seem very friendly with Midoriya-san.”

Uraraka felt her stomach drop, “Oh! Oh no! I thought it mean like Dekiru, like ‘You can do it!’… I guess I didn’t consider the context…”

“Still! That reaction was inappropriate! He shouldn’t have reacted in such a manner, and to use his quirk in public like that, even if only slightly…”

“No… no I should have known he didn’t like the name. Now that I think about it, he didn’t look happy when that boy called him that during the test… I think Midoriya was even thinking of attacking that guy for a sec.” Uraraka looked sadly in the direction Midoriya had stormed off, wondering if she should start mourning a potential friendship. She had screwed up nearly immediately, driving away the boy that saved her.

She slapped her cheeks.

No! She would apologise to De- Midoriya-san tomorrow! Even if he didn’t forgive her, or he didn’t want to be friends, she wanted him to know she didn’t mean to insult him like that. Maybe she could explain herself… but she’d have to be tactful.

“Well Iida-kun! I don’t really think he wants to talk now, plus he’s already gone. I’ll definitely apologise tomorrow though!” Uraraka’s head droop a little as she started walking towards the station, “I hope he forgives me…”

“Never fear, Uraraka-san! I’m sure once he hears the honesty you put into your apology, and understands your true intent, he will quickly forgive you!” Iida says, as he chops away.

Uraraka giggles despite the tense atmosphere left behind. Her smile turns lopsided.

“Yeah… hopefully…”

Chapter Text

Humanity had seen and created many horrible things. In their lust for dominance and their desire for control over the world they lived in, and lacking any of the natural defences other earthly creatures had developed, the human genome had mutated along the generations, giving homo-sapiens larger craniums and more developed brains. Humans then used this intelligence to build tools, then machines, in order to fight a world that seemed intent on their destruction, and then, when the world was defeated, they turned on each other. War was invented and perfected, turned into an art, and one of the earliest strategies was to outpace your enemy. Hit them faster, move your own troops faster, get to places before your enemy could even try to perceive your movement, and the easiest ways to get somewhere before someone else, was to either move faster, or to leave earlier.

Long story short, tens of thousands of years of technological development led Midoriya Izuku to be rudely awakened as his alarm went off. Tens of thousands of years of human evolution and development, and, apart from morning people – who were a myth anyways – all humans felt that flash of rage turn into longing and then despair, as whatever infernal device they owned tore them from their sleep as per that machine’s purpose, and it was always at, in Izuku’s humble opinion, too-fucking-early-o’clock.

Izuku wheezed out a groan through the respiratory-aid he wore to sleep, the annoying machine preventing any more elaborate vocalisations of his despair – like the many expletives he thought of just as he registered the noise and its meaning – before he turned off the alarm and sat up. Slowly extricating himself from his sheets, Izuku went about swapping out the sleeping mask for his day-use one. As he tightened the final latch, he stood and stretched, hearing the satisfying popping and cracking of joints stiff from sleep. Then, quietly, as to not wake his father, the green-haired teen made his way to the bathroom.

After making sure the water-proof sealant on his mask was correctly in place, he stepped into the shower. The cold water running over his skin and down his back did a good job of jolting him to full wakefulness, though his naturally high body temperature helped him shrug off the bite the freezing water otherwise would have. As he tended to his hygiene, Izuku found himself thankful for yesterday’s appointment; it wasn’t often that he was allowed to simply sit, without any mask or apparatus attached to him, and simply… be.

He stepped out of the shower, drying off and reaching for the scar-cream by the sink, avoiding the mirror. Eyeing the burns running up his arm like a sleeve of scar tissue, he was reminded of a second reason to be thankful for the visit. The pull of scarred skin when he moved, the itch of healed injuries as they rubbed against his clothing… the phantom burns… they were lessened when he didn’t have to see himself, didn’t have to think of the state of his wretched, twisted, unnatural body. He regarded his arm like it was a foreign object as he applied the cream, something other. Something attached to his body to mock him and remind him of his mistakes. At least he couldn’t see his face. The stalls in the changing room had been a true blessing, yesterday.

Shaking his head, he finished up and stepping out of the bathroom. Izuku then went to the kitchen to start on breakfast. If yesterday were any indication of the pace UA planned to keep for the duration of his education, then he’d need enough energy to last the day, and, if what had been discussed during movie night was to be believed – ‘Really, of all the times he could have talked about work.’ – if he wanted his father to survive what was probably going to be another long day, the man would need a good amount of energy and maybe some extra… something. Just in case an edge was needed, of course.

With practiced ease, Izuku reached for the needed utensils and ingredients, intent on making some fish and rice, while also preparing some coffee. He was mostly done when he heard the door to his father’s room slide open, followed by a yawn that would have made anyone else fear for the source’s jaw.

“Mornin’ kiddo, you already up? Damn, and I thought teens these days liked sleepin’ in.” Midoriya Hisashi joked, stumbling into a seat at the table while scratching his messy black hair, still slightly dazed from sleep. Izuku rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and slid a single mug of coffee across the table at what was probably an unsafe speed for scalding liquid travelling towards a man who looked like he’d gone nine rounds in the ring with All Might wielding a particularly hard pillow. Not the worst thing that could happen, but definitely not the best either. Hisashi, despite his state, latched onto the coffee like a man finding an oasis in a desert, lifting and downing the hot beverage in the blink of an eye before slamming the mug back onto the table. ‘The benefits of a quirk with fire-breathing,’ Izuku supposed.

“Okay! Okay. I’m up! I’m up for real now.” the man affirmed, his eyes gaining focus. He turned to his son and asked, “I didn’t say anything embarrassing, did I?”

Izuku’s eyes crinkled with humour, and he signed back, [You gave yourself a bit of an accent... and you said ‘teens these days’, you old man.]

Hisashi groaned, “Well, that’s not the worst that could have happened.” He leaned back into his seat as Izuku slid another mug at Hisashi, who caught it much more deftly this time and brought it up to his face at a comparably slower pace, “What’re you making?”

[Fish and rice.] was signed back, before Izuku quickly returned to task, lifting a medium sized bowl of rice and a slab of fish onto a plate, before sprinkling some high-strength chilli powder onto the fish.

The plate was brought out to the man, who attacked the food with vigour, and Izuku went back to the kitchen for his own food. He reached into the pantry, opening a specially designed box, and grabbed fish flavoured nutrient paste. Taking the powdered spice jar as well, we went back to the table. As he sat down, Hisashi looked up and, with mirth dancing in every word, said, “Izuku, kiddo, sport, do you mind getting me some more of the spicy powder? It seems I can still taste the fish, and that won’t–“

Before he’d finished the sentence, Izuku chucked the jar at his father, who caught it in one hand with a bright smile, before pouring out a fifth of the jar onto the fish. So, it was one of those days. Half-rolling his eyes at the antics of the man who was supposed to show him the ways of the world, Izuku tethered the nutrient pack to a special port in the mask, activating the mechanism that fed the paste to him. The taste aspect was purely for the aesthetic of seeming to eat the same, or similar, meal as his father. It was rather superfluous, seeing as he couldn’t taste anything.

After all, you couldn’t taste without – ironbloodg̷̨̫̳͙̱̤̞̾u̶̡̦̺̙̹͙̯̞̟̰̿̈́͆̑̅̉̚͘͜r̸̮̣̝̝͌̾g̵̦͇̭̽̍͝l̵̟̕ĩ̷̡̞̬͝ņ̶̧̮͈̩͉̲͇͂̋̃́̽͜ͅḡ̴̖̻̥͉̯̲͈̝̭̪̙̽͆͛̑̇͝͝b̸̡̛̙̺̘̯͔͓͖̟̥̬̪̘̖́͂̆̉͋̒͋̽͑̍͗̈̊̄̏̿̕͘u̵̧͎̳̩͔̫̜̮̘̟͉̬̼̐̌̋̿̐͂̊͗͗͛͗͘͘͜b̸̘̳̦̪̲̰̳̻͌̽͊́͝ḇ̷͎̦͖̪̖͍͇̄̒̅̆͊̆̆̓̇̉̓̚̕͘͝͠l̶̛̦͙̯͓̼͒̃̓͆̈́͒̓͂̊̆͜͝͝͝i̵̢̨̧̢̥̱͔̖̝͍̠͖͚̱̻̖͖̺̦̪̟̙͇̱̤̟̽̑̇͛̈̐̏͠ǹ̸̛̦̬̰̯̺͇͎͉̜̻̙̬̺͔͉̜̱̔̉́̒̈́̃̐̅̈͐͒͒͜ḡ̷̢̛̪̹̳͇̱̟̭̙̺̜͎̞̖̗̝̽͂̌̀̐̽̈́̃͑̌̊̊́͘͘͝͝͝d̴̡̢̳̜̼͚̠͙̗̤͔̙͚͎̔̀͌̀̌̄̏͛͗̊̄̕̕̚͝r̴̡̠͈̝̗̝̗͈͎̭̞͚̝̟̣̱̙͈̪͚̫͍̖̱̥͙̳̩̮̫̖̹͓̝͍̠͓̦̳̱̲̈́̔̅̒̊̃̀̄̌͘͝o̴̢̧̢̤͎͚̦̳͇̟̘͓̦̯͍̲̝̗̼̗͇̩̬͆ͅͅw̴̙̯͕̠͎̯͔̥̪̤͍͉̜̺͔̞̥͕̱̠͆̑͊͐͆̅̑͗̓͌̑́̊̽̈̓̍͌̉̈́͑̿̊͌͂͒̑̏̓̕͘̕̕͜͜͝͝ņ̷̨̧̨̢̫͕̣͈̝̥̟͓̤̯͙̲̘̜͎̳̗̱̣̤͎̖̞͖̹̗̜̤̤̯̹̠͓͓̐̍͛͆̏̀̉̒̒̈́̔͐̅͠͝i̶̢̡̛̛̮̱̲̍̈͛̋͛̇̀̂̾̋̈̉͊͗̐̈́̅̊̂̌̄̂͂͂̄͂̐̓͒̎͘͝ͅn̸̛̻̤̰͙̭͚̥̯̥̪̘̺̦̲̗̹͚͔̤̪͚̓̑̍͆̃̾̽̒͋͋̾̾͐̂̍̃͂̌͐̐͌̊̊̌̐̈́̾̏̇̾̇̈́̉̄̚̕͘͘͝͠ͅg̸̢̛̛͎̘̮̼̭̥̯͇̯̠̤̩̩͙̝̯̭͓̍͑͐̃̈̑̽̉͗̐̈́̕̕̚ –

As if sensing something was wrong, Hisashi looked up at Izuku with concern, before asking, “How was the appointment?”

Izuku rocked his hand in front of him, in a so-so gesture. [The doctor said that the damage was healing well, and the scar tissue was getting stronger and settling down. The operation worked, and he said the next one should reduce my reliance on the mask at least a little.] Izuku tapped the piece of equipment hiding the bottom of his face, [Though before that, he’s gonna give me a new model. Higher battery life, better systems. Overall upgrade. I think it’s because I’m in UA now. I’ll be ‘too tired’ from the hero course if I keep using the one I have now.] Izuku rolled his huffed at the idea, causing Hisashi to chuckle into his food, [Honestly, he underestimates me. It’s a bit insulting.]

“He’s a doctor, Izuku.” Now it was Hisashi’s turn to roll his eyes, “despite how he looks, he’s one of the best.” He pointed his fork at his son, “and you don’t become one of the best doctors by being careless with your patients’ health. So please, do us old men a favour and take the professional’s advice.” Hisashi took a bite, speaking with food still in his mouth, “He might know what he’s talking about.”

Izuku looked away and crossed his arms. Hisashi was at least 95% percent sure that his fifteen-year-old son, who had made it into the toughest hero course in the country, in first place no less, and who was probably due for his edgy, cool phase or whatever, was pouting. Hard to tell with the mask, but Hisashi had enough practice reading his son’s body language to at least have a good idea what he was thinking. Unfortunately, Hisashi had taught Izuku some of his tricks, so his son might not be pouting, but that was unlikely, given the situation… and the fact that he knew his son. Hisashi chuckled either way, before sobering up in preparation for a difficult, but necessary question. He asked it after every appointment, so, naturally, it had to happen again. Hopefully history wouldn’t repeat itself.

“And… how was the visit?”

Silence returns as Izuku looked back down at the table, with only the sound being the nutrient packet running empty and Izuku disconnecting it, all the while not making eye-contact. This was… probably a good sign? There were fewer tears and definitely less fire being thrown around compared to two months ago, so this probably a sign of at least some healing? Hisashi sighed internally, but externally, he kept his eyes on his son and made sure that his gaze was filled with concern and empathy. He may have a slight talent at reading body language, but healing wasn’t his forte. Izuku had refused therapy, and that couldn’t be forced onto someone. Hisashi had to be patient with Izuku, let him come to terms; though he supposed that would make Hisashi a hypocrite. He hadn’t fully come to terms either.

After a bit longer, two hands came up and signed one word, [Quiet.]

‘Damn.’

Hisashi kept eating for a bit longer, before another topic of conversation came to mind. He made sure to push as much enthusiasm into his voice as his could, keeping his tone upbeat in an attempt to salvage to mood, “How was the first day? I bet UA was very different to what you’re used to. Make any friends? Enemies?” the man wiggled his eyebrows, “any cute girls catch your eye? Or Boys?”

Izuku reddens at the implication, before tilting his head in consideration. [We had a quirk apprehension test. Basically, like the typical fitness test thing in normal school.] His eyes take on a prideful light, [I nearly got a whole kilometre on the ball toss.]

“Wooow,” his father drawled, smirking a bit all the while, “bragging to your old man, are we now?”

The tips of Izuku’s ears reddened, though he carried on. [It was actually quite interesting, seeing the difference quirks make, though] he rolls his eyes slightly, [any fool could guess that.] His eyes took on a certain light, and Hisashi cheered internally. It was so rare to see this look on his son’s face. [It was so cool seeing how they used their quirks! Not all of them have straight-forward quirks, so they have to be creative, which isn’t all that common. Though I guess it would have to be for those who made into a place like UA.] Yep, there it was. No matter what had happened, come hell or highwater, it seemed his boy’s love of quirks never died.

Hisashi smiled, peacefully as Izuku continued sign-rambling about his classmates’ quirks, gushing over their potential uses and how they could grow, and theorizing about different ways to utilise them. Hisashi might not have been as naturally talented a quirk analyst as his son, but he was no slouch. He believed every parent should provide to their children the tools to surpass them, and, barring that being a possibility, giving them the means to reach those tools. It was a point of pride for the man that his son outclassed him in quirk analysis at such an early age, despite it being a minor, but still important, part of his job. He was fairly certain his son still kept his old notebooks in his room, though hidden somewhere. ‘Hmm, speaking of…’ the only reason they weren’t out in front of Hisashi now was probably due to some embarrassment brought on by that phase he was nearly certain was coming. Izuku shouldn’t be embarrassed by something he’s good at, but the man believed that was something Izuku would have to realise on his own. What did Hisashi, an adult who had – believe or not – at one point been a teenager, know.

Seeing Izuku’s signing slow, a sign – ‘heh ’ – of his quirk-euphoria-induced rant nearing an end, Hisashi decided that now was the time to attack a subject that could be either good or bad, but was undoubtably sensitive.

Hisashi chuckled, “I see that you’ve at least picked their quirks apart,” and now, “but what about your classmates? What do you think of them?” Hisashi would deny holding his breath while waiting for the response. Who would tell? His son? Bah, he can’t be trusted, he’s his son!

Izuku noticeably stilled, tilting his head again, as if deciding on his approach. As he seemed to reach a conclusion, his eyes filled with burning anger and his hands shook with emotion as he signed, [Bakugou’s in my class again.]

This time, Hisashi froze, the fork in his hand bending as his grip tightened. He looked up, his gaze angry too, but a smoulder instead of the inferno he could see building in his son. “And?” His voice was low, expectant, matching any and all of the emotions burning in his son’s eyes.

[He tried to attack me.] Hisashi left small trails in the table-top as his nails dragged across it, his grip tightening even further, though sparing the poor utensil that had been put down at that point. Smoke drifted out between clenched teeth.

“Do you want me to do something?” His voice was low, and filled with all the potential danger of a protective parent unleashed. His eyes were shadowed, emphasizing the light in his lime-green eyes. They might not literally burn like his son’s, but that just meant the toxic glow of his eyes looked even more unnatural. As his carefully controlled anger grew, a bloodlust started to seep from Hisashi, washing over the room and filling each crevice of the apartment with his ill intent. Despite being near the epicentre, Izuku was unaffected.

[No. The teacher put a stop to it.] That stopped Hisashi’s anger in its tracks, allowing him to regain his full calm, though suspicion must have shown on his face, because Izuku continued. [I’m pretty sure all of the teachers, if not all the staff are heroes. They’d be bad ones if they let that kind of stuff happen.] Izuku’s eyes took on a more pensive light. [I didn’t recognise my teacher though. Aizawa-sensei is… interesting. He’s very tough, but has pretty realistic expectations.] Izuku’s eyes crinkled at the memory. [He stopped Bakugou and restrained him with a support item. It looked like a white scarf. Also, I think bomberanian couldn’t use his quirk for a bit, and sensei said his quirk hurt his eyes.]

Hisashi thought. A scarf like support item, with a possible eye-based erasure quirk. He’s certain he’s heard of the hero before. It’s on the tip of his tongue. ‘UUUGH! This is gonna annoy me all day.’ Hisashi thought as his brow furrowed in though, ‘although…’

“He’s probably underground. With a quirk like that, ambushing enemies after rendering them quirkless would be the best strategy. If his eyes ache from prolonged use, as he implied, then quick fights are probably his go to method.” Izuku nodded along with his deductions. He may say that Izuku could pick apart a quirk far faster than him, but Hisashi had taught Izuku. An old man would have some tricks of his own.

“Underground heroes are quite the interesting type. They’re much closer to vigilantes than normal heroes. I’ll have to look him up…” Hisashi cupped his chin in thought.

Izuku rolled his eyes as his father fell into a murmuring spree. Honestly. His mother’s controlled rambling, and his father’s uncontrollable muttering had to combine into Izuku’s uncontrolled rambling… though it would be ramble-signing, or sign-rambling, as his father helpfully pointed out.

Snapping his fingers to snap – ‘heh ’ – his father out of his spree, Hisashi looked up at his son sheepishly, before turning that into a full-blown smirk. “Worry not, my son! By today’s end, I will have solved the mystery of your homeroom teacher’s identity, and freed us of the terrible curse of an information gap.” Hisashi spread his arms out dramatically, making himself louder as if he were preaching to a crowd of supporters.

Izuku huffed, a grin in his eyes. [Just don’t get arrested for stalking a hero, especially not my own homeroom teacher. If it got out, I could never live it down.] Hisashi scoffed. “Do you think so little of me, oh son of mine.” He turned his nose up, crossing his arms as he continued his performance, “I would never get caught.”

Shaking with a repressed giggle, Izuku sat back in his seat as his father finished his food. As the last bit of rice disappeared, Hisashi picked up his plate and cutlery, grabbing the empty package of the paste on his way to the kitchen. Izuku got up too, and went to his room to finish dressing and get his bag, while his father cleaned up and got ready to leave as well.

The two of them left their apartment, Hisashi shutting and locking the door, and the two made their way out of the building. They started towards the train station in a comfortable silence. Izuku wore his grey school uniform with its red tie tied… well enough, thanks to some online tutorials – neither one of them was very good at ties. He also carried his old yellow back-pack over one shoulder. It probably should have been replaced by now, but he liked it, and it had sentimental value. Hisashi wore a plain black suit, with his own pre-tied tie shoved into his briefcase somewhere for later use. The top two buttons on his white dress shirt undone, the man enjoyed the breeze, a refreshing feeling to combat the natural heat coming off the two fire quirk users.

Halfway to their destination, Hisashi side-eyed his son. “How are your classmates. We never… got to the rest of them.”

Izuku’s scowl was hidden under his mask, but Hisashi knew it was there. [One of them called me… that name. Said they’d heard from explodo-boy. Why they then thought it was then a good idea to call me that, I have no clue.]

Hisashi looked forward again and hummed. “Did something happen?”

[I told them not to call me that again. Might have been a bit aggressive, but I needed to make sure. I don’t know how the others see him yet, but if yesterday was any indication, it’s gonna be the same old shit again.]

“Language.” The older of the two said absent-mindedly, his gaze in the middle distance as he thought. “How did they react?”

[I’m pretty sure I made my point that I didn’t like it. They understood.] Izuku didn’t want to mention getting in their face or the quirk use. He knew what his father would say. He didn’t want to hear it today.

“Hmm.” Hisashi knew there was something his son omitted in his description of events. That sounded like much too tame a response to the horrible nickname being used again, but he’d let that slide for now. There were more important things to discuss.

“If they truly didn’t mean it, they will apologize. Either today, or in the next week. It would be in character for a young, idealistic UA hero-to-be to, due to their overenthusiasm, speak without thinking and, realising they’ve committed a blunder, feel either guilt or regret.” Hisashi kept going, ignoring his son’s attempt to interject. “I doubt that they would openly aim to antagonise you so early in the year. Remember: observation is key. Your classmates watch and profile you just as much as you do them,” Hisashi raised an eyebrow at his son, “and I’m sure that the quirk apprehension test made an impression.” The man shrugged. “Sometimes though, people are just like that. Your classmate, in this case, may have thought, through some leap in logic, that it was a term of…” he sneered slightly in disgust,” endearment…” He schooled his expression, “It is possible that, in their rush to create a connection with a classmate, they made a mistake, accidentally prodding a sore spot that was unknown to them.”

Izuku stared at his father, disbelief showing through his posture. As he raised his hands, no doubt to try and deny the idea, Hisashi raised his hand and stopped him.

[ Just… give them a chance.] Hisashi signed, smiling softly at his son as they reached the train station. [It’s the start of the year, and there’s a lot that can happen.] They stopped at the gate to Izuku’s train, [At least… try. For now. Please? ]

Izuku stared at his father, who could read at least one of the many shifting emotions coming off his son at a time. Indignation, disbelief, a split second of anguish – that one stung Hisashi, right in the heart – and finally, it stopped at a bone-deep tiredness, but there was resolve there too.

[Fine… one chance.] Izuku signed. Hisashi smiled, ruffling his son’s hair. ‘It is getting a bit long. Mine is too, now that I look at it… a haircut is probably in order soon.’ “That’s all I ask, and all they deserve, kiddo.”

Hisashi patted Izuku’s shoulder, and they stood there for a second. Then, Hisashi’s face split into a large smile. He patted Izuku’s shoulder one last time, before turning around and walking off. “Have fun, little star!”

Izuku’s ears reddened at the childish nickname, before he rolled his eyes and made his way through the gate, and onto his train.

The green-haired teen pondered his father’s advice during the journey to UA. As he reached the entrance to the main building, Izuku shrugged, deciding that he would accept that what his dad said had merit, but that he would take a passive approach. If they wanted to apologize, they could come to him. He wouldn’t waste energy on those not remorseful enough to make an effort to apologize. Nodding to himself as he reached the door to his class, the mask-wearing teen squared his shoulders and opened the door, walking into the room filled with noise only a mostly filled class of semi-nervous teenagers could produce. He ignored the feeling of eyes on him as he made his way to his desk across the class – which was directly behind him because of-fucking-course it is. Nearly five years on and it’s the same shit again. The only silver lining in the dark clouds of bullshit that was that he seemed to ignore Izuku for the most part – ‘When he wasn’t attacking me, that is.’ – and keep his eyes towards the front of the room.

The green-haired teen took his seat, pulling out his notebook for the first lesson, before spending the rest of the remaining time scrolling through the news. If he had looked up from the article detailing an attempted jewellery store robbery that Kamui Woods had put a stop to, Izuku would have noticed a certain brown-haired girl glancing furtively at him, repeatedly.

The brown-haired girl in question was trying to pull together some scraps of courage, and go and talk to the green-haired boy. Every time she’d take a glance to try and gauge his mood, he would be reading on his phone, his face blank and unreadable. The mask that covered half his face certainly didn’t help. The mask he could apparently use to speak?

She had so many questions! Like: ‘Why didn’t he speak before them?’ and ‘Did he mean for it to sound so scary?’ but also, and she was sure it was on everybody’s mind, ‘Why does he wear that thing anyway?’

It wasn’t like Midoriya was the only kid in the class with a face-mask. The tall, six-armed, white-haired teen also wore a mask that covered the bottom half of his face, but his masked looked like cloth, and Uraraka was pretty sure she’d seen the guy turn on of his arm-ends into a mouth to speak at one point, so their situations were definitely not the same.

In any case, those questions could wait. She had made a classmate mad at her at the very start of the year! Even worse, that classmate had saved her butt during the entrance exam! That was terrible! Ungrateful too! Not only that, but she might have to work with him later in the year, and a poor relationship between working-partners would lead to a poor result and a poor grade afterwards! Then she might be kicked out if her scores suffered too much and she’ddisappointherparents…

Cutting herself off before she could spiral any further, the zero-gravity-quirked girl shook her head. Absolutely not! That will not do at all! She will just apologize, and hopefully, Midoriya will forgive her and they’ll move on… even if they didn’t become friends afterwards…

Just as Uraraka had built up the courage to cross the room and talk to the boy she’d unknowingly insulted the day before, the bell rang and, with it, came Aizawa. Uraraka slumped in her chair, defeated. As she half-listened to what the teacher was saying, she decided that, next opportunity she got, she would definitely go and apologize.

When one thinks of UA high-school, a school made famous by it’s popular, but highly competitive, hero course, one tends to think of constant physical and mental training, pushing quirks to the breaking point, and the pushing beyond, or even constant battles between students in order to claim the top spot. However, those are all the thoughts of either outsiders or extremely new students. UA, for all its glitz and glamour, for all the massive training sites and pro-hero teachers, is still a high-school, so academics are remarkably normal. Sure, the levels are higher than most other schools, and the pacing is so insane even the worst students at UA are considered very much above average, but they still cover most of the basic educational categories. Maths, history, and literature are definitely more captivating when a pro-hero is the one instructing you, but they’re still the same subjects. There were some stand-outs, such as having the R-rated heroine, Midnight, teaching a room full of teenagers about art history was certainly… an experience. Maybe even a religious one for a certain small, purple student and another with a black lightning bolt colouring their otherwise yellow hair. It was cool to see the usually explicit heroine be so passionate about a relatively niche and academic field of study.

There were also hero-centric courses, such as hero laws, or heroic codes of conduct, as well as the politics and history behind the creation of these codes and laws. History was important to learn from, not only to avoid repeating old mistakes, as the saying goes, but to understand the basis upon which society is built. Especially entering the field for which the hero course was preparing the students for, understanding of where the rules and the job came from would allow for an expanded perspective and, hopefully, an improved quality of heroes.

Eventually, the morning classes came to an end, and Izuku packed up the notebook to the last class – English was, despite Present Mic’s – who’d asked to be called Yamada-sensei – admirable attempt at making the class fun in some capacity with his exuberant personality, a Frankenstein’s monster of a language built out of whatever it had robbed off other languages. A truly horrifying thing – and waited for the scramble of hungry teenagers towards the door and to lunch. Allowing for a generous amount of space between himself and the melee, Izuku slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the door. As he reached the front of the class, Yamada-sensei called out to grab his attention. “Hey, listener!” Midoriya turned to the teacher. “You might have already gotten an email or something about this, but Recovery Girl has your medical file.” Izuku stiffened. This could mean any number of things. “She got a hold of the company that makes the nutrient packs you need to eat and managed to get a regular supply into the school. So, the kitchens have a supply ready for you. All you’ll need to do is ask whoever is serving, which will most likely be Lunch Rush.” Izuku untensed, though he was still left surprised. This was above and beyond what he’d expected from teachers, based purely on past experience.

Izuku nodded, glad that, out of all the teachers he’d had direct interactions with so far, all of them had exceeded his expectations when it came to directly caring for their charges, something his previous teachers seemed to think was separate from their jobs. UA really was a school of the highest calibre.

As he made to exit the class again, the teacher spoke again. “Also, there was something I was wondering. I can guess that spoken language lessons aren’t the most helpful for you,” he gestured at the student’s mask, drawing a raised eyebrow in response, “and I was wondering if you would be interested in taking extra language classes focused around sign language. I know that you use JSL, but what about… ASL for example?” Izuku stared at his teacher for a bit, before slowly shaking his head. Present Mic smiled and nodded. “Yeah. It takes place after school, and there are students from other classes and courses who take as well. And don’t worry,” Yamada-sensei interrupted before Izuku could do so himself, “I know you have medical appointments, so you will be allowed to be absent, as long as you tell me beforehand. Y’know? Just so everyone isn’t freaking out wondering where you are.” The blond pro hero made finger guns and grinned. “So, would you be interested?”

Izuku considered this. It would be helpful. Knowing more languages would allow for a wider range of potential operations as an actual hero, and knowing another language is cool in and of itself. He would have to tell his dad, and the doctor of the extra class, but Mic had said he was allowed to miss it…

Izuku made up his mind, and nodded. Present Mic beamed at him, giving him a thumbs up as Izuku turned exited the classroom. “Awesome! Be seeing ya soon, then!” the teacher loudly said as the green-haired student left and made his way to the cafeteria.

Izuku followed the signs on the walls, and eventually the noise of countless students trying to speak over each other while eating at the same time, though he was sure that as people grew to become more familiar with each other, the noise would grow as well.

After finally reaching the cafeteria, Izuku’s ears were assaulted with the cacophony of the room as he made his way to the line. Waiting for his turn as the line moved forward, the green-haired teen glanced around the room, looking for a suitably empty spot to enjoy his mean in relative peace. He reached the front of the queue, unfortunately less than successful in his quest of spotting a suitably isolated seat. Taking the two nutrient packs from the hero in charge of the kitchens – ‘Lunch Rush, one of if not the premier support hero and world-renown chef. He’s really an underrated hero. It’s a shame I can’t enjoy his cooking.’ – Izuku nodded to the hero, receiving a nod and thumbs up in response – and no doubts mask-wearer solidarity as well, though Izuku had never heard the story of why Lunch Rush wore his mask. It looked like a wider version of the feeding tube Izuku used, though there exists the possibility that the teen may just be projecting.

His meal in hand, Izuku turned away and made his way out of the noisy cafeteria to find somewhere isolated to eat. Had the young man looked around before leaving, he may have noticed a certain brown-haired girl nervously waving in the air, seemingly in order to catch his attention. The waving limb lowered dejectedly when Izuku left through the doors without a single glance back.

Stalking through the halls, Izuku tried to think of somewhere empty he could eat. It wasn’t that he was afraid of eating in front of others or anything, but the process of consuming the nutrient packs was a very private experience for him. An experience he had only shared with two people, one of which was his father. His doctor didn’t count, seeing as he was the one who designed and tested the system before giving it to Izuku. That’s not to say Izuku didn’t use it in front of the doctor, he just hadn’t chosen to. There was a comfort in the fact that the doctor didn’t look at Izuku differently for it. The old man had a sort of apathy towards anything that wasn’t improving Izuku’s health or the technology for his patients’ lifestyle, that made it easy be around the doctor.

Pulling on past experiences, Izuku headed to the roof, saving the toilet stall idea as a plan B, in case the roof was already in use. Thankfully, it was empty; probably due to it being the start of the year and people wanting to stay in groups. Safety in numbers and all that, even if they were currently in a fortress pretending to be a school. Izuku, personally, hadn’t subscribed to that doctrine for years, but for now, he’d appreciate the peace it brought him. He’d probably have to find an alternative once people became more comfortable with their surroundings, but Izuku decided to cross that bridge when he got to it.

Sitting down near a corner of the roof with his back to the chain fence and a view of the door, Izuku went about the process of setting up the feeding mechanism, all the while keeping an eye and ear out for anything that could come through the door. As the first pack of paste was connected to his mask – apparently it was Katsudon flavoured, so there was a pleasant taste he could imagine – he let his mind drift a little. Classes were interesting, and he couldn’t deny having pros as teachers was cool, but there was still the Hero class to come after lunch, so he’d refrain from an overall judgement until that was over with. Speaking of his teachers, Izuku considered his experiences so far with them to be positive. Even ignoring Aizawa yesterday, his teachers were accommodating to his muteness – not that anyone seemed aware that it was only partial, except for the two from yesterday, and they hadn’t seemed to have told anyone – and Present Mic even went the extra mile in inviting him to the sign language classes. He couldn’t decide if it was because they were heroes, actually competent and caring teachers, or just nice people, but they already far outclassed any teachers he’d had in the past – though a part of him muttered and growled in his mind that it was only because he wasn’t quirkless.

His classmates were… enthusiastic. He hadn’t interacted with the two from yesterday again, so they probably didn’t want to approach him anymore. ‘Another point to me dad.’ Izuku thought bitterly to himself. Ba– he had seemingly gathered another small clique, if what Izuku had seen and heard from a certain table meant anything. Overly enthusiastic and loud, all of them. How the bomberainian had recruited them was anyone’s guess, but Izuku didn’t give it any more thought – he didn’t want his already tasteless meal turning sour after all.

Finishing the first nutrient pack, Izuku detached it and attached the second. He’d added an extra pack to his meal to give himself plenty of energy for the hero class. He had no doubt it would be physically demanding, and it wouldn’t do to run out of steam before the end. He didn’t want anyone to think he was easy prey weak, or that he couldn’t pull his weight. As the pack’s content was pulled in by the mask’s systems, he contemplated his next class. He’d heard rumours that All Might was teaching at UA this year, but those seemed to pop up each year, so he’d ignored them, though his father apparently hadn’t ignored them, despite historical evidence pointing to them being false. Hisashi had even offered a bet, which Izuku had accepted because why would he turn down such an easy win?

Still, it was an interesting thought: having the number one hero teaching them. All Might would surely have invaluable lessons, learned during his lengthy career, that could be applicable in dozens of scenarios, and the man’s vast experience would make him a well of wisdom to draw from… but that was all moot, seeing as there was no way in hell, of all the years All Might had been a hero, Izuku’s year would be the one lucky enough to have the number one teach them.

The green-haired teen checked his phone as the second pack emptied. Noticing he had a little under ten minutes before the start of class, Izuku removed the pack and reset the feeding system. Getting back to his feet, he stretched, before making his way back to his class, aiming to get there a little early. He was not willing to interact with his more hyperactive classmates… or any of them, really.

Walking through halls towards the oversized door, Izuku allowed himself to ponder the identity of the teacher one last time, before shaking his head with a quiet huff.

‘Doesn’t matter, I’ll find out soon anyways. Whoever it is, it’ll be a hero employed by UA, so they’ll competent and experienced.’ Izuku thought as he made his way to his seat, the desk in front of his being mercifully empty.

Izuku allowed himself a mental grin as he gazed out the window, ignoring the other students filtering in as the warning bell rung. ‘This’ll be the easiest money ever.’

All the students eventually returned and took their seats, nervous energy barely contained as twenty pairs of eyes watched the door like hawks. This was what the hero course was all about. The academics were high level, sure, and the teachers being pro heroes was awesome, but the hero course was what made UA high school the world-renowned academy it is today. This is the course that produced the majority of the top ten heroes in Japan, including the number one hero, All Might! How couldn’t they be pumped for this?

As the nervous energy reached a peak, and Izuku was pretty sure at least one of the students was literally vibrating, the door burst open with a gust of wind, and a loud, booming voice. A voice which every person in Japan could recognise.

“I AM… COMING THROUGH THE DOOR, LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!” rang through the class.

‘No way…’ Izuku stared, bewildered, his eyes the size of dinner-plates.

The class erupted into cheers, the energy that had been building up amplifying an exploding as the most recognizable blond giant in Japan strode into the classroom, his step certain, and his signature grin on his face.

“It’s All Might!”

“Holy shit! It’s really him!”

“I can’t believe those rumours were true!”

“He’s even wearing his silver age costume!”

“Woaah! So cool!”

‘No fucking way!’ Izuku stared in disbelief as the All Might stood front and centre before a class of students absolutely losing their minds, his grin seemingly growing wider as he observed the enthusiastic chaos his entry had caused. As the yelling and cheering subsided, the number one hero spoke.

“Indeed students, it is I, All Might, and I AM HERE!... to teach you the fundamentals of heroics!!”

As the class was set off a second time, Izuku slumped in his seat. The temptation to arrange a high-speed meeting between his desk and head was strong, but with an effort that could only be described as heroic, he refrained himself. As the class lost its collective shit at the prospect of being taught by the greatest hero in all of Japan, Izuku could only sigh quietly, mourning the loss of three-months worth of pocket money. He could only imagine how smug his father would be when he told him.

Chapter Text

Yagi Toshinori –though he was All Might right now– stood before the twenty students of class 1-A, his hands on his hips and his smile widening further as the class went wild… again. Really, what an excited group of students, all brimming with energy and anticipation. Oh, All Might was aware of people’s reactions when he interacted with them, often ranging from awe to pure adoration –which could get a bit creepy at times– but he never grew tired of the way people got excited in his presence, and, taking a quick glance around the room, with all the students smiling and cheering, his already good mood was definitely improving. It was a stark contrast to how it was when he was young, and he smiled wider. All those years, all that work… definitely worth it.

“HAHAHA! I’m glad to see you’re all as excited for this as I am!” Toshinori watched as the class settled down again, though that energy was still there, simmering under the surface. “Now! For your first heroics class, we’ll be throwing you into the action from the start!” All Might reached into the pocket of his costume, before swinging himself into a pose, his cape flaring as he presented a card to the class on which was written, “BATTLE TRAINING!”

“But!” Toshinori interrupted before the class could cheer again. He loved seeing their excitement, but he’d best move along to the main event, or else they may find themselves short on time. “A hero needs all of the tools and support at their disposal!” With a flourish, metal cabinets popped out of the wall to All Might’s left, opening up to reveal metal cases with numbers from 1 to 20 on the front. “Gather your costumes cases, and meet me at ground B! There, I will give you the rest of your instructions and we can TRULY BEGIN!” With a final flex for effect, All Might dashed off to designated area ahead of the students. He needed to check and prep the site before they arrived, and maybe save a bit of time on his transformation. He wasn’t really pushing it today, but even an extra second could be of use, and it always took some pressure off of his lone lung when he wasn’t disobeying doctors’ orders and using his quirk. The last thing he heard as he made his way out of the door, was the scraping or chairs on wooden flooring as the students rushed out of their seats to grab their hero outfits.

Toshinori smiled to himself as he reached ground B. ‘Aaah… the energy of the youth is truly something. Now let us see what they’re made of.’

Izuku sighed as his classmates rushed for their cases, waiting until the crowd died down before grabbing his own, the large 18 on the side glinting as he pulled it from its cabinet space. He then left the room, following behind the main crowd towards the changing room.

After finding an empty stall in the boys changing room, Izuku undressed, before opening up his case. He glared at the green and black ensemble he’d be wearing, before sighing again. ‘This is pointless,’ he thought, ‘I may as well be wearing the gym uniform.’ Pulling on his costume, he stared at himself in the small mirror of the cubicle. The black and dark green hoody worked well with his mask, and the thin undershirt he wore, coupled with his high resistance to temperature changes made it quite comfortable. ‘Like a nice, comfy blanket.’ The black combat pants were loose enough to allow for movement, while also being tight enough to not catch on anything. He wore no gloves. That would only hinder his quirk use, and when he managed to get through the material, the glove would be damaged anyway, it was a complete waste of uniform budget. He filled his pretty large pockets with some useful miscellaneous (and fireproof) tools as well as some medical kits that came in the case, as requested. ‘As long as they’re all easily replaceable, then it should be fine.’

As he finished dressing, Izuku admired the only relatively impressive part of the whole thing. The red boots had a metallic sheen, and he could spot more black, mechanical parts on the soles, ‘Probably the mechanism I asked for to help with focusing the fire. Glad they got that.’ He decided to tuck the hem of the pants into the boots.

Leaving the stall, he noticed a little over half of the changing room was empty, and made his way out, pulling the hood of his jumpsuit over his head and casting his face into shadows as the final touch. That was one aesthetic choice he’d decided to keep, even after removing the two ‘ears’ from the hood – he could still remember his dad’s bad jokes about that choice. Although…

Izuku paused and patted the top of the hood. ‘Phew… he was actually joking…’

After his father had seen Izuku’s previous hood design, he had joked about different accessories Izuku could have stuck to his head. Suggestions had included candles, along with antlers and… hands? For some reason?

Then Izuku had sent in his design, and Hisashi had asked his son what he had thought about the horns Hisashi had added to the hood. Izuku had stared at the man for a solid twenty seconds, absolutely horrified, and the so-called adult had stared right back. Then Hisashi had started cackling and escaped the room, his son chasing him and signing everything from frantic pleading for it to be a joke, to violent threats to the man’s continued well-being.

In any case, he didn’t have horns on his hood, thank any deities looking out for him. ‘Though, now that I think about it…’

The green and black-clad teen exited the tunnel, banishing the last thought to a later date and shoving his hands in his hoody’s large front pocket. He went to stand far behind the mass of students congregating in front of All Might, content to observe the crowd. As he stood back, the teen watched his classmates interact with each other. He watched different students gather together and form into their cliques. He noted with irritation that the main source of his anger in the classroom had gathered another group. ‘Probably cronies and pleasers again. Annoying and a potential source of problems in the future.’ Izuku wanted to scowl. ‘It won’t be the same as before. I won’t allow it to be the same as before.’

Izuku moved his attention away from that group, leaning against the back wall. He waited patiently for the class to start, staring blankly into the distance before his gaze landed on the number one hero standing at the front of the room.

Now, Izuku didn’t hate All Might. One might be so bold as to say that Izuku admired All Might, and might be a bit of a super-fan of the legendary hero. That said, as cool as the man’s presence was, and the fact that he was actually teaching the class Izuku was currently a part of, Izuku had lost a not insignificant amount of money because the man was here. Especially in today’s economy. So, while the man was a world class hero, responsible for the detainment of hundreds, if not thousands of criminals, credited with saving at least ten times as many lives, and the bearer of the prestigious title of The Symbol of Peace –as well as being completely clueless about what he had done– Izuku couldn’t help but glare half-heartedly at the man. It wasn’t All Might’s fault, but Izuku someone had to take the blame.

Busy glaring at the symbol of peace, the green-haired teen didn’t notice someone approaching him. This someone had brown hair, roundish cheeks with a perpetual blush, and very nervous expression on her face.

As Uraraka got within Midoriya’s field of view, his gaze snapped to her, green eyes burning as the teen in the green hoody stared the girl down. She gulped, trying to get a read on the boy’s mood before she started, but what could be seen of his face was completely blank, leaving only the unnameable intensity radiating from the dark green suns. And that intensity wasn’t really any help, if Uraraka was being honest.

Calling on the last of her nerves, Uraraka Ochako stood straight. She had been building up to this all day, gathering the courage and confidence to try and talk to Midoriya and apologize for what she had said the day before. She had tried in the cafeteria, but that had fallen through when the boy left having either ignored or not seen her –though she could admit to herself she hadn’t really tried as hard as she could have to catch his attention.

Marching up to the teen, she stood before him, looking Midoriya right in the eyes and trying to keep her calm and squash the nervousness that threatened to mute her. She was going to be a hero, dammit! She couldn’t let something like this stop her!

After a second or two, Uraraka bowed, before letting her apology rush out of her. “I’m really sorry for what I said to you yesterday! I didn’t mean to offend or insult you! Pleaseforgiveme!”

Izuku, on his end was stunned. Yeah, what she had said had been rude and stupid, but he hadn’t expected such a loud, formal, and –if what he could read from how she was acting was right– honest apology. He hadn’t been expecting an apology at all, in fact, so this was certainly a surprise; though a pleasant one, to be sure. His old classmates would never have apologized for something like this, and even in cases where they were forced to, it was always snide and insincere; as if they were blaming him for their own wrongdoings.

Izuku sighed as he realized something else: his dad had been right… again. He’d been right twice in one day! He was going to be insufferable. If Izuku wasn’t certain that the man had a fire quirk, he would have started to wonder if his father had some form of prescience quirk. ‘Though I did read about those mystics before the age of quirks that could supposedly see into the future, so maybe…’

Before Izuku could fall into the rabbit hole of the conspiracy theory regarding his dad’s knowledge of future events and whether or not it would be legal for him to gamble, Midoriya noticed his brown-haired classmate was still bowing in front of him. She was starting to tremble as well, though whether that was because of the uncomfortable position or the girl’s nerves were finally getting to her due to his own non-reaction to her apology was a mystery.

Deciding to put an end to this, Izuku waved his hand in front of Uraraka’s face, which was still facing the ground, to get her attention. The girl rose up, and Izuku regarded her a bit longer, before starting to sign.

[Fine, but why did you think it was ok to call me that?]

Uraraka winced apologetically. “Sorry, my JSL is a little rusty, but I think I saw a ‘why’ in there somewhere, right? Like, why did I call you that?”

‘Ehhh… Close enough.’ Izuku nodded and, in response, Uraraka looked away sheepishly, her hands rising in front of her and her indexes tapping together. “Uh, well… I heard the loud, blond boy call you that… and I thought it sounded cute, you know! Like Dekiru! Has a real ‘you can do it’ vibe, right?” Uraraka seemed to get more excited as her explanation went on, turning to back to look at Izuku, before noticing the flat and unimpressed stare she was getting in response. She winced again. “Yeah... in hindsight, he probably didn’t mean it that way…”

Izuku was almost sure his eyes would fly from his skull and escape into orbit with how hard he rolled them, but before Uraraka could start worrying again, he decided to be diplomatic. If this was a false apology, then there was nothing to be lost if this was all there was to be, but if she was sincere –and she at least looked sincere, or was a very good actress– then… well this could be interesting.

Midoriya took out a small notepad from one of his pockets. The material of the notepad was laminated and specially treated, giving it a higher-than-normal tolerance to the heat, and his pens were basically dry-erase markers. On the front page, he wrote a short message.

[MY NAME IS MIDORIYA IZUKU. IT IS NICE TO MEET YOU.]

He stuck out his hand to Uraraka, intent on showing he was burying the hatchet. She looked between it and his face hesitantly, before grabbing and shaking it with a surprising amount of strength, while keeping her pinkie finger lifted. Her smile was so bright it could give the sun itself a run for its money. Izuku considered the brown-haired girl as she let go of him and began talking about the upcoming class, speculating on what exercises they could be running and how she would go about them. She was certainly interesting; friendly as well. He ignored the small spark in his chest that might have been something other than disdain. It was probably not important. Those sparks were rarely not disdain or the start of anger, so he was probably wrong anyways.

As Midoriya settled back into his comfortable position with his new acquaintance seemingly content to stay near him, a suit or armour marched robotically towards the two, the ringing steps contrasting with the smooth movement of the joints. As the suit closed in on them, it stopped, and bowed. “I must apologize as well! Had I realised that that nickname was so offensive to you, I would have stepped in sooner, or at least apologised sooner!” ‘Oh, so that was Iida in there… I reeeally should have seen the engine legs…’

Midoriya waved it off, and without thought, signed [Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t have known.]

Iida nodded, but when he spoke, his voice still sounded contrite coming from behind his helmet. “I should have known, though. It was quite obviously an insult, and it went right over my head!”

Izuku was about to wave the comment off again, when he stopped, then stared at the tall blue-haired teen. [You know sign?]

The suit of modern looking armour puffed out its chest. “Of course, I can understand sign! It is an essential skill for future heroes for discretely communicating with colleagues during operations, as well as comforting civilians who are unable to communicate vocally!”

Uraraka, who had been looking between the two seeming a bit lost, ducked her head. “Yeah… that does sound useful…” She perked up and pumped her fist, grinning and determined. “Well, I guess I’m gonna need to study and catch up to be the best hero I can be!” Her eyes widened suddenly, as if realising something. “Oh! Also, you both look super cool, guys! You look like a real knight in shining armour Iida-kun, like from fairy tales!” She turned to Izuku. “And I like the hood, Midoriya-kun! Real mysterious! And when you do that scary things with your eyes, it really makes them look brighter!” exclaimed Uraraka in what seemed to be her typical upbeat style.

‘She’s blunt…’

“Although…” Uraraka looked Midoriya up and down, “It really is a simple costume. Don’t you wanna stand out?”

Izuku looked at Iida, who seemed to understand what was requested. [My quirk doesn’t play well with whatever I wear. So, I decided to just go with something replaceable and simple. No point blowing lots of money on something elaborate that will end up being destroyed.] Iida translated dutifully to Uraraka, who frowned a bit, before nodding. “That makes sense. I can see the logic behind not spending too much on something that won’t last.” She tugged at her costume, her perpetual blush deepening. “Personally, I was pretty sure I sent in the right measurements, but my costume seems kinda tight.”

“If you don’t like it, you can always ask for changes to be made,” interjected another voice, “Pro Heroes do it all the time, and UA pays for costume changes and upgrades for students, since we’re all figuring things out at this point.”

The three turned to the new voice, which seemed to be coming from a tall girl with long black hair done in a high pony-tail, giving it a spiky look. What happened to draw the trio’s eyes about the girl though –and made the two boys very thankful for their face coverings which were doing admirable jobs of hiding the blushes– was the… minimalist costume the girl was wearing. It looked like a swimsuit that had been given the challenge of using as little material as physically possible, giving the world a hint of the girls –ahem– assets. Aside from that, the tall raven-haired girl had tall red boots, what looked like large white belts acting as a skirt of sorts, a what looked to be a large book hanging off her waist.

‘Wow… those have got to kill her back…’

‘What sheer confidence!’

‘She’s definitely going to get cold in winter…’

Uraraka recovered first. “Really? That’s good to know. Thanks for the advice!”

The tall girl smiled at the brunette, before seeming to realise something. “Oh! How rude of me. Forgive my lack of manners, I am Yaoyorozu Momo, it is a pleasure to meet you and I hope we can get along.”

‘Right,’ Midoriya narrowed his eyes, hidden by the shadow cast by his hood, ‘she’s the one who came first in yesterday’s test. She can make stuff from her skin.’ He allowed himself a quick once-over of the girl’s costume. ‘That’s probably why it’s so open. I wonder what her quirk’s limits are…’

Then Yaoyorozu turned her attention to Midoriya. “Also, I saw what you signed before, about your clothes usually becoming damaged by your quirk.” She carried on, oblivious to the look of surprise on Midoriya’s face. ‘Someone else who can speak JSL. Cool.’

“Have you considered using Quirk Adaptive Material?”

Izuku tilted his head. [I don’t know what that is.]

The tall girl nodded. “It’s a relatively new technique that’s only recently been put on the market. I’m pretty sure quite a few support companies that UA uses have bought the right to use the patent, so it should not be too hard to acquire a costume that uses it. Essentially, it’s a costume that uses a fabric with the wearer’s DNA encoded in it, typically using hair,” –Izuku grimaced. That sounded gross– “in order to let the person’s quirk pass through the material without damaging it.”

She smiled at Midoriya, who was somewhere between dazed and surprised. “That should solve your clothing destruction problem.” Yaoyorozu turned contemplative. “Although, I’m not sure if the method has been approved for civilian use, since it’s such a personal adjustment. Maybe with a tailor… I’ll have to ask my parents.”

Izuku was still dazed. The thought that he could use his quirk to its fullest and not be naked when he was done was incredibly appealing, but the fact that he hadn’t found out about such an advancement before-hand horrified him. ‘Am I slacking on my research? Losing my touch? ’

As Midoriya had a silent crisis, Iida chopped the air. “Thank you for that increadibly valuable information, Yaoyorozu-san! That was all extremely helpful! Though I must ask, why not use such a material yourself, and design a more protective costume accordingly? Though I’m not denying that such a lightweight costume would be helpful with your mobility and quirk use!”

‘Nice save, you dolt.’

The tall girl smiled, though it seemed more muted, before shaking her head gently. “No, it wouldn’t work for me. When I use my quirk, it doesn’t involve my hair at all in the process, so such a costume would be ineffective, and we haven’t come far enough to design self-healing clothing yet, unfortunately.” She frowned slightly, before adding, “I assumed that when Midoriya-san used his quirk, his fireproofing spread to his hair.” She looked back to the green-haired boy in question, who had since pulled himself from his crisis, “but if I am wrong, I do apologise. Otherwise, it should work for you.”

Izuku could only give her a thumbs up to show she was right, and she beamed back at him in response, though the green-haired teen couldn’t really focus right now. He had so much to think about! All the new costumes… the materials… all the new possibilities this opened up!

Before he could fall into a thought spiral, the last students arrived, and All Might cleared his throat to gather the attention of the class.

“They say a hero can be made or unmade by their equipment, and, to me… YOU ALL ALREADY LOOK THE PART!” the number one hero said with a thumbs up.

“I want you all to look around now. Look around at your classmates, your fellow hero students, and then look down at yourselves. What you may have put on in those changing rooms may have been costumes, but now… NOW, THEY ARE UNIFORMS! Symbols of your dedication to heroism, to the upholding of justice, and to the protection of those who cannot protect themselves against the many dangers our world holds. Memorise this moment. Because now, NOW ALL OF YOUR JOURNEYS REALLY BEGIN!” All Might what he said ring through the room, trying to infuse into the minds of the teenagers before him the enormity of what has happened, what has commenced and, at a glance, he seemed to be succeeding. The young hero students seem to be realising truly what has happened… what that small change in terminology means. As his gaze went from person to person, he saw backs straighten, hands clench, and faces set, thought underneath, the excitement was still present, indeed it was practically tangible, even from where All Might was standing. The students he was entrusted to guiding towards becoming heroes all looked more determined than ever by that realisation.

All Might’s grin widened. ‘What a promising class!’

“NOW THEN! I’m sure you’re all as excited as I am to get started, so let us not delay any further!” With the introduction out of the way and the students sufficiently hyped, the number one hero pulled a pad of paper out of his pocket, and got to work reading the script for the day’s exercise.

‘A script…’

“Two villains have holed themselves up in a five-story building in the middle of the city. They are guarding a bomb set to detonate in fifteen minutes, which has the potential to cause untold damage to the surrounding area. A two-hero team has been set up to enter the building and either disable the villains or disarm the bomb.” All Might packed the script away and looked back at towards the crowd. “In short, the villains win by defeating the heroes, or by stalling long enough for the time to run out. Heroes win by capturing the villains, or disarming the bomb. To ‘disarm’ the bomb, all the heroes need to do is touch it. Capturing can be done by either side using this white capture tape you will all be provided.” All Might showed off a roll of white tape as he spoke. “Any questions?”

“We’re doing this without basic training?”

“If we fail, will we be expelled?”

“How are the teams going to be selected?”

“~ Doesn’t this cape look fabulous? ~”

All Might’s grin seemed to strain as he raised his hands to try and corral the questioning. “Calm down, calm down. My quirk isn’t super hearing. One at a time, please.”

Iida’s hand shot straight up at Mach speed, managing to reach higher than the others through sheer tenacity, it seemed. The blond hero pointed his way. “All Might-sensei, how will the teams be chosen?”

“An excellent question!” The teacher reached behind him and pulled out a large box. “In this box is a set of balls and each has a letter on it. There are two balls for each letter in order to set up teams of two. The computer will then match a hero and villain team against each other randomly.”

Iida’s hand shot up again as he exclaimed, “Is that really the best way to do things? Surely we should decide on our teammates ourselves in order to ensure maximum efficacy!”

This time, Yaoyorozu came to the rescue. “Heroes don’t always get to choose who they work with when they’re out in the field.” She held her chin in one hand, her other arm crossed across her chest. “This method would be quite a realistic simulation of such circumstances.”

“Ah, of course! My apologies for interrupting, sensei.” The armour-clad teen bowed deeply to the now flustered teacher.

“Erm, yes… YES, THAT IS RIGHT, YAOYOROZU-KUN. Field work is often unpredictable, and heroes have to be able to work with anyone! Now, come up and pick your teams, zygotes!”

As a procession was made towards the box in All Might’s hands, all that a certain green-haired, fire-quirk using teen could think was ‘Not him Not him Not him Not him, please to all the gods that do or don’t exist, do me a solid just this once and give me a team member that is not him!’

As Midoriya pulled a ball from the box, he saw the white ball with an ‘A’ in the side. He searched the crowd for his team-mate, before someone tapped him on the shoulder. Whipping around and trying to ignore the goose-bumps that spread across his skin, he saw a white ball with an ‘A’ on it being held by a pair of floating blue gloves.

“Hey! I guess we’re working together on this!” The floating gloves – and white boots now that Izuku got a good look – said in a noticeably feminine voice. “My name’s Hagakure! I hope we can get along!” She motioned energetically with her hands as she spoke, giving off a very upbeat vibe. Izuku raised his hands and started to sign. [Midoriya. What can-] before Hagakure cut him off, sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know sign.” She pulled off one her gloves, leaving nothing behind. “It’d be kind of hard to use it in the field, ya know?” Izuku could only stare at her. ‘That… could be a problem.’ Before pulling out his note pad, scribbling a message and showing it to her.

[MIDORIYA. I CAN MAKE A LOT OF FIRE AND CONTROL IT. BUT CONTROL GETS WORSE AS I MAKE MORE. YOU?]

Izuku tried to keep it short and quick, conveying the message whilst also moving along so they could spend time to plan and observe the other students.

“Well… I’m invisible, so that’s kinda obvious.” Her gloves pointed at herself. “But I’m also pretty good at stealth, so I can move quietly when I want.” She giggled at that. “You didn’t even notice me coming up behind you!”

Izuku nodded at that, before tilting his head. Their team was an odd combination of a stealth specialist and a combat specialist with a focus on wide scale attacks. This wouldn’t be ideal for his preferred strategies.

[HOW WELL CAN YOU FIGHT?]

That was kind of essential to know for the exercise, and Hagakure’s gloves made a so-so gesture. “I mean, I know the basics, but nothing too advanced.” A blue glove pumped in a fist, seeming to regain her peppiness, “but if I catch ‘em by surprise, then they’ll definitely go down!” She mimed some karate chops, no doubt trying to look threatening, “I’m silent and deadly. Like a ninja!”

The green-haired teen could only wonder which god was punishing him now. ‘… Right… a ninja…’

Ignoring what his partner had just said, Izuku turned his attention to the board showing the team combinations. He watched as the teams on the board shuffled, before the matches were set.

‘Welp, so much for spending time observing and planning.’

All Might glanced at the board before turning back to the crowd, his signature grin on full display. “Lucky teams A and H are starting us off today! Those teams may head towards the designated building.”

As Midoriya and Hagakure stepped out of the crowd to collect their ear pieces and make their way towards the door, Izuku eyed their opposition. Both were taller than him, thought the red-head was only slightly taller than him, and they were both strongly built. If Midoriya remembered correctly from the tests, the boy could harden his skin, though to what degree was unknown. ‘Quite the strong quirk…’

The taller and physically largest of the four was the six-armed teen wearing a mask. That one’s quirk was a bit of a mystery. Izuku that that he had seen him make more arms out of his arms in the grip test yesterday, but the green-haired teen wasn’t sure. He didn’t remember discussing that kind of quirk with his dad, so he might have missed it. Izuku growled silently to himself as he glared forward. Too little information to make a good plan. ‘Maybe my team-mate knows something.’

The four reached the building, and the villain team walked inside while the heroes waited outside. All Might’s voice crackled through the ear pieces. “The five-minute planning stage has begun, and I will inform everyone when the time has run out. Villain team, remember that the most nefarious and dangerous villains aren’t the ones you see the heroes fighting on the street or on television, but are the one no one sees, the ones hidden in the shadows. Do not be afraid to get into character and really get into the mindset! Make this exercise really PLUS ULTRA! “

The voice vanished with as All Might stopped transmitting, during which Izuku studied the building layout. The floors looked identical, though there would be no telling if the other team would change the layout to confuse them. Izuku turned to his teammate, who also seemed to be studying the plans.

[WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THEM?]

“Well… Kirishima can make his skin as hard as stone, and he’s a bit stronger than he normally would be without his quirk. Shoji… I’m not really sure. But I saw him make more arms from his arms… oh and a mouth too! Actually, now that I think about it…” The baby-blue gloves rose and made a tapping gesture. She was probably tapping her cheek as she thought. “I’m pretty sure he said he could make any appendage from the ends of his arms. Organs too!”

Izuku stared blankly at where he thought her face was, before writing in his notepad.

[I DON’T KNOW WHO THOSE ARE]

Blue gloves waved around, so she was either flustered or frustrated. “Oh! Kirishima is the one with really red hair, and Shoji is the tall one with six arms!” Midoriya nodded, before falling into thought. Kirishima would probably be their frontal defence, taking hits for his fleshier team-mate. Shoji was a bit more of a wild-card. He could probably throw quite a lot with his six arms, and if he could make more arms, he could throw more. The tall teen was also very strongly built, so he could most likely hold his own in a straight fight. His quirk allowing him to make any appendage also meant the teen could probably make noses, eyes, or ears. Izuku sighed. ‘A real all-rounder… grappling, brawling, intelligence gathering, and potential ranged attacks.’ Izuku glanced at his team-mate, who was still happily studying the map. ‘He’s practically her hard counter.’ He shook his head. ‘It won’t matter, as long as I can break the front-line’s defence, we will win.’ It also added information, which gave him some clues. ‘Being further away from the entrance would give time for the tall one to find their location, and either send the other to meet us, or move the objective and try to wait out the time. We have no way of finding where they are, so stalling would be the best bet.’ Izuku looked at the building, squinting as he thought. ‘Away from the entrance to buy time… but they saw me use my fire to boost my jumping yesterday, so they would be wary of the top floor or roof.’ Izuku felt relatively confident in his conclusion. ‘Third or fourth floor are the most likely… if they’re smart.’

Izuku relayed his thoughts to the invisible girl, who seemed to agree as she read. “So! What do you think we should do?” They were already running low on time, so Izuku had to be quick.

[CAN’T STAY TOGETHER. MY QUIRK WORKS OVER LARGE AREA, SO MIGHT HURT YOU. YOU SCOUT, I DISTRACT? I CAN KEEP SHOJI DISTRACTED WITH NOISE AND STUFF WHILE YOU SNEAK. 1 BEEP ON HEADSET FROM ME IS YES, 2 IS NO, 3 FOUND OPPONENT, 4 FOUND BOMB. SUGGESTIONS?]

 Hagakure read the message attentively, before giving a thumbs up. “Sounds good! And if I do find them, I’ll let you know where they are so we can attack!”

Izuku nodded, and the buzzer sounded, with All Might’s voice ringing across the grounds. “TIME’S UP! HEROES MAY NOW ENTER THE BUILDING!”

The hero team made their way to the front door before Izuku had a thought. Stopping and catching his team-mates attention, Izuku wrote a last question.

[DO YOU HAVE A COSTUME, OR ARE YOU JUST NAKED?]

Baby-blue gloves went to cover invisible body parts as a voice filled with fake embarrassment answered his perfectly reasonable question. “Midoriya-kun! You can’t just ask a lady what she’s wearing like that! We’re in public!” A glove came to rest on what was presumably a hip while the other glove flipped invisible hair over an invisible shoulder. Then, the same voice spoke again, this time with a teasing tilt to it. “And wouldn’t you like to know, hmm? Hot stuff?”

Izuku… really didn’t know how to respond to that. So, he did what any teenage boy stuck in an awkward situation when given an easy out. Midoriya turned away from his teammate, marched up to the building’s front door, and blew it off its hinges with a large, loud, and fiery blast, before walking into the building and leaving his teammate outside.

Hagakure huffed, as she removed her gloves, then her boots. She’d need to keep the earpiece in, but it was small enough and fitted snugly enough in her ear that her quirk hid it from most angles, and it was discrete enough to hopefully not be spotted easily. The now fully invisible girl began to sneak into the building, following along with the green-haired teen’s path of fiery destruction before splitting off upon reaching the second floor to begin a search of her own. She could still hear the occasional explosion and the roar of hungry flames, and the temperature was starting to get a bit toasty. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but grin a bit, and whisper to herself, “That sure got him… fired up!”

…

She really hoped these ear-pieces weren’t permanently on and broadcasting what she was saying to the entire class… and All Might.

She didn’t need all of them already thinking she was weird… yet.

Kirishima Eijiro was feeling jittery as he waited in his teammate and him had chosen to store the bomb, a nice and discrete room on the fourth floor, hopefully small enough to prevent Midoriya from using his fire-blasts for fear of damaging the bomb, while also giving Eijiro a small area to defend. The room was in the centre of the building, away from windows, and with a single door. His teammate was using his quirk to keep tabs on the rooms all around them to warn them of sneak attacks, and Eijiro? Eijiro was shadow boxing in the middle of the room to warm up his muscles, which would make using his quirk a lot easier later on. He was closer to the door than his teammate, to properly act as a shield if their opponents charged in for a frontal attack, while Shoji was closer to the ‘bomb’.

Anyway, Eijiro was jittery, but it was a good jittery. It was the kind of jittery that one felt before sports match, or a stage performance. A combination of excitement and nerves, all mixed with the adrenaline starting to flow. The flower on top of the cocktail was that All Might –‘ALL MIGHT!!! ’– himself was watching their match. They were going first, so would probably set the man’s opinion of their class from now on. It really wouldn’t be manly to disappoint!

They were at least a minute from the start now, and the red-head turned to Shoji for a last check.

“Right dude, this is it! You sure about the plan?”

“Staying here would give us the best advantage to hear them coming and protect the objective. We are ready, and just need them to come to us.” The masked teen looked down towards his teammate with one of his eye-appendage thingies, while a mouth at the end of an arm spoke. “Just make sure they don’t lure you out. That hallway would be perfect for a blast like what Midoriya showed yesterday.”

Kirishima frowned. “What about Hagakure? It’s not manly to ignore an opponent like that.”

The eye nodded –‘How does a single eye nod? ’– towards the door. “There’s only one entrance, so it’s a bottle neck of where she’ll come from. Plus, with all my ears, I can hear her coming. We just have to make sure not to lose track of her.” It was Shoji’s turn to frown at Eijiro. “And you’re sure you can tank Midoriya’s attacks?”

Eijiro grinned in response, pointing to his bare chest with his thumb. “My quirk turns my skin as hard as stone! I’ll be able to take the heat and get in close for a capture no problem!”

The tall teen nodded in response. “Then we’ll be fine. We’re basically a perfect counter to their combination. It won’t be easy.” The mouth grinned which, Eijiro had to admit, was a tiny bit creepy. And he basically had shark teeth! “It should be significantly harder for them.”

As Kirishima’s mental timer hit ten seconds, they both fell into silence.

10

Shoji shifted near the bomb; his many ears retracted for now to protect them from the no doubt loud starting announcement.

9

The two listened to a small breeze blow through the hall way

8

Kirishima’s hands clenched and unclenched as he eyed the door.

7

‘Logically, they’ll probably sneak in… so it won’t be straight to action. I shouldn’t hype myself up so much.’

6

‘Yeah. Need to calm down a smidge. Don’t want to burn through all the adrenaline in the first half and not fight at full capacity!’

5

Eijiro ignored his own minds very sound advice.

4

The shirtless redhead closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs fill with air and his chest expand.

3

‘This is it! Time for a Manly contest of fighting prowess and determination! ’

2

Eijiro opened his eyes and breathed out. His sharp teeth glinting in the light as he grinned, his excitement out in full view.

1

“TIME’S UP! HEROES MAY NOW ENTER THE BUILDING!”

The sound of the start was almost enough to make Kirishima’s energy overwhelm him and start him sprinting out the door to meet his opponents, but he managed to hold back. For a second and a half, there was silence, and Eijiro was ready to admit to himself that his own mind had been right and this was going to be a game of cat and mouse, with them as the fierce mice protecting the coveted cheese. Then a familiar sounding explosion rang out, accompanied a split-second later by the clang of metal on cement.

Another moment of silence.

Then another explosion, though now it didn’t die out completely. What followed was the roar of fire, a sound that seemed to be increasing in volume and frequency along with a few explosions now and then. The sound only seemed to be getting louder as the source no doubt climbed the stairs towards them on a search for the objective Eijiro and Shoji were tasked with guarding.

The redhead looked towards his taller teammate, who, if Eijiro was reading this right, now looked a whole lot more unsure than a few seconds ago. “Hey… didn’t you say he could make fire blasts? That sounds like a lot more than just blasts.”

“That was all he showed yesterday, but it’s possible I… made a mistake.” Shoji shook himself, the mouth at the end of his arm continuing on. “But he’ll probably use at least a decent amount of his energy for this display. So that should help us… hopefully…” The last word, whispered as it was, was still heard by the redhead, who elected to ignore the nervousness showed by the six-armed teen in favour of trying to hype himself back up.

‘This is fine. It’s still fire, and I’m still hard as stone!’ His forced grin turned more sincere. ‘Just gotta rush through all the attacks, and get to the source. Long rangers normally aren’t as good when you get closer to them.’ Kirishima hardened his hands and forearms, smashing his fists together and creating a shower of sparks. “We’ll be fine! Once they get here, we’ll show them how manly us hero- I mean, how nefarious and evil us villains can be!” He laughed, trying to make it sound as villainous as possible.

‘That’s like a puppy trying to act dangerous…’ Shoji looked away, thankful that he had retracted his mouth appendage. He didn’t need his teammate thinking Shoji was making fun of him. Kirishima didn’t seem like a bad guy, but they had only met recently, so Shoji couldn’t be sure. In any case, there was no way the tall teen was going to tell the redhead that his villain impersonation reminded Shoji of his five-year-old nephew.

He frowned as another explosion sounded through the corridors. ‘Those keep getting louder.’

As Midoriya broke down another wall with an explosive blast of flame, he paused for a second to take stock. He was already on the second floor, making his way through and making as much noise as physically possible. Hagakure had reported that she had reached the third floor, and was making steady progress checking the obvious rooms. If she missed them, Izuku would find them in his pass, though he had enough faith in his teammate to doubt that would come to pass. No, his role was distraction now and, later, acting as the main assault force. Hagakure was the scout and, if things went south, the ace in the hole.

The green-haired teen blew down another door and filled the room with fire, using his quirk to force it to burn hotter and louder. Izuku moved on from the burning room, feeling for his energy reserves as he set another hallway ablaze. This was barely putting a dent in his reserves, if this exercise kept up like this, it was going to be easy, but time consuming.

Making up his mind, Izuku tapped his boots together, activating the mechanism. Small divergent port-holes opened in the soles while Izuku crouched, focused, and leapt. His fire surged to his command, emerging from the soles of his feet and acting as a propelling force as Izuku flew towards the stairs. He used a burst of focused flame from his hands as a stabiliser as landed with a crash into the staircase, the metallic and reinforced boots winning the competition against the concrete stairs, crumbling them. The noise should alert Hagakure to move up a floor.

‘If not, well…’ Fire burst from the soles of the shoes with every step, flowing down the stairs and up the walls with the aid of his pyrokinesis as Izuku ascended the stairs. ‘I’ll hear about it soon enough.’

Izuku continued setting fire to the building, only pausing to inspect his equipment. He marvelled at the near intact combat pants, and his hoody still looked basically brand-new!

‘Guess that’s UA for you. They never seem to skimp out.’ Izuku inspected his hoody sleeve after a particularly hot blast. It was only a bit dirty from the soot and dirt that came from walking through burning a burning fire. Still pretty much intact, so it was doing good so far. ‘Especially for its hero students, it seems.’ Izuku clenched his fist and frowned. Then shrugged. Pity he couldn’t test it at its maximum.

‘Oh well, time and place, place and time. I really should look into that material Yaoyorozu told me about. That should theoretically be able to take even my max since it’s basically a part of me.’

Izuku thought of something else as he continued committing arson against the innocent piece of UA property – What? He basically had permission? From All Might, too! – specifically, his teammate. Maybe she was wearing some of that ‘Quirk Adaptive Material’? That material could probably also be specially treated to improve its resilience, surely. It would make sense that she had one, because, if she really was naked, she would obviously object to him lighting the building that she was currently wondering around in on fire…

‘Right?!’

A beep came through the communicator, making Izuku pause. “I’ve found them,” Hagakure spoke quietly, “I’ve backed off a bit in case Shoji can still hear me, but they’re on the fourth floor. One of the middle rooms with only one entrance.” Midoriya started to move with more purpose, no longer stopping to set fire to every room, he rushed towards the stairs, allowing the fire on the bottom two floors to leave his control. They would probably die out soon, but it would give him less to focus on. In order to compensate, he forced the fire on the third floor to new heights, the roar of hungry flames fuelled only by their creator’s power hiding Izuku’s footsteps as the made his way up the stairs to the fourth floor.

“Geeze, make it hotter why don’t you. I already feel like I’m in an oven, Kirishima and Shoji must be absolutely baking.” Izuku ignored her commentary as he walked towards a corner before something poked his chest. This was followed a yelp, and the sound of someone blowing and something whooshing through the air. “Owowowoww, you’re burning up! You should have warned me about that!” Izuku could only stare in disbelief. ‘How in the hell should I have…’

“Anyways, they’re in the third room down the hall on the right. Kirishima is looking straight at the door, and Shoji is closer to the bomb. It doesn’t look like Shoji reacted when I peeked through, so I think your plan worked. Still,” he could hear the concerned frown in her voice, “that sounded like you used your quirk a lot. Do you still have enough energy?”

Izuku wanted to grin, but that wouldn’t have worked. Instead, he let his eyes do the talking. Twin green suns shining with slight mirth as he looked at where her voice was coming from, then he looked past her, down the hall. He nodded.

Hagakure huffed. “Guess that’s all I’m gonna get, huh. Now what?”

Izuku was ready. More than ready, he was looking forwards to this. He walked straight past her, towards the room, ignoring panicked sounds of indignation and protest from the invisible girl as he strode down the hallway. The clacking of his heated iron-soled boots, paired with the ever-rising temperatures might give away his approach, but it would suit his plan.

He finally reached the doorway to the room she had indicated. The door was closed. ‘She must have shut it after checking. Good.’

He paused right before he came into view from inside the room, letting the silence that followed unnerve his opponents. He checked his planned trajectory, crouched, corrected his aim… then he ignited from his feet, letting his still active boots help channel the flames into rocket boosters that launched him towards, and then through the door. As he burst through the door-frame in a shower of mildly-reinforced wooden splinters, he quickly surveyed the room. All of the tall one’s eyes were wide, surprise or panic, Izuku did not know. The redhead seemed to have activated his quirk when Izuku exploded the door. That would protect him from the shrapnel.

‘Good reflexes.’ Izuku let out a burst of fire from his hands, swinging around and bringing the heel of his reinforced boot into the hardened head of his primary focus. ‘Good, I wouldn’t want this to be boring!’

The sound of metal on stone rang out as Izuku landed and danced back, out of range a quick retaliatory blow from a hardened fist. Kirishima grinned with sharp, hardened teeth. “Smashing through the door… what a manly entrance!” The boy hardened his skin and charged. “Let’s have a proper fight! I’ve been itching for one since the exercise started!”

As the redhead closed in, he raised his guard while keeping up his momentum. He swung at Midoriya, a left jab, that Midoriya sidestepped, before taking a step back. This set the pace. Kirishima would advance, throw a punch, and Midoriya would avoid it and back away. Now and again, Izuku would send a kick at the other boy’s ribs if they were exposed enough, but he usually managed to harden them before any significant damage could be done, or would use it hardened arms to block the hit.

‘Yes, good,’ thought Izuku as he backed out of range of another punch, ‘keep your eyes on me. Your teammate can’t reach me cause of the small space and you’re the only thing standing between him and my fire, right? So,’ he stepped aside to avoid a right jab, ‘keep,’ ducked a hook aimed at his head, ‘coming!’

They’d reached the corridor now, and Midoriya let out a small blast of fire from his hands, jumping down the hallway in the opposite direction from where Hagakure was last. ‘Come on, come on… follow me…”

Kirishima was ecstatic! Finally, actual fighting! He kept up after Midoriya, throwing jabs and hooks while using his quirk to shore up his defences, doing his best to keep the pressure on and keep the green-haired teen away from the objective and Shoji. As Midoriya jumped backwards out of the room, Kirishima followed, his head too into the brawl to hear the warning shout from his teammate before he left the room. Midoriya leapt backwards down the hall, creating distance, and Kirishima abandoned technique in favour of just rushing and trying to overwhelm his fire-wielding opponent, though that fire seemed mostly absent except for helping the guy with manoeuvring. ‘Maybe he used his quirk too much? Man, that would suck if he wasn’t at full, but I guess that’s what happens when waste energy like that.’

The exchange continued like that, Kirishima now leaving all of his defence to his quirk in favour of trying to grapple his opponent, but Midoriya kept slipping away. Kirishima was getting a little irritated now, but tried to keep up his excitement.

“Mwahahahaaa! Witness our villainy, heroes!”

That seemed to distract Midoriya for a second, as he stared at the redhead in disbelief. ‘What the hell was-’

He was almost too slow to dodge a blow aimed at his face, but he managed to get his head out of the way so the hardened fist barely scratched his mask. As Midoriya created more distance, he raised his hand to his breathing apparatus, and felt it for damage. There wasn’t anything significant that he could feel, but he’d have to check later when he could get a mirror.

He glared at his opponent. ‘Fine! We’re far enough from the room anyways. She should have enough time, and this will be plenty distracting.’ Izuku settled into a practice stance, and made a ‘get over here’ motion. Kirishima grinned and obliged him, rushing forward and throwing a big right hook, again aimed at Midoriya’s face. He sidestepped again, but this time, he grabbed onto the arm, grabbed a hold of Kirishima’s belt, thrust out his hip, and threw Kirishima over his shoulder. The redhead left the ground with a yelp, before his back was reacquainted with it at high speed.

The air was knocked from his lungs as the floor fractured beneath his hardened form. He scrambled to his feet, noticing their reversed positions, and cursing his lack of attention. Eijiro tried to taunt his opponent. “Come on, man! Are you just gonna keep avoiding me, or are we gonna throwdown?!” His response was a raised eyebrow, before Midoriya spread his arms to his side, leaving himself open as a challenge. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Kirishima charged again, feigning a jab to the face, before sending a punch towards his opponent’s gut. And, for the first time this exercise, Kirishima hit his opponent! He could have cheered! But his joy turned to horror when his blow punched through the fabric, his opponent’s body, and out the other side.

‘No…’

He could feel the warmth coming from his opponent’s insides, he could feel the warmth blood coat his fist and arm as it stayed lodged in his classmate, who was somehow still standing. He couldn’t take it out… why couldn’t he take it out??? Was it shock? Fear? Denial? He knew his quirk could be dangerous! He’d nearly lost an eye, and had the scar as a reminder, of how dangerous his quirk could be! Rock was very sharp after all, but he’d trained! He’d practiced! He though he got it right! ‘Oh god oh gods, what have I done?! I just killed my classmate! What have I done?!?!’

As Kirishima panicked, he never thought to look up from the hole he had made. So, when a hand grabbed his forearm, he didn’t want to look up. He didn’t want to look into the eyes of the person whose life he had just ended. Turns out he didn’t have a choice when his arm was torn from his opponent’s body, and he was bodily flung into a wall. Stunned, he slid to ground from his impact site, and looked up. His classmate seemed to tower over him in that instant, green eyes glowing from the shadowy depths of his hood, the black mask he always wore hiding his expression. Kirishima’s eyes dropped down, towards the injury he’d inflicted, and he stared in shock. Where there should have been a massive bloody hole in the other teen’s abdomen, there was only a swirling mass of flame visible through the hole in the fabric. Staring at the arm he punched through his opponent, he couldn’t see any blood or gore he was sure he’d felt, only what looked like burn marks.

He glanced back up at Midoriya, who was now standing with his arms behind his back, a dark glee dancing in those burning eyes that made Kirishima shiver. Still, Kirishima repressed the shiver that threatened to break out, and got up, forcing a slightly trembling grin to his face. “Man, you really scared me there!” He laughed nervously, shaking out his arms, before getting back into a stance. “Whooo, don’t do that again, dude. Please? I’m too young for a heart attack!” He advanced on his opponent again, more unsurely this time. He didn’t know how or what Midoriya had done, but it would probably make grappling more difficult if he could control it. “You didn’t show that before, did ya! Keeping secrets for a leg up isn’t very manly!” he tried, hoping for more information. Expectantly, Midoriya didn’t reply. Shrugging with resignation, Kirishima charge again.

On his end, Izuku was ready to end the exercise. Hagakure had messaged, saying that she couldn’t get too close to Shoji or the bomb without being detected. She could barely move with half a dozen eyes focusing on the dust she displaced near her. Shoji seemed to have given up on listening for her, probably due to the racket Midoriya and Kirishima were making. Well, hopefully she’d take Midoriya’s last distraction as a sign to end the exercise.

Midoriya stood with his arms behind his back as Kirishima advanced, watching the other eye him nervously, before attempting a blow to the face. He had observed the other’s quirk enough, so it was time to act. Midoriya’s left hand snaked out as he grabbed Kirishima’s arm in a vice like grip. Izuku steadied his stance, and twisted, pulling Kirishima towards himself. As Kirishima lost his balance and stumbled forward, Izuku swung his right harm around, his fingers clawed, and revealed his end game. A ball of flame, compacted as far as it could go and focused with as much of Izuku’s concentration as he could spare. It shone like a small star, and the air heated with its proximity alone.

Then Midoriya slammed a palm strike into Kirishima’s chest.

If all Midoriya’s other explosions were large, this one was Big. With a capital B. It hit like a bomb, filling with air with heat and light, soon followed by the recognisable sonic boom of the blast wave rocking the entire fourth floor. The heat wave followed soon after, running through the halls and turning the already hot building nearly unbearable in a fraction of a second.

For Midoriya, it was a good sign that his control was improving. For Kirishima, it felt like the end of the world. When the fire-ball had hit, he’d just barely activated his quirk. Midoriya had let go of his arm, and if the heat already wasn’t enough to sap the air from his lungs and the strength from his body, the impact and following shockwave was more than enough.

Eijiro wasn’t sure what was going on. All he knew, was that he had to keep his quirk up, or he would be in serious trouble. Light bled into dark as he spun through the air. He felt himself collide with one solid object after another, ploughing through three before becoming lodged in the fourth. In a daze, he tried to pick himself up, only to find himself stuck. Then came the pain. He looked down to try and identify its source, and the nausea that had been building from his trip through the air nearly caused him to vomit with the action. The decorative shoulder-gears of his uniform hadn’t survived the blast, and the journey through what looked to be multiple walls and a floor had done a number on his pants. His ears were ringing and he was still blinking black spots from his vision. The headache wasn’t doing great things for his nausea, and Kirishima felt that if he tried to climb up, he might vomit.

Then he checked his chest. His entire torso had what looked like a sunburn, and was bleeding from where his hardening had been cracked. It hurt when he breathed, which probably wasn’t good. His eyes caught on the centre of where the blast had hit. The top layer of skin was blackened and cracked, and was oozing blood. ‘Oh,’ thought Eijiro, as he fell into darkness, ‘that’s probably not good…’

Izuku, for his part, admired the damage he’d caused. ‘Two walls, and one and half floors…’ he grinned, ‘not bad.’

He turned away from the carnage he caused, and started jogging back towards the room. Hagakure hadn’t said anything over the coms, so she either had a plan, or something was wrong. All Might hadn’t announced any captures or announced that anyone was out, so Izuku had to assume Kirishima was on his way back up. ‘He’s a tough one,’ he thought as he rushed back the way he’d came, ‘but he had to have felt that last one. It should slow him down at least a little.’ Just as he reached the door way, he heard the thunk of stone hitting flesh, before the speaker’s crackled to life.

“THE VILLAINS HAVE BEEN SUBDUED, AND THE BOMB HAS BEEN DEFUSED! HEROES WIN!!!”

Turning the corner quickly, Izuku saw Shoji kneeling on the ground, holding his head and groaning. The green-haired teen could hear panting coming from near the fake bomb, but couldn’t be anything. ‘Huh,’ he thought, as his eyes roamed the room, finding debris littering the room, no doubt from the explosion he’d created, ‘guess she actually is a bit of a ninja.’ He stepped into the room, and it’s two occupants noticed his presence. Izuku heard the stomping of feet crossing the room before the air in front of him stilled.

“YOU!” – ‘Ah, there she is…’ – “WAS THAT EXPLOSION YOU?! What am I saying, OF COURSE IT WAS YOU! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? Were you TRYING to kill us all?” Izuku eyed the space in front of him cautiously, slowly reaching for his notepad. She was probably pointing at him again, and he didn’t want to accidentally burn her again. He was running quite hot after-all. Before he could, however, he heard a gasp. “Wait, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? WHY is there a hole going through your top?” The voice had lost the anger now, and sounded more worried, as it moved around him.

He kept reaching for the notepad to try and answer her questions, when the speakers crackled to life once again. “STUDENTS, PLEASE LEAVE THE ZONE AND RETURN TO THE OBSERVATION ROOM.” Deciding he’d explain later, he left the building with the others. The group arrived outside just in time to see an unconscious Kirishima being loaded up into a medical stretcher and be carried away by robots. At the sight of the wounds on his chest, Izuku froze.

“Geesh, man. You guys seemed to have roughed each other up…” Hagakure said quietly. Izuku could only watch the blood ooze slowly from the charred wound being hastily bandaged by the robots.

‘No… it shouldn’t have done that much damage… I was careful!’ He thought, before moving to follow along with the others. ‘Why did that happen…’

As they reached the observation room, an uneasy silence greeted them. Well, more likely it greeted Izuku, as his classmates shifted nervously as he entered the room behind Shoji and Hagakure, eyeing him up and down. ‘Fuck,’ he thought, ‘all that worrying about what Bakugou would do, and now I’ve done it to myself.’ He discarded the thought as he set his face in a passive glare, aiming it whoever decided staring at him like he was a zoo animal was a good idea. The only one who didn’t back down was a girl with pink skin and yellow horns. ‘Some sort of secretion quirk, If I remember correctly,’ he thought, as she returned his glare with one of her own, her black sclera and yellow irises enhancing the effect.

The stare-off continued until All Might coughed awkwardly, trying in vain to ease the tension. “Well then,” he exclaimed, “can we decide who the MVP of this match is?” The uneasy silence that followed was broken when Yaoyorozu raised her hand, uncertain. All Might indicated that she could speak. “I think the MVP title should go to Hagakure-san. Not only did she locate the bomb, she called for reinforcements to spread her opponents thin, and then used the period where her remaining opponent was alone to distract and disable the villain, before reaching the bomb.” The tall girl pointed at Shoji. “Shoji-san was too static in his guarding of the bomb, waiting for the heroes to arrive and not creating enough distractions or false leads in order to waste time. Though his usage of his quirk to try and counter Hagakure-san’s stealth is commendable, he was easily distracted and overwhelmed by the noise and effect of Midoriya-san’s quirk.” She then turned to Midoriya. “Speaking of, I’m not sure what Midoriya-san was doing. He seemed to be setting fire to the building at random, wasting energy and making the area difficult for his teammate – who is the most susceptible to his quirk in this instance – to navigate. He was also distracted by his fight with Kirishima-san and allowed it to drag on for longer than need be, proven by his sudden ending of the fight in one hit.” Midoriya blinked at the criticism, and was about to sign a response when Hagakure answered first. “Actually, it Midoriya’s plan to use the fire and the explosions to mask my approach from Shoji’s ears, and to make ‘em think we were further away than we actually were.” She seemed to have regained some of her pep as she explained their strategy. Izuku was content to have her take the lead. “As for the fight between them… yeah, I don’t know. Why didn’t you end it sooner?” The question was toward Izuku, who blinked at her, before finally scribbling a message down in his notepad and showing her.

[TAKES TIME AND CONCENTRATION TO BUILD UP BLAST LIKE THAT.]

“Huh, I guess that makes sense. You were still distracted though, and left your teammate behind in the end.” Yaoyorozu said, conceding the point and immediately making another. “Anyways, finally to Kirishima-san. He also got distracted by his fight with Midoriya-san, also left his teammate behind, and abandoned the plan they seemed to have agreed on at the start. So, despite his – ahem – fighting spirit, he cannot receive the MVP title either. All in all, Hagakure should receive the title.”

‘Well then.’ Thought the class as they absorbed the dissection. Now the others were more nervous about performing, if everything they did was going to be torn apart and critiqued in front of an audience like that. Izuku, though, was distracted. He couldn’t get the sight of the chest wound he’d caused on Kirishima. It was too… familiar, and he hated that.

All Might seemed floored by what was essentially a spoken essay about what went right and what went wrong during the match. “Ahem, yes! I agree! THE MVP OF THIS MATCH IS YOUNG HAGAKURE!” He then turned his attention to the three that had returned. “Do any of you need to see the nurse? I know that young Shoji definitely should, that rock looked like it did some damage.”

‘Rock?’ Izuku thought, before his head snapped to Hagakure, who seemed to be looking anywhere else. ‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘of course. How could I forget.’ He slowly returned his gaze to the teacher. ‘Girls can be very scary.’

“I’m fine, All Might-sensei. It’s not even too bad now.” Shoji tried protesting, but the number one hero shut that down. “Young Shoji, head injuries are a serious thing, which can have long lasting consequences. Even if it seems minor now, I must insist you see the nurse.”

Izuku decided to raise his hand, catching the pro’s attention, before signing. [I can take him there, if that’s ok.] All Might nodded. “Yes, good idea, young Midoriya. Please escort young Shoji to Recovery Girl’s office.” As the tall, resigned teen and the shorter, silent teen left the room, All Might called out. “And do get checked out yourself, young Midoriya. Your quirk may have helped, but being impaled is no small thing!” Izuku ignored the high-pitched squawk of “Impaled?!” that no doubt came from Hagakure as the doors closed.

The two walked in silence through the campus, before Shoji spoke. “Impaled?” Izuku really wanted to groan. [It’s fine. Kirishima punched a hole through my stomach, I launched him through three walls. We’re basically even.] The green-haired teen ignored the slightly hysterical sounding chuckled coming from the mask and the quiet whisper of “what the fuck” from the arm-mouth. Midoriya was far too busy with the realisation that he had spoken in sign by reflex, and Shoji had answered. [You speak sign?] This time, the answer was a snort. “Yeah, when you have as many arms as me, it seems like it might be helpful, you know?” As the arm-mouth spoke, the other arms grew more arms that kept branching off each other until a veritable wall of hands and arms overshadowed Izuku completely. ‘Well… that’s more than a little intimidating…’

Then Shoji groaned and deactivated his quirk, grabbing his head and stumbling forward. Izuku supported him carefully, keeping at least two layers of fabric between them. Thankfully, the heat he was giving off had subsided from burning levels to unpleasantly warm, so there wasn’t as much danger, but Izuku decided to be careful anyways. “I think All Might was right.” Shoji said, caught his balance and started walking again. “We should probably hurry. Don’t want to miss too much of the other matched, you know?” Izuku agreed, so the two sped up their journey until they finally reached the nurses office. At this point, Shoji was leaning on Izuku quite a bit, so he may have knocked more forcefully than necessary, before opening the door anyways.

Inside, they found a surprisingly awake Kirishima being fussed over by a small Recover Girl. The redhead spotted his chance to escape the small school nurse when the two walked in. “Hey, guys,” he exclaimed, too loud to be caused by anything but desperation. “What brings you both here.” Izuku tried to ignore how the boy’s eyes remained on him a bit too long. The small nurse spun around, “What happened?” she questioned as she rushed up to the pair as Izuku dragged Shoji into the room towards the bed. [He got hit in the head. He’s been getting worse on the way over.] The nurse cliqued her tongue and gestured towards one of the empty beds. “Lay him there. I need to reach him to treat him.” Obeying, Izuku sat the taller teen on one of the beds, making sure to keep him awake while Recovery Girl gathered her tools and climbed into a chair to examine him. Izuku backed away and ended up standing at the end of Kirishima’s bed, who was still eyeing him warily. Izuku sighed, before raising his hands.

“I don’t speak sign.” Was said, curtly. Not that Midoriya could really blame him. So, Izuku pulled out his notepad, and wrote.

[HOW ARE YOU FEELING?]

Kirishima chuckled. “Fine, now. Recovery girl healed me up.” He grinned, but it was weaker than before. “You hit like a bus; you know that?” Izuku wanted to snort. He hesitated, before writing the next message.

[I’M SORRY FOR BLASTING YOU SO HARD. I MISCALCULATED. I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO THAT MUCH DAMAGE.]

As Kirishima read the message, he seemed to untense. He sighed, before grinning. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.” His grin became fiercer, as he sat up straighter in his bed. “You broke through my hardening. It looked like it was pretty easy for you too. So that means you’re pretty tough.” He smirked, challengingly. “Next time, it won’t be that easy. I’ll get tougher, and then we’ll have a proper, manly rematch! What do ya say?” He stuck out his hand for a handshake. “So, water under the bridge for now?”

‘Manly?’ thought Izuku, but he still offered his hand to Kirishima, who shook it with vigour, his smirk turning to a beaming smile. Izuku could practically feel the warmth from that smile. ‘Dammit! He’s making me feel guilty!’

He wrote another message.

[IT WASN’T AS EASY AS YOU THINK. YOU’RE PLENTY TOUGH, KIRISHIMA. I LOOK FORWARD TO NEXT TIME.]

Kirishima laughed, shaking his head, before giving Izuku another smile. “Thanks, Midoriya. And you better look forward to it, dammit!”

“SO, IT WAS YOU!” someone shrieked, cutting off their conversation. Their head spun to look at the diminutive nurse pointing a rather threatening looking needle-cane at Izuku, with a now healed Shoji looking on with something akin to fascination or terror. “You gave that boy first and second decree burn on his entire torso, and cracked three ribs!” She smacked Izuku’s shin, making him hold it while he hopped around in agony. “If you weren’t already an invalid, I’d thrash you myself! Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Izuku stopped hopping to quickly sign an answer. [I didn’t know he’d get hurt that bad!] Recovery Girl shrieked again. “You didn’t- how did you not know?” Izuku was really starting to worry for his safety, so he picked the first thing that came to mind and hoped it would save him from being impaled… again.

[I normally spar with my dad, and we’re both pretty much fire proof! I forgot how it affects people without our resistance.]

“Oh. Well, I guess that makes some sense.” Recovery Girl said, suddenly calm. The change nearly gave the three boys whiplash. “But I’ll be informing your homeroom teacher.” She pointed at Izuku again. “You need to relearn safe limits, and that’s your responsibility. Aizawa should be able to help, but it’s mostly going to be up to you. There’s a gym with training dummies with different sensors you should be able to use.” Then she shooed them out of her office. “Now out! You’re all healed up. But if you feel any different later, don’t hesitate to come back. For now, go back to All Might’s class and make sure he doesn’t send anymore of you to me. He’s got 1-B tomorrow and I don’t doubt it’s going to be the same thing all over again.”

After being chased from the nurse’s office, the three boys stood in the hall, before starting to make their way back to class. They shouldn’t have missed too much, but for the sake of their education, they hurried along. Then, as neared the building, Shoji chuckled, before starting to laugh slightly louder. They other boys eyed him with confusion, wondering if his head injury was truly fully healed or if they’d have to drag him back to the nurse. The tall teen formed a mouth, before saying. “I wonder… he… I wonder what she would have said, if she knew that All Might sent Midoriya with me to see her because… hehehe… because you, Kirishima, impaled him, apparently.” The other teens’ eyes widened, with Midoriya slapping his forehead and Kirishima beginning to stutter an apology to the green-haired teen. Izuku wasn’t sure why everyone was freaking out about Kirishima punching through his stomach. Midoriya himself wasn’t injured, and it was far from the worst thing that had happened to him. But apparently, if you didn’t know their quirk protects them, seeing someone be impaled upon someone else’s fist was considered traumatic. Who knew?

As the three teens entered back into the observation room together, Kirishima and Shoji chatting with Izuku occasionally throwing something in for Shoji to translate, some who had looked away from the current match to see who had returned. Those who saw felt a tiny bit of the previous tension dissipate, as the three parted on good terms. Izuku returned to his chosen spot next to Iida, and checked the screen just in time to see Uraraka throw their small, purple classmate, Mineta, down a hallway like a cheap rubber ball. Midoriya leaned back against the wall. He tried putting his hands in his hoody pocket, but found that the hole had gone through it. Sighing, he stuck his hands in his pants pockets instead.

‘Wow… what a day.’

Chapter Text

Hisashi heard the door to the apartment open and shut, then the sound of shuffling as shoes were removed. He hid a grin as his son stepped into view from the hallway to the entrance. “Welcome back, kiddo.” He said, raising his mug of coffee to his mouth to hide the start of a smug grin as he lounged in the sole recliner of their modest living room. “How was school?”

Stepping fully into view, Izuku turned towards his father. [Fine] he signed. [We had a training exercise in heroics class. It was educational.] The green-haired teen then started back on his path towards his room to unload and change into more comfortable clothing. The UA uniform wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t something someone would choose to wear when trying to unwind.

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Hisashi answered, raising his now empty mug back up. Izuku stilled at Hisashi’s tone, and the teen’s head slowly turned back to face his father, trying to read the man’s face in an attempt to guess where this was going.

Hisashi, for his part, stayed quiet. His mug hiding the grin that he had inevitably failed to contain, so the only thing Izuku could say for certain –from the sparkle of glee in his old man’s eyes– was that whatever was going on, his father found it hilarious and it was going to be at Izuku’s expense. Hesitantly, he raised his hands again.

[I’m going to drop off my stuff and change. Then I’ll start on dinner.] Making his way further into the apartment, Izuku caught the quiet, but undeniably amused, “mhmm,” followed by the louder, “don’t worry about dinner, I ordered takeout!”

After changing out of his uniform, Izuku removed his mask and plugged it in to charge it, quickly swapping it out for a spare one he kept at home. It wasn’t as basic as the model he wore to sleep, but it was still one version behind the one Izuku wore during the day. When faced with what to wear, the teen decided to simply throw on a random pair of sweatpants and a black shirt with the kanji for ‘Soup’ written in white on the front.

Deciding he was suitably comfy, Izuku made his way back to living room and fell into the sofa. Hisashi and Izuku sat there in silence for a while. Izuku was trying to simultaneously relax from his rather trying day at school, as well as making a valiant attempt not to squirm and glance at his father as the man sat in silence. Hisashi, for his part, was still using the mug as a half-hearted camouflage for his mounting amusement at his son’s discomfort.

Finally, Izuku cracked first.

[How was your day?] he ventured. Hisashi smiled. “Oh, you know. Boring work stuff, boss being demanding, co-workers being their usual characters. Normal stuff.” The man’s smile turned into a wide grin. “And how was your day, oh dear son of mine?”

Izuku shrugged. [The first half of the day wasn’t too interesting. Normal school stuff. Maths, English and all that.] Izuku thought for a second. [All the classes were taught by pro heroes though, so that made everything pretty interesting.]

Hisashi nodded thoughtfully. “That was what we expected. UA don’t really make it a secret that all of their staff are active or retired pros.” He smiled a small smile. “Still, I bet you found that all really cool.” The man raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Any autographs?”

Izuku shook his head, before replying. [No. I didn’t bring my notebooks. My classmates were all pretty excited about all the pros, though. And their excitement makes them…] Izuku paused. [… hyper.]

Hisashi said nothing about the notebooks, deciding that topic could be discussed at a later date, and focused on the second point. “Speaking of your classmates…”

Izuku rolled his eyes, and Hisashi grinned. [You were right. It took them some time, but they came and apologised. The excuse was they thought it sounded… cute.] Izuku’s face scrunched in a manner that Hisashi recognised as a sneer, and the man sighed. [At least they looked like they meant it.]

Izuku’s father smiled tiredly. “Well, at least there’s that.” Then his smile turned devious. “But, was that all that I was right about?” Izuku froze for a half second, frowned, then his eyes widened and he swore. [Fuck! I’d forgotten about that! How’d you know about All Might!?] Hisashi cackled as his son rose from his seat and made his way to his room. Hisashi kept sniggering as he listened to Izuku shuffle around his room, before returning to the living room with the money three months’ worth of saved allowance.

Hisashi pocketed his rightfully won earnings, and wiggled his fingers. “Maaaagic… and you should know a magician never reveals his tricks.”

The green-haired teen huffed, rolling his eyes, and looked away. Hisashi chortled good-naturedly. “My my, I was right twice in one day! That must be a new record,” he grinned, “that should definitely go on the board.”

Izuku looked back at his father, confused. [What board?]

“You know which one! The ‘My father was right’ board.”

[We don’t have a board.]

“Oh? Are you so sure, my son?”

[Yes. Because it would be a waste of space and money. Imagine how little it would be used!]

“Oi, you little shit! I would fill it in a week!”

As the two descended into playful bickering about the potential usefulness of such a board, as well as the logistical issues buying and then owning such a thing would cause, the door-bell rang, effectively ending the exchange.

“Ah! That’ll be the food.” Hisashi exclaimed, leaping to his feet and speed-walking towards the door. Izuku relaxed, closing his eyes and prepared to be assaulted by the smell of cheap but good food, and the sound of hurried thanks from either side for the food, and then the tip his father would inevitably give them. What Izuku wasn’t expecting, was something large and heavy to suddenly wrap around his head, nearly making him jump straight out of his seat on the couch. His reflexive response to such an assault was to turn up the heat and light whatever was on his head on fire before rounding on whatever was left to teach them a very important lesson about sneaking up on him, but a loud, deep, and familiar laugh stalled his counter attack before it could begin.

“Hey kiddo! How ya been!” The large thing unwrapped from around the teen’s head to reveal itself to be a comically large hand, attached to a proportionally large man. “It’s been a while, huh. Yer dad and I thought we’d surprise you from a visit from your favourite uncle!”

Izuku huffed, trying to calm his racing heart as well as wrest control his quirk back to ensure he didn’t leave scorch marks on the couch cushions. [You’re my only uncle, uncle Oki.]

The man laughed boisterously as he moved around the couch and sat down at the opposite end to Izuku. Hisashi followed behind the aforementioned Okiotoko, and seated himself back in his recliner. The larger man brought a couple of plastic bags up from where they had been positioned on the floor, and turned to Izuku with a smile. “I brought food!”

Izuku observed his uncle –well, his dad’s best friend and senior, who had taken one look at baby Izuku and decided he would be then small infant’s uncle– and took in the man. It had been a few years since Izuku himself had gotten to see Chinoshin Okiotoko, despite him working with Izuku’s father. ‘Work and training and life can get in the way, I guess,’ Izuku thought as his father bantered with the man. From what Izuku could see, his uncle hadn’t changed much. The man still had the odd scar and discoloured patches on most of his exposed skin –from his ‘young and rambunctious’ days, as he put it. The thin scar that ran from his left temple to his right cheek had faded slightly, but was still very noticeable. He was still a massive man, though maybe no longer the largest Izuku had ever seen, now that he’d gotten to see All Might up close, but it was a near thing. He may actually had gotten bigger. Okiotoko’s Durability quirk coupled with his shear size –which he claimed he inherited from his mother– made the man a very imposing figure, though he seemed to have attempted to combat this by growing a large bushy beard. The combination of the man’s bulk, his large grey beard, and the slight gut he never seemed to be able to get rid of, made the man look like a younger Santa Claus who had decided to take up heavyweight boxing. Izuku grinned at the memories of certain pictures hidden in photo albums somewhere in the house. Pictures of himself sitting on a very large man in a Santa costume that had been taken for a Christmas card.

[You’ve gained weight.] Izuku signed after catching his uncle’s attention.

His uncle made a noise of faux offense, before bursting into laughter again. “You’re suppose,” he wiped a tear from his eye as he chuckled, “you’re supposed to say ‘Oh dear uncle, how slim you look after all this time’.” He laughed some more as he pulled the living room table into place and started unloading the food boxes onto the table. “You lose your manners in the time we’ve been apart, kid?”

Izuku accepted the chopsticks handed to him, followed by a box of what looked like Katsudon. Mostly out of politeness. [Probably, but my parents taught me that lying was bad.] Uncle Oki made a choked noise while Hisashi laughed. While he laughed, Hisashi threw Izuku some of the nutrient packets that he had picked up beforehand, the ones that were apparently made to taste like Katsudon.

As Izuku hooked up the feeding mechanism, Okiotoko watched the exchange with some confusion, before realisation dawned on him. “Sorry Izuku,” he said, looking contritely at the boy, “I thought they’d fixed you up enough for solids by now.” Izuku waved it off, thanking the man for the thought anyway.

Okiotoko picked at his food. “What’s taking them so long, anyway? It’s been years. You’d have thought they’d gotten done it by now.” Hisashi sighed. “That kind of thing is complicated, and delicate. It takes time.” He looked up from his food at his son, who was staring at the table, avoiding eye contact completely. Hisashi looked back down at his food to resume eating.

The three ate in silence for a while, the dour atmosphere overtaking the gathering. Eventually, Okiotoko spoke again. “How’s your new school treating ya, anyways?” the man smiled tentatively at his nephew. “Your old man told me you got into UA?” Izuku nodded at this, turning his attention up from the table and beginning to regale his uncle with the story of his relatively short time at UA so far, starting from the entrance exam. Hisashi continued to eat, letting Izuku tell his story uninterrupted. Okiotoko let out ‘hmms’ and ‘haws’ when something interesting happened, and straight up burst into laughter when Izuku got to the part about the teacher wrapping up a particularly disruptive student.

Hisashi chose this moment to chime in. “That kid was Bakugou Katsuki.” The laughter stopped, and Chinoshin Okiotoko’s brows furrowed and, in a very rare show of anger, he scowled. “They let that brat in? Even after everything?” Izuku shrugged in response.

Now, Okiotoko may behave like a jolly uncle most of the time, but the man was a little over seven feet tall, and could wrestle bears without too much issue, so when he sat up straight and got serious, people tended to notice and get nervous. Izuku simple watched as his jolly uncle transformed into a Yakuza thug’s worst nightmare, his size dominating the room as he looked at Izuku and cracked his knuckles. “If that little shit gives you any trouble, give me a call. Old uncle Oki, and I will be there to teach ‘em heroes how we handle trash like that where I’m from.” Izuku shook his head.

[It’s fine uncle, I can take care of myself.] Then, in an attempt to placate his uncle, he added on a bit more. [Plus, the teachers are heroes there. At least one of them has shown they won’t take his shit, and all of them can handle him if he becomes too much.] Izuku thought for a second. [Probably.]

Okiotoko stared at Izuku a bit longer, before sighing and lying back into the couch, which let out some quiet creaks and groans for mercy. “If you say so, kid. If you say so. In any case, the offer’s always there.” His mood then flipped as he smiled at Izuku again. “So, what happened next?”

Following the mood change, Izuku continued his retelling, moving on to the current day’s events. Okiotoko let out a loud exclamation of something between surprise and excitement when Izuku mentioned All Might teaching the class. “What was he like as a teacher?” the large man asked, eyes shining with childlike glee which, somehow, managed to fit in quite well with his overall look. [He needed a script for some parts of the exercise, but I think he did quite well.]

His uncle nodded. “I’m pretty sure it’s his first-time teaching, so he would need help of some kind.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I’m honestly surprised they didn’t assign him a minder or supervisor of some kind for his first lesson. That sounds terribly irresponsible…” He huffed and leaned back into his seat, crushing his empty food box and storing it in the plastic bag. “I hope they know what they’re doing at that school.” Izuku offered his uncle his unopened box, the cutlets and vegetable still steaming. [UA’s old. I’m sure they have lots of experience with new teachers.] Okiotoko accepted the box and conceded the point.

Hisashi, having finished eating, spoke up. “That reminds me actually. Izuku, your teacher’s name is Aizawa, right?” At Izuku’s nod, Hisashi continued. “I finally found some stuff on him, or at least I think I have… Your teacher is a really difficult hero to track down–”

“Oh? A hero you’re having trouble finding information on?” Uncle Oki joked. “Are the end times upon us?” Hisashi scoffed. “It was hard going, but I did get some stuff.” Hisashi frowned. “It’s precious little, though. The man is definitely an underground hero. There are quite a few whispers about a hero that could be linked to him. Near legendary by underworld standards, if sources are to be believed. I’m pretty confident his hero name is Eraserhead, and we already know his quirk works by erasing the target's quirk as long as he has them in visual range. Of course, we don’t know very much else about the quirk’s limits or requirements, apart from that its usage puts a certain level of strain on the user’s eyes.” Hisashi sat back, rubbing his eyes. “There are very few articles that even mention him. Actually, there are only three I’ve managed to find that are confirmed to be about or talk about him in some sense, and the most reliable is over a decade old.” He looked at Izuku. “I’ve already sent them to you, so you can look through them.”

Then, Hisashi lit up and clapped his hands together. “Hopefully, that will sate the info gap for now. I’ll try and find out more when I have the time. For now, though…” Hisashi’s smile turned into a grin. “I believe that you were getting to the fun parts of the exercise.”

Izuku nodded and continued his story. He told them about his teammate and their plan to distract then attack the enemy team, how Izuku had set the building on fire and Hagakure had found the villain team. Okiotoko raised his eyebrows when Izuku spoke about his initial assault, and let out a low whistle when the teen described the damage the blast he had slammed into the Hardening-user had done to the buildings. Izuku wrapped up his retelling with a summary of Yaoyorozu’s critique of all of their performance.

Okiotoko looked thoughtful, while Hisashi’s grin turned devious. “Oh, my dear son, is that all that happened today?” Izuku considered the questioning, not noticing as the aura of mischief and amusement radiating from his father continued increasing. Izuku was about to tell them about the other matches, when his father cut in. “Because, you see, I got a call while on my way home from work.” Izuku froze, and Hisashi grinned wider. “I see you’ve guessed who this call was from, but, for our spectator,” Uncle Oki chuckled at that, “I’ll tell you anyways. It was a lovely lady who identified herself as your school nurse, Chiyo Shuzenji, also known as the semi-retired pro hero, Recovery Girl. And, boy oh boy, did she have some interesting news.” Hisashi, feeling the attention of his audience solely on him, decided to be a bit dramatic. “Not only did you decide to launch that poor boy through a good part of the building, but it seemed that you deemed it necessary to try and give the boy a new tan, though, apparently, your unfortunate opponent neglected to apply sunscreen to himself before the match started.”

Hisashi looked at Izuku. “You may be my little star, but I think you should avoid any jobs in tanning salons.” Izuku rolled his eyes, but the tips of his ears were glowing red at the nickname. Hisashi shook his head. “In any case, the boy was burned pretty badly, and Recovery Girl healed him up, so he’ll be fine. But! That’s not the best part.” For this, he turned to Okiotoko. “When presented with the aftermath and the nurse’s questions, do you know what my boy decided to say in order to defend himself?” The large man shook his head, and Hisashi started laughing. “He said… He said that he’d forgotten that fire burns people!” At this, Okiotoko cracked up and laughed uproariously along with Hisashi, while Izuku blushed and tried to defend himself.

[I DIDN’T SAY THAT!! I said that I didn’t have a solid baseline for how fire affects normal people without innate fire-resistance!] “Same difference, kiddo,” Hisashi chuckled, trying to calm down. “Anyways, we were advised to try and find those suitable sparring partners in the future, so that you can get a good idea of what constitutes appropriate force is. The only reason that poor kid wasn’t hurt worse was thanks to his hardening quirk. It gives him some pretty decent resistance to most forms of attack, including decent impact and fire resistance, so that fact that you broke a rib and burned him at all is a pretty decent indicator of overkill.”

Izuku shrugged at that. [It ended the fight.] At this, Hisashi stared at his son, disbelief creeping in. “Yeah, a practice fight. Honestly, All Might should have stopped the fight the second the redhead went through the floor and didn’t get up.” The teen huffed. [I wasn’t the worst. Bakugou used some support item to nearly collapse most of his building with everyone in it. All Might looked like he was about to end the exercise there, but one of the hero team used the shaking as a distraction to get to the bomb and end the exercise before he could.] “That’s a low bar to use as a comparison and you know it. And that proves my point and Oki’s earlier one at the same time! Both of those stories sound like way too much for what is supposed to be a first years’ introduction to heroics, and, All Might is way too inexperienced as a teacher to have taught such a class alone in the first place!” [Well, I think that-]

“Boys, boys! Calm down. What’s done is done. The only thing to be done now is be ready for next time.” Okiotoko interrupted before an argument could really start. The large man sighed as the father and son avoided eye contact, Izuku unhooking his nutrition packs and staring at the table again, while Hisashi carefully folded up his food box and stuffed in the plastic bag with the other trash. Finishing the last of his second box and putting the empty packet away, the large man wiped his mouth and hands with the paper napkins, sat back, and tried to revive the jolly atmosphere that had died oh so suddenly. “Well? How were the other matches?”

That comment caught Izuku’s attention, who promptly fell back into his role as story teller. As he told the two adults about his classmates’ matches, their strategies, and his own favourite moments. Okiotoko cracked up when he heard how Uraraka had thrown their diminutive purple classmate down a corridor at their opponents, weightless and at high speeds, and even slightly grumpy Hisashi had looked up and grinned when he heard about the kid with the electric quirk shorting himself out when he’d overused his quirk. The description of the dumb face the guy had made, a double thumbs up and a “Weeeeyy…”  to go along with it, had actually caused Izuku’s father to chuckle, officially dispelling what remained of the sour mood.

Okiotoko Chinoshin laid back further in his seat, enjoying the atmosphere. He watched his best friend laugh and make comments as his nephew told them about his second day at hero school. ‘Who woulda thought,’ the bearded man smiled softly at the interaction, ‘little Izuku, at UA.’ He watched the boy tell his stories, his theories, anything he thought of as the spark in his eye shone with an excitement that had been near non-existent the last time Okiotoko had hung out with the two of them. The same spark that had returned to Hisashi’s eyes a while ago, though it was noticeably more fragile in Izuku, sputtering and flaring intermittently, threatening to either die out forever, or to ignite into an inferno that would burn brightly, consuming everything in its wake.

‘Definitely progress, but…’ he sighed quietly as they reached Bakugou’s match. The mention of the explosive brat had a similar, but also very different, effect on the both of them. Whereas Hisashi smouldered with a carefully controlled, regulated, and directed anger, Izuku was much more unpredictable when it came to this topic. Where Hisashi was magma, Izuku was a forest fire. Where Hisashi’s eyes glowed with the righteous fury of a loving parent looking out for their child, Izuku’s burned like malevolent green suns, radiating their desire for the utter annihilation of the subject of their all-encompassing hatred, demanding retribution for crimes committed long ago, and for which no justice had been delivered.

Yes, the son burned with a fire much like his father’s, but just like how fire gave light and heat when the night was cold and dark, it would wreak destruction and leave behind utter desolation if allowed to burn of its own volition.

The large, scarred man watched silently as they stewed. ‘… still a long way from healed.’

Okiotoko sighed again, sinking as far into his seat as the unfortunate couch would allow, now that the father and son had moved on from the subject of their mutual… well, disdain was too meek a word. In any case, the two were talking animatedly about Izuku’s classmates’ strategies and quirks. The large man quirked a smile.

‘But definitely better.’

“Settle down.” Aizawa’s voice cut through the noise of the class like a hot knife through butter. In seconds, the sounds of chatting students vanished, and all twenty of them were seated. For this, Izuku was infinitely grateful.

Uncle Oki had left later than he’d originally intended to, and the three of them had stayed up talking until around two in the morning. Couple that with Izuku’s father needing to be at work early today for some meeting or other, and Izuku had gotten far less sleep than he wanted to. So, when Aizawa called for attention, Izuku had to force every muscle in his neck and back to heave his head from where it had been comfortably resting on his desk.

Aizawa paused and scanned the room, before nodding. “Three seconds. An improvement on your first day. I expect it to be zero by Friday.” He still sounded as disinterested as ever, so it was hard for the students to gauge whether or not their teacher was actually pleased with them. “Moving on. Today is a hero informatics class. We’ll go over the footage of yesterday’s hero class, and analyse what went right and what went wrong. Individually, you’ll each get a sheet on which will be listed areas where you, specifically, will need to work on.”

Aizawa handed the blond kid at the front a stack of papers, each with a student’s name at the top. The glittery student took his and passed it backwards to his neighbour. The next few minutes, the sound of rustling paper was all that was heard as each student took their own sheet and Aizawa turned on the projector, which showed a stilled image of the start of the first match. Izuku’s match.

When everyone had their sheets, Aizawa spoke again. “We’ll start with the first match, Hagakure & Midoriya vs Kirishima & Shoji.”

If Yaoyorozu’s critiques of Izuku’s actions yesterday were brutal, Aizawa was merciless. Any wasted action, energy, or time was pointed to and spelled out to the class. Mistakes were the focus, though any assumptions judged to have been made through incorrect reasoning were torn down, regardless of whether or not they ended up being correct or not.

To his credit, Aizawa mostly let the class direct the assessment, only jumping in when the students made mistakes themselves, or when something was missed. He explained his critiques, what should have been done or could have been done, while still encouraging them to think and focus on flexibility, adaptability, and practicality.

Most were taking notes. Yaoyorozu was the main contributor from the class, of course, reiterating what she had said post-excercise yesterday, with some small additions. Iida jumped in as well, with the frog-girl Izuku didn’t know the name of coming in third for most suggestions.

Then, Aizawa paused the video, perfectly capturing the aftermath of Izuku’s final attack against Kirishima, and turned to look at Izuku. “Midoriya, why didn’t you check on Kirishima after this point?”

Midoriya kept his gaze on the image. His arm had still been extended after unleashing the explosion at that point, though was in the process of lowering. The light from the windows and few light fixtures that had survived, coupled with the orange glow of the dying flames painted his face quite ominously, the shadows, emphasised by the hood he wore and the dark colours of his costume, brought out the green glow of his irises which looked positively gleeful as they gazed upon the carnage he had wrought. It was quite the sinister image.

[I figured that, if he was knocked out, All Might would announce that he was out. If he wasn’t, then I was pretty sure I had enough time to get back to the bomb and finish the exercise.]

Aizawa contemplated this for a second, before nodding. “A logical assumption, but in a real scenario, you won’t have an announcer.” He turned to the rest of the class. “It’s always the better idea to make sure that whoever you’re attacking is down, instead of just assuming it. Confirm, then, if you have the time to spare, confirm again. Smart villains have been known to fake being unconscious, giving themselves the opportunity for a sneak attack when the hero let their guard down.”

As Aizawa gave the class a small lecture on what to do to sure a villain was incapacitated, Izuku’s attention remained captivated by the image. The shadows that hid all superfluous detail, the hood and black mask that covered his face, the odd lick of fire that clung to his hoody, and his eyes that burned that malevolent green from the darkness… It caught Izuku’s attention, for reasons he couldn’t quite decern. It didn’t…

Then Aizawa pressed play, and the spell was broken. Izuku shook his head to dispel whatever that was, and refocussed on the criticism being levelled against himself and his teammate. Most of it pretty useful, though his father had already given him some advice based on what Izuku had told him last night. Uncle Oki had too, but that advice could basically be boiled down to: “Hit ‘em harder and faster than you did before”. A reliably strategy, really; one as old as time.

But Izuku wouldn’t disregard free advice, regardless of its perceived quality, so the green-haired teen listened and took notes. After all, …

‘It will help me grow stronger.’

What followed was nearly an hour and a half of breakdowns and analysis of strategy and a brief introduction to the basics of indoor combat tactics. Highlights included Iida being told to be more mindful of what villains would do, given time to prepare. Trap setting was used as a relevant example, after a clip showed the teen’s glorious high-speed face-plant into a wall following a charge after what was perceived to be an escaping villain, courtesy of a tripwire set by Yaoyorozu. Uraraka was also lectured on the ‘proper conduct’ between teammates, and was informed that, unless given permission, they weren’t considered acceptable projectiles. Regardless of how effective it had been in the end.

Izuku got a certain pleasure of the dressing down Aizawa had given a surprisingly quiet Bakugou, after the footage showed him blowing out a part of the building and nearly bringing down the whole structure on the four students after the boy had unleashed his support item gauntlets. ‘Honestly,’ Izuku thought in disbelief as he watched the footage of the massive explosion, ‘if that peppermint-hair looking guy didn’t put up that ice-wall, he’d have been toast.’

H̶̨̟͙̿͜i̵̺̟͗̓̚͝s̵̢̺̤̥͍͎̅͊̑̐̄͐̽̈́̕ͅ ̵͖̲̯̹̭̭͙͕͖̽̒̍̋͌f̵͖̜̾̀̕̚͝͠a̵̡̠̼̦̘͑̈́̒͠c̵͉͕͍̜̭̫̭̬̫͗̇e̴̢̡̻͙̬̓͐̿͘͘ ̴̛̮̭̲͍͇̞͙̮̾̑̓̊̃i̵̬͉̰̟͍͑͗̋̋̑̂̍t̶̢̧̢͓̟͚͔̲͖̔̂̀c̸̫̩͚͖̈́ḧ̷̠́͆̏̀͆ē̴͉̟̞̹̤̄̾̉͛͗͘͜d̷͍̞̫̏̀̕͝!

Speaking of said dual-haired teen, Izuku was mildly curious. He had what looked like an ice-quirk. It was pretty strong, and the guy had a lot of control, from what Izuku could see when peppermint had tried to end the exercise by freezing the building in one go. Izuku spared a glance at the teen, who looked blank and completely uninterested as his match was critiqued. Izuku looked forward again, eyes narrowed as he studied the guy in the footage. Izuku could see him melting the ice once the exercise was over, and that brought a frown to the green-haired teen’s face. ‘Heat as well? But why only use his ice? ’ Izuku though, mind wondering as the next match started. ‘Either his ice is a lot stronger than his fire or,’ Izuku thought of the large scar covering the heterochromatic boy’s blue eye, ‘or something else is going on there.’

Izuku tuned in just in time to hear Aizawa scold the flamboyant blond for over using his quirk so early into the exercise, before recommending he either increase his tolerance, or find another method to attack when his quirk wasn’t an option. He notices most of the class wince discretely –though Kaminari’s was much more noticeable– when Aizawa bluntly told Aoyama that a hero who incapacitates themselves at the start of a confrontation becomes a burden, and that he should endeavour to not be that burden.

‘I mean… he’s not wrong,’ thought Midoriya as he put his head back down and continued making notes, ‘a bit blunt, but not wrong…’

Eventually, the last video ended with a hero team win. Aizawa turned off the projector, and the lights came back on, making the class blink as their eyes adjusted to the sudden change in brightness. The scarfed teacher shuffled some papers on his desk and addressed the class. “Class is over, use the rest of the time as you want.” The teacher eyed his students severely. “Be logical and use it well. You have three years to reach an acceptable level and become heroes. Time is precious, especially for a deadline like that.” He surveyed the class, before his gaze landed on a certain green-haired teen. “Midoriya, Recovery Girl relayed what you told her to me. I don’t think I need to tell you what you should be doing. Gym Gamma is open and has some tools you can make use of to solve your… problem.” With that, the teacher tucked his papers under his arm, slumped tiredly, and stalked out of the room.

As soon as Aizawa left the room in a clear dismissal, the students took the chance to do as was recommended. Some started talking amongst themselves, exchanging phone numbers for future study sessions. Others took out their notes from the day and started going over them, beginning to memorize what they’d learned.

Izuku did none of that. He stood up, slung his bag over one shoulder, ignored the noise, and walked out of the room. He made a particular effort to ignore the loud blond sat in front of him being talked at by Kirishima. No point in damaging too much school property because he couldn’t keep his calm.

Pulling out a school map on his phone, Izuku followed the directions to gym Gamma. Classes were technically still in session, so the halls were mostly empty, except for the odd student looking lost or teacher. Izuku kept his eyes on his phone, stepping to the side to avoid a tall and loud blond and his two friends as they marched down the hallway, so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t even notice the first year they’d almost run over. Giving them a quick side-eyed glance, Izuku huffed and continued on his way.

Eventually, Izuku made it to the right place, finding it empty. ‘Not a big surprise,’ he supposed, after changing into his provided gym kit. He then starts to search for the tools he’d been told about. ‘It’s the start of the year. Us first years are getting used to the place. Dunno about the older years though. Maybe there are just that many gyms? ’.

After a lengthy search, Izuku ends up finding some dummies in a supply closet. They look like metal mannequins used in clothing stores, but with more joints. Probably in order to more accurately simulate a person’s movement. Giving the metal dummies a once over, Izuku found a control panel and an on switch on the back of each mannequin. He set them in a semi-circle formation, with enough distance between each mannequin to prevent one attack from reaching two mannequins, and switched them on.

At the sounds of computers turning on and systems warming up, Izuku placed himself in the middle of the semi-circle and waited. LED lights flashed green as each test-dummy turned on.

Actually, now that he thought about it, they were more like humanoid robots. All of them were smaller than the entrance exam ones, and they didn’t seem to have any weapons. For what was probably the thousandth time since Izuku had been at UA, he wondered just how deep the school’s pockets went, if they could spare such things for individual student’s usage.

The robots stood, and looked towards him. Izuku shook off the eery feeling he got as those green lights and visors peered into his soul, and fell into a practiced stance. Mentally pulling for his fire, he aimed at the one on the far left, and summoned a stream of flame. The fire rushed forward like water released from a dam, engulfing the robot completely and hiding it from view. Nearly immediately after the fire reached the robot, and just as the rush of endorphins that came from using his quirk started to make Izuku want to grin and push a little harder, and alarm rang out. Izuku cut off his quirk immediately to see what was going on.

The robot he’d targeted was glowing red hot, and lights were flashing from holes where the exterior armour had melted. Going up to check, he winced as he saw the temperature indicator on the back of the robot show an error message. ‘Yeah, very dead.’

He returned to the centre, and aimed at the next one. ‘Oh well. Practice makes perfect.’

The roar of the flames was the only reply he received.

Izuku sat on a bench nearby, incredibly frustrated. He had been trying for ages, but he still ended up either ‘killing’ or ‘permanently maiming’ his target. What that meant, was that he had melted through the parts of the metal shell of each robot at least twice, and then, even when he’d poured all the focus he could manage into his burst of flame, the temperature was still just too high. If it was a real person, he’d have left them missing most of their skin and with some boiled internal organs. Not what he should go for if he was aiming to be a hero.

Really, it was a credit to Kirishima that he’d managed to come out of his higher power blast with only second-degree burns. If the redhead managed to increase his hardness even further, he might become a real challenge in a fight. The heat might still damage him though, depending on how deep the hardening went, even if a blast’s shockwave couldn’t. ‘Hmm… something to consider, I guess.’

Feeling discouraged, Izuku checked the time. School had ended, and the extra sign language classes were scheduled for tomorrow. He had about an hour or two before he had to leave, and his dad was an adult, perfectly capable of making his own dinner.

Desperate for ideas, Izuku decided to look to the greatest collection of knowledge and information in human history for inspiration. The internet.

It turns out that typing ‘Fire Heroes’ into HeroTube mostly turned up videos of Endeavour fights, which made sense, he supposed. He was considered the best pyrokinetic in Japan. Actually, the man was probably one of the best in Asia, maybe even the world. He was just that strong, and people tended to forget that because he was so often compared to All Might, and no one could match the Number 1.

Despite the man’s near non-existent charisma, he was ranked the number two hero in japan for nearly two decades, and actually had a higher total number of solved cases than All Might. The man had skill. And, if Izuku wants to show the world he’s the strongest, the highest example he could follow is a best place to start. So, clicking on a video of one of Endeavour’s old fights against a villain who seemed to be able to control the road markings –quite a unique quirk, in Izuku’s opinion– the young fire quirk user started his research.

Forty minutes, three compilations, and at least five sped up fights, Izuku puts down his phone, puts his face in his hands, and takes a moment to contemplate. He has spent the better part of his literate life watching and writing down information about heroes and their Quirks. Usages, special moves, particular skills, the list goes on. And yet, somehow, despite the fact that Endeavour has been the number two for longer than Izuku has been alive, the self-styled hero analyst has failed to notice such a critical thing about the hero: Endeavour, when fighting, will most of the time just punch, kick, or generally employ blunt force or a grapple to subdue them, when intimidation isn’t enough. His quirk is mostly used as propulsion to add extra force to his blows. His quirk and natural durability cover most of his physical defence – Izuku would know; being on fire is a great way to stop those who aren’t fireproof from attacking you – and his quirk is mostly utilised in combat for manoeuvrability, or in the rare occasions the hero needs to go all out and use one of his super-moves. Those tend to be pretty lethal, though. So they seemed to be reserved for situations that require them most.

Izuku stares at his hand in disbelief. Nearly ten years of analysis, and he manages to miss something like this. He might have been onto something when he thought he was losing his edge… the hero’s flames tended to be the centre of attention, distracting people from seeing what he was actually doing.

‘Seems like some changes need to be made.’ He clenches his fist and stands, turning off the still functional robots and storing them back where he found them. He can’t do much about the scorching and slagging of parts of the gym’s floor, so he decides to leave that up to whoever is in charge of fixing things students break.

The teen changes back into his uniform and gathers his belongings, signing out with the panel by the door, and, after noticing the other options available, types in a quick message requesting general maintenance in gym Gamma. He might as well get someone to look at the robots, seeing as he’ll probably have to use them again soon.

The teen is deep in thought as he exits the building, and stays that way until near the end of his train journey. He doesn’t really remember the walk to the station or going through the gates, but that hardly matters in the face of his decision.

Izuku looks at his fist, still closed since he clenched it in the gym. He scowls as he looks up and away, storing his hand in his pocket. He’s been getting lazy lately it seems. It’s time fix that, maybe change things up a bit.

‘Besides,’ he thinks, as his train reaches his station, ‘she’d be disappointed if I neglected her lessons.’

“Can you confirm or deny the rumours that All Might has started teaching at UA?”

“Uuh…”

“What’s it like being taught by All Might?”

“All Might-sensei is an excellent teacher with years of experience. We are all very thankful that such a grand institution like UA was able to convince him to come and impart his wisdom upon us. Furthermore–”

“Hey, Kid! What’s the hero course like?”

“Er… I’m in Gen Ed…”

Izuku stopped in his tracks as the gates to UA came into view. The massive entrance that stood as the gateway to the school was currently blocked by a mass of something, which seemed to keep capturing innocent students as they tried to pass through and receive an education. As Izuku considered the crowd, he came to a terrible realisation. ‘The press… Ugh.’

Indeed, it was. The crowd, seemingly standing in wait like an ambush predator at a watering hole, consisted solely of members of the press and their assorted support crews. The news vans stationed nearby certainly supplied evidence to support that conclusion. Izuku frowned.

He could see Iida enthusiastically giving a speech to a news crew about what UA was like. The presenter looked ecstatic that a student was saying so much, smiling widely as she presented her microphone. It was a sharp contrast to her camera and sound guy, who Izuku could tell knew that what Iida was giving them was, while enthusiastic, a whole lot of nothing. ‘Huh. An interesting way to mess with them.’

He also saw Uraraka looking nervous as microphones and cameras surrounded her, the reporters pelting her with questions from all sides. He noticed Yaoyorozu walk through the press, a gentle smile and a nothing-comment to each question, charming her way through until she reached the gate. Todoroki just walked through the swarm like it didn’t exist. ‘Hmm. I guess you learn how to deal with this if you grow up rich and famous.’

There was also the odd general education or business class kid who would get a single question, then be let go in favour of juicier prey. ‘Lucky bastards.’

He turned his attention back to the problem at hand, that is to say, actually getting into school.

Izuku’s frown turned into a scowl. ‘Annoying.’

Izuku couldn’t really express how much he didn’t want to walk through the mob, and so, considered his options. UA didn’t have a back entrance available for students to use without special permission or a pass, and Izuku knew there was some rules about going over the walls. Something about an automated aerial defence system, maybe? At least, that’s what the handbook they’d been given had said. And, unless he wanted to practically destroy his uniform, cause some unexplainable collateral damage to people and property, and probably end up late anyway, he couldn’t feasibly tunnel underneath them.

‘Well. If I can’t go over it, can’t go under it, and can’t go around it… guess I have to go –ugh–through it.’

Taking a deep breath and filling himself with a grim determination, Izuku squared his shoulders, and marched forwards into the mess. He glared forward, trying his best to radiate as much murderous annoyance as he could manage, hoping to clear a path.

He walked straight through the crowd, ignoring microphones and questions and glaring at whoever got in his way, and, if they didn’t get out of the way, well it was hardly his fault if some shoulders were lightly bumped into to get the point across that there were much better places to stand than in the path of the green-haired student. As an aside, if he swung a little out of his way to give Uraraka the chance to follow in the wake he left behind and get out of the situation she was stuck in, that was purely coincidental. He had just gotten lost in the crowd… shut up.

Then, something changed. Maybe it was the fact that two students had completely brushed her off, or that the one student she had gotten to talk to her hadn’t been a hero course student, but one reporter took things a bit further. As Izuku pushed his way past her, with Uraraka walking behind him like an innocent duckling following a dragon, that reporter reached out and grabbed onto Midoriya’s shoulder.

“Hey! Don’t just ignore us! The people have a right to know what’s going on!”

At the contact, Izuku froze.

He didn’t hear her self-righteous proclamation as the world fell away, and, for a split second, Izuku was much younger, in a park he had gone to with his mother.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and he heard a voice he used to associate with joy and a childlike excitement for the future. A sickly-sweet smell permeates the air, a warning.

“Hey, whatcha got there, Ḑ̴͔̱̳͚̭̺̰̆̑͆͆͌͌̊̈̀̈̾͊͘͝͝ḛ̸̛̬̲̈̂̅̈́̐̽̓͛̈́k̷͚̹̝̥̻͖͇̲̗̮̰̭̓̈́u̵͔͊̈́͗͂͘?”

Before he knows it, Midoriya is reaching for his quirk as he starts to spin around, a growl threatening to rise from his chest. He wants to burn the i̵̘̣̦̔n̷̫͐̅̃̆̅s̸̫͗̆ẽ̷̻͈̔̂̒̾c̷̮̖̔t̷̲̼̼̙̍ that decided to touch him. And the whole, pathetic horde of p̷̠̠̽̂̈́̅̓͑̕ͅa̴̻̞̻͉̳͑ͅr̴̞͕̐͝a̶̢͇̦̮͇͎̣̥̗̍s̴̢͎̝̗̗̱̯̊͋͑̂i̸̠͋͌͗̾̐͌͝t̴̟͉̩͚̔ę̵̻̺̱̪͉͈̙̅ͅs it associates with as well, while he’s at it. His eyes glow like wrathful suns as his power gathers below his skin, thrumming in time with sudden spike of rage that leaps up his throat, gathering like blood in his mouth as he readies himself to–

“Stop harassing the students. If you want to know the school’s comment on… whatever it is you’re asking about, contact our public correspondence department.” A tired, monotonous voice cuts through the red haze and stops Izuku before he can even finish turning around. “You’ve all received warnings before, and if you don’t vacate the premises, we will be in our right to have you removed you for creating a hazardous environment for our students. Leave.”

“Hey you! Are you a teacher? Give us All Might!”

“Yeah! We want to talk to All Might!”

“The people have a right to know!”

“Do you have anything to say about– wait, are you really a teacher? You look a bit scruffy…”

Standing like an immovable bastion in front of the mayhem brought on by the press, Aizawa huffed tiredly, his hands in his pockets, as he ignored the shouted questions. Despite that, the crowd was noticeably quieter now that what appeared to be a member of staff and professional hero –as well as a chance for a proper scoop– was here. It was probably the calm before the storm though, and Aizawa was going to take this opportunity.

“Students. Homeroom starts in ten minutes. I’d advise you all to hurry up if you don’t want to be late.” His deadpan voice cut across the relative quiet, jolting every stuck student into action.

Izuku shook himself free of the previous thoughts, and started moving towards the gate. He was thankful that the hand had retracted before what was probably going to end up as homicide attempt against a member of the public, but the masked teen was exhausted now. He was drained emotionally. The sudden contact and subsequent flashback had triggered an adrenaline response, and now that it was over, he was even more tired than before.

He walked through the gate with Uraraka in tow, and past a stoic Aizawa. The man eyed them quickly, before turning his attention back to the crowd. Just in time, it seems, to see a certain reporter trigger the automatic metal shutter UA uses to close off the front gate. Aizawa smiled with sadistic satisfaction as he heard the reporter fall on her ass and loudly complain behind nearly thirty centimetres of specially treated, reinforced steel. ‘Aaah… that was completely worth whatever complaint they’ll make later. The leeches.’

As Midoriya stalked through the hallways towards the classroom, stewing in his own thoughts and completely ignoring the world around him, Ochako moved from her spot behind the green-haired teen to beside him, keeping pace as the taller teen as he glared forwards. She glanced at him with concern. She had seen how he had stiffened when that reporter had grabbed him, had felt how the temperature had suddenly gone up. When his head had snapped around, trying to find who had touched him, she had seen how his eyes burned for that split second. Full of fury and panic. A fear driven response that defaulted to anger, and could have led to a dangerous explosion. Maybe even a literal one. A distinctly different kind of anger to the one her possibly-friend had showed her on their first day.

Whatever the case, she knew she’d have to watch out for her probably-friend in the future. She decided that if she saw that he ever needed help, or even just to talk, she would be the first to offer it! It was the least she could do, after all.

Aizawa stood in front of his class, and felt a twinge of satisfaction at how they had fallen silent and been in their seats the moment he had appeared in the doorway. So, his goal of zero seconds by Friday had been inaccurate? He’d have to adjust his expectations.

“Sorry about the press, but, as heroes, you will all have to deal with them eventually. Especially if you become especially limelight heroes.” The teacher grinned internally at that, but kept his face outwardly blank. Another benefit of being an undergrounder. “So, considering remembering this morning.”

The class digested this information, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats. It was true, if they wanted to be top heroes, they needed to be able to talk to aggressive reporters and be able to remain calm in the face of similar pressure, but it was only first week of school! How could they have been ready for something like that!?

Yaoyorozu smiled slightly in the back row, and Todoroki just stared blankly.

“In any case, during homeroom you will be…” the class tensed. A surprise test? Some form of exercise they had to complete? Would they be expelled if they failed?? “… choosing a class representative.”

The students breathed a sigh of relief, before exploding into cheers. “THAT’S SO NORMAL!” Kaminari and Ashido in particular seemed enthusiastic about this, or maybe it was just because it wasn’t a test…

“I’ll do it!” someone shouted, which then set off the rest.

“Pick me! Pick me!”

“I’ll make sure our class is the manliest of them all!”

“Twenty centimetres or less of skirt, I tell you! Twenty!”

“Haaa?! You extras think anyone but me can do it?!”

Admittedly, not all proposals were worth equal consideration.

‘Oh look. Even the Pomeranian’s volunteering… what a surprise.’ Thought Izuku, as he tried to burn holes through his desk through the sheer force of his glare as he rested his head in his arms. He was still a bit jumpy from the incident at the gate, and the headache that was steadily growing from a combination of his tiredness and the escalating volume of his classmates’ shouts was wearing his patients to near breaking.

Izuku was about to try to get them to shut up somehow, when Iida spoke up.

“Silence! The sacred office of class representative is a serious position, with the many responsibilities it brings. We must be diligent when deciding who it is that we choose to represent us! They must be a trusted and respected member of our class; someone we can go to if we have concerns or issues that we feel we need to discuss. Therefor, I propose we decide on a representative through democratic vote!”

Ashido giggled as she pointed. “Iida, your hand is higher than anyone else’s. Just say you want the position for yourself!”

The bluenette’s hand was indeed raised straight up, as high as he could reasonably reach without injuring himself. Iida stuttered, embarrassed, but before he could properly answer, Asui cut in. “Most of us have only known each other for three days, give or take. Ribbit.” She put her finger to her lip, tilting her head. “Won’t that mean everyone will vote for themselves?”

Undeterred, Iida, his hand still in the air, responded. “That only means that the student with the most votes will be the one who had managed to gain the most trust in the least time. They will still be the worthiest candidate.” He turned to the teacher. “Do you agree, Aizawa-sensei?” Said teacher had already cocooned himself in his sleeping bag, seemingly asleep.

He disproved that notion by answering. “I don’t care,” he rolled over, facing away from the class, “do as you want.”

Iida nodded and, enlisting the help of Yaoyorozu, passed out slips of paper to each student. Izuku stared at his slip. He didn’t want the position. Actually, it would be fair to say that he wanted to be as far away from a position of responsibility like that as he could. He didn’t particularly care for whatever “renown” being known as the representative of his class might bring, nor did he care to entertain all of his classmates’ “concerns and issues”. He had his own shit to deal with, dammit! He had neither the energy of patience to deal with everyone else’s!

That left the choice of who to pick. He could pick Iida. The guy had been genuinely apologetic, and seemed to be enthusiastic about this kind of stuff. But he also seemed to wound a bit tight. The guy might get an aneurism through seriousness alone if he was given too much responsibility. He considered the other classmates he knew… or at least, was vaguely familiar with.

Uraraka seemed bubbly and happy to talk to anyone, but she would also be easily flustered, so she probably wouldn’t enjoy the position. Kirishima was similarly happy go lucky, but the guy didn’t have authority to reign in the class. Shoji seemed to dislike attention, if his near perpetual silence and his innate ability to fade into the background meant anything. Actually, maybe it’d be fun to mess with one of them. Give ‘em all that extra work and responsibility. Their reactions would be pretty funny…

The bomberanian could go fuck himself. ‘Nuff said.

The only one left was Yaoyorozu, and, honestly, she seemed like the perfect choice. She was obviously smart, and didn’t seem afraid to speak her mind –as evidenced by the past few days– but she was also kind, and helped figure out ways to fix mistakes made. She seemed sociable and at least had hints of charisma… she’d probably enjoy the work too, now that Izuku thought about it.

Mind made up, Izuku wrote down Yaoyorozu’s name and passed the folded slip to Iida, who was collecting them. Task completed, he lay back down on his desk, resolute to follow his sensei’s example for however long he could.

A few minutes later, Iida and Yaoyorozu had finished counting the votes, and wrote the results on the board.

Izuku blinked. The class blinked back. He wanted to groan.

Somehow, he’d ended up with two votes to Yaoyorozu’s three. It seemed he was tied with Iida for vice-representative, but he just wanted to go back to his desk and sleep for a week. He glared at the class. Someone he couldn’t see giggled, another looked away, whistling innocently. Traitors.

“Well, it seems we have a tie,” said class rep Yaoyorozu. “How are going to solve this? We could hold another vote, or you two could do rock paper scissors for the position?” Izuku stared in disbelief that the person he had voted for. She didn’t seem to notice. He turned his stare to Iida, who looked intensly focussed. Just as the engine-legged boy was about to give his answer, Izuku turned back to Yaoyorozu.

[I don’t want the position. Make him do it.] The girl had the gall to look surprised. “But why, Midoriya-kun? People trusted you enough to support your candidacy.” [Yes. They did. The idiots. I don’t care about any of this, though. I’m not interested.] Izuku turned to Iida, who was gaping at him. ‘Careful, or you’ll start catching flies.’ He grinned internally at the thought, before addressing the silent teen. [Congratulations on becoming vice-rep, Iida. Have fun with all that.]

His business concluded, Midoriya forfeited his candidacy with a wave, going back to his desk and sitting down. Then, he slumped forward, placing his head back in his arms to try and catch some much-desired sleep. ‘God. What a fucking morning.’ And he’d thought the day would get better after the gate.

The class stared at Midoriya’s slumped over form, then glanced at each other and shrugged. If he didn’t want the position, no point in forcing him to do it when there was someone else who actually wanted to.

Iida looked like he was about to start a lecture on proper procedure, when Aizawa unzipped his sleeping bag and stood up, ending all possible debate. “Okay. Yaoyorozu and Iida are your class representatives. You can sort out your responsibilities between yourselves.” The teacher started making his way towards the door, his yellow sleeping bag rolled up under his arm. “Glad that’s over with.” Exactly as the teacher crossed the border to the class, the bell rang, signalling the end of homeroom.

Izuku sighed, still slumped over. He’d just wanted a quick nap.

Morning classes passed without much more fuss, and soon, it was time for lunch. The class broke into chatter as the bell rang, talking with their friends as they headed for lunch. Izuku slowly collected his stuff, and followed a distance behind the 1-A group on his way to lunch.

He looked at the sky as he walked past a window. ‘It’s gotten pretty grey compared to this morning,’ he thought, watching the still clouds blanketing the sky. ‘They don’t look too dark, but it’ll probably start raining soon.’ He frowned slightly at the thought of his normal eating spot being compromised, before shrugging. As long as it wasn’t raining now, he’d take his chances with the roof. If it did end up raining, he’d take plan B and hope the classroom was empty. If even that failed, he’d go with plan C and to the bathrooms it would be.

He was pulled from his planning as he noticed a presence at his side. Turning to look, Izuku found the tall form of Shoji walking alongside him. The many-armed teen seemed lost in his own thoughts as the two wondered behind the main group towards the cafeteria, so Izuku decided he wouldn’t interrupt whatever the guy was doing.

The two masked teens walked in silence together, both thinking, neither speaking.

Eventually, Shoji snapped out of it when they reached the queue. He looked down at the teen standing in front of him in line. Realising who it was, Shoji formed a mouth at the end of one of his arms and spoke. “Oh. Hey Midoriya. How long have you been there?” The teen turned too look at him, and Shoji could recognize an incredulous look when he saw one. [Since about halfway from class.]

Shoji blinked at him. “Really?” [Yeah.]

He stared ahead again, his face screwed up, prodding his memory and trying to force it to give up the secrets it seemed intent on keeping from him. Eventually, he shrugged and gave up, smiling apologetically at Midoriya. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.” He got a dry look as Midoriya signed, [Yeah. I noticed.]

Feeling the heat of embarrassment crawl up his covered neck, Shoji looked away, and Midoriya returned his attention to the food line. They stood in an awkward silence, occasionally shuffling forward as the queue moved slowly onwards.

Eventually, Shoji broke the silence again. “I haven’t seen you eating in the cafeteria during lunchtime these past few days.” He winced immediately after the last word left his mouth. If that wasn’t the clumsiest way to start a conversation. He’d much rather return to the significantly less painful silence, please!

At first, Midoriya didn’t react, and Shoji started to sweat nervously. Then the green-haired teen turned around fully. [I prefer to eat somewhere with fewer people.] Shoji nodded. He could respect wanting peace and quiet when enjoying a meal. “Where do you go?” This time, Midoriya was silent for longer before answering. [The roof. It’s been pretty empty so far.] The ‘and I hope it stays that way’ went unsaid, but apparently not unheard as the six-armed teen nodded in response. “I guess that’s a pretty good place to eat, if tranquillity is what you’re after.”

The two got to the front of the line, with Izuku grabbing his nutrient packs and Shouji taking a plate of squid-ink pasta. Before they separated, Shoji addressed the other teen. “Anyways, in case you ever want some company, you’re always welcome to ask.” The mouth he’d formed grinned. “The more the merrier can be true, sometimes.” Midoriya considered this, before nodding, and making his way out of the room.

Shoji watched the teen go, before wandering off to find his usual table. Midoriya seemed to be a nice enough guy. Quiet, and definitely an introvert, he didn’t seem to have much of an affinity for interacting with others in casual settings. Well, Shoji couldn’t really judge on that front.

He also knew that Midoriya was powerful. Hell, the whole class was aware of it on some level. The guy was definitely top three in 1-A after the training exercise, at least by virtue of shear power alone. Shoji hadn’t met him before the first day, but after the practical portion of his own entrance exam, he caught the whispers of a Zero-Pointer turned to slag in one of the other fake cities, and, well… that last blast Midoriya had used against Kirishima had certainly been something to behold.

The tall teen dispelled the thought as he sat at what had become his usual seat, greeting Koda and Tokoyami with a nod before starting to eat. If Midoriya wanted to enjoy his lunch in solitude, who was Shoji to stop him?

Midoriya was lounging on the roof. He’d finished his first pack, and had already hooked up his second. Now, he was just leaning against the chain-link fence on the roof, eyes closed, just enjoying the early afternoon breeze against his permanently warm skin.

After what he considered a pretty shitty start, the day had wound down a bit, the normalcy of the lessons allowing the morning’s excitement to fade a bit. Still, even from where he was, he could still hear the odd sound coming from the crowd of reporters that stayed in front of UA’s closed gate. He would admire their determination, if they didn’t act like entitled parasites.

He had elected to ignore them. It was pretty easy from where he was sat. The low wind, the rustle of clothing, the mechanical whir of his mask’s feeding mechanism as it deposited the paste from the pack ȉ̴͕͋͝ń̶̛̮̰̀͘t̸̨͔̓ö̶̭̳̮̮̤̬̈́̿ ̸̳͎̙̉͑h̷̯̃̂̔i̷͎͂s̸̢̤͆͗͝ ̸̫̯̻͉̳̈́̓́̇m̸̘̜̥̦͎̂͝͝ȍ̴̤͖̫̭͒͊͝u̴̡̹̲̪̲̪̎̃͗͂̽̐t̴͕̙̖̾̽̐̿h̴̟͙͍̘̱̩̋͐ – he blinked. As it delivered the paste for consumption… ‘Yeah, that’s better.’

Izuku stretched his arms above his head, and checked the time on his phone. He had about twenty minutes until lunch ended, so he could catch a quick nap in the mean-time. ‘Ten minutes sleep, then ten minutes to wake up and get back. Sounds about right.’

The day seemed against him however, as, just as he’d started to doze off, he heard the unmistakeable blaring of an alarm.

Purely on reflex, he lashed to the side to turn off his morning alarm, before realising where he was and waking the rest of the way up. ‘That’s not normal,’ he thought as he got to his feet. ‘That sounds more like a security alert.’

He made his way to the door to the roof and pulled it open. The previously muffled alarm was freed, allowing it to sound out loudly across the rooftop. Izuku winced at the sudden noise. ‘Yep, definitely a security alert. I wonder what it’s for? ’

As if on cue, another sound reached Izuku’s ears. A cheer rang out, followed by the sounds of people running and screaming. Now, Izuku would have been worried had that sound come from inside the building, but it didn’t. Izuku looked over the edge of the roof, and scowled venomously at what he saw. ‘Of course, it’s them…’

Dozens of reporters and their cameras crews were swarming through the seemingly open front gate of the school, shouting questions at whatever unfortunate soul was in range, and demanding the right to an interview with All Might. The stampede seemed to have attracted the attentions of the teachers, whom Izuku could see rushing out of the building and starting to try and corral the ravenous horde.

Izuku decided the situation was being dealt with, and wasn’t really his responsibility anyways, so he left the roof and took the stairs back into the building, shutting the access door behind him as he left. As he walked through the halls towards his classroom, he saw crowds of students gather outside, on the opposite side of the building to the reporters, who were being steadily pushed back by shouted threats of legal action from Yamada-sensei, and death-glares from Aizawa-sensei.

Shoji Mezou was, to put it mildly, concerned. He’d been enjoying a nice lunch consisting of his favourite meal, he had had good table-companions who appreciated that lunch time was break from the normal daily routine, allowing it to be an hour where one could simply relax and enjoy what was possibly the best food in Japan. Mezou had been in bliss.

Then that bliss was spoiled as that shrieking alarm startled him, making him launch a forkful of the wonderous squid-ink pasta off to god-knows where.

The whole stampede that had followed after the alarm certainly hadn’t helped things.

He himself, blessed with a tall height and a large frame, didn’t suffer too badly from the struggling and panicking students as much as his much shorter classmates did. Koda, another relatively large guy, and him had had to band together in an attempt to rescue Tokoyami from being swept away into or under the melee. The bird-headed boy’s quirk had been squawking and growling at the people around them the whole time, helping the three of them keep the much shorter teen upright.

Shoji had caught an elbow to the rib from somewhere, which really annoyed him, and he’d pretty sure he saw Koda wince when someone stepped on his foot… or maybe it was just the noise? The guy was even quieter than Midoriya, and he seemed to more nervous when it came to being around people.

Just as people had begun to really freak out and quirks had started going off –he was pretty sure he’d seen tentacles, sparkles, and even a giant hand above the crowd– Iida had come out of nowhere, flipping through the air like a poorly coordinated acrobat as he floated and tried to use the engines on his legs to propel himself. He had crashed into the wall above the exit sign, using said sign to anchor himself as he yelled at the crowd about how it was reporters who had gotten in and set off the alarms, and how they should all be ashamed to be behaving such a way as UA students. Shoji was impressed. Iida had managed to make himself heard over what had nearly become a panic-induced riot using only his authoritative nature and just a tiny bit of shouting. The guy fit into his position as class vice-rep nicely.

The crowd, now significantly less rowdy, started to evacuate the cafeteria. Now that they weren’t all struggling and pushing against one another, progress was smoother. It was at this point that some third-year hero students started to help direct the flow of students, trying to follow the actual proper directions for a situation like this –which was apparently a level 3 security alert? And, also, quite rare, if that one random guy was to be believed– but Shoji could only scoff slightly as he walked past one of them. ‘Iida’s already done all of the work. Where were you “more experienced” students when everyone was in chaos? ’

As the class gathered outside –Todoroki joining them a bit after everyone one else– Yaoyorozu and Iida set to counting the class to make sure they were all there. As she finished her count, Yaoyorozu found them to be down a student. “Has anyone seen Midoriya-kun?”

Seeing as no one else was about to speak up, Shoji did. “He went off to eat alone.”

“Do you know where he is? Or do you have his phone number?”

Shoji was about to answer –hey, he respected the guy’s desire for a private space and all, but this was a school-wide emergency– when the man himself stepped out of the building, a frown on the visible parts of his face.

“Midoriya-kun! There you are! We were worried.”

Midoriya nodded absentmindedly in response, walking into the 1-A crowd and coming to a stop standing next to Mezou, facing the rep and vice rep.

Iida tried to press the matter. “What were you doing that made you late to a post emergency alarm class assembly?”

Midoriya gave the glasses wearing teen a deadpan look. [Eating.] He seemed to realise something, as he added onto his already short answer. [And napping.]

Iida was about to go into lecture-mode again when the green-haired teen turned his attention to the six-armed one next to him, ignoring Iida. Midoriya looked him up and down. [What happened with you? You get into a fight?]

Ah. That was probably because of his rumpled and now slightly dirty uniform. He’d been nice and tidy before his fellow students had tried to riot. “People panicked when the alarm went off. It got pretty hectic. There was a lot of shoving, and some pretty close calls. Tokoyami nearly got trampled.” The taller teen looked at Iida, who was being praised by members of the class for his actions, Sero and Kaminari seeming to find the blunette’s dismayed reaction to the nickname of ‘Exit-sign Iida’ to be hilarious. “Iida yelled at everyone that it was the press who’d tripped the alarm, which calmed most people down.” He snickered a bit. “Who knew a first year could lecture a whole mob of his peers and seniors?”

[It’s Iida. He’d yell at a tree for its unsightly bark.] Midoriya quipped, before seeming to scowl at something. [I saw the press from where I was, but the whole cafeteria panicked? That must have been pretty shitty. And for just an alarm? You’d expect our seniors to handle stuff like that well, not wait for someone from our year to do it. Especially the older hero course ones students.]

Shoji sighed, but nodded in agreement. He’d thought the same thing, after all.

The class idled around for a bit, chatting together or playing with their phones, until the alarm cut off. Eventually the teachers called the classes back in.

They were all pretty excited to burn off the remaining nervous energy from the lunch incident by exerting themselves in a taxing heroic’s class exercise. So, imagine the disappointment when Aizawa told them the end of day classes were cancelled. UA needed to run security tests or something, and it would be safer and easier if the students went home. The teacher mumbled something about “being logical with their time, unlike those vultures…” as he stomped out of the room. The class collectively decided not to test the teacher during this trying time, and, instead, to enjoy the freedom they’d been handed. Apparently, it would be in short supply… according to that same teacher.

As he made his way out of the building, Izuku passed around the front, in view of the gate. The students had been told to use the back entrance, since the front was “currently occupied”, but Izuku was curious. He seen the thick metal-alloy shutter slam up when that one bitchy reporter had tried to get past the border this morning. How on earth had they gotten past a defence like that? They were members of the press. Disreputable, perhaps, and definitely overeager for a anything resembling story, but they were civilians. They shouldn’t have the training, the equipment, or powerful enough quirks to try tangle with UA’s defence systems.

‘So how did they get in? ’ thought Izuku as he peered out the hallway window. It gave him a good view of path leading in from the front of the school, allowing him to see a squad of teachers by the gate. Aizawa was crouched just at the border, touching the ground. Izuku squinted, trying to make out what the teacher was looking at, when he saw the man pour something grey out of his hand.

‘The gate… was destroyed? ’ Now that was concerning. Izuku furrowed his eyebrows, even as something churned in his chest. Something was happening, and Izuku couldn’t tell if what he was feeling was nerves, or the excited fires of his quirk, raring to go.

A droplet hit the glass in front of him, and Izuku looked to the sky as more joined it, splashing against the window in an increasingly heavier downpour. ‘It’s raining…’

He gazed at where the gate used to be, then further back, at the dark, roiling clouds approaching from the sea and gathering over the city. ‘… and a storm is coming…’

…

…

‘SHIT! I didn’t bring an umbrella! The walk back is gonna suck!’

Chapter Text

“So, Aizawa-kun, what do you think of this year’s batch?”

The tired, black-haired man in question gave his boss a side-eyed glare before returning his attention to the open files on the table before him. “They have more potential than the year before.”

The small, white-furred mammal that ran UA high school laughed. “High praise, given that you expelled all of that class on the first day,” chuckled Nedzu. The mysterious creature switched to a more chiding tone, though still with an undercurrent of amusement. “Honestly, Aizawa-kun. One entrance exam and physical test is hardly enough to gauge the true potential of students as future heroes. Potential must be drawn out and stimulated, encouraged to grow. Not snuffed out after having been deemed insufficient after barely a day.” Aizawa flipped through the last of the files, rolling his eyes at the familiar lecture he was receiving. He had already read the notes on his current students, but a reread after a week of interacting with them would give him a better level of understand of what he’d be starting with.

“They were all re-enrolled afterwards anyways,” he grumbled, as his boss’ squeaky laughter rang through the office again. Aizawa sipped his coffee. “That year was insufficiently motivated. They thought they were all that simply because they got into UA. Witnessing the destruction of their dream woke them up. Instead of resting on their laurels, when they were re-enrolled, they were motivated to work hard and keep their spots.” Bloodshot eyes highlighted by dark bags stared at the amused principal. “It worked as intended. Class 2-A is better than they would have been had I not expelled them.”

Nedzu chuckled again, the pen in his hand blurring as he worked absentmindedly through his own stack of paperwork. He waved a furry paw at his employee. “If you say so. They were your students, after all. You would know them best.” The chimera paused for a second, checked a line in a document carefully, then continued writing at his previous pace. “But back to the matter at hand: what are your thoughts on the current class 1-A?”

Placing the file in his hands back on the table, Aizawa contemplated the question further. “As I said, all of them have potential in varying amounts. Each one has their own personal motivations, but the class as a whole has to have something in common that pushes them all to be better. For now, threats and rational deceptions work, but I’ll need some time to adjust my lesson plans to bring out the most in them all.” He thought for a second, before reflexively dipping his head down into his capture-scarf, hiding a small frown. “There are some issues and irregularities that will need to be addressed before the term is over.”

That caught Nedzu’s attention. It wasn’t unexpected, humans were human, and all of them had their –heh– quirks and difficulties, but it was always good to have more data on his students as early in the year as possible. “Oh? What kind of issues?” Aizawa rubbed his eyes, as he wondered what needed mentioning. And where to start.

“There are a few students I have concerns about, but only a few of them are currently serious enough to warrant a further look. Starting with Uraraka. Her file mentions her successful application for the Strider Scholarship for students of low-income backgrounds. That, combined with the fact that her current address is in a… less patrolled area of the city, and the note that she is currently living alone, causes some concern. It wouldn’t be the first time a UA student was targeted by villains or criminals for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the area she is in has a higher crime rate than the surrounding districts. I also don’t know if the building she’s living in has the necessary basic amenities.” The underground hero, Eraserhead, stared at the ceiling. “There isn’t much I can do about the second part. Maybe I could look into the building? But I don’t know if I could convince her to move –if living in the building turns out to be detrimental to her health– without giving her a realistic alternative. In any case, I can switch up my patrol to include the area in my circuit.”

 Nedzu made a noise of consideration. “For now, it isn’t something that requires direct involvement. There is a project in the works that may negate such concerns in the future, but it isn’t even in the prototype stage yet.”

With a nod, Aizawa carried on. “Bakugou is a whole other case. A powerful quirk which he has good control over, great combat instincts, and a good head on his shoulders, he’s got more potential in his left foot than most of my previous students combined,” the teacher narrowed his eyes. “The issues come from his personality. Most of the time, he’d been quiet in class, but when it’s time for hero-training or competitive activities, he becomes reckless or loses his cool.” Aizawa glanced at the principal. “You saw what he did during the battle-training. He should have known not to use those gauntlets indoors and against other students who he isn’t certain are able to survive a hit like that.”

Nedzu shrugged, but his face was stuck in a grin. “Chalk it up to inexperience with his new support items. I’m sure Bakugou-kun will learn from his experience and be more careful next time.” Aizawa glanced at the file on the blond boy, before continuing. “He also tried to attack Midoriya during the fitness test on the first day. I restrained him, of course, but were it not for his potential and how quickly he calmed down when I scolded him, I would have immediately expelled him.”

At this Nedzu nodded and spoke. “Yes. It was mentioned that young Bakugou has been undergoing anger management, as well as meeting with a therapist on a bi-weekly basis.” As an afterthought, he added, “We have vetted that therapist, by the way.”

“Ah, yes. The therapist Bakugou has been meeting with for,” Aizawa checked the file, “five years.” He looked up at his boss. “Attacking another student like he did doesn’t show the improvement that would be expected after five years of therapy.”

“Be reasonable, Aizawa-kun. If you don’t know how he was when he started, you can’t really be sure if he has improved or not.”

The teacher refused to nod, but his silence indicated he conceded the point. “His family has been informed that Hound Dog is a qualified therapist and students counsellor, and is available during school hours, should Bakugou-kun wish to talk to someone during that time.”

Aizawa picked up another file. “Moving on, Midoriya’s file is… emptier than it should be. One father, no mother, and no other living relatives. He moved and went to a different middle school than he would have when he eleven. There’s a single sentence about time out of school near the end of his third year, but there is painfully little information as to why. There are also vague mentions of an incident five years ago, as well as sporadic dates of the various medical procedures he has undergone since then, but not much else beyond that in his medical notes. I understand that patient-confidentiality must be respected, but if I am to teach him, I need to know how far I can push before it becomes too dangerous for the boy’s health.”

Nedzu considered this for a second, before answering. “I’ll contact his doctor again, but I doubt we’ll get any more out of the man than last time,” the chimera chuckled. “It seems the man is fiercely protective of his patient’s privacy.” Nedzu tilted his head. “Has Midoriya-kun been showing signs of fatigue or stress related to his physical state?”

Aizawa shook his head. “No, and that’s the amazing thing. Despite the brief description of the surgeries, the procedures paint a decent picture of what Midoriya looked like after that ‘incident’. And sir,” Aizawa looked into the beady black eyes of the most intelligent being in Asia, “I say, in no uncertain terms, that the boy shouldn’t have survived.” The man looked back at the file. “It’s a miracle he did, and even then, he shouldn’t have been able to move, much less fight and use his quirk like he has been doing. Healing quirks are a possibility, but there are none registered that are that powerful, and the medical reports, scant as they are, don’t mention the use of any quirks like that. Just standard pain nullification, paralysis, some sleep induction, or bio-monitoring quirks used at various stages.” Aizawa sighed. “Yet despite all of that, despite being in a state comparable to All Might’s, Midoriya comes first in the exam, and second in the Quirk Apprehension test. Speaking of, despite not having an enhancement quirk,” he paused as he examined the teen’s file, “in the traditional sense, his score in the upper body strength test and the grip strength test are comparable to those with minor to moderate strength quirks.”

At that, Nedzu interjected. “His medical file mentions something that could cover that. It’s a genetic mutation. Myostatin-related muscle hypertrophy typically comes with increased muscle size and density, as well as lower body fat.” The chimera smiled. “How amusing that in the age of quirks, such things are still considered rare genetic mutations.”

Aizawa glared. “A genetic mutation affecting his muscles isn’t enough to explain this level of strength for his build. There are others in classes A and B that outshine him in pure strength, but their quirks explain that. His doesn’t.” His attention flickered back to the file. “In any case, Midoriya and Bakugou went to the same elementary and primary schools. They were even in the same class.” Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “Midoriya’s ‘incident’ happened five and a half years ago, Bakugou starts attending anger management and therapy sessions, Midoriya moving away, Bakugou attacking him during the apprehension test… sir, this doesn’t paint a good-”

That’s as far as Aizawa got before he looked up and paused. The principal was smiling. It was a knowing smile, holding all the danger of a barely restrained beast. It stretched the principals face in unnatural ways, looking far too human for an animal’s face, yet far too animalistic all the same. It sent a shiver down Eraserhead’s spine when Nedzu’s unreadable black eyes locked onto his. “Yes, Aizawa-kun. It is curious.” The high-pitched voice, carefully controlled and meant to present the façade of cuteness and harmlessness to the world, shattered its own illusion with the ice-cold sharpness of its tone. “Unfortunately, the records of the incident are non-existent, and there are no witness testimonies to parse through. No reports except medical reports from the aftermath either. Quite… unfortunate. And it means that nothing can be done to for or against either of them based off of the event or whatever history preceded it without a more recent cause for concern.” The last four words make the hair on the back of Eraserhead’s neck stand on end.

“Isn’t Bakugou trying to attack Midoriya during the apprehension test enough?” The smile he got in response dropped the room’s temperature by two degrees.

Aizawa sighed. “Right… in any case, Recovery girl is aware of the details available of his medical history, and Lunch Rush has been given the name of the company that produces the nutrient packs that Midoriya uses to eat.” He placed the file back on the pile. “So, we can’t do anything about that for now. I’ll keep an eye on him, and monitor the situation as it goes.”

Nedzu hummed, and sipped from a teacup that had appeared from somewhere. Aizawa didn’t question the eldritch shit his boss got up to. It was better not to.

“The last student of concern is Todoroki.” At this, Nedzu nodded. Aizawa looked up. “You know already?”

The chimera hummed as he took a sip of tea. It smelled like Sencha. It probably was.

“I noticed it during the recommendation exam. I’m embarrassed to say I brushed it off at the time as just a personal preference or consideration towards his competitors,” the chimera grinned. “A powerful fire quirk and a powerful wind quirk being used near each other would have been dangerous for the other examinees had either one suffered even a slight slip in concentration.” The smile dropped. “But the boy’s refusal to use his fire when it would have been advantageous during the apprehension test, or during the battle exercise is concerning. To even refuse to use it to mitigate the effects of his ice during battle makes it doubly so.”

Aizawa glared at the file. “His father is Endeavour, you would expect Todoroki to be nothing if not proficient with both sides of his quirk, and for both sides to be equally powerful. His actions are self-destructive, and his mentality leads him to isolate himself from his peers. He didn’t cooperate with his teammate during the exercise and used his quirk to the point of developing frostnip in his fight against Bakugou. He didn’t even try to thaw himself out. Outside of heroics, he sits alone during lunch, and if his classmates try to interact with him, he tends to ignore them.” His teacher caught himself. “Except for Yaoyorozu. He seems to tolerate her more than the others.” The teacher scoffs. “He’s his father’s son when it comes to working with others, if nothing else.”

Nedzu hummed again. That sound was starting to grate on Aizawa’s nerves. “Perhaps. Children do often emulate their parents without realising it.” The chimera in turn studied the picture of the heterochromatic boy. “The father is The Fire Hero, renowned for his skill and firepower. The son has a rare and powerful dual quirk, Half-Cold Half-Hot, the ability to produce ice on one side of his body, and fire on the other. He is obviously skilled with his ice, yet we have yet to see him use his fire beyond melting his ice after combat has finished.” The chimera took a sip. “The boy has obviously been trained. Even without his quirk, his hand-to-hand is impressive for a first year, and he does well academically.” Nedzu put down his tea cup, and steepled his paws. “So, it is very curious that the boy who so resembles his father refuses to use the part of his quirk attributed to the man, isn’t it?”

Aizawa’s gaze flitted to the picture of the student, specifically the scar on the boy’s face, before glaring at his boss. “Do you think something’s happening there?” Nedzu grinned. “Something is definitely happening. What that something is, we can only theorise… for now.”

The rat-bear-dog creature leaned back into one of the couches that occupied his office. His small size made the couch look huge, and the fact that Nedzu was slowly sinking into the cushions made the image a cute one… to someone who didn’t know.

Aizawa wasn’t fooled. He could see the gears turning behind the grin the principal was wearing. It was unnatural, and just as cold as the one he’d worn before. The rat had a plan.

“I will be doing some digging,” he began conversationally, as if that statement alone wasn’t enough to make frost gather on nearby windows despite it being spring. “If I find anything of note, I will let you know. Though I suspect that issue will be… alleviated through the same manner as Uraraka-chan’s situation will be. Give me time to finalise a model of my project to present and convince the board of its necessity. Then, if needed, I will go further.”

Aizawa nodded, using his capture-scarf to hide his nervous gulp, though he suspected it was futile. Nedzu seemed to feed off of the existential fear he inspired in others. No doubt the chimera could smell it on Shouta.

“Will that be all?”

One of the best underground heroes in Japan nodded. He trusted the chimera to look out for his students. Nedzu was an animal, and so would always lack that empathetic understanding of emotion that all functioning humans had, but UA was his domain, and Nedzu would have all aspects polished to perfection to properly reflect his power. If outside forces were sullying its good name, they would be identified, and their effects removed. Aizawa trusted his boss that much.

Nedzu clapped his paws together. “Good! It seems we have our work cut out for us this year, Shouta-kun! More concerns than other years, but I suppose extra potential always comes with extra cost. No matter!” The white chimera hopped down from his seat and moved towards his desk. “You may go. I believe you have the rescue field trip today, yes? Good. That will certainly be interesting to see. Have fun!”

Aizawa grunted in reply, and got up to walk towards the door. It opened before he reached it, and, for a split-second, Shouta had the urge to look back and check if the principal had pressed a button from his desk. He ignored the urge with an ease born from years of practice and stalked out of the room, the large, reinforced wooden door shutting behind him.

He was sure that, even if he did look back, he wouldn’t see beyond what the principal wanted him to.

It didn’t matter, anyways. He had a bunch of hyperactive, super-powered teens to teach.

“Hmph. It seems you’ve all finally worked out the logic of not wasting time,” was the first thing Aizawa said to his students as he walked in just in time for heroics class. He had heard the sound of people rushing to their seats as soon as he’d neared the classroom. Which was odd, because as an underground hero, he naturally moved much more quietly than normal people. So, class 1-A must have had a warning.

‘Jirou or Shoji,’ thought Aizawa as he reached his stand. ‘I’ll have to actually try to be quiet next time. See if they’re as logical if they don’t know I’m coming.’

The teacher made sure he had the entire class’ attention. “Today, we’ll be doing rescue training,” he said without any preamble, pulling a card out from under the podium on which was written, in big bold letters, “RESCUE”.

The class exploded into cheers, a near identical reaction to the announcement of the battle exercise three days prior. However, unlike All Might, Aizawa was much less willing to indulge his students’ noisy excitement. He glared at the class, activating his quirk. The tired death glare, glowing red eyes and floating hair, as well as the feeling of their quirks vanishing from their perception, was enough to immediately shut down the noise. Aizawa swept his glare across the classroom, before deactivating his quirk. He’s pretty sure he heard a quiet sigh of relief. He elected to ignore it.

“You’re going to be brought to a different facility within UA’s campus. It’s a bit far away, so we’ll be taking a bus. Change into your costumes, and meet at the designated waiting area. It should be on your maps, if you’re not sure where that is.” That last comment was made for the few that looked to be about to raise their hands or ask questions. Aizawa turned and walked out of the door, pressing the button that released the costume cases. “You have ten minutes,” he added as an afterthought. He grinned into his capture scarf as he once again heard the sound of scraping chairs and rushing students.

Then his grin vanished and he sighed. ‘This is going to be a pain… at least there’ll be others there to help.’

The boy’s changing room was full of raucous noise as the male hero students rushed to change as well as share the excitement they had initially repressed in class, for fear of attracting their teacher’s ire. Now, though, who was going to stop them from getting hyped about the new type of hero class? Well, maybe Iida, but he was much too busy changing into his multi-piece armoured suit to really scold any of them. Maybe later in the year the bluenette would learn to multitask, but for now the other teens would chat to their hearts’ content –while still rushing to get dressed, of course. If Aizawa had said ten minutes, then man probably meant nine minutes and thirty seconds. And half a minute was a deceptively long time.

“I know rescue isn’t always the flashiest kind of work, but saving people is the manliest part of heroics! So, rescue training will probably be super- no, Hyper-manly!” Kirishima was definitely the loudest in proclaiming his excitement. The teen affixed the gear accessories to his shoulders as he spoke. His costume had been repaired by the support department since the battle training, and apparently a support student had gotten to it and upgraded the material. Now, it would hopefully be even more resistant to wear and tear, so Kirishima was even more hyped!

Kaminari chuckled as he put on his leather jacket, shaking his head. “I dunno, man. Compared to battle training, rescue just seems boring,” he placed the last part of his costume, the earpiece, on his head. “I mean, I get that it’s super important and all, but rescue is just memorising protocols for what to do when you get to an emergency and then waiting for the actual emergency services to get there. It just doesn’t compare to learning how to fight.”

Sero adjusted his tape-dispenser-shaped shoulder pads as he gave his two cents. “Dude, it might not be as exciting, but rescue is still, like, one of the most important part of heroics. Also, just because your reflex for a fight is to short circuit your brain, and then you have to actually use that same brain during rescue, doesn’t mean that some of us won’t absolutely demolish this exercise!” Sero spoke with a grin as he pointed a thumb over his shoulder at Shoji and Kouda. The six-armed teen ignored the conversation, but the large boy with the rock-shaped head blushed and quickly put on his costume’s mouthguard.

As the electric teen squawked with indignation, and he and Sero began to bicker, Midoriya stepped out of the stall he had been using to change. He pulled on one of sleeves to adjust it, before stretching his arms over his head. He heard the satisfying pops and clicks being given off by his shoulders and back, and let out a content sigh which was hidden by his mask, before slumping down into his typical slouch.

He shoved his hands into his hoody pockets and made his way to the exit of the changing room, deciding not to put up his hood just yet. Izuku hadn’t slept well the night before, being woken up way earlier than normal by a nightmare for some reason, but he had decided to put up his hood when he got on the bus. Maybe he could catch some sleep on the way to wherever they were going, or at least meditate a bit. Though he wasn’t sure Aizawa would let him use his quirk even a little to help meditate.

The green clad teen passed by where Mineta was changing on his way to the exit, and immediately regretted it when he overheard the conversation taking place there.

“Guys… the older years have left us a gift from the gods…”

“What are you talking about, dude?”

“A favour done for us by our senpais who know how many years ago… truly a relic of a golden age…”

“Hey, Mineta, what’s going on? You’re starting to freak me out man.”

“A hole in the wall… a window into the vault hiding the most wonderous of treasures…”

“Wha-”

Izuku was so close to the exit. He could just ignore what was happening. One of the responsible guys would stop him. Failing that, the girls could take care of themselves, and had probably already blocked the hole on their end of the wall, or one of the older years had. ‘I mean, come on. Someone as smart as Yaoyorozu or Asui must have looked for something like that. Even if they hadn’t, Jirou could have-”

“Mineta-san! How dare you make such lurid comments! While I commend you spotting the hole and pointing it out to the rest of the class, to even suggest that we, as heroes in training at UA or even as decent human beings, would perform such – such… vile actions as to peep on the girls in our class as they are changing is highly indecent and unbecoming as a future hero!” ‘Ah, guess Iida’s done changing.’

“What? Are you fully a robot Iida! Do you have no soul?! No libido at all?!” Izuku really wanted to walk out. They were running out of time to meet, but he was frozen in place for some reason. Like a train wreck, he just couldn’t seem to stop paying attention to the situation as it devolved.

Iida sputtered like a broken engine at Mineta’s remark, distracting him as Mineta enacted his plan. “We are students at UA… flaws are meant to be taken advantage of in hero work… and gathering intelligence is a vital part of heroics!” As the diminutive pervert’s mumbling turned into a yell and a leap at the peep-hole in an attempt to accomplish his filthy goals, Izuku’s world slowed to a standstill.

“You know, I’ve never really felt safe here.”

The boy looked at his best friend, his first real friend, and there was no surprise at her comment. There was only sadness.

[I kind of guessed that, but what happened?]

The girl brought her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them as they sat beneath a tree outside of their school. The boy sat next to her their shoulders touching. One of his legs was outstretched while the other was bent and pulled up to his body, being used to wrest his arm on. It was a sunny day, though grey clouds were gathering on the horizon. It would probably rain tonight.

The girl gave a humourless chuckle. “I guess it’s kind of obvious. Sorry about that,” as she apologised, the boy put his other arm over her shoulder, a silent show of support, for that was all he could honestly do. The girl sighed quietly. “Normally, it’s just the other girls doing what they do, or just things I overhear in the hallway between lessons. But I found a peephole in the locker room today, going into one of the stalls on the girls’ side. I also went in there the other day, and my locker’s door was all damaged, like someone had tried to get in.” The girl hid her face in her legs. “I tried to tell the teachers, but they just didn’t care. Just ‘kids being kids’ one of them said, ‘nothing to worry about’ another said. One teacher even tried to blame me. She said I’d damaged my locker for attention, you know?”

The girl was shaking as she rambled, unseen tears streaming down her face. The boy tightened his side-hug, staring supportively at her. She sniffed. “It’s just –I dunno– if everywhere else was a nightmare, then the locker room stalls were like a safe haven, y’know?” She sniffed again and laughed wetly. It was an ugly laugh, horribly unsuited to her. She tightened her grip on her knees. “I-It was the l-last p-p-place in the school w-where I co-could be a-alone, y’know? Away from everyone. B-besides the t-toilets, and th-those aren’t any better than the hallways, anyway.”

The boy changed his grip to a full hug, gently pulling her head from its place in between her knees and resting it on his shoulder. One of his hand’s rand a hand through his friend’s hair as the other held her tight, an embrace she returned as she wrapped her arms around his torso and bawled into his uniform’s collar. He let her cry. It was healthier than holding it all in, according to his father. It was better for her.

After a couple minutes, the crying became sniffles and they separated, returning to their previous seating arrangement beneath the tree. The girl sniffed and rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the last tears and tear tracks, only making her already puffy eyes worse. The boy took out a pack of tissues he’d prepared for his friend, and offered it to her. She laughed wetly again, this time at her friend’s forethought. This time, the laugh suited her well.

When she’d wiped her eyes, the boy addressed her. [Do you want me to do anything to help?]

The girl smiled, eyes puffy from the needed cry, and the used tissues still in hand. Despite the brightness of the smile, something shrivelled in the boy’s gut.

“You don’t need to do anything, Izuku-kun. You being my friend is more than enough.”

Izuku blinked and the world blurred. Suddenly he was standing in front of the crowd, with one hand over the peep-hole, and the other holding Mineta up in the air by the yellow cape attached to the back of the small boy’s purple costume. Midoriya glared at the suspended boy as he wriggled.

“Oh, come on! Not you too, Midoriya! C’mon! you know you want to have a look too! Just be honest with yourself! A room full of beauties just beyond the wall! Think about it!”

Midoriya’s glare intensified as his eyes glowed like green suns. He swept his accusatory gaze over the gathered crowd. ‘Why was I the one to step in. All of you here and no one moved.’ Those whom his gaze fell upon winced and looked away. ‘Typical.’ The hand he had placed against the wall heated up as he clenched his fist. He could probably melt the material that made up the wall, or make it more malleable, and close the hole. Plus, he wanted to have a small chat with the source of this disturbance.

Midoriya’s dropped Mineta on the ground, and his now free hand travelled upwards towards the button underneath his mask. Just as he was about to press the button and speak to the fools, he felt a sharp pinch in the palm over the hole, causing him to wince and withdraw his hand from the wall. Bringing it up to check what had hurt him revealed a familiar looking jack connected to a pale-flesh coloured chord. A jack which quickly pulled out from his hand and retreated back into the wall, leaving a bleeding hole in his palm. The whole group of boys stared at the hole, hearing a muffled yelp and ensuing commotion on the other end, before some kind of mush filled the hole and solidified, blocking off the peephole. ‘Ah. There’s Yaoyorozu.’

Suddenly, Izuku’s anger evaporated, and all that he was left with was a deep tiredness. His hand was still bleeding, so he clenched it, ignoring the sting of the wound as he dropped his arm back into his pocket, discretely activating his quirk to stop the blood getting on his clothes.

“U-u-uh… I-I-I g-guess I sh-should b-be saying th-th-thanks?” Mineta’s annoying voice cut through silence left in the aftermath. Before the others could voice their thoughts, or Iida could scramble to try and bandage his hand, Midoriya swept a tired glare over the audience and walked out of the changing room.

‘Why the fuck do I do anything?’

The rest of the boys scrambled to finish getting ready and catch up to their comrade, and by the time the last one had arrived, the bus still hadn’t arrived, much to the students’ confusion. One would expect UA facilities to operate on time, at the very least, though the slight imperfections that showed as the school year wound up did make the place seem less daunting. The first years had finally started to settle into their place in the school, beginning to leave behind the awkwardness inherent with any new students.

(Still, there was still plenty of other types of awkwardness to take its place, but that is neither here nor there.)

Iida took it upon himself to corral the students into order based off of the seating plan, shouting loudly at any who were out of formation. A suspiciously pale Jirou scowled at the oblivious Iida, but Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to feel much, if any, sympathy for her. It might have had something to do with the hole in his hand, but that was just conjecture.

In any case, the class was lined up in pairs for five minutes before the bus arrived, just to appease Iida. So, it was to everyone’s amusement that when said bus did arrive, and Aizawa told them to get on it, that it was an open floor-plan type of bus, similar to the ones used to transport students to the entrance exam areas. Of course, everyone’s amusement but Iida’s, who slumped dejectedly as everyone else rushed to get onto the bus. Yaoyorozu tried to reassure him with a pat on the back, but trying to comfort someone while discretely laughing at them was a difficult task to achieve.

Izuku’s position near the back of Iida’s attempt at a formation meant that he ended up near the front of the bus, in the open area, squeezed in between Asui and the giant in a yellow one-piece suit and white gloves, boots and utility belt, Satou.

To say Midoriya was displeased was an understatement. First, he gets nearly no sleep the night before, then the stubborn remnants of yesterday’s reporters are still at the gates when he gets to school that morning, being their usual level of nuisance. He forgot his calculator at home, so maths becomes substantially more painful than it already is, then, when he tries to do something good in an attempt to balance out whatever negative karma is making the universe decide he should suffer today, he gets stabbed in the hand for it – though, the wound has thankfully stopped bleeding, so he only needs to use his quirk to burn the dried blood off.

Now, instead of getting a nice, isolated seat in the back row, near a window he can look out of to meditate or fall asleep to, he’s stuck in the wide-open area near the front of the bus, with Kirishima, Kaminari, and Ashido in the same area. Not only is he stuck with the noisiest group in his class, he’s stuck with the noisiest group who just so happen to include a certain blond bomber –that Izuku despises– as a friend. So yeah, Izuku is stuck, fuming at the fact that today isn’t a combat exercise he can use to vent some frustrations.

The small mercy he has been offered, he supposes, is that one of his immediate neighbours is Asui. Quiet, sensible Asui, who would understand that someone sitting next to her on the bus with their hands in their pockets, their head leaned back against the window behind them, and their eyes closed, is not a person interested in making conversation. From what he’s seen, she’s sensible enough to know that. The small miracles the day has offered him. Truly, he is grateful.

“Midoriya-chan,–” ‘Or not, because fuck me I guess.’ “– what is your quirk? I saw that it has to do with fire, but that doesn’t explain what happened in the battle exercise, ribbit.”

Izuku keeps his eyes closed, praying for patience and mourning the few minutes of sleep he just lost. He considers ignoring her, but he promised his dad he would give his classmates a chance, so, with a scowl pulling at the upper half of his face, he opens the eye closest to the frog girl and looks at her.

Kirishima perks up. “Yeah! When I managed to punch you, I just went straight through! But you were completely fine, and even hit me back.” He rubbed his chest with a look of mock pain, grinning all the while. “You hit me pretty hard, too.”

Ashido’s previous smile turns strained. “Yeah, it was pretty brutal.” Midoriya looked at her, Ashido ignored him. “The video we got from the viewing area made the whole thing look scary.” The green-haired boy elected to ignore her in turn.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t explain your quirk,” Asui decided to get things back on track, “or how it protected you from Kirishima.” The green-haired frog-girl placed a finger on her cheek and tilted her head. “Ribbit.”

Izuku opened his other eye, and his expanded field of vision gifted him with the sight of Aizawa-sensei wrapped up in his ugly yellow sleeping-bag like a sleep-deprived caterpillar midway through its metamorphosis. The green-haired teen wouldn’t be surprised if, one day, the hero would emerge from a nap finally complete, with big grey moth’s wings and fuzzy antennae. The image in Izuku’s head was enough to make him snort in amusement. He has no doubt the underground hero would take one dry look at his new additions, shrug, and carry on as if nothing had changed.

Midoriya noticed Asui’s face shift minutely. ‘Probably what confusion looks like on her,’ he considered. The girl either had an amazing poker face, or just was naturally unemotive. ‘Probably the latter, considering her quirk.’

In response, Izuku pulled on his quirk and sent a single wave of fire up his body, from his boots to the tips of his hair. Short enough of a show to demonstrate his ability and give little away, long enough for them to get the picture. He wasn’t one for demonstrating, anyways.

Asui flinched away slightly as the flames travelled up the arm closest to her, while others oohed and aahed. Midoriya rolled his eyes, but in his mind, he realised something. ‘Frog quirk, so she’s sensitive to temperature change! Stupid idiot!’

As Izuku berated himself in his mind, the frog girl shook herself off. “Oh, so you can make fire all over your body? Not just your hands and feet, ribbit?” Izuku pulled himself out of his head, and gave a short nod in response. Asui considered this. “And seeing the strength of your quirk from yesterday, you’re kind of like Endeavour, aren’t you?”

Unseen to everyone else on the bus, whether they were engrossed in their own conversations or listing to the one sided one happening at the front of the bus, a certain dual-haired boy twitched at this. It may have seemed to the others that he was asleep, but he was very much aware of what was going on around him. He had to be, to survive his training. So, when he heard that little tidbit, he suddenly became interested. Very interested, and the dormant little conspiracy machine gathering cobwebs in his peppermint head creaked to life, scraping off rust and chasing away the small animals that had set up in its cogs and gears. Heterochromatic eyes opened and narrowed at the unsuspecting Midoriya, as dots started to be connected with strands of mental red string.

Midoriya raised one eyebrow and rolled his eyes, pulling his hands out of his hoody pocket to sign a reply. He didn’t see Asui notice the circular scab in the centre of the boy’s palm. A scab covering a wound about the size of a jack. Jirou noticed too from her seat further back in the bus, and paled slightly more.

[I bet you say that to every pyrokinetic you meet.] It was hard to communicate snark via sign language, but Izuku would do his best to make sure Asui understood. Plus Ultra, as UA says.

Asui ignored his reply, maybe out of politeness, and Izuku stuck his hands back into the refuge of his pocket. They had to have nearly arrived at the facility, right? This bus trip was taking ages!

“I don’t know much about emitter quirks, but I can make some guesses, ribbit. You, specifically, probably have to make a lot of fire, then compress it to make those blasts, ribbit, right? So, that must mean you can control the fire you make. Plus, ribbit, you called yourself a pyrokinetic.”

‘Huh. Seems there’s someone else here with at least some talent for analysis.’ Izuku nodded. His fire-blasts were a tricky thing to perfect. They required accurate multitasking, pouring out fire while making sure his control of the flames stayed solid. Often, he would just ‘freeze’ the outer layer of fire in place in the shape of a sphere, then fill the gap with fire, continuously compressing the content until he made a sufficiently powerful blast. Then, if he wanted to focus the explosion, he would need to shape the way the fire was released, creating a cone of sorts, which was another layer of complexity entirely. The mental gymnastics needed were hard to explain to someone who didn’t have an emitter/control quirk. It was sort of like trying to explain to someone what it was like having two extra arms. Thankfully, Izuku had enough practice and training to fire off fire-blasts like the ones he’d used without too much thought.

“I thought so, ribbit. The way you use your fire isn’t too different from most we see on TV, and you still haven’t explained how it protected you, ribbit.” ‘The frog girl seems focused on that,’ thought Izuku. Then, just as suddenly as she’d started this one-sided conversation, Asui changed tact. “Also, there are some differences in technique and usage, ribbit, but it’s very similar to B̴̻̮̭̔̉̑a̶̞̠͚̼͕̺͓͂͒̎̆͜k̸̥͈̰̬͛̅͐̄́u̸͈̲̣̲͇̓͊̅̾̃g̸̪̘̖̾̂̾̋̒o̷̭̭̯̝̓͠ự̶̲̖̺̱̘̣̕ͅ ̴̧̨̤͔̙͙̏͊̒̈́͑-”

Izuku closed his eyes and cut out whatever else she said. He was no longer cared to entertain this line of conversation, and, deciding to follow in the footsteps of his sensei, was going to catch up on some much-needed sleep

His hands, hidden away in his hoody’s pocket, clenched into white knuckled fists. Underneath the baggy clothing that constituted his hero costume, his whole body was tense. Lean muscles that belied their strength straining against themselves and the container that is his skin. Straining to do what? Midoriya didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. His closed eyes and relaxed brow hid the roiling sea of magma that had washed over his mind, setting his every thought ablaze. His black mask –a curse, yet at times like these, a blessing– made no noticeable sounds as his breathing became strained. The rage was not passing in a flash like it usually did, but festering like a living wound, chocking his airways with lava and blood and iron. The pyrokinetic ignored any further questions, ignored when his classmates moved on from that topic to the usefulness of flashy quirks in heroics when it came to rising in the ranks, ignored the fact that, throughout the whole trip, he stayed completely silent, ignoring Izuku too.

It took everything in Jirou to not look at the open space of the bus, where someone’s heart rate had jumped from hushed sound of the beat in the background of a serenade, to the vicious and bloodthirsty beat of a war-drum. She may be a curious girl, and her quirk may be perfectly suited to helping satisfy that curiosity, but she was also a smart girl. She knew what was best for her health.

The bus ride continued on for a little while before pulling to a stop. Aizawa unzipped his sleeping bag and rose from the dead like the zombie he seemed to embody. “All right, all of you, get off. We’re here,” he said as he exited the bus. ‘The slight pause followed by a frantic scramble to follow a given command is becoming a normal sight by now,’ bemoaned Aizawa. He was sure that they’d soon learn to do what he said without hesitation, though he would have to make sure they knew when to follow orders without thought, and when to act independently. They were going to be heroes, not soldiers after all.

As the students stepped off the bus, they marvelled at the sight before them. Big would be an understatement, and huge still wouldn’t work when it came to describing the scale of the building before them. A dome made of what look like reinforced white metal, stretching into the sky at least three times the height of the main UA buildings, with a matching diameter. Safe to say the gathered teenagers had never seen such a massive man-made structure in their lives. It was truly a sight to behold. As well as having some other connotations.

‘UA has really, really deep pockets, huh…’ thought Izuku, his previous funk momentarily forgotten as he gazed upon the rescue training facility.

“Welcome,” came a new voice, “to the USJ." Uraraka’s eyes widened comically.

A new figure approached the group, dressed in a lumpy white costume, they had an opaque black visor with white lights simulating eyes hiding their face. They were short and stocky, though how much of that was the costume and how much was the person was unknown.

“Universal Studios Japan!” Cheered Kaminari and Ashido. They had known that bus ride was too long to be–

“Unforeseen Simulation Joint.” Aizawa lazily corrected. The aforementioned duo groaned and slumped. Their teacher hid a sadistic smirk in his capture gear.

“Or, the Ultimate Space for Jams!” What was probably their new teacher posed dramatically, making jazz hands as they presented the building. Uraraka made a squeaking noise. Izuku eyed her with caution. ‘Is she sick, or…’

“It’s Thirteen!” Uraraka exclaimed, seemingly unable to hold herself back. “The awesome rescue hero who uses her quirk, Black-Hole, to save countless lives!” Izuku’s caution turned to amusement. ‘Oh. Not sick, just fangirl.’

“Hahaha! It’s always nice to recognised by fans!” Thirteen rubbed behind where her head would be. Uraraka damn near squealed. Midoriya could swear she had literal stars in her eyes.

“But yes. Hello! My name is Thirteen! And welcome, to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint! A space I designed to simulate nearly every disaster scenario in the book. Here, we will teach and train you in the complex and vital arts of rescue!” She finished her introduction with a beckoning wave towards the dome, as she turned and led the way with Aizawa. “Come along, there’s no time to waste!”

The group followed behind the two teachers, reaching two automatic steel doors which slid open to reveal the inside of the dome. As the group of students walked in, they discovered exactly why the USJ was so big.

“Destroyed cities, sinking ships, water rescues, fires, mountains, storms, and much, much more. Inside the USJ, we follow the creed of ‘no hero unprepared’ that top hero schools pride themselves on, and take it to the extreme! In this space, we have environments to simulate damn near any situation you students may find yourselves in when you’re in the field. Here, we will prepare you mentally, physically, and yes, even emotionally, for the environments and situations you will all be thrown into so that you will be able to rescue those in need.”

“By the end of your three years here at UA, I, personally, will have made sure that all of you could be thrown into the deepest depths of Hell, naked as the day you were born, with an unconscious, heavily wounded civilian, and you will all be able to walk out of the pits with that civilian on your shoulders. Safe and sound and taken care of properly. Whether or not you want to specialise in rescue work when you’ve finished your education, you all will be accredited rescue heroes by the time you’re done.” Thirteen finished her speech with her fists on her hips, her black visor and white eye-marks gazing over the group of students. It was an intimidating announcement. Or, it would have been, were Thirteen’s costume not so puffy and huggable looking, and her voice, made slightly synthetic by her costume, been so high pitched that it sounded like your baby sister trying to order you around.

Still, it was inspiring nonetheless, and it made the students stand straighter. Some even gulped nervously. The heroes in training took a moment to look around the new space, taking note of the massive domes painted in different colours, probably to indicate different situations or environments inside. The indoor mountains, cities and lake were easy to spot, and to gawk at, which many were taking to opportunity to do.

From the corner of his eye, as he gazed longingly at the dome painted with flames, Izuku spotted the two teachers slipping further away from the distracted students. They seemed to be talking about something, with Thirteen seemingly agitated and Aizawa becoming irritated. The green-haired teen spared a glance at Jirou and Shoji, checking to see if they’d heard anything interesting, but the two seemed as engrossed with the massive interior of the USJ as the rest. Izuku looked back to the teachers to see Thirteen holding up three fingers, Aizawa releasing a massive sigh and grumbling what sounded to Izuku like “-illogical, irresponsible-”, and “-buffoon of a teacher-”, and “-symbol of being late to work-”, but Izuku wasn’t entirely sure. That last one made no sense, anyways.

Thirteen waved and gathered attention back on herself. “I hope you’ve all had a good look around. This place is really cool, huh!” She said excitedly. “Before we start, I’d like to say one thing… no, two… three…” As the numbers kept climbing, members of the class started to chuckle. Unseen to any but herself, Thirteen smiled with satisfaction. As much as it was funny winding up the new students a bit, she wanted to be known as the cool, nice teacher! While it was important that they took rescue training seriously, but being too tense wasn’t a good thing either. So, she needed them to relax at least a little bit.

“In any case… here at the USJ, we will teach you rescue and the proper ways to handle both yourselves and civilians in emergency situations. You will be taught to leverage your skills, your talents, your minds, and, of course, your quirks to achieve the tasks you will be set to a standard that is satisfactory to me. Earlier this week, in All Might’s class, you were given a no doubt eye opening class on how and what it is like to use your quirks for the purpose of combat. For some, that was the first time you fought with your powers against live opponents. For others, it was a refresher class on Hero combat doctrine.”

“At the USJ, I will teach you all how to use your quirks to save lives. How to use those powers for the direct benefit of others. Even if it might not seem suited to the task in the first place.” The white clad teacher raised a spread open hand, palm facing herself. “Take my quirk, for instance.”

“Black-Hole! The power that sucks in and turns anything to dust!” Shouted out Uraraka, still in fangirl mode. “You’ve used that power to save countless lives by sucking in and destroying debris trapping civilians in any disaster you worked in!” Uraraka finished her spiel with an excited punch into the air, before quickly shrinking back, her face going bright red when she noticed the amused stares of her classmates. She decided to use Iida’s large body to hide her embarrassment behind.

Thirteen chuckled. “Yes, indeed. My quirk has been very helpful when it comes to saving lives.” The jovial mood suddenly disappeared from the air as the teacher took on a deadly serious tone. “But it could just as easily be used to kill.”

The students froze, staring at puffy white teacher. The idea of the teacher killing anyone or anything was completely against their image, and the mere thought was enough to make them pause.

“I could easily use my quirk to turn buildings, cities, roads, even people to dust. They wouldn’t be able to escape, and they would never be saved. My quirk is just that destructive if used without caution. I’m certain many of you are the same.”

Many of the students frowned and looked away. Sure, they’d had any idea that their quirks could be used to hurt people. They’d seen it a couple of days ago, even. But the idea that they could kill someone if they weren’t careful enough? It was enough to send a shiver down their spines, or a spark of hesitation. However, there were some who were aware. Some knew very well that their powers had the capacity for lethal levels of violence. Whether it had been forced into their brains since they were able to use their quirks, or it had been inferred through logical reasoning and a creative imagination, or had nearly been learned through experience, those students knew, and were more prepared when the young but seasoned pro pointed it out so bluntly.

“However, here, you will be taught proper control. You will be taught that your quirks are meant not to harm, but to help. And you will be taught how to use those powers to help.” Thirteen bowed as she concluded her presentation. “And we will be here with you the whole way, helping you along. So welcome, for the final time, to the USJ. Where you will all be taught how to help.”

The class responded to the speech with applause, Iida leading the pack with his enthusiastic clapping and cheers or “Bravo!” and “Well said, sensei!”

Thirteen smiled proudly under her mask, her fists on her hips. Now they were properly hyped up!

Aizawa rolled his eyes as another teacher riled up his already excitable class. He decided to get it back on track. “First things first-”

And that’s when the day’s plans changed.

Izuku had nearly forgotten. He had been lured in by Uraraka being all excited and Thirteen’s thought provoking, but ultimately inspiring speech. He had been tricked, backstabbed, and quite possibly bamboozled by his own mind into forgetting a simple rule. The first rule, even, when it came to dealing with days like this. Days that started bad and got progressively worse as the day went on.

‘If your bad day seems to be getting better, then it’s about to get a whole lot worse.’

His mood had been improving. He had listened to Thirteen’s speech. He had felt it when she mentioned how easily it was to kill with a quirk. He knew that quirks were dangerous, with his experience especially with a quirk like his. Fire is dangerous, and with the quantity and heat Izuku could output, roasting someone alive would be beyond easy. He may have momentarily forgotten this, but it had been properly relearned via the battle exercise and his subsequent training with the robots. Izuku was at least somewhat confident that he had located a new baseline when it came to firepower used against living targets. If he was uncertain? Well, Izuku was still physically strong. His fire makes a good propelling force, and enough speed would make him a dangerous combatant even without his fire.

But, learning new things was always useful. Learning to use the dangerous force that ran through his veins, burned as his flesh, filled his bones, to rescue others would be beyond useful. It would be another brick used in the construction of the bridge between now and his goal of becoming a hero. After all, All Might’s debut was a large-scale rescue, and who better to learn from than the best?

But fate had other plans.

Izuku was clapping along with the others when he felt it. A cold chill, running over him and down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. It was unusual. Izuku and his father both ran hot, hotter than most fire users even. Most of the year they just didn’t get cold. It certainly saved them money on heating the house, but in this case, it made Izuku uneasy. He paused his clapping, taking another look around the open space of the USJ. Most of the zones were either too far away or hidden from sigh, so he couldn’t take a good enough look. Midoriya thought he’d seen something in the water in the lake zone, but then something else caught his attention. A purple blob, floating about two meters above the ground in the central area of the USJ, near to the fountain. The water of the fountain sputtered, just as the lowest level of lights around the dome exploded, sending shards of glass raining down on the group. Kirishima hardened himself and shielded those closest to him, as Iida did the same. The rest shielded their eyes and necks, and tried to make themselves as small a target as possible. Izuku just flipped his hood up and hoped that the material was at least somewhat cut resistant as well as fireproof.

The clink of glass shards hitting the ground was all that was heard for three seconds, with the odd quiet yelp or whimper as some unlucky people were cut by the deadly rain. Then it stopped, and there was silence.

It turns out Izuku’s costume was mildly cut resistant, and he sighed a soft sigh of relief. He should have known better.

The purple dot in the middle of the courtyard suddenly expanded with a woosh into a veritable wall of darkness, and from that darkness rushed an army. Some carried crude weapons like pipes and tyre-irons, some carried more traditional weapons like knives, but most were unarmed. Some were old, scarred, and carried themselves like veterans, others had fresh faces, looking like a typical college students or adult. There was one thing in common, however. One thing that all of the crowd shared. Every single one of the people who had emerged into the courtyard grinned with visible bloodlust. And every single one of them, was looking. Straight. At. The. Students.

Eraserhead swore as he looked on, reaching into his scarf for his yellow goggles, not taking his eye off of the mob.

There was a silence as the air itself seemed to freeze. From the abyss summoned in the middle of the courtyard stepped a man. The man wore black clothing, red shoes and had bluish-white hair. But that wasn’t the important part. The important part was that he was covered in hands. His forearms, his upper arms, his torso, his neck, his head, his face, the man seemed covered in these grey, lifeless hands, each one gripping onto the man almost possessively, as he stepped into the courtyard behind the others. And if the others radiated bloodlust, well… Even as he stood slouched and seemingly disinterested, Eraserhead knew. This man radiated a near tangible danger. A desire for carnage he seemed to be intent on fulfilling today, at UA.

Then, as it seemed things couldn’t possibly get worse, they of course did.

From behind the man covered in hands stepped a beast. A monster taller than All Might made of dark purple skin and power. Every step threatened to make the creature’s layers of muscle burst from beneath its skin, seeming to hold together only by some miracle granted by an evil god forgotten by time for good reason. Its lower legs were bare, ugly things, yet filled with strength. Its upper half followed the trend, though also showed the limits of what the world would allow. Blood red scar-like gashes could be seen on the monster’s forearms, upper arms, and shoulders, places where even its miraculous purple hide had failed to contain it. The only clothing it wore was a set of yellow, knee-length pants with skull shaped knee guards.

Then there was the head. If the rest of the body could be construed as the work of a quirk, as a twisted joke played by nature on some poor individual, as an experiment to see how far it could go, the head destroyed the notion that this… thing was anything but unnatural. The dead eyes swaying loosely in their sockets, focused on nothing. The beak filled with a seat of sharp bared teeth, which seemed to barely fit into their assigned space. The rictus grin, a show of anticipation or thrill or something when placed on anything else but a corpse, was now empty, pointed towards the stairs leading to the students solely due to where the beast was standing. The finishing touch was the brain, exposed to the air like a body at an autopsy, an invitation to any remnants who believed in this monster’s humanity. An open door to the non-believers who dared propose that this thing was alive.

A monster had just stepped into the USJ, and every cell in Eraserhead’s body knew. His instincts, honed through decades of experience knew, and the part of his brain that came from when his ancestors crawled on the ground on their stomachs told him that his best chance of survival was to run. But he was a Pro Hero, and he didn’t survive as an underground one for so long by listening to his baser instincts. Even when they screamed like this.

His students, unfortunately, hadn’t had the experience or the time to hone their instincts and react appropriately. To understand and work with the signals their instincts were sending them. Today would try them, the hero thought. He hoped he was wrong.

“Hey, what’s this? Are there going to be fake villains for the exercise like in the entrance exam?” Optimism or just pure naivete, no one would ever know, but Kirishima stepped forward and asked anyways.

Eraserhead swung his arm towards his students to block their paths. “Stay back,” he warned. “This is real.”

The wall of darkness serving as the backdrop for the group that just marched into a UA training ground in the middle of a lesson shrunk, condensing down until it formed a humanoid figure wearing black slacks, a white shirt, a black waist coat, and a black tie. The man stood out not only for his difference in dress –he seemed better dressed for a formal event than a fight– but also for the fact that the man was made of mist. As the man’s body(?) stabilised, two bright yellow eyes appeared in the fog that made up his head. He was completely unreadable as he stared up at the students and teachers.

Eraserhead put his goggles into place and gripped his capture weapon. Midoriya’s eyes widened as he realised what the man planned to do. The black-haired hero took a deep, steadying breath.

“These…”

The man with the bluish-white hair looked at the class, half-lidded red eyes visible between the fingers of the hand attached to his face. “Where…”

“…are villains.”

“…is ALL MIGHT?”

Chapter Text

In the course of a man’s life, there will be moments where all higher brain function will shut down –even for just a second– and all he will be able to think is, ‘Well… shit.’ Such moments can range from dropping a bowl of cereal on the floor in the morning before having to go to work, all the way to the traumatic loss of a limb. Those two words and that pause in between are surprisingly effective when it comes to summarising the mental state of the man in question during such events. Two words, and a pause. A beautiful example of the complexity of human communication.

Aizawa Shouta was having a ‘Well… shit’ moment right now. Here he was, on a Friday morning, facing down a horde of villains during what should have been an introductory class to rescue work. He was in one of the furthest facilities away from the main school, a pure rescue hero with little combat experience as back up, and twenty kids with no experience at all. ‘Fuck!’ Shouta scanned the crowd. He’d moved passed that micro-second freeze up where everything goes to hell when you absolutely least expected it to, and was running through his options.

He currently had three priorities:

1. Evacuate the students to a safe location
2. Inform the school of what is happening
3. Hold back the villains long enough for reinforcements to arrive

‘Hold back’ because he wasn’t going to kid himself; he couldn’t win this fight. The grunts that made up the main body of the attack force mostly seemed to mostly consist of typical back alley thugs, or, in other words, his every-night-usual, a title shared with a café called “The Emerald Pasture” he visited in the middle of his patrols, since they were the only place open that late where the barista served him near lethal levels of caffein without complaint. In other words, his favourite café. He isn’t joking when he says that if anything happened to the place or its employees, he would kill everyone involved and then himself.

Eraserhead focused. Now wasn’t the time for thoughts of God-given coffee or possibly-villain-but-all-around-adorable baristas and their cats. Now was the time to be a Hero.

“Thirteen,” he yelled over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the villains glaring up at him from courtyard, but keeping a large part of his focus on the three most important ones. “Protect the students and get them out of here. Kaminari.” The teacher turned one eye to the student in question and felt something heavy in his gut. The electric boy had given the impression of being upbeat from the start of the year, flirting good-naturedly at least once with anyone who would talk to him, and took the inevitable rejection with a laugh. That same jolly teen was now staring wide-eyed at the gathering, frozen with fear. Sweat gathered on the boy’s brow and he didn’t even seem to be breathing.

The weight in Shouta’s gut got heavier as anger flashed through his mind. This was why they waited until internships to even lightly expose their students to villains. It gave them time to somewhat adjust to the reality of the heroism and the required mindset, to start to come to grips with the fact that facing dangerous individuals and putting their lives on the line is what is expected of them. These kids had a week’s worth of time in a hero school behind them and a single combat exercise. Regardless whatever training they went through before they came to UA, facing real villains who wanted to kill them was something no amount of normal training would prepare them for.

Unfortunately, Eraserhead didn’t have the time to mourn the loss of his students’ innocence. “Kaminari!” This time, the boy snapped out of his shock and looked at his teacher. “Use your quirk to try and contact the school. They need to know what’s going on here!” Just as he turned around to jump down the stairs and engage the villains, three students stepped forward out of the corner of his eye. He glared and the three stopped. ‘Todoroki, Bakugou, and Midoriya, huh…’ “And what do you three think you’re doing?”

Bakugou snarled, hunched over and hands clenching and unclenching, tensed up like a wound spring. Blood-red eyes flitted between Aizawa and the villains. “There are too many for you to take on alone, teach. You need back up.” Todoroki gazed at his teacher evenly. “And unless you’ve been deceiving us about your quirk, you don’t seem like someone suited for large scale confrontations.” Midoriya just looked past his teacher, down at the gathered villains who seemed content to wait for the heroes to make the first move. The green-haired teen’s hands were clenched into fists, the odd spark flying from his skin being the only sign of his agreement with his classmates.

Aizawa nearly smirked. ‘Precocious brats… but perceptive. Still, I need to make sure they don’t follow me... time to be a teacher and teach.’ Aizawa looked back to the crowd and crouched at the top of the stairs. “No hero is a one trick pony. Stay back and evacuate, that’s the only way for you all to help right now.” And with that last order, Eraserhead shot off down the stairs, taking them four at a time.

There is a certain art to going down stairs at high speeds. The type of movement required is somewhere between running, falling, and jumping. A running leap forward, over the lip of the stairs. A sudden drop, during which the one in question has less than a second to consider what to do next –and maybe all of the life choices that led to that point. Then the landing, probably the most difficult part. A good landing means that they put the right amount of power into your jump, that the legs and feet are positioned properly, and that, somehow, they managed to land on a slip of concrete with less than thirty centimetres of step-width.

A bad landing means a twisted ankle at best, which, if he fails to catch himself, is followed by a painful and embarrassing tumble down over fifteen vertical meters of concrete stairs, finally landing at the bottom in a heap of broken bones and painful bruises. In other words, what Eraserhead just did was an impressive feat to any novice free runner.

Aizawa Shouta, codenamed Eraserhead, was no novice.

He flew down the stairs with the grace and focus of a gentle stream, before smashing into the enemy vanguard like a raging torrent. He jumped over a wild haymaker from a man made of stone, wrapping his capture weapon around rockman’s shoulders and using them as a leverage point to launch a steel toed kick into the villain’s temple, dropping him.

The other villains in the front line seemed to hesitate, and Aizawa took the chance to get a better look at the villains now surrounding him.

‘Mutant quirks as a front line–’ he dodged a projectile from another villain, using the chance to throw a man with three arms and two knives at the source. A strangled yelp and the heavy thud of two bodies hitting the ground made him want to grin. ‘–and longer ranged fighters as a second line. Did they know I was going to be here? Something to find out later.’ The hero took a moment to scan the crowd, his mind quickly formulating a plan. ‘Ok, I can work with this.’

Eraserhead sidestepped the swing of a crowbar from a man with four legs – no other mutation, just four legs. ‘I wonder how he lies down to sleep with all that extra clutter,’ a distant part of Aizawa’s mind thought errantly, as he kicked one of the knees out of place, ducking under a swing from another attacker that hit the four-legged man in the temple, causing the villain to collapse. ‘Guess that’s one way to find out.’

Eraserhead’s new opponent had four eyes and four arms, and was swinging wildly at the hero. ‘No training, no finesse.’ The hero’s black eyes caught movement in their periphery, and he spun around the four-armed villain’s double-haymaker. The heavy swing met no resistance, and the villain stumbled forward, right into an energy beam from the back line. The hero used the villain’s bulk to shield himself as the four-armed villain took the hit and slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Someone cursed in the back line, and Aizawa bobbed and weaved between some of the melee fighters, letting the back-liners take out their own allies by themselves with poorly aimed and poorly timed shots. ‘Saves me energy and causes chaos,’ he thought, as a man with spiky hair and no visible mutation went down, and Aizawa decided to temporarily claim the pipe the villain was trying to wield as battlefield salvage. Eraserhead looped a piece of his capture weapon around the pipe as it fell from its previous owner’s now limp hands, swinging it around to build up momentum, and swung his improvised flail into the chest of another large villain. The hero didn’t wince at the sound of cracking ribs, nor the pained wheeze of the winded man going down. These villains didn’t deserve his sympathy.

A glint from somewhere behind the front line caught his attention and, seeing a distinct lack of potential human shields, the flail was swung around again. This time, the loop loosened, and the pipe flew straight into the skull of a mohawked woman with what looked to be an air blast gathering in her cupped hands. The pipe knocked her concentration –and a few teeth– out, making her attack go wild and hit her allies, dropping two other spindly back-liners.

As Eraserhead was busy teaching a man with a pig mutation how much it hurts to be punched in the snout, he spotted another villain trying something different. Instead of just charging at the hero that was tearing through their front line, this female villain ran past him, trying to get to his students. Fur sprouted on her arms and legs, her fingers turning into claws as her legs became digitigrade. The villain was halfway through her transformation, picking up speed as her legs elongated and her pace lengthened, when Eraserhead intervened. Previously black eyes lit up red as black hair floated in the weird anti-gravity field of his quirk. Long, wolf-like legs suddenly shorted, and fur vanished back under very human skin. The villain had a second to feel startled about the sudden failure of her quirk –the absence of the thing that had always been within her perception shaking her to her core– before a long white scarf looped around her upper-body, trapping her arms to her torso. The villain was yanked off-balance and swung through the air, screaming as her previous momentum was turned against her and, like a bowling ball through pins, she collided with a clustered group of villains that had sought to follow her example.

Aizawa allowed himself a nano-second of pride, then got back to work. Some of the collapsed group was still conscious, but a ‘gentle’ reinforced boot to the jaw in passing was enough to dissuade them from trying anything for the rest of the day, and maybe persuade them to choose a different career path. Publicly funded medical care in the prison system will fix the broken jaw, maybe even use healing quirks for the concussion, but the trauma of seeing a crazy homeless man with glowing red eyes and a halo of floating black hair launch himself at the poor sod with a long, white scarf and a manic glare will stay with them forever. Aizawa considers it his own little contribution to penal and reformation system society implements.

Eraserhead decides to kick it up a notch. Most of the front liners are down, or too scared to try sneaking around him after what he did to the previous group that tried. It had only been five minutes, max, so the hero still had plenty of energy in the tank, and he wasn’t sure if the students had finished evacuating. Using the body of a particularly tall man, Eraserhead’s feet left the ground. He used the man’s weight to launch himself upward, kicking off his piece of leverage’s face and shoulders, conveniently knocking the villain out. Eraserhead launched himself from one villain to another, using his capture to pull himself towards new targets, or pull new targets towards himself. He interspersed his dance of acrobatics and violence with uses of his quirk to stop any particularly stupid villain from attacking him or his students from range, sometimes repeating his previous trick of villain bowling.

Eraserhead had just kicked a woman with knives for hands in the stomach when he suddenly got a good view of the villains’ ringleaders through the crowd, and the weight he had forgotten about made itself known. Eraserhead knew how to count. He had seen three actual threats step into the USJ from the main portal, the massive purple thing with its brain sticking out, the man with light-bluish hair covered in hands, and the misty villain in fancy clothes that acted as the group’s doorway into the school. There were only two of them standing at the back of the horde of grunts that Eraserhead was currently tearing through.

‘The teleporter is gone!’

Aizawa kicked it up five notches. He felt panic pushing itself up from his gut, but viciously supressed it.

‘And I’m pretty sure I know where he is!’

‘God fucking dammit…’ Izuku glowered at his teacher’s back as the man launched himself down the stairs. The teen could admit he admired Aizawa’s bravery, but come on. ‘Eraserhead specialises in urban environment ambushes. This flat, wide-open terrain bullshit is the worst-case scenario for him.’

 As Bakugou and Todoroki followed their teacher’s instructions and joined up with the retreating class, Midoriya stayed behind to observe a bit longer. His glowering lasted until Aizawa knocked out the first villain. Then another, and another. Thin black eyebrows, previously scrunched downwards in anger and annoyance camouflaging hidden worry, slowly started to rise. They kept rising and nearly disappeared into his hairline as the green-haired teen watched his teacher cut a swath through the horde, leaving downed villains and unconscious bodies in his wake. It seemed Midoriya needed to revise his earlier statement.

‘No hero is a one trick pony, hey?’ Midoriya focused his attention on the three at the back. The ones that had arrived last, and who looked the most important or strongest. ‘They haven’t moved yet. I wonder…’

“Midoriya!” A loud, authoritative voice cut him from his musings. Izuku looked over his shoulder to see Iida beckoning him to follow. “We must follow Aizawa-sensei’s instructions and evacuate! Now is not the time to idly sit and watch!”

Midoriya turned and jogged to catch up, sending one last look over his shoulder towards the sounds of struggle and fighting coming from down the stairs.  Burning green eyes turned back towards the retreating backs of his classmates as the teen increased his speed to catch up.

Thirteen corralled the students towards the door, periodically looking back to check that there were no stragglers being left behind. Satisfied that all the students were keeping up, the rescue hero looked forward through her visor, biting her lip. Thirteen was a hero, and every hero engaged in combat at some point in their career –it was damn near inevitable– but it had been years since she had been faced with a situation like this. Her preference for rescue work had coloured her methodology for heroics when she’d become a full Pro Hero after graduating from her position as a side-kick.

Thirteen specialised in rescue and disaster clean-up, whether that disaster was natural or man-made, she prided herself on always being in the first wave when it came time to going in and rescue civilians. Sometimes, the causes of those disasters where still present, but rescue operations were collective endeavours. You always had someone’s back, and they had yours. Rescue heroes would pull civilians out of the rubble, while combat-specialised heroes would take care of the villains, or other types of heroes would try to mitigate the effects of the disaster.

As Thirteen led the evacuation of the students, she felt her stomach turn. She was the youngest teacher at UA, and she knew that. She knew she had a lot to learn from her more experienced colleagues, and she was honoured that they treated such a young hero and teacher like her as an equal. Despite this, she knew her dear colleagues, and she knew what Aizawa was thinking when he threw himself down those stairs. She knew that he knew that he was a delaying tactic at best, and a short distraction at worst.

Thirteen grit her teeth, and encouraged her students to move faster. The exit was getting closer.

She refused to let Aizawa-senpai’s actions be for nothing, nor would they be his last. She would get these students out of here, get reinforcements from the school, the teachers would break down those doors, sweep the villains away, and all the students would be left with was a story to tell their friends in other classes about how they had almost been attacked by villains in their first rescue exercise, but had gotten away unscathed thanks to their teachers’ timely intervention. Even if, unbeknownst to the students, they couldn’t rely on All Might at the moment.

They were close to the door, the first students being were less than ten meters from the exit and the only escape they had from these horrible turns of events.

And that’s when things went from bad to worse.

A purple dot manifested before them, before it exploded, expanding into a wall of swirling purple darkness to block their escape, the dark mists that made it up dancing in the still air. From the source-less smog, two bright lines appeared, growing into toxic yellow flames, containing a barely visible intelligence. These fire-like eyes stared ahead, directly into the mass of frozen students.

Izuku repressed the cold shiver than ran over his skin. It felt like the villain was staring through his being, right into his soul.

“Greetings, students and Thirteen.” The mist villains voice was a smooth baritone. In any other situation, it might have even been considered soothing. Here, however, it inspired nothing but dread. “We are the League of Villains, and we have invaded this establishment in order to bring about the end of the Symbol of Peace, All Might.”

The intent behind the statement shook the students to their core, the audacity of it momentarily freezing Thirteen. The villain’s gaze slowly drifted over the gathering… or at least it probably did. The mist man’s eyes were just yellow streaks, with no pupils to indicate where exactly he was looking. The lack of features or visible expression gave the man an almost empty, bored look. The narrowing of his eyes and the tone of his following statement shattered that illusion.

“We were led to believe All Might would be here, attending this lesson, yet that does not seem to be the case. Has there been a change in schedule?” The deceptively polite statement contrasted with its intensity.

Thirteen, despite being severely out of practice in combat and direct villain confrontation, was still a hero. She had still gone through thousands of hours of training and had even more hours of experience in stressful situations by this point. Her body moved on instinct, and she positioned herself in front of the crowd of students, shielding them behind her. “He isn’t here. Now move aside, villain! I will not hesitate to fight you to protect my students!”

The disembodied villain’s emotionless gaze fell upon Thirteen’s emotive black faceplate, the white ovals used to mark her eyes having changed into a frown. Such a thing was a useful asset when she needed to comfort scared civilians, but it wasn’t built for intimidation. The villain was unfazed by Thirteen.

“Is that so… No matter. We all have our parts to play, and mine is to scatter you all to wind. To deliver you all to suffering and torment beyond your imagination.” The villain’s body began to swell, the mist that made up his form roiling and spreading violently as his body expanded to twice his previous size. “Some of you may be lucky enough to perish quickly. Most of you, however, will live long enough to watch the Symbol of Peace draw his last breath, before we destroy you in ways that make death look like a mercy.”

As the villain’s body grew, the students finally snapped out of their shock. Reactions were varied, some fell into practiced, comfortable stances and moved forward, others took a few steps back, fear still gripping their hearts, but not preventing them from moving.

Izuku leaned forward slightly, knees bent and his hands to his sides. His fingers were clawed, acting as a cage to the heat building up in his palms as the temperature of the area surrounding him started to climb. It was a sharp contrast to Todoroki, who put his right arm and foot forward, the surrounding area becoming colder. The contrast could be felt by those near them, at the back of the pack. On one side, students were starting to sweat and tug at their collars, while on the other, they could see their breaths fog as they exhaled.

Before either elemental quirk user could bring their quirk to bear on the villain and unleash the individual powers under their control, someone else intervened.

The loud bang of an explosion was the only warning before a blond missile rocketed towards the villain from the right, a second explosion growing in his palm and a snarl on his lips. Following his lead, a second shape charged out from the front of the pack of students. The scraping of rock grinding against rock could be heard as the missile’s backup pulled back a hardened fist and leaped at the mist villain, who’s only indication that he was even remotely surprised was a slight widening of his electric-yellow eyes.

The boom of a much stronger explosion, followed by a small wave of force drowned out Thirteen’s cry of alarm and warning, and the dust and smoke from the detonation hid the results. As the class waited with baited breath, a pair of muffled curses were heard before the pair of students jumped backwards out of the dust cloud. Bakugou and Kirishima stayed on guard, hands popping with firecracker explosions and fists as hard as granite raised in preparation for any retaliation. The others waited in kind, their teacher moving towards them to hopefully pull the foolish boys back with the others.

The silence didn’t last long. “My oh my, was a near thing. That could have been quite dangerous.” As the dust and smoke cleared, the villain was revealed. His gaseous form stood there, looking undisturbed and completely unruffled. “You truly are golden eggs.”

Most of the students felt their hearts rise to their throats, and it burned with the bile that came with it. Did the villain not have a body? If that was the case, most of them wouldn’t be able to fight him at all, let alone fight him! They were dead weight!

But not all panicked. No, for some, their eyes narrowed. They had noticed something.

‘Was that a trick of the light? Or is there something shiny–’

“No matter. This only makes my job more important. Now,” those previously empty yellow streaks came to life as the villains body exploded. Black mist surrounded the class and fell upon them life a tidal wave of darkness. Some had the reaction to jump out of the way, or immediately grabbed onto the nearest person and charged in the direction of what they hoped was the shortest way out of the mist. The mist saturating the air vibrated as the villains already deep voice seemed to drop another octave. It was all encompassing. “Now be scattered and perish!”

Izuku, his vision still obscured by the fog, heard the yelps of his nearby classmates being cut off. Despite his visibility being nearly zero, he could feel the space around him getting colder, emptier, as his classmates vanished into the fog. Then the ground, the oh-so reliable surface he had trusted to hold him up all of his life, betrayed him and disappeared. Midoriya’s glowing green eyes widened with surprise as he felt old mistress gravity come calling for her due.

Distantly, he heard a scream and a part of him worried for those who could be his friends.

Then he fell through, into the inky darkness of the space between stars. A space forever ungraced by light or warmth.

He fell in, a̫̼͎͎͑̓̓͆̚͟n͈͚͎̘͍͊̆͠͞͞d ̩͝f̧͙̫̈́̏͞ē̢͕̟̍̚ĺ̛̮̥̪͡t̡͓̫͕̹͌͐̐̒̈́ ̥͒͘͟di͚̼̝̱̘̭͑͛͊̕̕s̙͎͔̻̰̃͋̓̕͟͠͝t̨̘̻̠͓͆̿̋̐͂̕͟i̝̮͖̖̻̮̍̿͢͝͞n̨̛̦̳̜̣̙̖͛̑͊̒͞͞c̨͓̠͚̪͙͛̓̓͛́̚͠ͅt͓̖̞̅͂̓l̡͕̼̞̠̙͈̈̏̋̔͆̅͝ỳ̢̞͉̬̟̟̪̎͆͊͘̕ ̢̼̇̊u͚̓n̞̰͉̦̋̎͌̒we̢̩͍͇͒̓̒l̨̟̖̒̎͐̉͢͢c͇̺̜̺͇̱̗̪̈́̾̄͂̓̂̓͒͟͝͞ͅǫ̻͔̠̳̜̬̣͔̿̅̌͛̔̒̅͐͌̕͟m̢͚̳̩̖̜̯͖͒̎̏̈́̉̆̑̏̚͜͜ȅ͓̳̳͇̘͕̙͔̱͐̍̏̿̑̒͗͜͞ḓ̛͙͍̜͈̬̜͖̰͙͑͆̈́̀̈͐̓͘.̘̯̗̱̞͇̻̱͖̒̓͗̑̾̉̀̈́̕͘͜

The next thing he knew, he was falling, he was getting wet, and it was still dark. Though significantly less dark than what had probably been the villain’s quirk. Shielding his eyes and forcing them open against the wetness, Izuku took stock of his situation.

As his eyes adjusted to the light level, he saw a cityscape stretch out beneath him, glinting as the small amount of light there was reflected off of the wet sheen that covered the place. Droplets assaulted his exposed skin in waves, the sting amplified by the breeze.

Izuku suddenly reminded himself of his initial assessment, and looked to the ground directly beneath him, that seemed to be approaching at an uncomfortable rate. He decided he didn’t much like the idea of death from falling, and acted accordingly.

Pushing his arms out, Midoriya let loose pair of small but concentrated flames from his hands, using his body as a shield. After reorienting himself so that his legs are facing down, he braced, activated his boots, and let out a much stronger gout of fire from his feet. His quirk sputters and protests, but Midoriya ignores it. He forces his flames to push through the rain and wind and forces his quirk to slow him down!

With a final roar, more fire is pumped out through the initial gout, providing enough upward thrust to slow him down so he didn’t end with a splat. He still had a bit more momentum than was probably suggested when attempting a downwards vertical landing, so Midoriya ended up kneeling on the ground, the remnants of his flames being scattered by the displaced air, as well as the water from the puddle he had just splashed into.

‘Damn. Nearly a perfect hero landing.’ He thought to himself as he got to his feet. Izuku shook his wet hands in an attempt to dislodge the water there on reflex, before the incessant rain and howling wind reminded him of the futility of his action.

Deciding that getting out of the rain took priority, he flipped up his hood and made his way to one of the three story buildings lining the street, finding the front door unlocked. When he got inside, Izuku activated his quirk, sighing in relief as he felt himself dry near instantly, the water on his skin and in his clothes being vaporised by the heat he was emitting.

Feeling sufficiently, Izuku moved through the building, deciding to try and reach higher ground to orient himself and try to find out where he was. For now, all the information he had was that he was in a city, and the weather was absolutely crap. From the lack of decoration or furniture in the building, either he’d been sent gods know where and had had the good fortune of finding an abandoned building right off the bat, or he was in one of UA’s training grounds, and probably still in the USJ.

As Izuku passed a window and took a look outside, he was tempted to go with the second option. He couldn’t see much with all the rain and the darkness, but if he squinted, he could see the barest outline of a dome surrounding the city. ‘Fucking hell,’ he thought, walking past the window and up the second flight of stairs. ‘This is just like that Simpsons movie.’

Izuku reached the top floor and shook his head. ‘Now’s not the time.’ He took a look out of the higher window, just in time to see a group of people running down the street. They seemed to stop and look around, talking to each other for a bit, before continuing on. Midoriya narrowed his glowing green eyes. ‘Other villains. This must be how they intend to make us ‘suffer and perish’.’

He looked down at his hand, clenching and unclenching it, before looking back outside at the falling rain. ‘Either they planned this better than I thought, and they know our quirks, or I’m just unlucky.’ He wanted to grin under his mask. ‘If it’s the second, no big deal. I’ve dealt with tougher odds.’ He backed away from the window, and turned to face it. He probably had enough distance for a decent run-up. ‘If it’s the first, well…’ The light of the green suns in his head glowed with gleeful malice as he sprinted towards the window. He leaped at the last second, smashing through the glass and alerting the group of villains that had just passed by. Discretely using his quirk in his hands, he softened his landing and rolled to dispel the momentum, unfortunately rolling through another puddle. He curses in his mind, but immediately pulls on his quirk, heating him up but not releasing any flame. Standing smoothly from his roll, and turns to face the surprised looking villains.

Izuku schools his expression as he stares down villains that came to his school with the intention to hurt or kill Izuku or his classmates. ‘If it’s the first, then they have made a terrible miscalculation.’

The villains’ shock turns to a perverse excitement as they grin evilly at Izuku, standing alone in the middle of the street. Four of them are armed with various pipes or knives, with the last one being unarmed. Some of them have distinct mutations that mark them as having at least semi-aquatic related quirks, though they all seem to be wearing water-proof clothing. Izuku’s eyes burn like suns from the shadows of his hood as he gazes over them, his face neutral.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” A female villain says, leading the pack as she stalks towards the motionless student. She has pitch black eyes, needle sharp teeth, and a stalk-like growth on her forehead from which dangles a glowing bulb. Her quirk probably makes her look like one of those deep-sea fish, Izuku thinks, though he can’t decide if that means her eyesight is affected too.  From the way her black eyes stay locked on him as her face pulls into an evil grin with too many teeth as she continues to advance, Izuku thinks not. Izuku decides to focus on the machete she’s wielding. It’s probably more important.

“Looks like we’ve got a hero brat deciding to join us.” The man behind her had blue skin and yellow eyes. He sports a mohawk and wields a knife. The rest of him looks enough like the base standard shape for humans. He’s grinning too, though it’s much less effective than the woman’s when it comes to intimidation. ‘It’s probably the teeth.’ Izuku muses.

“He would have stayed all hidden and safe in the building, if he was smart. Now we get to have some fun.” This man wields a pipe and looks slightly bulkier than his compatriots. He looks excited, and the hand holding the pipe twitches as he advances.

The other two stay quiet, the unarmed one staying back as the other one armed with a chain joins the rest as the stalk towards Izuku. The unarmed man probably has a quirk that works at range, and intends to provide support. Or he’s a coward.

‘The coward is smarter than his friends.’ Izuku thinks, as he turns to fully face the villains, who stop in their tracks. They’re still grinning viciously, but there’s a degree of caution now. ‘They’re watching me,’ the teen thinks. Deciding the test something, he looks down at his hand, and lights a small flame, before looking back at the villains. They’ve relaxed minutely, and vicious excitement is rushing in to fill the gap caution left.

The lead villain laughs. “HA! Looky here. The hero brat has a fire quirk. Now ain’t that a shame.” Her friends join her and laugh. They start to stalk towards Izuku as he nods to himself. ‘They didn’t know my quirk, so they probably don’t know my classmates’ quirks either. That’s a decent advantage.’ He grins internally as he keeps the small flame burning in his palm, subtly pulling on more of his quirk as steam rises discretely off of his form. The approaching villains don’t notice, too drunk off of the supposed fear they’re inducing into the hero-students. Maybe they want him to run, want to relish his despair in a game of cat and mouse as they hunt down the poor teenager with dreams too big for reality in an environment that renders his quirk useless before slaughtering the helpless hero brat.

The malicious glee returns to Midoriya’s eyes that suddenly burn with the excitement running through his veins as Izuku drops the mask of neutrality. ‘Thank the gods I got some of the stupid ones.’ The small flame burning in the centre of his palm roars to life, exploding outwards and vaporising the surrounding water. When the glare of the burning flames calms down, Izuku is coated in fire. It runs up his arms, legs and torso, coating him in a dangerously beautiful armour. The rain no longer reaches him, the surrounding temperature having risen to a point where the water evaporates due to his proximity. He gets his revenge on the puddle he landed in that soaked his breathable, fireproof socks as the offending body of water dries up like a puddle in the desert. The suns in Izuku’s eyes rove over the frozen, wide-eyed villains, before landing on the woman leading them. Her smile full of sharp teeth looks a lot less sure now, her eyes awash with fear and uncertainty.

Izuku relishes it. ‘This makes it all the more fun.’

The fire of his quirk bursts to life in twin blasts from his palms, and suddenly he is in front of the lead villain. Izuku has a split second to see her needle-like teeth up close, see the widening of her black eyes and a slight flicker from the bulb hanging from her head, before a fist coated lightly in flames collides with those teeth. He doesn’t feel any break beneath his fist, and as she goes down and the other villain’s recoil from the attack, the world slows to a crawl as adrenaline kicks Izuku’s body into battle-mode.

‘Teeth so thin would usually be more fragile and prone to breaking, but seeing as none did just now, they’re probably tougher than normal teeth. I wonder if her teeth are more resistant to decay? Brushing them must be a pain, though. I should ask Kirishima what it’s like caring for sharp teeth.’

The green haired teen is in front of the blue-skinned villain with the knife before the woman hits the ground. He uses his quirk to build up momentum, grabbing the man by the face and slamming him backwards into the ground. Izuku dodges out of the way of a pipe swing that impacts the unconscious man in the gut, ducking out of the way of what looked like a water blast by the distance fighter. Izuku violently pushes out a gout of flame, aiming at the ground in front the hydrokinetic to avoid barbequing a villain. The attack works as intended, destroying the concrete in an explosion that launches the villain into the air and backwards, hopefully knocking him out.

Pipe villain is persistent though, his arms swelling beneath his waterproof coat as his swings get faster. Izuku backs away, causing his attacker to lunge and raise his weapon for a heavy overhead strike at the crouching teen. Izuku grins, as his quirk burst from his feet and hands, rocketing him forward faster than the pipe-villain expected. Izuku notices scarring on the man’s nose –probably indicating multiple prior breaks– and feels a tiny bit of satisfaction as he adds to that scarring, the feeling of cracking cartilage running through his knee as it impacts the thugs face. His momentum carries him forward, and the big thug pitches backwards, his weapon lost as the pain of a broken nose, the oncoming concussion of a knee to the face, and the final impact of concrete against the back of his skull robs the villain of his consciousness.

‘Probably some kind of enhancement quirk focussed on the arms or upper body, since his legs didn’t swell up too. Maybe it’s a special kind and includes some weapon focused enhancement, like he hits harder with something he holds? Probably not in the weapon mastery type, though, seeing how he was swinging that thing around like a moron.’

Still in the air, he spots his final target. The quiet villain armed with a chain is looking scared now, and seems to be turning to run, dropping his weapon as he does so. ‘Well, we can’t allow that, now can we.’ A burst of concentrated flame later, and Izuku grabs the chain villain by the back of his head, slamming his face into the ground. The last hit was maybe a bit more forceful than necessary, but it’s good practice to make your last hit your hardest, even if it doesn’t make much of a difference.

Standing back up, Izuku surveys the aftermath of his work. Four unconscious villains on the ground, who will probably wake up with headaches and many regrets. He takes pride in the fact that none of them have anything more serious than the odd second-dipping-closely-into-third degree burn from when his fire got a bit too hot before his punches, but he considers this a successful first test of his new combat style, especially since he’d only realised that he needed to change things up around two or three days ago.

Satisfied that none of the villains would be dying anytime soon from anything he did, Midoriya set off in the direction of the closest edge of the dome. When he got there, he could either melt through if he was in a rush, or follow the sides until he got to a door or exit or something.

Walking down the street, steam wafting off of him as his quirk kept the water at bay, Midoriya heard a groan over the rain. He looked around the edges of the street, and saw the long-range villain he’d thrown with an explosion earlier lying on the pavement, still conscious, if barely and looking a bit more on the toasty side. Mildly annoyed at himself for misjudging and using too little power, the green haired teen stomped over and knocked the last villain out with a relatively gentle hit to the head, before turning and continuing to march down the street.

Izuku frowned as he realised something. He could have missed that villain, and that would have given him an opportunity to attack Midoriya by surprise, or call for friends to do so for him. Midoriya’s frown deepened as he thought of something else. ‘Are any other people from my class in here?’ He hadn’t heard the sounds of combat, but, with the wind and rain, that was expected. Izuku couldn’t just leave one of them behind at the mercy of whatever other villains were stalking the streets of the downpour zone.

But he couldn’t be sure that there were any other hero-students in here with him. And the only way to really see if there were any here would attract villains as well. ‘Decisions, decisions.’

In the end, Izuku went for it. He didn’t want to leave too many villains behind him as he moved, and he couldn’t afford to not check for fellow students, so he decided to just bite the bullet.

With a quirk boosted leap, Izuku was on top of a building, his flames now swirling more aggressively around him. Steam gathered around in a shroud as he lifted one arm and shot a fireball up into the storm, before he started to move. Using his connection to his fire, he increased the intensity of the fireball until it became like a beacon, one that could be seen throughout the dome. He ordered it to follow him as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, his quirk burning brightly around him and above him. He was really hoping this would work.

He found out it did a few minutes later when he heard shouts from the streets, followed by a shower of spikes imbedding themselves into the rooftop near him. He quickly checked for any signs of his classmates, found none, and decided to deal with the villains quickly before moving on.

One quirk-accelerated jump down to street level, a relatively small explosion to finish off the ones clustered together, followed by some blunt force trauma to the ones not taken out in the blast, and Izuku resumed his running across rooftops.

He dealt with two other groups in similar fashion, only having to use more power once when he came across a villain with what looked like a tortoise or scale quirk. The man tried gloating that he could withstand fire and explosions no problem. A quick close-quarters fire-blast to his underbelly dislodged any such foolish notion, and Izuku was back on the move.

Izuku had nearly reached the edge of the dome, and decided that either there were no other classmates in there with him, they were taking a different exit, or they were still fighting villains. Despite not knowing most of them for long, he refused to consider them being dead as a real possibility, if the villains he’d dispatched were any indication.

Izuku could see the green glow of the exit sign when a roar caught his attention, and he stopped in his run to peer over the side of the building. What he saw confused him. A massive swarm of bruised and battered looking villains were surrounding a mass of darkness sitting near a fountain. ‘Wait,’ green eyes narrowed at the scene. ‘A moving mass of darkness?’ Yellow eyes like flames appeared on the mass’ exterior and Izuku briefly wondered if the fog villain had reappeared, before a large clawed arm swiped out from the mass, launching one of the villains who’d gotten too closed through the window of a nearby building.

‘Aaah.’ Izuku finally realised who it was. He remembered a quirk like that being used in the assessment and the combat training, one of his classmates who Izuku was pretty sure had a bird’s head. Not that he could tell now, of course, what with said classmate being entombed somewhere inside what Izuku now recognised as the boy’s quirk. It was sentient, or at least somewhat intelligent, if he remembered correctly.

Flaring his quirk, Izuku rocketed down to join the fray, idly noticing how the roiling darkness shrieked and recoiled away from him. Surprised but glad that he wasn’t going to have to worry about accidentally hitting his classmate, Izuku fell into his attack pattern, though he was freer with his fire-blasts than before. His patience with this weather was running out, and there is only so much water you can evaporate to dry yourself off before the steam becomes tedious instead of a cool aesthetic. On the plus side, the superheated steam was great at keeping unprotected enemies away and causing minor damage while he focused on the ones in front of him. His classmates quirk would also lash out sometimes, pinning the villains between the ball of fiery death shooting between their friends, and the dark ball of doom squashing or throwing other villains out of the field.

Some concussions, a few broken limbs, a fiery explosion or two, and a lot of roaring from a pissed off quirk, and all the villains were down and out. Feeling satisfied, Izuku walked towards where his classmate was, the quirk hissing and spitting at him all the while as it shrunk down from the size of a building, to a truck, to a large family car. Eventually, the quirk receded enough as Izuku got closer to reveal the shaking form of Tokoyami. His avian head was bowed and his eyes screwed shut. He was also clutching at hid arm below his cloak. Honestly, from where Izuku stood, the normally stoic boy looked terrified.

Izuku crouched down in front of him, at a distance to avoid scorching the boy and to give him space. He waved his hand back and forth to get the teen’s attention, and eventually, Tokoyami’s eyes opened. The boy looked surprised, though if that was because Midoriya was here, or that he was here and on fire despite the pouring rain trying its best to put it out, Izuku wasn’t really in the mood to guess.

“M-Midoriya.” The boy’s voice shook uncharacteristically, the emotions he was trying his best to overcome exposed to the world through a tremble. Izuku nodded slowly, his glowing green eyes still managing to stand out in the shadows of his hood despite the flames. The fire-clad teen did his best to look patient and understanding, but they were on a bit of a time crunch. There probably weren’t enough villains left in the downpour zone for it to be a concern, but the status of their other classmates and their teachers was still unknown. In a battle, unknown wasn’t good, so Izuku was endeavouring to change that ‘unknown’ to ‘known and accounted for’ as soon as possible.

However, Izuku knew that moving Tokoyami as he was wouldn’t help matters, so he was patient, and let the boy sort himself out as much as he could.

Tokoyami took a deep, steadying breath, before exhaling slowly. “Thank you for your assistance, Midoriya. I was in quite the situation.” The tremor was gone and the calm had returned to the bird-faced boy. Izuku nodded and they both stood up. Izuku looked at the arm Tokoyami was cradling as they started to jog towards the glowing green light of the exit sign.

Tokoyami noticed Midoriya’s gaze. “It’s a cut. It’s not very deep, just quite long. One of those villains surprised me by jumping out from an alleyway. He managed to cleave into my flesh with his blade before Dark Shadow emerged and dispatched my assailant. Unfortunately, the existing darkness and the stress from the whole situation had weakened my grip on my inner demon already, and that surprise attack combined with the realisation that we were surrounded was the last straw, and I lost control.” Tokoyami looked away, abashed. “How shameful. Betrayed and defeated by the darkness I claim to belong to.” Deep red eyes locked back onto the teenager running besides him. “Thanks to the light given off by your fire, Dark Shadow was weakened enough for me to pull him back in and regain control. Unfortunately, I was quite shaken by the whole event.”

Izuku blinked, continuing to stare towards the exit light. ‘As fascinating as all of that is, and as cool as it is to know that my quirk is basically a hard counter to his, that wasn’t really what I was trying to get at.’ Izuku looked at his running companion and pointed to the boy’s cloak, miming a tearing and bandaging action.

Tokoyami blinked –and Izuku couldn’t help but think of the pigeons he’s seen around the city– before realising what Midoriya was getting at. “Hmm. Excellent suggestion, though I don’t know if it is worth risking the infection. As I said, the wound is long, not deep.” Izuku raised an eyebrow. ‘It’ll still bleed and slow you down, won’t it,’ was what those green eyes seemed to say.

Tokoyami huffed –and wasn’t that and interesting thing to see someone with a beak do. “But I suppose it does have merit. I should have a medical kit in my belt, anyways. So, no need to try and tear the fabric.”

‘Dude, are you seriously thinking about your costume right now?’ Izuku thought as the exit doors came into view. There weren’t any villains there, so it lent credence to the idea that the two of them had effectively taken out most if not all of the threats in the dome. Getting to the large metal doors leading to their salvation and hopefully dryer weather, they first tried to door panel. Unfortunately, it looked like the controls had been fried with all the communications equipment, so the lights were off and the doors very much not moving.

Izuku looked pointedly at Tokoyami, who huffed and rolled his eyes, before taking advantage of an alcove near the entrance to try and tend to his medical needs in a relatively dry spot. Izuku, on the other hand, cracked his knuckles and ran a critical eye over the double doors.

They looked to be made of high-quality steel, but that was a given. UA really did nothing halfway. They were probably treated to resist water-based corrosion, either using quirks or traditional methods, so it might react differently to his methods. There were probably seals of some kind between the doors and the frames to prevent moisture escaping and damaging internal mechanisms or parts of the exterior, too. The doors probably weren’t treated to withstand high temperatures, like the ones on the dome with all the flames painted it on it probably was, though they still looked pretty thick.

Popping a last joint in his hands, Izuku stuck his arms out, his palms aiming towards the door. He planted his feet to provide a solid base, and let loose a stream of fire. Raindrops in between Izuku and his target turned to superheated steam as the hungry flames raced forwards like a starving beast unleashed on prey, crashing against the steel doors. Izuku narrowed his eyes, and with them, narrowed the cone of the blast and started to increase the temperature. Soon, all that could be seen was a beam of heat and light striking the steel doors, that stubbornly refused to budge. Izuku continued to up the temperature, and the flames roared louder. Orange mixed with blue as the intensity of the flames increased. The steel doors started to buckle and groan against the onslaught, and Izuku wanted to grin.

Grey steel turned brown, then red, then white as solid turned to liquid and the doors softened. Tokoyami stayed at a safe distance and observed the masked boy start to break down the door, his now bandaged arm tucked safely under his cloak and shielded from the rain. The bird headed boy shivered slightly despite the heat. Or maybe he shivered because of it. Either way, this was an effective way to be reminded that fire was a very, very dangerous tool, despite what Endeavour and other heroes may lead the people to believe.

Tokoyami was glad for his silent classmate’s restraint, and maybe slightly awed at the control Midoriya was obviously putting into the attack as the beam started to move, slowly melting a big enough hole for them to walk through without the risk of Tokoyami burning himself on dripping molten steel being too high. Tokoyami appreciated the consideration.

The beam’s intensity abated, and the nearly liquid doors tilted inwards, their weight forcing them to fold in on themselves as they collapsed. They were still glowing white hot, though slowly cooling to red. Before they could solidify enough to become a hassle to move, Izuku wound back an arm, before throwing it forward and unleashing a fire blast – though with the focus more on the “blast” than the “fire”.

The explosion scattered the molten metal like superheated shrapnel with the consistency of sludge, and the green haired boy walked through the slowly dying flames in the frame, checking for any spots where pieces of the left-over piece of the doors might fall and injure Tokoyami. He leaned back into the dome, and beckoned a wide-eyed Tokoyami to follow behind him. Shaking off the remnants of whatever combination of shock, nerves, and exhaustion he was feeling at the moment, he walked towards the hole in the doors. Giving Dark Shadow as gentle a tug as he possibly could, he coaxed his now more compliant quirk out.

After a rampage, the quirk was always more subdued. Tokoyami figured running at such high power, even in the darkness, was definitely as tiring for the quirk as it was for him. Not only that, but, unbeknownst to anyone but themselves, Dark Shadow and Tokoyami shared a weak empathic link, allowing one to feel a dulled down version of the others emotions at all time. When he had been young, it had been near overwhelming to feel that growing rage and lust for destruction whenever he turned off the lights or spent too long in shadowy places, but, as the years went on and the two grew to have an understanding of another, it had become near second nature for either to let the others emotions wash over them, and remain at least partially unaffected.

Not so much after a rampage, though.

Tokoyami was sure that, on top of the physical tiredness such exertion would bring, the emotional turmoil and exhaustion from being overwhelmed by the others emotions was causing the sentient quirk no end of guilt. At least, Tokoyami hoped Dark Shadow at least felt a bit bad.

They probably needed to have a good chat when all of this was over.

A private one, of course. He still had a reputation as a mysterious shadow-dweller to maintain. At least, to any classmate that hadn’t seen him on the verge of tears, though Midoriya looked like someone who would stay quiet about his own moment of weakness.

The bird-like mass of shadows slowly emerged from Tokoyami’s body as they reached the hole. The heat being given off by the surrounding metal was still causing just the surrounding area to reach near scalding temperatures, but the fires had died off completely, and the left-over metal wasn’t glowing bright enough to cause any ill-effect in regards to Dark Shadow’s strength.

Dark claws reached out and pushed the still soft metal further out of the way as Tokoyami quickly, but still ever so carefully, made his way out of the darkness of the downpour zone and into the light of the USJ’s courtyard.

The first ray of artificial light blinded the raven-headed teen, as much as it caused him to sigh with relief. It was like stepping out of the abyss into the promised land. Like the stormy city he’d just exited had been a nightmarish hell, a trial to test him and his determination.

He knew that, had he been alone, though he probably wouldn’t have died, he most certainly would have failed.

Had Midoriya not arrived with his quirk coating him like sun-forged armour, Tokoyami might have lost the last sliver of control he’d been clinging to like a drowning man at sea holding onto the last thread of a rope thrown from a passing ship. Had he slipped, had that last threat snapped, then there would have been nothing holding Dark Shadow back from assuming full control and doing whatever it deemed necessary to protect its host and avenge any perceived wrong-doings with indiscriminate use of force.

There would have been deaths, in the USJ, that day. Deaths not caused by the villains, and heroes didn’t kill if they could avoid it.

Tokoyami straightened his posture. No one had died. He was going to be a hero. Worrying about what had happened wouldn’t help them now. He would reflect on the experience, he and Dark Shadow would learn from it, and they would grow stronger. Be better. They would be heroes.

Midoriya had prevented the one of the worst possible outcomes from becoming a reality, and Tokoyami would be forever grateful. He refused to waste this opportunity. He-

He walked right into a very stolid, very still, and very green wall. Rubbing his beak, Tokoyami looked up to ask the teen what was wrong, when his breath caught. He couldn’t see Midoriya’s face, with his hood up and with Tokoyami being stood behind him, but the green haired teen was built lean, and Tokoyami’s eyes easily caught on the sight that had frozen the powerful fire quirk user in his place.

Tokoyami’s red eyes widened, filling with fear and dread.

He’d been wrong. Oh gods, he’d been so very wrong.

They hadn’t escaped hell.

They walked right into it.

Mineta Minoru considered himself to be pretty self-aware.

He knows what he likes, and what he doesn’t. He has a decent understanding of his own limitations and areas where he excels.

He knows he’s short. That would be pretty hard to miss, honestly, and he knows that, because of his size, he’ll never be able to match up to a majority of other heroes or even his classmates when it comes to contests of physical strength. He just doesn’t have the space to fit all the extra muscle it would take to do so. It’s also genetic, a gift from his old man, who is even shorter than him. So, Minoru has accepted that he will most likely be short all his life, and has come to terms with it.

Mineta understands, through first, second, and third hand comments, that his own quirk isn’t much. Sure, the sticky balls he pops off of his head might be a very strong capture type quirk, but beyond just saturating the field with his quirk and hoping he didn’t accidentally trap his own allies, his quirk on its own wasn’t very helpful when it came to quickly taking down villains.

So, he had adapted. He had trained his aim until he could reliably hit any target within throwing range, though he’d admit he wasn’t quite as talented at hitting moving targets… yet. He had practiced bouncing off of his quirk so much he was practically unmatched when it came to speed when he was in enclosed areas.

His quirk on its own wasn’t much, but he’d made it a hero’s tool. His old friends hadn’t believed in him, the girls back then had completely brushed him when he had said he was going to be one of the best heroes. He just wasn’t cool enough, he said. He was too short, too weak, his quirk wasn’t good enough.

When Mineta tried to follow his dad’s advice and be a smooth operator, maybe get some digits or even a date, they’d laugh in his face, too.

He had very nearly believed everyone when they’d said he’d never make it.

Then he did. He made it into UA.

The day after he’d opened his letter, he’d ran to school, excited to tell them what he’d done. What he’d accomplished. Excited to see the look on his friends’ faces when he’d show them the letter. Excited to see the non-believers gawk at his acceptance, and, of course, excited to see the girls’ reactions when he’d tell them he was going to be a top hero and give them proof that he would. He even entertained the idea of signing some –ahem– personal items as early autographs that would become invaluable when he became a star!

Then he reached the closed door to his classroom, and he heard everyone laughing. He heard one of the guys he’d thought was his friend, someone he’d shared a passion for heroes as well as the opposite sex with, laughing as he talked about a chat they’d had earlier in the week. Laughing at how Minoru had actually gone to the UA entrance exam. Laughing about how badly he’d probably screwed it up.

Mineta told no one at school that he’d made it into UA.

Then, it was time for high school, and Mineta decided to reinvent himself. No more was the tiny hero-wannabe with the lame quirk. Now, it was time for cool and smooth Mineta Minoru. Envy of guys and charmer of ladies everywhere. He’d thought he’d reached paradise when he’d stepped into 1-A.

All the girls were so hot!!

Flawless skin, laughter like an angel’s harp, perfect proportions! Though some of them –coughYaoyorozuAshidoUrarakaAsuicough– had proportions that made them sooooo much more than perfect! And the best part? They were nice! No more bitchy class princess or cruel fake-confession-in-the-shoe-locker girl. All of them wanted to be heroes, and they acted like it!

So of course, he took his chance.

Though he may have been a bit too much at the time.

“Dammit, brat! You sounded like a damn lecher!”

‘Shut it, old man!’

Ahem, anyways.

He refused to abandon hope! He was on the track to being a super cool awesome hot hero, and all of the ladies would be clinging to him! Just like in the mags he had hidden away in his room!

Then he’d come second to last in the quirk apprehension test, feeling like he’d come a hair’s breadth away from losing his dream forever.

The next day, he might have come on a bit strong to his teammate, and she might have taken it the wrong way and used her quirk to throw him at their opponents. But come on! She was so curvy! And with how tight her costume was, you’d think she wanted to get hit on!

Apparently, he’d misjudged her intentions. He learned to stay well out of her reach.

The day after nearly being trampled during a break into the school, he thought all the week’s bad luck had paid off. He’d found a hole, small and discretely hidden behind a poster in the locker room. He had damn near ascended when he realised what room was next to the boys’ changing room.

So, of course, like the healthy teenage boy that he was, he decided to investigate. Maybe he’d glimpse Yaoyorozu’s yaoppais, Tsu’s legendary frog’s legs, exotic pink skin, those luscious curves, a teasing floating uniform-

Anyways, he’d nearly gotten a glimpse, Kaminari and Sero standing right behind him like the followers of a prophet leading them to a promised land, when a hand had blocked his view. A hand connected to an arm that belonged to one of the strongest and scariest members of their class. Someone who was glaring at them like they’d insulted his family line. Mineta had tried to sway Midoriya to the path of the righteous, but the boy had raised a hand and Mineta had started to fear for his safety.

Then Midoriya got stabbed in the hand by Jirou, and Mineta had paled at the idea of that happening to his eye. He’d seriously underestimated the girls’ ability and willingness to resort to violence to solve their problems, which was stupid, really. The combat training should have told him that.

Then the class got attacked in what was supposed to be a training exercise, and now, here they were.

He’d been dropped into the flood zone, and been saved by Tsu before a shark villain had tried to eat him, which he was very grateful for. She’d hit him when he’d tried to show his gratitude, though. Twice. With her tongue. Which was much stronger than one would think a tongue would be.

Anyways, what he was trying to get at, was that Mineta knew himself. He knew he like girls a lot. He knew he was good with his quirk, and that his quirk was strong.

He also knew that other people would probably look down on him for why he wanted to be a hero. To be cool and to have ladies love him? That didn’t sound very heroic at all! But at least he was honest with himself.

Is what he’d tell himself.

Mineta knew what he was. He was a fifteen-year-old city born boy, raised in a comfortable, happy household, who hadn’t seen a villain up close in his life. So, by logic, he knew that how he was reacting was perfectly normal, and it was Tsu who was being weird. Why was it strange that he was terrified and in tears when they were surrounded by villains who were trying to kill and maybe eat them!? That was a perfectly normal response!

All of this to say, that when they’d escaped the boat and made it to shore, Mineta learned something new about himself.

When he saw his teacher fighting off swarms of villains and winning, he’d felt hope, and maybe a bit of awe.

When the blue haired villain had mumbled something before charging at his teacher, their fight lasting seconds before the villain did something to Aizawa’s elbow that left the arm dangling uselessly and bleeding more than what was probably healthy, he felt tendrils of nervousness curl into his mind.

When the massive, purple, muscled villain had vanished, only to reappear and slam their teacher into the concrete headfirst, that nervousness had turned into real fear.

With each limb the monster crushed like the bones within were cardboard, he felt horror.

They’d gotten a reprieve when the mist villain had appeared. He’d felt terror, before it turned into hope as the villain informed his allies that someone had escaped the USJ, and was probably bringing back an army of heroes to help them.

That hope had turned into relief when the blue-haired villain had groaned and grumbled about “a game over”. His tears had become tears of joy when the villain had said that they might as well leave. He’d been ecstatic! He’d jumped at Tsu, trying to get some comfort and camaraderie, and yes, maybe he’d tried to indulge in the fact that Tsu had pretty nice boobs for a frog. Though he’d still argue that nearly being drowned in response was a bit of an overreaction for a simple attempt.

It was what happened next that taught Mineta what he’d missed about himself.

He learned, or maybe just finally realised that, when it came down to it, Mineta Minoru was not brave.

How could he be brave, when he’d sobbed and cried when danger appeared. How could he call himself brave, when his classmate, Tsu, had been so unruffled by the presence of people who wanted to kill them. Tsu, who had gotten them away from the ship and the water villains, who had deduced that the villains didn’t know their quirks. Tsu the frog girl, who, when their teacher went from kicking ass to being beaten to death, had changed plans immediately from trying to escape to trying to figure out a way to help their sensei. The girl who spoke her mind had stayed calm with each new development. She had kept her head through every hardship, when Mineta had lost his at the first sign of danger.

How could he call himself brave?

When the blue villain charged them, hands out stretched and clawed like the talons of a bird of prey., Mineta had frozen. Images of skin cracking and falling away, revealing bleeding muscle which then started to turn grey and fell to dust. He pictured those hands on his face, melting his eyes and nose and mouth and everything, leaving him a bleeding husk before the wind swept his ashes away.

His mind returned to him when he felt two fingers touch his face.

It was a matter of micro seconds.

Three fingers.

Four.

Five.

…

Mineta dared to open his eyes, to see why his face wasn’t falling away like dust in the wind as he himself collapsed in agony and despair. What he saw chilled him.

The blue haired villain had his hands on his and Tsu’s face, the frog girl as frozen as him. In a sick parody of their situation, the villain had a grey, dead hand on his face, hiding most of his expression though the blood red eyes told him enough. The dry skin around the eyes somehow empty and filled with madness crinkled as the villain smiled under his deranged face mask and, without lifting his deadly hands from the two paralysed students, the villain turned his head to look over his shoulder.

“You really are the coolest, Eraserhead.” The villain whispered in a voice dry from disuse and an unhealthy lifestyle. Mineta followed the villain’s gaze, and got his first example of bravery.

Lying prone on the ground, one arm bent backwards, the other was so shattered it looked more like a bag of meat than a limb, was their teacher. Their teacher who, despite being in what must had been mind-shattering pain, with a massive, muscle bound monster of a villain sitting on his back and holding him down, had somehow managed to life his head far enough in the air to look at the villain, and his eyes were glowing red.

‘His quirk!’ Mineta though distantly. ‘Is it stopping the villain from using his quirk?’

The brief moment of stubborn badassery by their teacher was shattered as the villain’s grinned wider, and spoke three words.

“Nomu, stop him.”

It was in this next moment, that Mineta got his second example of bravery that day.

The monster grabbed hold of his teacher’s head, slamming the man's face into the ground so hard it cratered and, in that moment, two things happened.

The villain with the disintegration quirk whipped back around to get a good look at his victims when he felt his quirk return to him, to get a good, long look as his quirk worked its way into their skin and muscle and bones and left the little hero-brats as just corpses floating in the water. A clear message for All Might and the world that the symbol of peace was as weak and pathetic as the rest. A lesson that the number one hero could never save everyone.

The second thing that happened, was that Tsu moved.

As quick as a girl running on adrenaline and panic could, she whipped her head to the side, using her tongue to push Mineta out of the villain’s reach and further back into the water, as she pushed as hard as her quirk enhanced leg muscles could against the ground.

It would have been an awesome first rescue, worthy of as many future retellings to friends and family as the legends of old. It would have been, had everything gone right.

The first half went perfectly. Her tongue impacted Mineta’s oversized head in a manner she was unfortunately becoming familiar with, sending him back and away from the villain’s deadly hands. Then she pushed off.

She’ll never know what went wrong. Maybe she caught on a loose stone and lost her grip, or maybe silt wasn’t as stable as it seemed. In any case, she did the worst thing possible in that moment, bar jumping forwards into the villain’s embrace.

She slipped.

Her feet lost traction and her push didn’t push her far back enough from the villain, who cursed at the loss of one hostage, before he reached out, quickly covering the short distance she’d made between herself and her assailant with a simple stretch of his gangly limb.

For a moment, the ever-stoic Tsu’s expression melted into panic.

She felt those dry fingers touch her face again, and thought of her siblings at home, who still couldn’t take care of themselves without her.

The next moment, she only knew pain.

Mineta recovered from his launch just in time to hear a scream that chilled his soaking body to the core. It was a scream filled with fear and terror and pain, and Mineta instinctively hated it. He wanted to hide under a rock until it stopped or went away, because his lizard brain was telling him that scream was made by a human in pain, and whatever caused it could do the same to him.

Then he looked up and saw the cause of the scream.

The villain looked on in glee as Tsu’s skin flaked away, blood running down her face in droplets, then in waterfalls. All the while she screamed that horrible scream, the pain paralysing her, panic shutting down her higher functions. In that moment, Mineta Minoru thought he was going to see his classmate die.

In that moment, a small, unheard part of his subconscious, refused to accept that.

Fear and desperation guided his movements as he reached for the one thing eighty five percent of the population had in common, the one weapon that had been his own since he was four years old and weird growths had started appearing on his cranium, and the doctors had told him it was his quirk.

In that split second, small, scared, perverted, weak Mineta Minoru decided to be truly brave for the first time.

He tore off purple balls and hurled them at the villain, screaming and advancing all the while. He screamed a wordless, terrified war cry as he kept up his barrage of sticky balls, headless of the blood starting to run down his face, ignorant of the pain. All he knew was that ‘Pop-Off’ had never failed him before, and it was the only thing he could rely on right now.

At first, the villain backed away, dodging and weaving and cursing as he tried to avoid the hail of purple balls, but there were too many. The first stuck to his shirt, hitting centre mass and confusing the evil man when they didn’t explode or poison him or something. That confusion cost him. More and more kept landing, sticking his feet to the ground and his arms to his torso. They even stuck his legs together, and he swore more as he fell on his ass. When at last the barrage stopped, the villain looked up to re-examine the situation.

The purple midget that the frog-bitch had thrown away was standing there, tears, snot, and blood running down his face as he panted and stared at the villain. He looked terrified, and the villain cursed some more as he stretched to get his hands on the stupid sticky balls. He’d turn them, and then their owner to dust!

Mineta was terrified, but that was normal at this point in the day. He stood in front of the –hopefully unconscious, please be unconscious– body of his classmate and stared down the leader of the villains. He’d stopped his barrage when the pain had gotten too strong to ignore, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to pull another ball from his head for at least the next three days. So, he stood there, his last two sticky balls in hand, and prayed that the villain believed the mighty Mineta still had more in the tank. That the unhinged and evil man believed it was too much trouble to fight, and decided to just leave.

It seemed that no gods were listening to any prayers from the USJ that day.

Mineta’s panic grew along with his tears as the villain growled and thrashed and, one by one, turned Mineta’s awesome capture-specialised quirk to dust, slowly but sure freeing himself. Eventually, the villain stood, staring right at Mineta as he disintegrated the last sticky ball stuck to his shirt. His eyes held hate so pure that Mineta forgot to breathe.

He was pretty sure he was going to die. He really didn’t want to die! He hadn’t even touched a girl’s boobs yet!

The villain’s hands clawed as he glared hatefully at the shaking hero student, stalking closer and closer with each step. Mineta couldn’t move from his spot, whether through pain or exhaustion or just plain fear, Mineta’s feet refused to obey as he watched with increasingly teary eyes and a progressively snottier nose as the villain with the deadly hands got closer.

For a moment, Mineta felt a certain kinship with the roadkill he saw so often when he went on holiday to the country. He watched, impotently, as certain death came ever closer, and Mineta Minoru suddenly understood why deer froze up when they saw the headlights of twenty-five tons of steel and power barrelling towards them.

For a split second, Mineta knew for certain, that he was about to die, and he closed his eyes in acceptance.

Then, he felt confusion.

He was pretty sure, from his grand-pap’s old books, that the land of the dead was supposed to be cold. If that was the case, why did it feel like it was getting warmer?

Mineta clawed for the last scrap of courage in his being, and opened his eyes.

And what he saw was blinding.

The heat of the rising sun brought warmth to the earth and life to its surface. The first ray of light that raced from the horizon pierced through the darkness that had overcome the land, banishing it back to the deepest of oceans or most secret of caves. In moments, it reduced the dominion the dark had held during the night to mere shadows.

But the Sun dwarfed the Earth, and burned fiercely. Just as its heat brought life and warmth, it could also lay waste to the earth, reducing the surface from one full of life to a land of mere ash and forgotten memories. Just as its light could bring clarity in the darkness, it could blind all to what was right in front of them.

It was the Sun’s responsibility to remain conscious of its potential, for creation and destruction both, lest it be blinded by its own power.

Chapter Text

When Izuku had stepped through the hole he’d melted in the doors, he’d thought he was ready for anything that lay beyond. He had just fought his way through dozens of villains nearly alone, and in what was possibly the second worst environment for someone like him –the first being open water– and he had come out without a scratch.

His short string of victories had led him to the conclusion that the people he was fighting were barely villains. They were hardly innocent civilians, of course, but they had more in common with low-level thugs who hid in the back alleys of the particularly shady parts of town, waiting for helpless old ladies or stupid young kids to walk by so that they could wave a knife or flash their quirk and claim some easy cash. It was clear none of them had had the luxury of formal training, but still, Izuku had expected more. They fought without thought or even a basic plan, just charging in and hoping that either their quirks were enough or that the fact that their opponents were teenagers facing down hardened criminals for the first time would be enough of an intimidation factor that the students wouldn’t fight back.

It was kind of pathetic, really.

Izuku had officially demoted the idiots he’d fought from ‘villains’ to ‘criminal morons’ in his mind, which made the fights he’d won basically worthless, to his disgruntlement. On the plus side, the fact that these thugs could barely throw a proper punch meant that Izuku wasn’t very worried about his classmates at the moment. They’d made it into UA, after all. They were the best of the best of the country’s hero applicants, so they at least had to be able to fend off these D-listers.

That was assuming, however, that none of them were dumb enough to go after the leaders, of course. The blue-haired villains covered in hands, the muscled giant with the exposed brain, and the well-dressed warper all had a different feel to the rest of the people who’d invaded the USJ. If Izuku were to try and name the difference, it was that they had a certain… substance to them, that the other criminals lacked. A presence.

They felt like actual threats, actual villains. So that automatically made them a hell of a lot more dangerous.

If he were to guess, the one wearing the hands was probably the leader. The mist villain hadn’t done anything until the other had pointed at them, and the muscle villain had just stood there, looking vacant. So that made the hand villain the one to watch the most.

In any case, those three had been standing there, doing nothing the last Izuku had seen, content to watch their disposable army be cut down by a single underground hero. Though, it had been a good while that Izuku had lost visual on the courtyard, so the situation might have changed by now.

And Midoriya wasn’t really an optimist.

So Midoriya stepped through the doorway, avoiding the puddles of molten steel that his last blast had scattered around the area surrounding the exit to the downpour zone. Tokoyami was injured, so he could follow Izuku’s lead.

Izuku had taken a second to look around and assess the situation, finding himself with a ground-level view of the courtyard. In a second, he registered the slumped bodies of the thugs, and felt like grinning. His teacher was a badass!

A badass that, Izuku noticed as that second trailed on, was lying flat on the ground, the monstrously-muscled villain sitting on top of him. His arms were both horrifically broken and the man had his head imbedded in the ground. He was completely limp.

The second stretched into an eternity.

The next thing he registered was the screaming. A horrible, painful, wet, familiar type of screaming that pierced through his skull and threatened to bring up m̵̺̻̗͉̼̹̜̭̥͈̙̹̋̂̕͝͝͝ę̴̛̱̜̜̮̠͈̭̹͇̭͓̻̿ͅm̴̛͍̼̟͍̆͛͊̓͛̕o̴̲̪̐͝ř̶͙̞͔̲̘͌ͅȉ̶̘̠̳͇͇̲̭͖͈̳͕̹̤͜ͅë̶͉̪̖̬̪̣̼̠̻́͂̐͂̉̃̏̃̑̎͘͝ş̴͖̦̣̝̗̣̖̗̗̺͖̺͓̈ͅ. It was a short scream, but it’s volume and feeling delivered the intended message of intense pain and distress. The fact that it tapered off to a gurgle before going silent was a just a cherry on the top of an already horrible kind of noise.

Izuku’s eyes flickered to the source of the scream. It was the only motion his frozen body could possibly manage. When his gaze, filled with a new but terribly familiar emotion, landed on the source, Izuku’s typically superheated body felt very cold.

Red in the water.

A floating body curled into a ball as if to try and protect itself from the world.

Green and black skin-tight wetsuit slowly staining crimson.

Long, flowing, dark green hair of such a familiar shade hiding a head from which the blood flowed in rivers.

Emerald green eyes widened.

He didn’t even register someone walking into him, the sharp pain of a beak stabbing into his back, and a horrified gasp of realisation as whoever it was looked over his shoulder.

All he saw was dark dark red spreading through unmoving green.

He didn’t think. Fire answered his instincts. It rushed to his limbs as his body reacted like it had been trained to do when confronting danger, crouching down and spreading his arms backwards.

The fire roared.

In an instant, Izuku had crossed the gap between himself and the blue-haired villain that was advancing on his downed classmate and her impromptu protector. He didn’t bother being gentle, he needed to be quick. To get the man away from his classmates. Head wounds bled a lot, so it might not be as bad as it looked, but a head wound was a head wound, and it was serious enough by virtue of its existence without having to also factor in whatever lingering effects the villain’s mystery quirk may have.

Izuku supposed he could ask what that was when the man was beaten and on the ground.

Ǫ̴͉̥̋̇̋̈́̊̐͗͑͝ŗ̵̰̫͍͙̮͖̠̲̣̈́̆ͅ ̶̢̩͚̌i̸̧̟̣͎̺̗̹̤̍̊͐͑̇̾̀͝n̴̯̪̟͍̳̥̪̞͇̑͗̏͑̿̉̑͌͐̐̏̌͜ ̴̳̭̤͉͍̦̏̃͒̉̌͑̽̅̆̕̚̚̕i̵̳̳̱͔͚̳͖̾͛̆̔͌t̵̢̯̥͛̂͆̌͛̊͝.̴̧̡͖͎̱͙̬̟͔̗̽̊̕̚͝ͅ

The flames building in both palms exploded outwards as he swung his arms forward, working with the fire coming through his boots to cancel out his momentum as it ravaged his target and the general area surrounding the bastard in an intense but controlled blast of heat and force. He’d made sure to attack from the side, as to not catch his two classmates in the explosion, but with an open target and a clear firing range, who was he to say no to a little extra umph?

He landed lightly on his feet, shifting so that he was between his classmates and where the villain had been. He listened as a blubbering Mineta tearfully told Izuku everything he’d learned about the villains.

The big guy is super-fast, and super strong. ‘Good to know.’

Aizawa tried to save them, but the beaked villain had taken him down. ‘Not helpful and very obvious.’

The blue-haired villain could disintegrate flesh with a touch. ‘More useful and pretty interesting…’

Blue hair and his mist butler were called Shigaraki and Kurogiri respectively. ‘Ooooh, names. Juicy, but not particularly useful at this specific time.’

Izuku didn’t drop his guard as he heard water sloshing behind him, resisting the urge to turn back and check on the wounded. If the villain hadn’t been incapacitated by his initial attack, he’d need to stay wary and keep an eye out for potential counter attacks.

As the smoke and dust cleared, Izuku’s narrowed eyes went wide. Instead of seeing a rather overcooked villain, he was seeing a particular muscled villain with a beakful of teeth standing between himself and Shigaraki with his arms spread out to the side, shielding his boss. Izuku caught movement on the beaked villain’s torso, and watched with a sense of awed disgust as charred flesh and skin bubbled before knitting itself back together.

“Haha. You heroes really don’t hold back against us at all, do you. That attack could have seriously hurt, you know?” A raspy voice spoke behind the dead-eyed wall of muscle. It sounded disturbingly calm for a person who’d nearly been on the receiving end of a very potent fire-blast.

‘Well,’ Izuku eyed the now healed beak villain, ‘potent for normal people without whatever quirk this guy has.’

The disintegration villain –Shigaraki, according to Mineta– stepped out from behind the beaked villain. He had an undeniable aura of satisfaction as he watched Midoriya’s reaction to the beaked villain’s defence. “You should really be more careful with that, hero-brat.” The word was spat out like phlegm stuck at the back of the villain’s throat; his disgust practically visible as blood red eyes glared from between the embalmed fingers of the hand covering his face.

Yet, despite that, a sense of smug satisfaction practically oozed from the man’s dry skin. His every step filled with a confident swagger. Shigaraki stopped beside the beaked villain, laying an almost gentle hand on bulging, purple skin. The villain kept his gaze fixed on Izuku, having dismissed Mineta and Tsu as soon as the new arrival had tried to barbeque him. Izuku met his gaze evenly, emerald suns burning in his sockets as he kept his flames running up his arms and legs. A warning. No, a threat.

“You’re lucky Nomu here has a Super-Regeneration quirk. Without him, I’d probably be dead.” Flaky skin stretched to its limits as the man’s face contorted into what was probably a grin beneath the hand on his face. “Though, you probably wouldn’t mind that, would you. You’re all just dying to become the revered tools of the state. Oppressors of the unfortunate, sitting on your ivory thrones and laughing at us little-people as we try and make our way in the world. Yes… you’re all eggs. Eggs that’ll hatch to be good little hammers of state sponsored violence. All dying following All Might’s lead.”

If the word ‘hero’ had been spat out, the name of the number one hero had been a growled curse. A condemnation of society and show of the man’s hatred, as well as a taste of its depths.

Though, honestly, Izuku was unimpressed.

What had started as a kid showing off a toy, had moved onto the mutterings and ramblings of a deranged misanthrope. At some point during the monologue, between the presentation of points and connections made by the twisted logic of a similarly twisted mind, the villain had started to scratch at his own neck. A scratching that only got worse as the villain got more and more worked up

Izuku was honestly having trouble following along with Shigaraki’s rant, but that was mainly because his mind was more focused on what he had categorised as a significantly more dangerous threat than the lunatic villain’s speech.

The Nomu had shown its Super-Regeneration, and Shigaraki had said that was its quirk, but it had also moved between where it had been sitting on Aizawa, to shielding Shigaraki in less time than it took to blink. ‘Speaking of Aizawa,’ Izuku narrowed his eyes in thought, still ignoring what Shigaraki was saying. The crusty villain seemed to really be getting into it now.

‘The Nomu was sitting on top of Eraserhead, and he does look pretty messed up, though I can’t tell if any of those injuries came from the villains in the horde or not.’ The gears turned in Izuku’s head as he analysed his opponent. ‘Could that speed just be Nomu taking advantage of its advanced regeneration and using hysterical strength to max out the use of its muscles, while its quirk heals any damage? And If its strength matched its speed…’

Izuku’s thoughts were interrupted as the villain stopped speaking, his face in a scowl. The warp villain –Kurogiri– was standing a distance away from the now silent Shigaraki and the dead-eyed Nomu, constantly observing the interaction, but seemingly content to let things play out. Izuku didn’t dismiss the warper as a threat, but he was definitely second on the list of priorities.

Shigaraki’s silence didn’t last. His face pulled into that now-familiar grin, dry skin pulling against itself as the red orbs twinkled with a sadism that Izuku decided meant the time for talk was about to end.

‘Not a moment too soon,’ Izuku thought. He couldn’t hear the sound of splashing behind him, so either Mineta had given up trying to move Asui, and was watching the stare-down like an idiot, or he had successfully used the time that the villain had been distracted monologuing at Izuku to discretely carry the injured girl away from the confrontation and tried to sneak around the edge of the courtyard, back to the stairs, and had linked up with anyone at the entrance.

Izuku thought back to what he’d seen of Mineta’s behaviour and capabilities during the week, heard a week sniffle behind him, and decided he needed to set more realistic expectations of his allies.

Finally, Shigaraki spoke. “Hey, you, NPC… you jumped in to save your friends just now, didn’t you. How noble. How heroic. I bet you’re one of those wannabe All Mights too. Worshiping him like the false god he pretends to be. Well guess what?” The villain rapped his knuckled against the immobile beaked villain besides him. “Nomu here was specifically made to fight and kill the so-called Symbol of Peace. Our special cheat code was built to fight the strongest that there is. But I think he might need a warm up, and it always feels good to get rid of the mobs before the final boss gets here. And besides, like I said earlier,” the villain takes a step back behind the Nomu.

Izuku’s coils like a spring about to launch, his eyes locked onto the figure of the Nomu. The creature. The unnatural weapon apparently made to kill All Might.

His mask lets out a mechanical whoosh as he inhales.

‘This thing was made to fight All Might, and the villain was confident when he said that. Bluffs are of no use when you aim that high, so Shigaraki really believes that this thing can do it.’ Izuku felt his heartrate pick up, blood pumping around his body as adrenaline started to enter his system.

“If we’re going to have to leave because of Kurogiri’s screw up, then at least we’ll leave the bodies of his precious students as a gift. You die following that false symbol like the good little NPC you are.”

He breathed out, and the fires of twin emerald suns leaked out of their sockets, the flames twitching as they licked at Izuku’s eyebrows. A message displaying the content Izuku’s mind for the few that could read it.

The villain pointed the index of his deadly right hand at the green haired teen. “So, Nomu–”

This thing was built to fight All Might, and behind the nerves and jitters such a statement would cause, Izuku felt something build.

He wasn’t nervous. He refused that notion. He couldn’t be nervous as he stood there, the single thing between his classmates and the villains.

‘No. Fuck that!’

He was excited!

A week of practicing to keep from maiming his opponents, of drilling it into his skull how flammable his classmates were compared to his usual sparring partners. A week of holding back…

And now, he was given a chance to let loose. To measure up to this beast? To push his quirk harder?

He wasn’t scared! This fight was going to be fun!

Green eyes burned, as Shigaraki’s eyes gleamed. “– kill.”

Dead, vacant eyes came to life, swivelling in their sockets, before focusing on the green haired pyromancer. A rictus grin filled with shark-like teeth filled a beak as the brain of the beast pulsed for a split-second. Then the beast vanished.

Pure instinct and practice saved Izuku from being squashed like a bug as the Nomu’s fist buried itself in the concrete where he had just been standing. Izuku had blasted himself to the side, keeping his body facing the Nomu, and watched carefully as the monster paused, then removed its fist from the ground, before charging back at him.

A rocket-blast assisted leap later found Izuku above the Nomu, its massive arms closing around his launch spot. Izuku decided to retaliate. Aiming both hands downwards, he unleashed a torrent of flames in a waterfall of heat and destruction, bathing the surrounds in a warm glow. A pained screech could be heard from the centre of the flames, before the Nomu emerged, having jumped upwards to try and grab the green-haired teen, but instincts and training kept him just out of reach.

The two continued this dance, the Nomu lunging, leaving a path of destruction after each step, and Izuku dodging just in time, using the Nomu’s split second pause after an attempted attack to bathe his attacker in increasingly hotter blasts of flames. Flames which spread and consumed larger and larger quantities of their battlefield. The smell of burned flesh and the sounds of enraged screeching filled the courtyard as the battle carried on.

Once, Izuku launched himself a bit further away, before planting himself and unleashing a tidal wave of fire towards his enemy’s last position. An enemy which let out its characteristic shrill noise of pain and rage, before it charged through the attack as a blue, seemingly ignorant of the bones of its ribcage and arms being exposed to the open air, flesh pulsing and bubbling as tendons and muscle-fibres sprouted from anywhere and sewed the beast back together, vacant eyes glaring at the fire-wielding teen from their place imbedded in the creature’s brain. Flames consumed the area behind it as the behemoth attacked, its wounds still healing as it crushed concrete with its fists and swung so hard its missed punches left wakes in the air.

All the while, Shigaraki and Kurogiri sat back, seemingly content to observe the carnage and destruction. At first, Shigaraki cackled. “You absolute fucking noob, Nomu has regeneration! He can take anything you can dish out like it’s nothing and hit back harder. He’s a perfect tank! And its fucking obvious what would happen if a newbie mage tried to fight a high-level tank, no matter what your DEX stat is!”

Eventually, as the battle drew on, Shigaraki cackling died down, and he and Kurogiri slowly backed away from the ongoing clash to escape the growing intensity of the flames burning around the courtyard. Most of the villains Eraserhead had defeated were far enough away to be safe from the ongoing battle, but a few of the more unfortunate unconscious villains had been killed by the Nomu, crushed by punches that landed too close or simply turned into gory mists as the Nomu charged towards its target, heedless of any obstacles. The flames that littered the ground, burning through anything flammable, and had started to attack the chunks of flesh and bone, like hyenas scrounging for scraps after a lion’s hunt. The already pervasive smell of burning meat from the battle between Midoriya and the Nomu masking the smell of carbonising human remains.

The battle of fire vs regeneration was still ongoing, and, despite the ever-increasing heat of the teenager’s attacks, the Super-Regeneration managed to keep up. ‘And the NPC keeps avoiding Nomu’s hits. He probably poured all his points into DEX and AoE, so it’ll end with a one hit KO eventually. Nomu doesn’t get tired, after all.’

“But still,” he grumbled, one of his hands coming up to scratch at his neck. He glared through the hand on his face, his anger still present but seemingly dulled without a specific target to focus it on, “it’s taking too much time, and we still have a level to complete, and I don’t want to abandon a raid without also leaving bodies.” He scowled at the thought of such an unsatisfying ending. “Kurogiri, can you help Nomu catch this fly?”

The mist villain came to attention as he was addressed, considering the request, before shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be impossible. They’re moving around quite a lot, so accurately placing portals would be difficult, but I don’t think it would be wise to intervene. The high temperature might destabilise the portals somewhat, and if you attempted to assist yourself, I’m afraid you would end up being badly injured, Shigaraki Tomura. Either from the boy or the environment he has created.”

Shigaraki glared at his subordinate, before looking back at the clash. He turned just in time to see a beam of flames burn through one of Nomu’s arms, cauterizing the injury and preventing the regeneration from activating effectively as the rest of the charred limb dropped uselessly to the floor, before being consumed by the surrounding flames in this man-made hellscape.

The blue-haired villain felt a flicker of something he refused to acknowledge, watching as the Nomu followed its programming, tearing away at the wound with its powerful clawed hands before the cauterised flesh was gone, creating a pathway for the quirk to activate and a new arm to grow. The Nomu, now back to fully operational, returned to the fray, a blur of power and mindless fury.

Shigaraki grinned. ‘He’s as perfect as you said he would be, Sensei. He’ll definitely be able to kill All Might.’

His grin turned back into a scowl. ‘But I don’t know if it’ll be today. Time is wasting, reinforcements are coming, and I still need to up my kill count. Maybe Eraserhead? Nah, he was practically dead already. Actually…’ The grin returned, becoming a smile full of toxic pleasure. “I’m pretty sure Eraserhead was lying somewhere over there.” He pointed at the inferno, his smile becoming a maniacal laugh. “Oh. OH! THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER! ‘UA student kills teacher in villain attack’. I can see it now. It would be amazing! That would definitely hurt All Might, nearly as much as killing his whole class. YES! It fucking rocks when RnG is on your side!”

Tomura observed the flames before him with a new satisfaction, it’s combatants only visible by the sudden gout of bright flames swallowing a portion of the battlefield, or a screech and an air blast from the Nomu. It didn’t matter to Tomura, really. At this point, he’d already won.

At this point, he’d drag this out as long as possible until All Might got here, squash that puny symbol and the other teachers, then go home and pin his stupid head with those stupid rabbit-ear-bangs to the dartboard to replace the picture that had been there as long as he could remember. Maybe Shigaraki would even reward himself with that new MMORPG, Country in Chaos, to play while he taunted his trophy. He’d read good things about the game online, and other gamers seemed to be hyped too. He’d definitely deserve it after such a win. Sensei would definitely-

Out of the corner of his eye, Shigaraki spotted movement.

Shouji Mezou was stressed. He had been stressed since the portal opened in the middle of the courtyard and spilled a bunch of villains into one of his lessons after less than a week of being at UA.

The stress had only gotten worse when the portal (which turned out to be a dude!) appeared in front of the doors to the USJ and blocked their escape. He had thought his stress levels had peaked when he had been dropped into a burning city. Dropped, might he add, from a pretty substantial height.

It had been a stroke of luck that he had, on a whim, learned to use the membrane between his arms as a glider when he had been young. He thinks it had been a lesson on different types of vertebrates that gave him the inspiration. The teacher had been droning on about mammals, and poor child Mezou had been dozing in his chair, when the uninspiring man had mentioned something called a flying squirrel. Zoning back into the lesson had given the six-armed child a view of a flying squirrel projected onto the board, its limbs extended mid-flight. Shouji had been transfixed by the creature, utterly fascinated, before the slides changed.

The lesson forgotten, child Mezou’s mind had run like the machine made of coloured bricks and clockwork it was, and had come to a conclusion. It had taken weeks, a lot of experimentation, and no shortage of bruises and skinned knees, but Shouji Mezou finally achieved flight after throwing himself off the jungle gym.

It had been glorious. The wind in his hair, the rush of an aborted fall, and the feeling of being cradled by the air itself… for five seconds, Shouji envied those with flight quirks.

Then he crashed into a bush. He hadn’t been hurt, and his mother had a rather funny picture of the event, but young Mezou had felt like the missing Wright brother after that glide.

He had practiced it continuously over the years, along with other aspects of his quirk, until it was a seamless movement to transition from falling to gliding.

All of this to say that Mezou was saved from becoming a red stain on the pavement of a burning city by a particularly boring third grade teacher, and a picture of a rodent.

He didn’t particularly care, at this point, he’d take all the help he could get.

Finding Ojiro beating the shit out of some villains in the middle of the street, surrounding by burning buildings, loosened some of the pent-up stress that had gathered in his gut, as well as made him realise what a discrete badass the tailed teen is. Helping in the beatdown by grabbing three villains sneaking up behind the tailed teen and throwing them like cheap medicine balls relieved some more.

After a dozen more unconscious thugs, some shaky navigating, and a close call with a villain who had a slightly more powerful fire manipulation quirk than some of the rest –they had taken that one out using the two-pronged assault of a thrown brick and the lid of a trash can, and it had been particularly satisfying seeing that asshole go down– the two mutant teens had finally made it out of the inferno of the conflagration zone.

Only to walk right into the hellscape of the courtyard.

Everywhere he looked, there was fire. Bodies he didn’t recognise littered the ground, and he kept hearing a horrible screaming coming from the centre of the courtyard. From what he could see through the haze of the haze from the heat, a massive black blur was rushing around, with dust and sounds of breaking concrete coming from each movement. Every so often, an extra intense gout of flame would erupt from somewhere, bathing the black blur in radiant heat and eliciting another screech.

Tearing his gaze away from the battle going on, Shouji decided to focus on what he could do. Focusing on the feeling of his quirk, the weird sensation of his limbs stretching and splitting apart washed over his body, before his field of view suddenly expanded, receiving five new perspectives at once. For anyone else, the feeling would be terribly disorienting, but Shouji barely felt the change.

His extra eyes allowed him a better view of the field above the haze, and his breath caught.

“Midoriya is fighting one of the villains,” a newly sprouted hand morphed into a mouth, and he relayed what he saw to Ojiro as the two slowly made their way to the closest cover available to them. Ojiro hid behind some bushes as Shouji used a tree for cover, using his extra eyes like periscopes. “The villain’s really, really fast. I can barely see him, and he seems to be immune to Midoriya’s attacks.” His eyes caught onto another detail, and the six-armed teen gagged. “Scratch that. Not immune. The villain’s just healing after every blast.”

Ojiro looked contemplative, hidden behind the bush. “Healing and super speed, huh? That’s a tough combination to beat.” The teen looked at the taller mutant. “What should we do?”

Shouji was about to respond, when something alarming caught one of his eyes. He had been looking over the villains –and desperately ignoring the suspicious chunks near the fight; nightmares later, focus now– and he noticed a familiar shape. A black jumpsuit and white scarf, tinted with an alarming amount of red was lying limply on the ground. Lying limply much too close to a fight between a powerful fire quirk user and someone with super speed who could apparently ignore said fire quirk.

“Aizawa-sensei’s there.” Ojiro tensed as the news was relayed. “He’s not moving. There’s a lot of blood, and his arms look twisted.” Something twisted in Shoji’s gut as he looked at the mangled form of his teacher, but he pushed it down. He needed to be the rock, brushing off the tide of panic he watched slowly consumed the tailed teen beside him. Mezou would panic retroactively later, in the privacy in his own room. Now, he would be the stoic giant he was known to be. “We need to get him away from there. Any ideas?”

Ojiro considered this for a second. A bead of sweat ran down his brow, whether from the heat or from the nerves, Shoji wouldn’t ask. Not when he could hear Ojiro’s heart beating like the hoofs of a stampeding herd. “I’m drawing a blank here. I say we rush out, grab him, and pull him back here. Hopefully we can keep him stable, and hopefully Midoriya can keep that villain busy while we do all this.” The blond grinned wryly, though his eyes showed what he really felt about his own idea. “Please tell me you have a better plan.”

Shouji’s extended mouth returned the grin. “Unfortunately, no. I’ll do a quick check to see if there are any other people around, then, on my signal, we book it.”

Shouji pressed more on his quirk, and more arms and eyes sprouted in response. He wouldn’t bother with any ears; the roar of the flames and the sounds of combat would drown out anything useful. Scanning the battlefield, Shouji cursed under his breath, drawing the attention of his tailed companion. “Two more villains are standing back. The mist one who teleported us, and the hand guy who came through the portal. They’re far away, and the flames could shield us, but with the warp villain, distance won’t matter.” Ojiro’s grin turned into a grimace as he turned back to the battle, considering their options.

Shouji continued. “They’re focused on Midoriya and that other villain for now, so I think we can do it. We can get him.” He retracted most of his duplicated limbs, and Shouji leaned forwards, ready to run when he got confirmation from his partner. Ojiro looked at Shouji, looked at the inferno just in time for an extra-large burst of fire to shoot upwards out of it, and looked in the direction of their sensei. The tailed boy sighed, grinned shakily and readied himself to run out. “Let’s go be heroes.”

The two students burst from the bushes in a dead sprint, Ojiro slapping his tail against the ground for an extra burst of speed, while Shouji pushed his legs to their limits, taking full advantage of his longer gait. The two made it to their teacher and crouched down, using the flames to hide from the villains’ view. Ojiro shakily pressed his fingers against Aizawa’s less broken wrist, ignoring the way bones moved in ways they really shouldn’t be able to while still inside the body. He let out a breath in relief as he felt a pulse. Weak as it might be, it was a sign of life, and that was all the confirmation they needed.

After Ojiro signalled to his partner, Shouji leaned down and picked Aizawa up, being extra careful to not jostle any part of the man too roughly, especially his head and neck. Mezou really didn’t want to pull his teacher out of a battlefield, only to realise he’d made the man’s condition worse by being careless.

Shouji grew more arms to act as a sort of cot as well as keep his mangled teacher stable as he followed Ojiro, sprinting as carefully as one could when what sounded like a fight to the death between some hellspawn and a monster born from the evil of the world distilled into physical form that was going on at what he considered to be a less than ideal distance away from himself.

Shouji pushed himself to run faster.

They reached their cover and crouched behind the bushes. After gently laying down their wounded teacher, Mezou immediately spread-out extra eye-appendages to check on the villains and the fight, while an increasingly rattled Ojiro began to perform basic first aid on Aizawa. While Shouji sighed in relief at the fact the villains hadn’t seemed to have noticed them, Ojiro was panicking and swearing under his breath. “The first aid course didn’t cover this! The most I’ve done so far is a deep cut, and is that… ohmygod! I can see the bone! The skin is all gone!”

Shouji shot his partner a stern look to try and get him to keep quiet, but was ignored as Ojiro started to bandage the most serious wounds he could realistically deal with. Sighing, Shouji got down to help his beleaguered classmate, keeping a couple eyes on the situation.

A few moments later, two hero-student approved level med kits, and a lot more bloodstains on their hero costumes than they would have liked, Aizawa was bandaged as well as they could manage. They had made rudimentary splints for their sensei’s arms with branches they had found lying about, but there is only so much they could do for an arm where the bone was more powder than solid object.

Shouji sat back on his haunches, but didn’t relax. As he turned to tell his partner to prepare to move and try to get Aizawa to the exit, he heard a rustling come from behind him. Ojiro visibly heard it too, and both of them whipped around to face the new threat. Ojiro was already settled into a stance, face pulled tight, while Shouji’s arms had begun splitting at a fast rate, soon producing a wall of arms and fists, all cocked and ready. Both of them watched the area behind them, before they heard sniffling from behind another bush.

From that bush emerged a beleaguered looking Mineta, visible tear tracks running down his face. He looked somewhere between dazed, exhausted, terrified, and haunted, and Shouji quickly deactivated his quirk and ran forward to assist him, but, before he could reach his diminutive classmate, his blood ran cold. Mineta’s bright yellow gloves were drenched in blood, and his costume was soaking wet. Shouji could see darker patches in the front of Mineta’s costume where blood had stained the fabric, and the stoic teen quickly gave Mineta a visual once over, before Mineta noticed them.

The small teen jumped, his face showing his terror, before recognition set in. Terror melted away, giving way to relief. Then, to Shouji’s confusion, the relief was quickly replaced with fear.

Before Shouji could ask what was wrong, Mineta turned back and dashed into the bush. Shouji blinked, and Mineta hurried back, a small, green, and horribly limp, being carried over his shoulder. Shouji rushed forward to help, relieving his tiny classmate of his burden, and allowing Mineta to break down.

“I-It’s Tsu, s-s-s-she g-got… got h-hit by the h-h-hand villain’s q-quirk. Her face…” Tears resumed as Mineta curled into a ball and sobbed, his fear finally being allowed to get the best of him. Shouji had blanched during Mineta’s explanation, and quickly rushed over to Ojiro, who had calmed down by the act of helping their teacher. Now, his panic returned full force, sharing its place with horror in the marital artist’s heart.

“Asui…”

Shouji ignored him and set the girl’s body down gently, noting the yellow material wrapped around the girl’s head stemming the bleeding. Carefully and filled with dread, Shoji lowered one ear-appendage down onto the frog-girl’s chest –sending her a silent apology– and listened for her heartbeat. For a tense second, the sounds of battle faded away, and silence enveloped the multi-armed teen. Grief had started to build up, when he heard the faintest of sounds, and felt a shallow rise.

‘She’s alive!’

He snapped up, forming two mouths to speak to both Ojiro and Mineta. “Do either of you have any first aid stuff left?” The same voice coming from two mouths overlapped, creating an echo-like effect that knocked Mineta out of his breakdown. The urgency in Shouji’s voice got both of their attention.

Ojiro shook his head. “I’m out. Used all I had on sensei.” Mineta blubbered about losing it somewhere, but it no longer mattered. The cloth was the only thing preventing the girl from bleeding out, but it was also blocking her airway. The blood soaking into the material wasn’t helping either, and if they did nothing, Asui would die choking on her own blood.

Shouji thought. Harder and faster than he ever had, he tried to come up with a solution. He was going to be a hero. Heroes saved lives. He refused to fail when his first chance to save someone came up, so dammit he would try something.

Suddenly, he hit upon an idea. His quirk, Dupli-Arms, was the ability to split his arms and produce different parts of the human body on the ends of his new arms. Typically, he used it to make himself stronger, or to enhance his senses, but remembered something one of his classmates from middle-school had asked, seemingly out of nowhere. Their conversation hadn’t gone any further, and Shouji had forgotten all about it, but now it seemed it was time to put that random theory to the test.

“Hey, Shoji. Your quirk lets you grow parts of the human body, right?”

Mezou formed an arm with a mouth on the end. Gingerly, he lifted one part of the cloth up and, keeping his gaze away from what was underneath lest his stomach revolting distracted him from what he was about to do, he placed the mouth on the opening he could feel. He ignored the feeling of something wet and warm running along his skin, as well as the occasional hard point, and he focused.

“Well, I was just wondering…”

Ojiro’s already pale face went sheet white, and he opened his mouth to protest. Something on Shouji’s demeanor seem to convince him otherwise, however, and his mouth snapped shut with a click, before the tailed teen looked away, seemingly caught somewhere between embarrassed and revolted.

Shouji focused. His eyes, ears, noses, mouths, and extra limbs all related to his central system. He had an inbuilt limit to how much extra he could handle, despite the fact his quirk came with adequate mutations to help support him, if he made too many extra appendages, he wouldn’t have enough blood, or take in enough oxygen to supply the extra limbs. Until now, he hadn’t needed to think about that limit too hard. Simply build up his endurance, his body’s capacity, and synergy with his quirk, and he would be able to push himself further. It was a mutation quirk with a transformative aspect, not too hard to train.

“…internal organs are parts too…”

‘Well, if there was any time for Plus Ultra, now is it!’ Centring himself, he focused on his quirk. He focused on the feeling of expansion and contraction, of the millions of tiny, unnoticeable sensations as his chest widened to accommodate the extra space required. He felt a swelling, then a hollow feeling, before something limp dropped down from his arm. Concentrating on the feeling, he pulled at it, before pushing as it reached maximum capacity.

Instantly, Shouji felt something flow through him. It felt like the first breath of fresh air after holding your breath for a long time. He felt phantom tickles at the back of his throat as he opened his eyes, looking on with pride as the pair of lungs at the end of one of his arms expanded and contracted.

It was a relatively simple system, really. One mouth was constantly open, pulling air in or out as they expanded and contracted. Air was pulled out of Asui’s lungs and into Shouji’s extra lungs, before being expelled out of the spare mouth. Air was then taken in, and sent back into Asui, allowing her to breath without putting too much strain on her system.

Honestly, despite the situation, Shouji was proud of his impromptu biological ventilator. Ojiro looked sick, and Mineta muttered something about horror movies or face huggers.

Shouji shook his head, and refocused on the task at hand. “This won’t work for ever. We still need to get them to the exit. I can carry Asui-san and keep giving her air, but if I take Aizawa-sensei too, it’s slow me down too much.”

Ojiro nodded. “Don’t worry about sensei. I can take him without too much trouble, though that means that you, Mineta, will be in charge of protecting us if something goes wrong and we attract the wrong kind of attention.”

Mineta froze, and Shouji wanted to scoff, as out of character as it was for him. Mezou really didn’t think his diminutive classmate had much left in him. Dragging a wounded and dying Asui had taken a mental and physical toll on the small teen, and Shouji could still see dried blood on Mineta’s face, recalling how the purple teen had mentioned how over using his quirk would make him bleed from his head.

Mineta clenched his fists, and looked down, trembling. Sighing mentally, Mezou started to try and plan another way for them to get to the stairs undetected, when Mineta suddenly looked up. Raising his clenched fists, the small purple teen stared at them with watery eyes and a face that held more fear than confidence. “D-Don’t worry guys! You can count on me!”

Shouji found himself quietly surprised, but decided he’d think on it another day. The three started to sneak around the edges of the courtyard, Shouji using his quirk to simultaneously make sure Asui was breathing, as well as keep an eye on their surroundings. They had decided, since the fight had spilled over somewhat and the conflagration was now blocking the shortest path, that they’d need to sneak around the other way. Thankfully, this would bring them near to all the other zones except the downpour zone, so hopefully they’d be able to link up with some of the other students. Shouji had spotted Tokoyami on the other side of the fire, separated from them and closer to the stairs, and the boy seemed to have been collected by those who had been leftover near the exit to the USJ and, thanks to the melted hole in the doorway of the downpour zone, Shouji had deduced that his bird-headed… friend? Were they friends now? A villain attack probably-

‘No. Focus.’

Shouji had deduced that Tokoyami had probably been with Midoriya in the downpour zone, which meant that Midoriya, a fire quirk user who had spent somewhere between ten to twenty-five minutes before this fight being soaked to the bone by rain, was so unaffected that he had decided to fight the strongest villain in the USJ. A fight that was still going strong, and made all three of them flinch with every gout of roaring flame, and every screeching reply from the villain, though Mineta claimed that the villain wasn’t really human which was… Shouji decided to shove that into the ‘Unpack Later’ box in his head for when they were all safe and sound and out of danger. ‘Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.’

Then things, as they seemed wont to do in life or death situations, changed.

They had made it past the mountain zone, and Shoji could nearly touch the walls that surrounded the landslide zone. They hadn’t linked up with anyone new yet, but Shouji could feel a chill on his skin which wasn’t just from the cold sweat that seemed to be covering him, so the multi-armed teen felt pretty confident in his assessment that Todoroki was nearby, went a dry and painfully raspy voice rang out.

“This is taking too long. This cheating mage’s DEX stat is stupidly high for his level, he’d basically a mini-boss.” Inaudible grumbles met Shouji’s multitude of ears as he caught sight of red and white hair in the distance. ‘So close…’

“But this mini-boss is still a hero, and he can’t hurt our tank… Nomu.” Shouji, Ojiro, and Mineta felt a chill go down their spine. They felt the overwhelming feeling that Death had just cast her empty gaze upon them, considering.

“Kill the three brats over there.”

All of Shouji’s eyes widened, and three head swivelled to the left. A black blob suddenly disengaged from the fight going on in the courtyard and started charge towards them. The blob started to blur as it picked up speed, practically teleporting to them. A massive, meaty hand backed with so much muscle the creature seemed to be nearly bursting through its skin, pulled back. For a fraction of a fraction of a second, Shouji felt true, unadulterated fear. He felt it freeze his body in place as a fist backed up by more power than he would ever have in his life swung forward, and, in that instant of time, his body unresponsive and his mind empty, Shouji felt nothing.

Then, suddenly, something stood in front of him, and from that green, hooded something came a wave of the most intense fire that Shouji had ever felt. It dried the air and melted the ground as it raced towards the monstrous blur, washing over and devouring its flesh like a swarm of starved hounds, carbonising the beast layer by layer.

For another instant, Shouji felt hope.

It wasn’t enough.

That black fist swung, and the green something didn’t have time to move. The world blurred as it struggled to catch up to what happened, and Shoji stood stock still, in shock, as his mind registered what his eyes were reporting. Standing in front of him, on two red, metal boots, was a pair of legs. Only a pair of legs.

When his brain caught up to him, Mezou nearly fell to his knees. His… his classmate was dead. He had died to protect him! Mezou wanted to be sick.

He wouldn’t claim to be friends with Midoriya. The green haired fire user was anti-social, nearly reclusive compared to the rest of the class, and seemed to enjoy being as far away from anyone else as he possibly could, despite being relatively easy to speak to, if you knew how. Shouji liked to think he had been starting to know how.

Even if Midoriya had appeared terrifying in the videos of the combat training, even if most people in the class were wary of him on some degree, Shoji had seen how the green haired teen had reacted after the match. There had been a hint of regret as he had watched Kirishima being wheeled away, hidden from everyone behind the burning green suns that lived in his classmate’s eye sockets. Midoriya had even offered to walk Shouji to the infirmary, which, when his concussion had started to catch up to him, Mezou had really appreciated.

So yeah, Shouji would readily that he could have seen himself maybe being friends with Midoriya.

Not that it mattered now.

A pair of legs falls limply to its knees, bereft of the upper body that would complete it.

Around the courtyard, all the fire goes out at once as the wake of the beaked monsters punch washes over the three frozen students. Shouji can barely keep his thoughts clear enough to keep pumping air into and out of Asui. He stares at the remains of what could have one day been a friend, mourning.

Ojiro’s eyes are as wide as they can go, and the tailed teen’s mind is as empty as Shoji’s as they stare at their classmate’s remains. His tail’s twitches are the only sigh that he is still alive, blood pumping furiously through his veins as his body enters fight or flight mode now that the one shielding them has fallen. A part of him despairs for the loss of a classmate, for the loss of one who dared stand before overwhelming odds and decide to fight, for ones like that are exceedingly rare.

Mineta tears up again, and starts to cry. Despite this, he pulls two balls off of his head and prepares to follow the lessons he’s learned from a wounded teacher and a dying classmate. He will try to be brave, for those who have shown him how.

Far behind the wall of muscle and mindless killing, a madman with destruction at his fingertips cackles with delight. The obstacle blocking his path to victory lies dead, defeated by the suicidal mindset of the heroes the corpse once admired that demanded it stand between the weak and the strong. The villain now has free reign to enact his desires, and spread death and destruction to hurt the ones who worship those who hurt him, and make proud the one who saved him. His puppet is eternally ready for more violence, as is its purpose, and his assistant stands behind him at his beck and call. Nothing can stop him now.

On the ground, the bottom half of a body lies motionless, deemed unimportant by those around it .

Chapter Text

Floating in the void, Midoriya Izuku takes a few seconds to rage at himself.

‘For fuck’s sake! That was a fucking rooky mistake! I couldn’t have made myself an easier god damn target if I’d laid down in front of him and begged to be squished!’

All around him is an abyss he is intimately familiar with, dark and vast and so completely empty. The void stretches to encompass everything, reminding those who dare tread its depths that infinity is very real, and very, very, incomprehensibly big.

The cloak of infinity stretches onwards, leaving all within it in the blackest of shadow and, right at the centre of infinity, a teen with long green hair, glowing green eyes, and a black respiratory mask floats in the void. This oddity filled with colour in the expanse of nothingness writhes like a particularly irate maggot, shouting his frustration, cursing his mistakes, and swearing various things to himself. The void this thing floats in, had it a mind capable of observing this intruder, would probably be confused by this oddity disturbing the peace of the nothingness left behind by the death of light. Fortunately for the little green thing, no such consciousness exists in this space darker than the void between stars.

For, in contrast to the warper’s portal –a space distinctly similar to the one the wriggling creature finds itself in, yet completely different all the same– this void is not cold, nor is it as lifeless as it likes to pretend. There is an omnipresent heat to the emptiness, a thrum of thermal energy criss-crossing the void like a cosmic spiderweb, expanding and receding to the beat of imagined drums.

Izuku stops squirming and sighs, letting the anger and rage that coursed through him drain out of him with the contents of his lungs, leaving behind only the sparks of frustration. The green-eyed boy looks around at the space, and scoffs to himself. ‘Great. This shit again. Guess I can thank all that reflex training after all, huh… dammit, old man was right again.’

The imaginary drums’ steady beat picks up the pace.

Izuku cocks his head to one side, then the other, causing pops and cracking noises to spring forth and vanish just as quickly. Repeating the exercise with each joint of his hand, the green haired teen begins an elaborate stretch, coursing from the ends of his limbs, to his shoulders and chest muscles. The bizarre ritual ends with him placing his hands on his lower back, pointing his elbows backwards, and pushing forward, creating a satisfying series of cracks that brings a hum of satisfaction from Izuku.

Ethereal drums beat the tune to an ancient song. One as old as mankind.

Shaking himself out, Izuku takes a quick, pointless look around the space, before focussing on his relative forward direction. His eyes crinkle to indicate a grin, but there is no innocent joy to be found in the eyes that burn like twin green suns in his sockets, lighting up a portion of infinity with the simple suggestion of his power.

‘Well then, since they were so kind to bring their own monster to my school, crush my teacher and try to kill my classmate…’

The tune of the drums is the song of War.

Two green eyes burn with practiced malevolence, and the righteous fury born by those wronged and seeking their just recompense. The flames that seep from the sockets of the teen to whom fire is both his best friend and worst enemy are but a mere suggestion of things to come, a promise of complete, unrelenting violence through which the conditions of its victory will be achieved.

‘… let’s return the favour, and show them a real monster.’

Midoriya Izuku raises his arms, and pulls at beast cages in his chest. The monster who calls Izuku’s soul home and rages against its imprisonment all the same, constantly begging the be set free and rampage. Izuku calls on his quirk, and the fire ignores its desires answers the call like a well-trained pet.

On the inside, the insignificant little green thing sets infinity ablaze.

On the outside, dismembered legs wearing black cargo pants and specially made combat boots twitch, and the surrounding area’s temperature starts to rise. No time has passed at all since Midoriya was destroyed in front of his classmates and those around have moved on from the remains to focus on those still moving despite the lack of gore or blood that seeks from where the lower half of the body was once attached to the top. Smoke comes from the stump first, ignored by all. From that smoke come sparks, and from those sparks is born an inferno.

Villains and students alike take notice as the corpse erupts into a fiery explosion, consuming everything surrounding it in a five-meter radius. The Nomu steps in front of Shigaraki just as it registers the threat, curling around the hand villain to shield its master from the blast wave and the superheated debris that rain down in the aftermath.

Shouji instinctively mimics the Nomu, using his own larger size to pick up Mineta and Ojiro and jump, riding the blast wave instead of trying to tank it, the adrenaline in his veins shielding him from the burning sensation coming from the membranes between his arms as superheated air comes in contact with sensitive skin. He pulls his two shorter classmates into his chest, rolling forward in the air and landing on his back to cushion the landing. He feels the air being forced out of his lungs as one of his heavier classmates –the tail has a lot of muscle and adds a lot of weight to an already well built Ojiro– and Mineta both land simultaneously on his stomach and, as much as he tries to cushion the landing, Asui’s compact and limp form digs into his chest.

As he fights to get his breath back, the scorching hot air suddenly becomes a few degrees cooler, and the six-armed teen looks towards the source of the cold. He spots the distinctive red and white hair of his classmate; the false ice Todoroki usually wears on left side of his body nowhere to be found. The lack of covering allows Shouji a good look at his dual-coloured classmate’s face as he stands there, and all that Mezou can see is narrowed eyes and a mouth set in a grim straight line.

Pushing himself to his feet is an achievement he would consider heroic, and the cool air surrounding Todoroki is doing a wonderful job at soothing the small injuries Shouji had gained from the previous fights, and the more recent burns and scrapes he’d gained trying to surf an explosion, and Shouji, Mineta, and Ojiro join their newly arrived classmate in gazing at the scene, trying their best to comprehend what just happened.

Where there had once been half a corpse, was now a mass of fire, flickering in an invisible breeze. The flames twisted in on themselves before spreading out and licking the surrounding area, leaving behind ashen streaks where the tongues had merely licked the ground, or molten pools of concrete and sand where the flames had lingered for a bit longer. The whole blaze back and forth, contracting and expanding like the breath of a crouched beast. Villain and hero-hopeful alike stared in wonder as the flames grew, blue-white embers dancing like spirits at the centre of the conflagration, free and ignorant of the world as they were birthed by the flames, lived by the flames, and died by the flames, all in a matter of seconds. A mesmerizing waltz of creation and destruction, bathing its observers in its warmth while reminding them that their ancestors first used fire to cook meat, then to fight off things much stronger than them.

As the twisting inferno reached its peak, and the flames withing began to spin around some unseen focal point, Shouji came to three important realisations.

The villains were distracted.

It was a pretty straight shot to the stairs.

Todoroki, one of the strongest students in their class, had arrived as reinforcement.

Shouji blinked and a plan began to form in his head, as he slowly backed away from the infernal twister. All that heat couldn’t be doing poor Asui any favours, if her frog quirk was as straightforward as its name and the girl’s character implied. The six-armed teen kept retreating, using his quirk to place hands on each of the other boy’s shoulders and jolting them back into reality, and then pulling them back. Shouji felt an annoying amount of resistance from Todoroki, who seemed intent on jumping into the fight, but Shouji Mezou was having none of his shit. He was having a stressful day. He had fought villains, rescued his teacher from being burned alive, and was trying not to think about the classmate he was cradling delicately in his arms who was slowly but surely bleeding out.

The six-armed teen decided to act. He tapped Mineta on the shoulder, gave Todoroki a final forceful tug, and looked Ojiro in the eyes as he formed a mouth at the end of an arm. He wanted to tell them that now was the chance to make a stealthy withdrawal, to continue the plan to retreat to the entrance and hopefully link up with more of the group before the other teachers and preferably All Might arrived to save the day. He wanted to relay the plan he had concocted to his classmates in all its simple brilliance.

“RUN!”

Unfortunately, it seemed his brain didn’t agree, and the filter between his brain and the mouth wasn’t doing its job either either. Though he supposed that would work.

Hearing such a sudden shout from their usually stoic and quiet classmate seemed to startle them into action. Ojiro’s eyes widened as he turned to follow his command, and Shouji, with one hand still on Todoroki’s shoulder –the dual-haired boy was making not move to start running which was, in Shouji’s book, not going to fucking fly, buster– spun around and started booking it towards the entrance, keeping close to the wall surrounding the landslide zone and dragging a startled Todoroki behind him like a particularly frosty ragdoll.

Unfortunately, their attempt at a stealthy escape didn’t go as planned. The sudden movement must have caught the eye of one of the villains, because when the three of them started sprinting away from the scene, the hand villain’s head snapped towards them.

Shigaraki opened his mouth and started to raise his hand to point towards the fleeing students and order the Nomu to finally kill them, when the situation… evolved.

The fire, that had been pulsing and swirling in its own slice of molten hell, suddenly split, and from the fiery egg came a new brand of creature.

Walking upright on two legs, the thing had a distinctly humanoid appearance. It wore no clothes, though it would be unreasonable to ask the average clothing manufacturer to accommodate for such a mutation from even the Quirk era baseline human form. Flickering like a candle or the flames that had birthed it, a burning being stood in front of the dying hearth from which it had come. Its flesh did not burn, for it was fire itself, pulled from the surface of a star to walk the earth in an approximation of human form. Liquid fire dripped from fingers that flickered with no physical form, and tongues of flames lapped the air where they broke free from whatever force was holding it together. The creature had no discernible facial features, save for two spots in place of eyes that so brightly, it’s very gaze dried the air wherever it deigned to look. On top its head fire burned more peacefully, a bonfire to the rest of the body’s inferno. The thing had an ethereal beauty reserved for only non-physical entities, and yet the danger was readily presented as it stepped forward, scorching the earth beneath it as it marched towards the villains and leaving molten footsteps in its wake.

Breing dragged by someone physically taller and larger than himself wasn’t new to Todoroki, much to his displeasure. What was new, was that he was being dragged away from the fight, rather than towards it. He supposed he could understand his classmates’ reactions, somewhat. They hadn’t had the training he had. They hadn’t been prepared. He might be somewhat emotionally detached, but Shoto had learned to read someone based on what they showed the world, consciously or not. He could see the submerged panic swimming around in Ojiro’s eyes, like a shark waiting for just a hint of blood, and Mineta was making to effort to hide his fear. Shouji was doing an admirable job of it, though Shoto believes the taller teen has an unfair advantage. The mask he wears hides nearly everything on his head bar his eyes and hair, and the Shouji’s eyes are hardened with something Shoto can’t name, but can recognise. It is something that drives someone towards a goal relentlessly, and Shouji’s goal, to Shoto’s displeasure, seems to be to get as far away from the villains and whatever that burning pit is.

But Shoto can’t run away. He was trained by Endeavour, and his classmates weren’t. He is more ready to face villains in life-or-death situations than they could ever be at this point, so they can run away all they like, but Shoto is stronger than them. His quirk and training leave him leagues above his supposed peers, and it is his duty to face villains and come out victorious without resorting to his curse half. The heat from the flames will both help and hinder him. He’ll be able to unleash more ice without freezing himself, though the fire will weaken the ice structures he creates, though he should be able to counter such a minor side effect if he plays it smart.

He can do it. He will do it. He will prove to his father, to the world, that he doesn’t–

Todoroki’s inner monologue is interrupted right before he can forcefully shrug off Shouji’s grip and return to the fight, when the thing with fire for flesh steps out of the conflagration and begins to stalk towards the villains, leaving the dying embers behind it, but keeping the surrounding temperature constant as its very being replaced the lost source of heat.

As Todoroki stared, wide-eyed and slacked jawed, at the thing that had been born of the flames, his own heterochromatic eyes caught onto the burning white patches of flame on the creature’s face that seemed to act as eyes, and Todoroki squinted as the brightness hurt his eyes. It felt like he was looking straight at the sun.

But within those swirly white patches on a body of red, orange, and the occasional blue, Todoroki Shoto swore he could see light traces of green. Mere hints at a colour that could be there the same way it very well could not.

Something clicked, and Shoto’s squinted eyes widened once again, an action he immediately regretted as he blinked rapidly to try and combat the pain of his eyeballs drying out. He had heard Mineta blubber about Midoriya being killed by the villains, and had caught a glimpse of a discarded pair of legs still wearing their black cargo pants and red shoes, before said remains had suddenly erupted into flames.

“Midoriya…” he whispered, catching Shouji’s attention. The tall teen took a quick look back, decided his reborn classmate looked more than happy to take on the villains for a round two, and accelerated.

Todoroki gritted his teeth as he watched the scene unfold. He couldn’t use his larger attacks with allies nearby, and the smaller attacks he could use would be negated by Midoriya’s quirk. Plus, there was something he was curious about. Something that had been spinning and had nearly been discarded as he added another bit of data to the machine in his head made of red threads and corkboard. ‘Why were you hiding this power, Midoriya?’

It always felt… different, walking around in this form. Different in a way that was impossible to accurately describe. He felt lighter, which was a given, but he also felt like there was… less of himself. Like he had left something behind when he became like this.

Midoriya stopped in his tracks and allowed himself a second to really feel the differences. He felt the paradoxical brush of intangible flames against each other as his new limbs moved much like his old ones, and yet so differently. Where before he would have done like any other human and ignored the pulling and relaxing of tendons and muscle fibres as he pushed his body forward, the biological machine going through the motions of its usual locomotion and gets him where he wanted to be. The human mind is capable of ignoring the shifting of internal organs with normal movement, the subtle grinding of cartilage and bone as the skeleton holding up the entire system is pulled by the same organs it supports and gives shape to. Ignoring the rubbing of eyeball against socket, of hair or nail or tooth catching on each other or the environment during the body’s normal everyday motion.

The human mind elects to prevent the conscious from experiencing the subtle discomforts of the usual body to preserve its sanity, and allow it the mental space to react to more important things without distractions from the mundane.

When he transformed, when he allowed his quirk to consume and replace his physical body, replacing the muscle and sinew and cartilage and bone with the perfect smoothness of the flames he both adored and despised, Izuku noticed how his mind seemed to jolt at the change. The complete and sudden removal of all the usually ignored stimuli had left him reeling when he’d first used his quirk like this, but he had adapted, and had grown stronger.

Suddenly transforming into a being made of fire also always made him conscious of how heavy his physicical form was, how much weight water and bone had. This transformation always left him feeling lighter, both literally and physically, as he became something more than he was. His worries and woes turning to ash like his flesh in the face of the power which would protect him from harm, and allow him to decimate those who would threaten him. The power that was his to command.

 And yes, he may or may not always get a pleasant jolt of dopamine whenever he got to use his quirk like this, which was, unfortunately, not often enough.

“So, the mage gets a spirit form, huh? Have you levelled up, or were you just holding back?” A familiar raspy voice interrupted his musings, and Midoriya’s near featureless face turned to stare at Shigaraki as the villain stared back, seemingly unbothered by the heat.

Shigaraki scratched his neck as he contemplated the situation, before scoffing. “You should have used that power up sooner, brat. Maybe you would have been able to put up an actual fight against the Nomu instead of just jumping around.” A sinister smile crept its way across the villain’s face, hidden by the hand. “Maybe you would have been able to save your friends, too.” At that, he snaps his fingers, and the Nomu that protected him charges.

The purple blur barrels towards the retreating students, and though only Todoroki is turned around to see it, they all feel very small and insignificant for a second, like ants meeting the falling boot. All of them feel it, but only Todoroki sees why the temperature suddenly rises and another blur appears on the charging one’s left, this one bright and hot and constantly moving where the other is dark and evil and only moves after periods of total stillness. Contrasting as they are, the two blurs meet in an explosion of heat and fire that puts all the other ones Midoriya’s used up until now to shame.

The students don’t stop running, but Shouji spares an eye to see what has captured Todoroki’s attention so completely as they make it to the stairs. The tall teen nearly trips, but catches himself and steadies his wounded classmate before he can fall. He keeps a stoic face as he drags his classmates up the stairs, seeing the others who had made it to the exit or had avoided the portals yelling down towards them, encouraging them to run faster, asking them if they’re alright. Some of them pale when they see the bloody form of Asui in Shouji’s arms, or the broken form of Aizawa being carried by Ojiro. Yaoyorozu is the first to recover and starts ordering the others around while simultaneously creating proper medical equipment to replace Shouji’s ramshackle respirator. If Shouji could, he would be paying attention to his classmates, asking after their wellbeing, and counting them off to check who was still missing. He can’t though. He is still processing what he’s seen.

When the two blurs had collided, and Midoriya had unleashed that explosion. The flash had blinded his observing eye, and the following heatwave had certainly not helped. When his watering eye had recovered, and the smoke and dust had thinned, what he’d seen had shocked him. He had born witness to Midoriya and the Nomu’s initial battle in the plaza, or at least, some of it. They had both fought viciously, with Midoriya repeatedly burning the skin and flesh off parts of its frame, only for it to regenerate and charge back into the fray. It had been a fight to the death, with the Midoriya’s reaction time keeping him out of harm’s way, and the Nomu’s regeneration quirk protecting it from anything Midoriya threw at it. It had been a test of speed versus reaction, but it they had been at a stalemate.

Now, when Midoriya unleashed his blast, the Nomu had staggered.

Shouji was trying not to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help that, after Yaoyorozu had gotten Asui as stable as she could considering the situation, Shoji had immediately turned around as set all his eyes to watch the fight in the plaza. All sixteen of them.

He had a feeling that it would be worth watching.

Midoriya watched as the Nomu struggled to recover from his latest attack. The fire blast had been much more intense, and had had a wider blast-cone. Unlike the previous ones that washed off the monster’s hide, only burning and cutting deeper if Midoriya poured extra concentration into focusing the blast, or got it in the eyes, this new one enveloped the monster entirely, and burned at such a temperature that most of the monster’s muscles had been burned to a crisp, freezing it in place as the fibres that gave the beast its strength and speed struggled to pull its frame forward while being so thoroughly cooked. The regeneration kicked in and healed the Nomu eventually, but the healing looked slower than it had before.

Izuku’s white hot eyes narrowed in thought. Or maybe he was imagining it, but he decided that he was in a good mood, and he would allow himself this bit of optimism. After all, these villains were giving him the opportunity to let off some steam against a punching bag that could heal itself. No way was it going to waste this opportunity.

‘Although…’ Midoriya thought back to the state of Aizawa, and the frighteningly still form of Asui. He couldn’t claim to be friends with any of them, or to care more for them than he did the average passer-by on the street, but most some of them seemed like decent people, and would probably become decent heroes, too.

He scowled as the thought of the exceptions passed through his head, before he shook himself and burned it for its irrelevance at the moment.

‘I should probably end this as soon as possible. Then the villains will either surrender – which, seeing how Shigaraki behaves, I doubt – or they would run using Kurogiri, which seems more likely. The Nomu isn’t really alive, all its done is followed Shigaraki’s orders, and its quirk means that I won’t be able to knock it out.’ Izuku moved into a familiar stance, low to ground with his arms aiming behind him. The flames from which he was composed flaring as his burning eyes locked on the Nomu, dismissing the other two as threats, but not ignoring them. He had to make sure Shigaraki and Kurogiri didn’t go after his classmates while he dealt with the Nomu, which had turned to look at him, awaiting orders. ‘Sorry Nomu, but I’m the only monster allowed in here.’ The flames of his arms shifted, burning brighter as Izuku used his pyrokinesis to shape his now more malleable arms. The roaring of flames became the screaming of twin jet engines as the heat surrounding the boy started to slag the ground. ‘And only one of us will leave.’

Shigaraki smiled his signature dry, manic smile. He would show this self-important mob what happened when it dared to challenged his raid party armed with his perfect cheat. Even if he had to acknowledge that this fire-brat was starting to become worthy of the title of mini-boss, it wouldn’t matter. Nomu would snuff out this conceited little bonfire. Power-up or no power-up.

“Nomu. Destroy this brat.”

The screaming of the jet engines reached a fever pitch as the Nomu roared its monstrous battle-cry, and the two monsters charged each other.

Massive black fists swung forward at blistering speeds, but this time, Izuku didn’t bother to dodge. The Nomu’s fists tore through his burning body as he cut off the jets, punching massive holes in the comparatively small torso in a machine gun like series of blows. Again, and again and again the Nomu’s arms blurred and holes were created straight through Izuku’s burning body, and again and again and again, the holes would immediately be filled by fire and the damage would vanish like it had never existed. Of course, for a body like Izuku’s, it might as well not have. All the Nomu was doing to Izuku was displacing the flames, allowing the sheer heat alone to burn the Nomu’s arms as it continued attacking.

Eventually, the creature stopped, its empty eyes managing to convey its confusion as it stared at its unharmed target. Across the blank and near featureless expanse of Izuku’s face, a wide, jagged smile grew on the teen’s empty face, conveyed through the same blinding white flames that made up his eyes.

Blinding though that smile may be, it was not one like All Might’s.

‘My turn.’

The screaming of a high powered, directed flame rang through the USJ as the teen made of fire burst forward with unprecedented speed. More fire emerged from his form, hiding his shape until he became a comet streaking straight towards the Nomu, who didn’t have the intelligence to react beyond raising an arm to defend itself as nearly white-hot flames bathed its form. The Nomu screeched, and the teen’s fiery form darted around, continuing to attack with continuous streams of fire instead of the blasts he used previously.

The continual attacks were burning more and more of the Nomu’s flesh, but its regeneration was managing to keep it going, even if the continuous stream of flesh charring fire was doing a decent job of slowing it down.

As Midoriya let loose his quirk once again, swirling around the Nomu as it flailed and tried in vain to catch him, he thought. ‘This is still taking too long. I could wear down its regeneration, but that would still give Shigaraki and Kurogiri a chance to try something, and I can’t go further without accidentally killing someone.’ His form flowed through the Nomu’s grasping hand, charring the appendage down to the bone as he passed by, before he suddenly changed direction and went under the Nomu. He unleashed twin beams of concentrated fire from his arms, charring muscle and incinerating bone as he cut through the Nomu’s legs and the giant beast toppled over, screaming and flailing all the while.

As Izuku reoriented himself in mid-air, he watched the Nomu scramble to try and attack him, its legs still being cauterized stumps, though its constant movements were freshening the wound enough for the regeneration quirk to work its magic. Izuku was getting annoyed, before inspiration came, and the jagged, fiery grin that had disappeared from his face reappeared. God it felt good to do that.

Izuku’s legs, that had been acting like propulsors to aid with his mobility, cut out for a split second, leaving the teen in free fall, before his legs merged and, burning like a rocket, the boy made of fire sped off towards the flood zone. As he reached the centre of the artificial lake, Izuku executed a turn with so many Gs only someone without blood would survive it, and turned his propulsor downwards, shooting the teen upwards like a flare.

Predictably, the Nomu screamed its mindless rage, and chased after its fleeing enemy. It bounded across solid land, building up speed with each push of its insanely powerful leg muscles, before it stopped dead before the lake, used all the gained momentum that it hadn’t lost to coil itself up like a spring, and launched itself upwards after the student.

If the Nomu had been a blur before, now it became a streak as it used all of its unnatural physical to jump into the air, cratering the ground beneath its feet and sending cracks spiderwebbing across what remained of the plaza that wasn’t slagged by the student of turned to rubble by the Nomu.

As Izuku neared the top of the dome, his rocket cut out, and he hung there, unaffected by gravity as he stared forward, his face as placid as a churning plane of fire with twin suns for eyes can be. He watched as his gaze swept over the top of the ceiling, then started to turn downwards as his body carried through the slow backflip.

The rest of the USJ came into view, and for two peaceful seconds, he truly appreciated how stupidly massive this building was. ‘There’s a whole mountain in here for God’s sake.’

That peaceful observation was ruined when Izuku heard a shriek, followed by what sounded like the earth shattering beneath a meteorite as something big, purple, and angry came flying up towards him, leaving massive waves in the flood zone and a wake that swept up dust.

The burning grin returned to Izuku’s fiery face as he began to fall towards it. ‘Almost there,’ he thought, as he watched the Nomu gain altitude. He watched, following the Nomu’s trajectory until he was satisfied the creature had passed the threshold Izuku had designated.

Izuku’s grin turned downright predatory as he reignited his boosting flames and rocketed down to meet the beast. The wildly burning flames that made him up burned brighter and brighter as he descended faster and faster, until all that could be seen from the teen was a burning white light falling to meet a rising black streak.

The scene seemed to almost slow down, dragging out the time before impact between the two forces of nature as they slowly but surely approached one another. The moment of collision seemed to get further and further away as the light and the dark got closer, and it felt like the world itself held its breath, watching and waiting.

Izuku felt a laugh bubbling up as he collided with the Nomu mid-air, his body washing over and enveloping the Nomu like a warm blanket woven from the stars themselves. Except, instead of the gentle reassurance of a thick comforter on a cold winter morning, or the playful but distinguished beauty of the small lights in the night’s sky, this blanket’s warmth was the indiscriminate heat unleashed by those balls of burning gas to strip planets of their atmospheres and scour their surfaces, and its beauty came in its pure destructive potential as the sudden increase in heat caused by the ball of flames now surrounding the Nomu superheated the surrounding air, making it expand and causing a blast wave to sweep across the surrounding area, though, due to its starting location being near the roof of the USJ, those at surface level were spared the full extent of its power.

Izuku’s laugh sounded like the crackling of a bonfire mixed with the screaming of fighter jets as they cut through the sky, interspersed and cut off at odd points like a radio with bad reception. He couldn’t help it though. It had been so long since he had been able to go this far, and he was committed now. He was going to see how much this monster engineered to fight the number one her could take. Izuku’s unnatural sounding laugh and the sounds of the Nomu’s impotent rage was lost as he unleashed even more of his flames, and the ball of heat and light handing from the highest point in the USJ kept growing in size.

Mezou eventually pulled his now eighteen extra eyes away as the brightness became too much. He had been following as best he could, watching as Midoriya unleashed this new technique. He could only watch in awe as the previously even brawl became a one-sided battle between a pure brawler and someone who could seemingly reshape their body at will. For the first time since he had been dropped into a burning city, Shouji felt something warm build up from inside of him, and he felt a smile tug at his face beneath his mask even as he averted his eyes from the burning ball floating in the air. He refused to count his chickens before they hatched, but Shouji would admit that he had a pretty good feeling about this.

Shoto watched the ball of heat keep growing in the airspace of the USJ, and felt something grow with it in his gut. He didn’t know what it was, but as he watched white hot flames obscure his view of the combatants, forcing him to look away, and as his hearing was consumed by the roaring of an inferno above their heads, Todoroki was of the opinion that he didn’t much like feeling whatever it was he was feeling. The heat washed over him, and he felt smothered despite the coolness of the ice keeping the worst at bay as he worked to shield his classmates from the worst of it. No, he decided with certainty, he definitely didn’t like it at all.

Ochako would freely admit that she had let panic consume her when her classmates had vanished into the mist villain’s attack, and it had only gotten worse when the villain had used a portal to turn Thirteen’s quirk back on her, tearing apart the back of her costume and shredding the skin on the heroine’s back. Uraraka had fully blanked out when she had seen the hero fall, certain that, now that the Pro Hero was out of the way, the villain would attack and kill them.

What could students do to him when a full pro had been taken out so easily. Then she had heard Thirteen’s weak voice speak, ordering Iida to get to the school and report what had happened. Those words, mumbled and choked as they had been, had brought Ochako back, reinvigorating her and lighting a fire in her heart. She needed the become a hero, she couldn’t let the first villain she encountered stop her!

The next few moments had been a blur. She remembered yelling a lot and slapping something metal, before the villain was flying through the air, a piece of Sero’s tape still attached to his neck guard, and Iida was zooming out of the pried open metal doors, shouting about bringing back reinforcements as quickly as possible. Uraraka had tried not to think about the possibility of villains invading the whole school, and tended to Thirteen. She had been doing her best, when Yaoyorozu, and Jirou arrived, battered and bloody, and dragging two other unconscious students behind them. Something had stuttered in Uraraka’s chest when she’d seen the burns on Kaminari, and fear had lodged itself in her throat when she saw Ashido’s usually joyful face so empty as she lay unconscious with her leg in a splint. The hastily applied bandages on both of them were already slowly turning red. Uraraka had wanted to ask what had happened, but Yaomomo’s gaunt face convinced her that now was not the time, so she settled for asking for help with dressing Thirteen’s wounds. Help that the class president readily supplied, her previously empty eyes returning to life as she focused on the task.

Now, Ochako could only watch in awe from her spot crouched beside the bandaged body of Thirteen as a star came into existence at the highest point of the USJ. She felt the heat wash over her and the light begin to burn her eyes as an impossible scene unfolded before her, before it was blocked off by Todoroki’s ice wall. A part of her wanted to protest, the part that adored learning about the stars and space and galaxies and all the wonders in between railed against watching what could only be a second Sun be born on the surface of the Earth. Another part, much larger than the first and much more concerned with the reality of their situation sent a mental thank you to the dual haired boy. It probably wouldn’t help the wounded to overheat, –her heart had nearly broken as she moved to help bandage Tsu, one of her newer friends but someone she felt she could rely on, and Ochako felt a mix of rage and despair boil in her stomach, leaving her feeling like she had overused her quirk– and Ochako remembered the last time she had felt something like this. This scorching heat and the dryness it left behind as it passed over. Sometimes she could still feel rubble trapping her leg, or see the massive form of the Zero Pointer melt into nothing when she closed her eyes. So, for a second, before she returned to helping the wounded, Ochako would feel a sadistic joy, and revel that the ones who had turned today class into a nightmare would receive their just comeuppance.

Katsuki kept his expression neutral as he witnessed the ball of white light and the purple streak collide, and stayed that way despite Kirishima’s gasps and exclamations as they watched the ball of heat and light grow. They watched until the oppressive heat and the blinding light forced them to seek refuge under one of the caves so common in the Mountain Zone. Even as Kirishima turned away, Bakugou forced himself to watch through eyes shielded by both hands and squinted so hard they were practically closed. He needed to watch. He needed to see how much had changed. He needed to know what had happened to DekuIzuku Midoriya since he had last seen the boy on that horrible day. He had so many questions and yet, despite all of his strength, all of his confidence, he couldn’t bring himself to ask them, because he knew he didn’t deserve answers. So Katsuki would watch and try to spot the boy he once knew in the teen that was creating a second sun in the dome of the USJ, because, for now, that was all he could do.

Izuku felt delighted. ‘Finally,’ he thought as he poured more flames out of his body, ‘it feels so good to not hold back.’ The pyrokinetic teen was no longer concerned with shaping his output, and focusing instead on containing the overwhelming amount of fire in a ball shape to prevent the fire from dropping down onto the ground below, and rendering his flight up here pointless.

Within this ball, what was and wasn’t Izuku became blurry. His body made of flames kept emitting more and more fire, and the limited volume the flames had to move in meant it had become full quite quickly, before the intensity started to rise. Izuku knew that those on the surface were probably feeling the heat, but he also knew that that was nothing compared to up here.

The Nomu continued to thrash and writhe, muscle burning off and bone disintegrating just as it was regenerated. The monster could no longer screech its rage at Izuku, since every time it inhaled to do so, fire would flow down its throat and drown it, burning its lungs and cooking its flesh from the inside out. So, the only way the beast could show its pain, show the agony it was experiencing as it burned alive was to thrash, to swing its once meaty fists, now nothing but charred flesh with gleaming white bone visible due to chunks of missing flesh. Newly regenerated muscle tendrils writhed and withered like insects under a magnifying glass as Izuku’s fire quirk fought the Nomu’s regeneration quirk.

‘It’s over,’ Izuku thought, as he focused enough of his energy on forming his empty, fiery face in the flames to gaze into the Nomu’s eyes, vitreous gel leaking from the dried, cracked things as they continued to spin wildly in their sockets before locking onto him. ‘There was a surprising amount of emotion in such a vacant gaze,’ thought Izuku as he stared at the monster, who stared back at the only discernible chunk of the fire-ball that contained the one burning it.

For a split second, the teen thought he saw something else pass through the monster’s gaze, something he was almost ready to call relief, before the rage and madness washed it away.

Izuku washed another portion of the beast’s flesh burn dispassionately, watched the regeneration fight to keep up with the mounting injuries, and watched the madness grow in the Nomu’s movements as it became more desperate to accomplish its orders, and kill him. Midoriya allowed himself a second to feel pity for the Nomu, for its cursed existence, for the pain it must be in, before he squashed it down and discarded the thought.

The already intense sphere of flames surrounding the Nomu and Midoriya started to burn even hotter, the surrounding temperature continuing to skyrocket as the white-hot flames glowed brighter and brighter. Izuku took one last look at the Nomu, before the head he had formed dissipated and he became one with the flames.

The living star born from the power of one teenager turned the entirety of its attention on the monster trapped within it, a perpetrator of the events of the day, the cause of his teacher’s injuries, the muscle that allowed Shigaraki to nearly kill his classmate, and possibly the villain’s greatest victim on this day. The ball of bright white flames decided that its mercy was the only thing that could end today’s tragedy, and so, under the command of its progenitor, it pushed its power further and further, all the while ensuring its attention did not stray from containing its destructive might.

The heat reached a fever pitch and the Nomu screamed its last, all of its mindless rage, its hatred, its sorrow, its relief, and Midoriya answered in kind.

‘BURN!!!’ The incandescent ball of contained desolation commanded to the creature burning at its core.

And the Nomu obeyed.

Flesh and bone burned and turned to ash faster than the Super-Regeneration quirk could keep up with as the inferno consumed the beast like a starving force of nature. Sinew caught fire and snapped before disintegrating. Organs boiled and popped before being forced back together and repeating the process, before enough muscle and bone was peeled away to allow the devouring flames direct access to the unnatural organs. The lungs finally exploded, the monsters screaming death rattle having pulled in some of the fire and it expanded, eating through the thin outer layer of the lungs and destroying the monster’s multiple hearts, before the new conflagration joined the other flames that had burrowed their way into the beast and turned the rest of the internals to ash.

The Nomu’s toxic black blood itself was destroyed, bubbling and boiling away in instants so fast the event was never noticed, and fire swept through the veins and arteries themselves. The water in every cell boiled and evaporated in an instant, tearing through cell walls and destroying the structure of the Nomu’s body piece by bloody piece.

Fifteen seconds.

It took Izuku fifteen seconds of concentrated, high power burning to finally beat the Nomu’s regenerative quirk. Izuku watched as the last of the flesh was burned away, leaving a blackened skeleton. Eventually, those soot covered, experimentally enhanced bones fractured, the heat too intense and boiling the remaining fluid inside, and the bones broke apart, the heat breaking them into smaller and smaller pieces until they became nothing but dust, scattering to the wind kicked up by the disturbance caused by the ball of flames.

A ball that began to shrink, its prey now consumed. Flames slowly escaped and dissipated, reducing the intensity of the heat as the small star started to finally fall to earth. It was a slow, graceful fall, like an ember dancing on the wind.

The last of the mass dispersed, leaving the flaming body of Izuku’s transformation behind. The fiery avatar slowly landed on the ground, and stood in the silence that followed its victory. Izuku grinned in his mind, but kept his external face stoic, white burning eyes staring straight at the two remaining villains.

Kurogiri was still, his body’s misty form no longer swaying in an invisible breeze as yellow streaks stared at Izuku in what he could only assume was bewilderment and maybe fear. Shigaraki was taking the loss a lot worse, and was furiously scratching his neck, raking away dry skin and old scabs. Blood started to flow through his fingers as the scratching intensified and the villain mumbled to himself, the red-eyed glare he was shooting Izuku full of anger and deranged malice.

Izuku felt a hint of amusement as he stared the two down. ‘Guess the pet does resemble the owner,’ he thought to himself, being reminded of the mindless rage in the Nomu’s eyes before it had been incinerated. Izuku banished the thought and focused back on the now.

‘As I thought before, now they have two choices: surrender peacefully, or run. Shigaraki doesn’t look like the kind to give up, and Kurogiri looks two sudden moves away from warping them both out of here.’ Izuku watched as Shigaraki’s mumbles became growls and muttered curses, before the anger in his eyes exploded and he screamed his frustrations.

“Cheat… CHEAT! YOU CHEATER! No WAY a fucking brat is a high enough level to beat Nomu! You can’t have high DEX, an invincibility buff, AND high damage all in one without special codes or something! This is BULLSHIT!” The scratching got more deranged as Shigaraki screamed and Kurogiri looked closer to just running. “Who are you?! What are you?! Some kind of weapon? Smuggled into the hero school to get permission from the state to turn everyone they don’t like to ash?! To run around in bright colours in front of the public, all the while killing anyone you’re told to behind their backs?! Liar… LIAR AND A CHEAT! You killed Nomu! Heroes are meant to hold back, and villains don’t! That’s why we win!” Shigaraki’s eyes took on a wild look as he started stamping his feet. “Sensei said that Nomu was made to fight All Might. He had a Shock Absorption quirk, a regeneration quirk, and was just as strong as that trash of a symbol! And then YOU…” Shigaraki pointed at the flaming teen, who didn’t react. “You come along, with your bullshit buffs and your cheat code expanded mana pool and RUIN IT! YOU RUINED SENSEI’S GIFT!”

Izuku was getting anoyed, though he didn’t show it. He couldn’t, really. The villain getting more and more worked up, spouting more and more nonsense about ‘cheat codes’ and ‘gifts’ as he continued down the road towards what was probably a psychotic break. Izuku wasn’t really too sympathetic, the guy had attacked him and his class.

Shigaraki stood hunched, panting as he continued to glare at the unresponsive teen, whose burning eyes continued to dig into him. It annoyed him, and Sensei said that he was allowed to kill anything that annoyed him. Sensei would love to hear that he had killed the brat that had killed the Anti-symbol of peace. Maybe Tomura could even keep what was left of the teen alive and bring him back to Sensei. He was sure his teacher would love a quirk like this.

Izuku continued to observe Shigaraki, watching as the manic gleam sharpened to a knifepoint, and got ready for anything. ‘So, which will it be? Run or give up? Though I guess there is a third option: Shigaraki and Kurogiri could try to fight, but that would be suicidally stupid.’

Then, to Izuku’s disbelief, Shigaraki did just that. The villain charged with his abnormal speed towards Izuku, his hands extended in what was probably a practiced for to ensure he got to use his deadly quirk on whoever he was fighting. Izuku was just bewildered, though. Surely, the man-child had watched the Nomu try to punch Izuku and had seen those blows go through him without causing harm, right? What did he think he was going to do?

Izuku shook his head as he raised one fiery appendage, and built up a weaker blast to finish the job he had started when he had first burst into this fight. The blazing grin spread across his face as fire built in his palm, and he unleashed his fire-blast when Shigaraki had gotten close enough that Izuku was sure he wouldn’t be able to dodge. It was a shame when people attacked without thinking like that, but again, Izuku had little sympathy.

Then, to Izuku’s surprise, a portal opened up in the path of his attack, simultaneously swallowing up Shigaraki with a surprised yelp and redirecting the attack through another portal that hit Izuku side on, temporarily covering his view with smoke and dust.

Midoriya swung an arm out to the side, using the heat wave he gave off to clear the smoke and reveal… nothing. As quickly as they had appeared, and with much less fanfare, the villains’ leaders had fled.

‘They took option two in the end, I see.’ Izuku growled with the crackle of the flames that made up his being as he took a moment to look around at where he was standing.

Soot and dust coated most of the surrounding area, and quite a few places had been burned into slag during their fight. Cracks spiderwebbed across the plaza, spreading out from craters left by the Nomu. Izuku studiously ignored the dark red stains or suspicious chunks that were scattered around the courtyard, and ran a cautious eye over the downed villains that were still breathing.

Izuku, satisfied that those left wouldn’t be able to start trouble again, started walking. He walks through the field of molten rock, left over flames burning freely, released from his control. They devour anything flammable with a ravenous appetite, leaving nothing within reach safe from their hunger. The pyrokinetic teen walks through the courtyard and leaves only scorched earth in his wake.

Midoriya stares ahead. He could see the exit now. He could see shapes moving in front of the doorway, shadows blocking the light. He ignored the heaviness that set into bones made of plasma. It wasn’t real. It was impossible. Fire was the weightlessness of air and the power of stars. It had no weight to be held down.

B̷̡̛̛̮̣̖̘̹̟͖̮̆͛̈́͆ů̸͙͖̜͍͈ṯ̵̥̖̖̳̝̲̫̹͐͂̆̔̆̾́̔̒͝ ̵̡͎͓̝̬̪̺̭̍͌͗̕͘͝w̴̛͉̘͕͕̖͓̻͉̳̾̋̊ä̶̺͇̤̹͖̦̬̪̝̂͂͐̌͛͐̽̌͠s̷̱̜̹͖͎͓͉͕̤͋̓͊̿̊̆̚ ̶͇̪̜͙̝͇̥̥̠̰̌̌̅̍͆̏͒̊͒͆͛͘͜͜ͅh̴̟̼̞̍̂͐e̸͔̣̞̝̯̮̅̋̈͘ ̶̨̛̩͚̪͎̲̲̻͉̮̥́̆̈́̈́̈́͒͛̽̚ͅr̶͈̹̞̟͙̩͍̘̺͇͈͇̒͛͋̓͛͆̒͂͂͊̅͂́e̸̞̮̬̱̭̋̐̊̍̈́̃́̉̾̚͜͝͝ą̸̲̫̞̖͓̩̆͜ͅl̴̘͈͙͔̮̬͉̯̪̘̒l̸̞̗̤̟̎̈́͒̑̃̚͘͘͝ỷ̷͇͈͒̊ ̸̧̨̛̲̲͙̬̘̦̩̯̥̌̆͛̓̏̀̔̓̽̏̏̐͛͜t̵̻̫͎̥͉̥̻̩͎̂̎̅̀̐̌̾̋̊͒̇̓̋͘ͅh̶̗̹̦͚̰͓̦̣̫̳͎͎͆͝ę̸̢̜̜̬̮̰̠̠̼̱͔͕̘͊͜ ̷̱̟͎͓̩͎͖̫͒̄͆̊̊̿̂͆͘͝f̷̢̝͉̘͈͙͖͉̲̻͌̈́̚̕ļ̵̟͇͇̟̣̯̺̣̬̮͋̊̀̊̿̃̆̀͗̕͠ą̵̘̠͖̫͎͚̠͈̰̟̋́̍̆͂̎̔̔̇̏͠m̵̩̊̓̆̉̒́͆͘͝͠͝e̸͎̬̩͙̣̒̇̄̿͂͗̉͒͛̋̾̕͝͠s̷̢͕̰̮̖̅̉̒͊̽̾̋̈̀̂̓̋͝?̷̧̨̛̣͕͔̫̙̫̹̪̉̒̓͑͋̚͠ͅ

Izuku continues to walk, burning like a torch in the dark as he traverses the courtyard. He stops as he reaches the first piles of villains his teacher defeated. They were lucky, and had fallen far enough away from the epicentre of the clash between himself and the Nomu that they are relatively unharmed. Bruises and concussions at best, deep gouges from friendly fire and broken bones at worst.

But… will that do? Will they learn? They came here today, tempted by promises of power or wealth, or even the imaginary glory of being there when their supposed Anti-symbol killed All Might. These thugs came to the USJ with the intention to fight, to hurt, to kill Izuku and his classmates, and what will happen to them?

‘The police will come; those able to walk will leave in chains, those who cannot in stretchers. All of them will be wearing quirk suppressant cuffs, cut off from their abilities because that’s all they worry about nowadays, isn’t it? They will be herded to the nearest available jail. They will be held until trial. Some might get off. Technicalities and favours, minor rules broken by panicked, inexperienced students invalidating their arrest or a pro using a little too much force. All that minor bullshit could be argued.’

Izuku stood, a pillar of disdain amongst the bodies of the would-be League of Villains. His scowl is unseen as white, burning eyes rove over the villains who tried to invade his school. Some of them groan, starting to rouse from unconsciousness.

‘Most will be convicted. There’s not much they can do against charges of attempted murder of a group of minors, breaking and entering, being party to an act of villainy, partaking in an act of villainy, just to name a few. I doubt any significant number will escape jail time.’

Izuku doesn’t see the shadows that creep at the edge of his vision. He won’t see them. He is light and flame and heat. There are no shadows where he casts his gaze. So there are no shadows crawling around the edges, no indelible smudges in the corner of his eye. He has no eye. He is fire, he has no need for eyes.

Ŗ̶̨̤̣͎̀i̵̮̖̩͙̱͇̗̼̮̣̎͗́͝ͅg̷̮͍͕͇̜̖̝̉̌̇̒͒̍̌̕h̷͈͇̤͉̗͕̥̻͍̰͎̔̆͜͝ṭ̸̢̧̹̟̄̽͗̈́́̋̃͘?̷̡̹̪̩̞̠̙̽͒̉͌̂̂͋̃̑̕͜

But what will happen then?

‘Shortened sentences for “good behaviour”, The prison system is already overcrowded and overworked. Small time like these guys won’t be worth keeping in for long. Too soon they will leave jail, free to wander with their fake innocence, free to live like they didn’t break into a school and try to murder teenagers!’

Izuku thinks of Asui. He thinks of the scream that ran his blood cold with ice despite the flames that flowed through his veins. The synapses made of embers flash and play the glimpse Izuku managed to catch of her before he was forced to engage the villains. Of the halo of blood that surrounded her small form as she floated in the water, like a distorted parody of a murdered martyr.

Izuku snorted internally at the thought. Martyrs were for righteous causes and lasting symbolism. There was no righteousness here. No cause beyond inflicting suffering, death, and fear. Attempted iconoclasm by someone who’s twisted mind portrayed them as the victim of an unfair system, and decided to take their revenge by targeting the new generation to spite and hurt the old guard.

The ground melting beneath the teen’s feet as he took a last look at the piles of human waste, at those groaning in pain and those starting to wake.

‘They will go on, living their lives happy as can be, while my classmates live with the trauma. Bullies and monsters in human skin revelling in the power they hold, on the effect they had.’

His body burns brighter.

‘This will not stand. This time… this time there will be consequences!’

Izuku walks through the piles of bodies. His flames flicker, surging with every step, before retreating back into him again. Tongues of flame lick the skin of the villains he passes. They singe hair and burn skin, leaving behind patches of red discoloured flesh. Izuku can’t kill them. He won’t kill them. He’s going to be a hero, and heroes stop villains-

What about Nomu?

-and in the stories his father used to read to him from his old books, heroes slay monsters too. They protect the innocent, save the day, condemn the guilty, destroy the evil…

Izuku shakes his head, and continues through the maze of bodies as his flames nick and singe those he approaches. He will not kill them, he won’t even scar them, but he will burn them. Singed hair and reddened flesh to remind them how close they came to annihilation, what happens to small fish swimming in a big pond, deluding themselves into thinking they’re the sharks.

The burns will heal, the hair will grow back, but the memory will stick with them. When the police come to drag them away, they will witness the carnage left behind from his battle. They will see the slag of melted stone, the shadows of trees turned to ash, the blanket of soot left behind by a powerful fire quirk. They will see the cracked earth and shattered fountain, the gouges in the landscape and the holes in the roof. They will bear witness to the aftermath of the clash between their ultimate weapon, a monster with multiple quirks created to kill All Might, and a first-year hero student. They will gaze upon the destruction their battle left behind, and see that of the two, only the student still stands.

They will hear that their monster is ash on the wind from the ones who witnessed the fight’s climax, and that the ones who lead them into battle, the ones who promised them everything and provided their ultimate weapon, fled at the first sign of personal danger and left the fodder behind. They will know that they were abandoned by their leaders, left to rot as inconsequential casualties in a war as old as the age of quirks. They will see what used to be their comrades reduces to stains and chunks of person by the weapon they put their faith in, and they will know that those losses will be classified as “collateral damage caused by the villains” and those meaty chunks will be incinerated in the furnace of a morgue, the ashes left unlabelled and forgotten. The remains will be left in boxes in evidence rooms, nameless and unrecognisable to all who may have cared.

Izuku may not be burning these low-level thugs badly, may not be scarring them physically, but he is leaving a reminder of their insignificance on this day. As he steps over one last body –someone with a rock-skin quirk that takes a little longer to mark– Midoriya leaves behind a field of first-degree burns, and the message that, had they been a little bit unluckier, they could have lost everything today, and would have disappeared from the world without ever having left a mark of their own.

Izuku hopes this lesson sticks. Inducing an existential crisis is the most… available form of punishment he can dole out. He can’t burn them if they aren’t able to fight back, can’t leave a more permanent reminder to the ones smart enough to realise what it would mean.

For the dumb ones?

Izuku shrugs mentally as he reaches the stairs. ‘The dumb ones are the reason why we have so many heroes… And burning them did make me feel a little better, even if it’s a pretty weak revenge.’

The student burns like a living torch as he makes his way up the stairs, his every footstep leaving melted gouges in the concrete as he climbs higher and higher.

The darkness is closing in now. The number of shadows blocking the light has grown, and they form a wall he can’t see past. Do they think they can stop him? Ridiculous! He is fire! He is the warmth of a campfire on a cold winter’s night, and the devastating power of a forest fire burning out of control. Mere shadows cannot hope to stand up to him. The brightness of his flames will banish them anyways.

He must move past them. He must reach the light.

Izuku crests the top of the stairs, the flames of his quirk coiling and burning just as much as before. He arrives like the morning sun rising over the horizon, the first ray of light banishing a dreadfully night full of terror and nightmares made real.

Midoriya’s presence and the sheer heat he gave off as he advanced made short work of the already weakened ice-wall erected by Todoroki, steam exploding outwards and spreading across the other students as Midoriya melts a hole straight through the ice and emerges seemingly unaffected. In the background, the left-over ice quickly melting in the background as he continues his advance.

His classmates make the mistake of taking the time to watch Izuku as he made his way towards them, whether they meant to or not. They hadn’t been talking before, all too focused on the tasks they’d taken on, but a different kind of silence fell over them as Midoriya made his way forwards. While the previous silence had been a crushing one full of nerves, though tending to the wounded had alleviated it somewhat (if not pushed it out of everyone’s minds), this new one had a different type of tension. The kind one had when watching a friend holding a live grenade without a pin. Logically, you know that that person won’t use it on you, but there is a part of the mind that recognises the danger, that remembers the videos watched chocked full of gruesome images of injuries sustained by that very tool now in the hands of another person. Logic doesn’t always prevail when faced with a threat such as that.

That is to say, that as Midoriya made his way towards his classmates, and the wall of scorching heat that accompanied him washed over his fellow students, they flinched. They flinched and did their best to move out of the way of the walking inferno, shuffling the wounded or shielding them as best they could with help from others as that indominable heat saturated the air.

Izuku didn’t notice the flinches, or the shuffled movement. All that his clouded mind realised was that the shadows were moving out of his way, and that he had a free path to the light. He didn’t notice the looks of his classmates as he passed them by, though a tiny part of him at the back of his mind recognised his surroundings, recognised who was near him, and forced him to make a deliberate effort to lower or contain the heat he was giving off, which made no sense. Why should fire not give warmth?

The darkness he refused to acknowledge was creeping further and further into his vision, and was getting more and more annoying, but Izuku pressed onwards. He could see the light clearly now, the exit, and he knew he had almost made it. A few more steps and he would be able to taste it. ‘Come on,’ he thought, as his vision continued to tunnel, ‘almost there…’

Ẁ̷̛̜̺͈̃̋̈͛̐͂̇̈̾͘ḩ̶̢̛̘͓͈͙͈̰͙̟̥̤̈́̈́͌̃̒̀̎̕͝ÿ̶̥̲͖̰̃̋̆̍̔̽͂̾̂̋̽͘͠ ̴̧̛͕͍̮̬͚̪̠̟͎̳̪͑̔̋̄̏̊̆̽͠w̶͚͇̏͂͂͒̄̆̎̅͘̚ą̸̡͖̞͎͈̙̙͇͔̺̈́͌͑̊̏̂̆̑́͂̕̕͝͠s̴̢̝̹̣̪̪̝͎̤̼̗̣͙͇͕̈̑̿̇́̒͂̍̂͘͝ ̸̝̥̯̫̙̾̔̃̊̍͆̀̃̄͂͌́̚͘h̶̡̪̣̲͕̺̖̋̿̈́̀̊͝ͅe̵͙̭̱͇̹͍̝͖̘̦̝̣̠̓͆̉̀̈́̒͌͌̈́͝͝ͅ ̶̨̱̘̼͌̋͌͗͑̓̿g̴̡̮̺̬̙̬̩̝͉͈̩͇̬̓͊̉̇͆͊̚͜͠͝͠ơ̶̧͍̯̣̅̌̐̓͑̌̾̈́͛͘͝ï̷̢͕̭̘̹̻͚̟̯͎̣̤͗̀̍n̸̡̗͙̤̥̭̘̪̖̼̿̽͐͑͐͘g̴̝̙̗̱̘̮̃̂̈́̌̈́̍̅͘͝ͅ ̸̧͈̹͙̺̦͍̠̝̝͖͇̂̓̓͋̐͒̒̀̓̽̆ţ̶̦̦͉̟̑h̵̬̠̥̣͂͑̉̓̈́͋̓̎͑̌͋e̴̢̢̡͍̜̤̭͚͉̪̫̖̱͔͋̏͂͋̈͑̐̂̀̐̕͘͝r̸̠̦̯͍̰̹̖̦͙̐ͅȩ̶̡̧̦̰̭̭̮̺̂̆͜͝ͅ,̵̧̡̨̡̠̖̟̯͕̙̖̳̽̽̏͌̓̎͜͜ ̷̠̮͇͍͈͎̮͚͌̾̄̔̽̈́́̽͘͘ą̶̳̖͙̺͓̲͙̺̦͚͖̾̈̎̕͘͠g̵̡̛͙̹͔̳̜̭̠̫̠̝̯̦̐̈̓̃̎̂̚͜͜͝͠a̸̭͚̱̤͚̅̃̌̎͆̐̉̃͒̊͝i̶̡̛̻͕̼͍̜̼̭̟̋͑̔͑̒͜ň̵̨̯̝͙͉͉̥̟̬͎͈̫̹̽̔͒͛̊̕ͅ?̵̱̫̦̼̳́̌́̎̒̋̏

Chapter Text

As Midoriya marched past the last of his classmates, the overwhelming heat was followed him, slowly dissipating and leaving them feeling relieved, if not a bit raw, as their flaming classmate got further away. Yaoyorozu probably would have compared it to a dryer version of the sauna at the SPA resort she’d visited, if she had the current mental capacity to register anything beyond what her hands were doing.

She had been helping tend to Thirteen, forming large patches of gauze and bandages to cover up her teacher’s lacerated back, her hands following motions that she had learned from a medic her parents had hired to teach her first aid, motions that she had practiced and practiced until she had reached her standard of perfection, then she had practiced them some more. She had researched further than her tutor had taught her, reading books from her parents’ library on anatomy, and following up on those with online lessons she had found on the basics of combat medicine.

Her shoulders sagged as she returned her attention to Ashido, who was still unconscious, and Kaminari, who had woken up, but was still in a post-quirk-overuse daze. She kept an eye of Asui, who was being cradled by Shouji. Momo also needed to check that the ventilator she had made to replace Shouji’s… attempt was still doing its job. She gagged slightly at the thought of pulsating flesh and exposed lungs, and that reaction only made her thoughts feel heavier.

She had thought she was prepared. Her parents struggled to accept her dreams of heroism, of pursuing a life of public service instead of dedicating herself to running the family business and connected interests, and even after she had made it through the recommendation exam, Momo could tell they still didn’t fully support her.

But she had been confident in her skills, sure that her preparation had been enough. After all, she had had countless combat tutors for various weapons, and her quirk, while certainly a wonder, was far from easy to use, and she had turned it into a reliable weapon. She had memorised chemical formulas and atomic structures, technical diagrams and their precise measurements. Her body was a factory waiting to unleash its limitless potential, and her mind was the database that made it run well.

She thought she had been ready for her entry into the heroics course, maybe even slightly overprepared, if the results of the quirk assessment test were anything to go by.

Now, however, she wasn’t so sure.

Momo grit her teeth as her tears gathered in her eyes. She focused on making sure the bandages she applied to what was left of Asui’s face were tight enough to hold back the tide of blood, but not tight enough to block circulation, or get in the way of the medical machines she had made from basic schematics she had memorised.

She was the class representative, chosen by her classmates to represent and to lead them, and at the first real obstacle she had failed, and they had gotten hurt.

The first tears fell, as the stress of the day and her own thoughts started to get the better of her.

Exactly when it had mattered most, Momo had failed and her classmates had nearly paid the ultimate price. They were only here now because they got lucky, and that wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t good enough. She could have helped evacuate her classmates sooner, she could have been more decisive, she could have defeated the villains that surrounded them faster she could have–

And as the Yaoyorozu heiress used steady hands and the knowledge she had acquired from countless hours of study to tend to her classmates’ wounds, a seed of doubt was planted.

Izuku could feel it now, on his flesh made of flames. He could feel the warmth and the fresh breeze of summer turning to autumn. He could hear the sounds of dry leaves being blown around by the wind, before something crushes them with a satisfying crinkling sound.

There was only one obstacle left. A trivial one, really. Barely worth mentioning at all.

Izuku reached the metal double-doors of the USJ. They were slightly deformed, with hand-shaped imprints giving a story of the doors’ valiant struggle against a potent strength enhancing quirk, before inevitably being defeated and forced open, no doubt damaging the mechanisms that controlled the doors beyond repair.

Not that Midoriya noticed those details.

His fiery body flowed around the warped metal, leaving soot stains and pieces of molten metal as the flames left their mark.

Then, and only then, did Midoriya reach the outside.

He looked up, and blinked.

There is no sun. The sky is blanketed with dark grey clouds that hide any hint of blue. The air is suffused with the freshness of a spring afternoon. For a moment, Izuku wondered why he thought he could smell dead leaves and the cool humidity of post-September rain, before a fresh breeze blows by, and the thought is lost.

Despite being made of fire fleshoflames-bonesofplasma-heartofastar Izuku shivers, and continues to stare at the roiling clouds. ‘They’re getting darker,’ he thinks, as a few small drops of rain hit the ground. The sound stirs up memories of mild annoyance and a cloak of superheated steam, before it is banished. ‘Looks like the storm is here.’

Midoriya continues to stare at the sky. He’s not really… doing anything. He’s not thinking, not processing, and in this form, he doesn’t need to breath. Were it not for the flickering of the flames that outline him, or the roiling, unstable plasma that made up his vaguely humanoid form, he could have been confused for a statue.

“M – !” He thinks he hears a sound, but he doesn’t have ears. The sky is getting darker. Should shadows be moving like that?

“M – d – a!” That noise sounds familiar, but he can’t place it. It mustn’t be too important then, and it’s not as nice as the clouds.

“Midoriya!”

An expressionless face with two white flares for eyes turn to look for the source of the voice. Uraraka stands in the now much more open doorway, a hydraulic piston doing the job of keeping the broken doors open, probably curtesy of Yaoyorozu. The brown-haired girl is looking at the flaming boy with something unusual in her eyes, something Midoriya would almost call fear, but decides is closer to worry. It’s strange to be looked at like that by someone like her. It’s unusual. It’s nostalgic.

The girl takes a deep breath, and manages to force a smile on her face. Its wobbly. “Midoriya! It’s okay now!”

‘It is?’ Izuku watches as Uraraka extracts herself from the doorway, avoiding pieces of still cooling metal.

“The villains are gone. You don’t need to worry anymore.” Unblinking white eyes stare into sincere black brown ones. Uraraka’s smile becomes more genuine as she looks down the road towards the school. “The teachers are coming to help us, too! Look!” Izuku turned his head and does so. In the distance, barrelling down the road, is a dust cloud with a familiar blond giant in a taky yellow suit sprinting towards them at ungodly speeds. A good way behind the dust cloud is a bus, moving much slower than the blond, but much faster than is probably safe as it tears across the tarmac roads, taking corners at dangerous speeds.

“Even All Might’s on his way, so you can relax now. The teachers can take care of any villains still kicking, and all of us are at the entrance.” Uraraka stands before Izuku now, far enough away to not get burned, but still closer than is comfortable. Izuku looks back towards her. Her smile is wide now, but her eyes teary. He doesn’t know why she’s crying when she’s giving supposedly good news. What if those are more villains? What if he needs to fight again?

“So, for now, let us take care of things. Maybe sit down for a bit? You’re probably exhausted after all of that, and it’s not–”

Izuku tunes her out as the words register. ‘Yes. It’s okay. It’s over. I’ve won. So… I’ll just… sit for a while.’

Ochako yelps as the flaming figure that is her classmate sinks to his knees. She’s worried he’s passed out for a second, but the still active quirk tells her otherwise. She catches a glimpse of their classmates gazing warily at Midoriya through the gap in the doors, though the fiery teen shows no sign of noticing.

She gulps as she crouches down. “A-And maybe… maybe t-turn your q-quirk off?” Her voice cracks, and she winces at the stutter. “I-I just… I mean, it would probably make it easier for the teachers to get into the USJ if they didn’t have to watch out for your fire? A-And it’s definitely making you more tired by this point, right? S-So maybe just… It’s…” She sighs, and puts more conviction into her words. That quirk is probably some form of security blanket for Midoriya by now, something that won’t let him get hurt, and will let him defend himself, but it’s also probably a drain on his stamina. Honestly, Ochako is surprised her classmate-maybe-friend hasn’t passed out yet after that fight in the courtyard.

‘Midoriya-kun… you’ve already pushed yourself so far… let us handle the rest.’

“It’s safe now. You’re safe now. The fight is over, and help is here. So just… let go of your quirk. Please? Before you start hurting yourself.”

Nothing happens for a while, and Ochako starts to worry that she might have overstepped, that she made a mistake like the one that made Midoriya angry at her on the first day of school. She starts to say something, stutter an apology or some addition to like “But only if you’re comfortable”, as she looks anywhere but at Midoriya. Which is probably a good thing, in retrospect. Her eyes are beginning to hurt.

Then she felt the heat begin to fade.

Worriedly, she looked towards her classmate, and gasps. She sees the haze of fire surrounding the boy die out, roiling flames that makes up the main body beginning to peel back and reveal the flesh of human limbs. Ochako watches as Midoriya’s quirk slowly deactivates, running up his arms and legs, leaving slightly tanned, blemished skin in its wake. She takes note of the nearly faded white marks of thin surgical scars, and stares openly at the sleeve of scar tissue running up his right arm. Worry boils in her gut like the nausea she’s so familiar with, while questions she knows aren’t welcome run circles in her brain as she looks over her friend’s body, before all of that is pushed suddenly and violently away.

Blood rushed to Uraraka’s face as she let out a choked scream and hid her face in her hands. “M-M-M-Midoriya!! S-Stop! Your clothes!”

Midoriya blinked, then blinked again as he realised that he was physically able to at this point, before he took stock of himself.

The flames had retreated completely up his limbs and down from the crown of his head, leaving only his torso, neck, and the bottom of his head still burning. Izuku could feel the wind on his skin, and a coolness where scar tissue had dulled his sensations. His messy, dark-green, shoulder-length hair hung down, occasionally dipping into his flames and emerging unburned as he swayed slightly, readjusting to the feeling of having weight again. He breathed an unnecessary sigh –the flames of his face growling in an attempt to mimic the sound– as he noticed the lack of dark spots in his vision, and shook his head to clear away the last of the smoke muddling his thoughts.

Then, and only then, did he register what Uraraka said, and his newly returned eyes widened as his gaze shot downwards, his ears turning pink. He only felt slightly better when he realised that his dignity was still mostly intact –the flames hadn’t retreated that far yet, thank the gods– but that didn’t really make up for the fact he had nearly flashed his most friendly classmate… who happened to be a girl…

The pink tint to Midoriya’s visible face turned into a deep red as he averted his gaze from his classmate, pushing the flames to hallway down his biceps and thighs as a way to make sure he was… properly decent.

They fell into an awkward silence, neither willing to look at the other for fear of seeing something they didn’t want to. Now that she had a chance to calm down, Uraraka’s mind returned to the thought of the scars littering her friend’s skin, worry now sharing space with sympathy and pity. She really wanted to ask…

She cautiously looked back at Midoriya, a question on her tongue, when she saw that he had turned more of himself back into fire, probably for her sake. Her jaw clocks shut at the lost progress.

‘I can’t ask him to turn his quirk off completely! He’ll be naked! Ohhh, but he can't just keep it on until he gets some clothes, that'll take too long!’ She begins to fret. ‘Maybe Yaomomo can make a special blanket if I asked her–’

Midoriya looks at the ground beneath his flaming knees and closes his eyes. He can practically feel Uraraka’s worry radiating off of her, but the fatigue beginning to wash over him, so he can’t really be bothered to try and comfort her. It’s not like he can say anything, either. He lost his mask when he transformed, and there’s a good chance that it’s nothing but slagged metal and plastic after this whole shit-show. ‘The Doctor’s gonna be so pissed at me about that. He said it took a lot of testing to get the voice function to work properly.’

He scoffs mentally. ‘Doesn’t matter. The old geezer did say I was due for an upgrade, didn’t he? Actually, he’ll probably make me go through a whole check-up after this. “Making sure you’re healthy and didn’t undo any progress”, he’ll say. Yeah, sure. As if something like this could set me back. Besides–’

He felt the need to grin, and opened his eyes to stare back up at the sky. ‘It was worth it. It’s been so long since I got to go all out like that. That Nomu was tough. I should watch out for strong regeneration quirks in the future, they might even give me as good a fight.’

He heard a gasp somewhere the background, coming from the direction of the door, but didn’t bother to turn around. A gentle brush of wind over his scars sent a chill down his still non-existent spine, and he closed his eyes, a mask of calm to hide the sudden rush of panic. Of course. They can see his scars. Scars he’d done a good job of hiding until now. Of course his classmates would be surprised. They’re not pretty to look at. Monstrous. Twisted. Corrupted beyond hope of salvation.

He keeps his eyes closed as he feels the wind play with his hair, small raindrops hitting his face before quickly evaporating as the flames burn and spit. He can hear All Might approaching, so it’s really over, or it will be soon.

He sighs another impossible sigh, and the flames crackled a bit louder.

‘Gods, I don’t have the energy to deal with this.’

Recovery Girl is not someone quick to anger. Now, this may come as a surprise to her patients, who seem to face the wrath of the little nurse whenever they dare to visit, but she knows that that is just a performance. An act to scare those fools into taking better care of themselves. After all, if she can put the fear of her into those hard-headed heroes, maybe some of them will live to retire at reasonable ages.

She does care for her patients. She cares a great deal in fact, and she cares even more now that she’s retired from active field duty and working as a school nurse, with her patients now consisting primarily of overeager children too ready to Plus Ultra themselves into a hospital bed. Now, she can strike the fear of the Medic into them at an early age, carve it into their psyche while they’re still developing, so that they might learn to think more, before they throw themselves into danger. Hopefully.

(She doesn’t hold out much hope for that, in all honesty.  Nearly sixty years as a Pro-Hero healer has taught her to never underestimate the number of injuries a Pro-Hero will brush off as unimportant, or their severity. At this point, her false-anger is mostly for herself. An unorthodox form of stress relief she believes she entirely deserves to enjoy.)

Toshinori doesn’t count. That foolish boy has earned her wrath time and time again, from ignoring her (vital) instructions to his blatant disregard for his own limits or health, she has an uncountable number of things to get angry about when it comes to the number one meathead. Unfortunately, as much as she knows the boy fears her wrath and the cane that carries it, she also knows that Toshinori will never change, and that is something she, and all other pro-heroes who are in the know, can respect. Pushing oneself beyond what is reasonable or sane in order to save even just one more life is the creed of rescue heroes such as herself, and Yagi Toshinori embodies that spirit in heart and soul. The textbook definition of a hero.

So, while she can scold him and whack him in the shins, when he leaves her office after another round of treatment, all she does is heave a resigned sigh and prepare to meet him again the next time he goes too far. The man has held society on his shoulders for decades, and had done it so well that he had defined an era.

‘Now if only he could do equally well when it comes to being a teacher!’ She thought angrily. All Might’s lessons had resulted in more students visiting her office in the first week than she usually got in all three weeks leading to the sports festival. And don’t get her started on that buffoon’s equally foolish successor. ‘I mean really. You’ve just given the strongest quirk in the world to a teenager, and your advice to them is “Clench your butt-cheeks and yell SMASH”? Toshinori… come on. Even you could have done better than that. And yet the child goes and does it anyway. Ugh, you two are more alike than even you think.’

All of this to say, Shuuzenji Chiyo was a calm woman, and a professional and veteran hero, who didn’t get angry at her patients.

At least, not without reason.

…

And she had a very good reason to whack a child very hard with her cane right about now.

Initially, five ambulances had been called to the school to assist in taking care of the injured students and teachers, as well as giving the many villains being loaded into police vans a quick check to see if any would die on the way to the station. More were being sent in to deal with the villains that had been too close to whatever cataclysm had occurred in the courtyard of the USJ, but Recovery Girl’s priorities were the children and the injured staff, so she would let her esteemed colleagues in the nearest secure hospital deal with the bastards who’d attacked UA and had gotten hurt.

Hirooki and Shouta had been loaded into two of the initial ambulances, and sent to UA’s fully stocked medical wing for her and her assistants to see to, though she had to admit that the students of class 1-A had done a decent enough job of stabilising the wounded in the field. As alarming a fractured skull might sound, her assistants were skilled, and one of them had a particularly useful bone-manipulation quirk just right for this kind of situation, assuming there was little swelling, of course, though Chiyo’s own quirk would be able to sort that out. The two teachers would live, though Recovery Girl would have to force the ever-stubborn Eraserhead to go through a physical examination to see how much his vision, and therefore his quirk, had been damaged by his injuries.

Kaminari and Ashido had regained consciousness when the teachers had arrived, though Kaminari had still been in a bit of a daze, most likely with a concussion. The paramedics on the scene had rewrapped their wounds and splinted Ashido’s broken leg, and Recovery Girl would be able to use her quirk on them when they made it back to UA in the third ambulance.

Young Asui’s wounds were among the most pressing, and she had been rushed to a nearby hospital for emergency surgery to make sure that she would retain the ability to eat and breath on her own. The fact that she hadn’t drowned in her own blood was a damn miracle, though Chiyo had heard whispers from the students about how the tall boy with six arms had managed to keep the frog-girl breathing through her injuries. The nurse had marvelled at the boy’s creativity and the skilful application of such an unorthodox method.

She should probably mention such praise to someone who would pass it on to the boy. He certainly deserved it.

The surgeon in charge of the operation was a long-time friend of Recovery Girl, and she had faith in his skills and experience. Young Asui would be fine. She might be out of school for a few more days and a few more surgeries, but she would be able to return to class and partake in practical lessons before too long. That is, if she still wanted to.

Recovery Girl sighed. Large, disfiguring injuries like that were very effective at demoralising young heroes fresh to the field, and the poor girl was barely into her first year. Recovery Girl wouldn’t be surprised if Asui left the hero course after something like this, but she would refrain from such thoughts for now. Who knows? The girl may be tougher than even a veteran like Recovery Girl would expect.

Despite all of this, despite all of these silver linings, all the hope that she has squeezed out of such a dreadful, tragic day, Recovery Girl is absolutely fuming.

Five ambulances left the USJ, carrying two teachers and four students. Their instructions were for four ambulances to continue towards the main school, while the fifth would drive as fast as its engine would allow to Musutafu General. They were simple instructions. Clear and concise.

Now, Recovery Girl is conducting a final check on Shouta before she drives to Musutafu General herself to assist with Asui’s surgery, and with two staff, and three students accounted for. At first, she’d been terrified, worried that the defeated villains had made one last desperate swipe against them, and had kidnapped one of their students. She had been ready to call Nedzu to inform him of the news, when her phone had rung and her fear had quickly morphed into apoplectic rage.

Apparently, the paramedics trying to treat Midoriya had been instructed by said teen to ignore their instructions, and drive to a specific doctor’s practice instead of UA. According to the paramedics, Midoriya had refused to deactivate his quick completely, and had written the doctor’s phone number in soot on the inside of the ambulance with one of his fingers. The poor medics had called the number, relayed their situation, and had been instructed to head to the address of “Midoriya’s primary physician”, an instruction which they had obeyed, for reasons beyond Chiyo’s understanding.

She would be having words with their boss when this day was over.

Now, Recovery Girl had a student unaccounted for, and she was certain that if she wasn’t already as old as dirt, she would have had a head of grey hairs.

Wrinkled hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as Recovery Girl’s car tore out of UA’s parking lot and sped off. She decided that Shouta had been right, and she would be borrowing the phrase as payment for the stress she was certain his class was going to cause her. “Damn problem children,” she grumbled.

In a spotless bar in an otherwise downtrodden part of a city centuries past its glory days, a swirling black portal ringed with dark purple mist opened up, from which came a young man covered in severed hands with light blue hair. The man ran out of the portal with his hands raised up to grab and throttle a now absent enemy. The portal from which he emerged collapsed, leaving behind a man made of mist who fit his form back into his bartender uniform and walked behind the bar.

Shigaraki’s rage froze for a second as he registered his new surroundings, before it reignited and he spun towards Kurogiri, a snarl on his lips. The mist villain had just finished pouring himself a shot of something brown, before he lifted it and whatever liquid it was vanished into what was probably Kurogiri’s mouth. The warp villain shuddered, before he began the process of cleaning the glass.

Tomura had frozen again at Kurogiri’s act, but he shook himself of his surprise quickly enough, and the anger returned. “What the fuck was that?! Nevermind, WHY DID YOU DO THAT?! I HAD HIM! I NEARLY HAD HIM! I WOULD HAVE TURNED THAT CHEATING FUCKING MAGE TO DUST! WHY DID YOU RETREAT?!”

Kurogiri paused in the face of Shigaraki’s rage, his gleaming yellow eyes fixed on the ranting man-child as he absentmindedly cleaned the glass he had just used with a cloth. The mist villain contemplated what possible response he could give that would end with the least amount of damage to his bar, when salvation reared its head.

A positively ancient television imbedded in the wall of the bar flashed on, the screen reverting to black as the words “Audio Only” blinked in the top right corner. The speakers around the dark bar crackled to life, the sound of static reaching just to the left of uncomfortable before dialling back to a level just above unnoticeable.

In its place came a voice. Despite the slight distortion caused by the old system, the voice was as smooth as velvet, wrapping around the brains of those listening like ribbons and dragging their attention to the screen. “Tomura, how did your mission go?”

The young man’s rant had stopped in its tracks as soon as the speakers had come to life, and now, Shigaraki’s full attention was on the screen. His eyes were wide and unblinking, filled with adoration worthy of a worshipper speaking to their god. “Sensei…” The blue haired villain’s gaze dropped to the floor, unwilling to look the object of his ultimate respect in the eye. He feared the possible disappointment he would see. He couldn’t disappoint his Sensei.

“… we failed. All Might didn’t even show up. All the mobs got taken out easily too.”

“Oh?” The word was practically purred, questioning but encouraging.

“I didn’t even get to kill anyone.” Shigaraki’s hands curled, reaching towards his neck before he paused. “I got my hands on one of the students, though. Dusted part of her face. Stupid frog didn’t even try to stop me, just threw one of her friends out of the way.” His hands dropped down again. “I didn’t get to finish her. Some stupid NPCs dragged her and Eraserhead away.” Shigaraki perked up at that, a sadistic glint in his eye. “Oh yeah. Nomu did a pretty good job with him. Messed him up pretty bad. I’d be surprised if he’d able to anything after Nomu smashed his head into the ground.” The glint vanished. “Nomu didn’t get around to killing him for sure, though.”

“Hmmm,” the voice was contemplative. “Two severely wounded, one a student and another a teacher. That will still be a blow to UA’s reputation and the public’s confidence. What of Thirteen?”

“I disabled her,” Kurogiri interjected. “But the students were more… more than I expected of first years. They were able to make me retreat.”

A dark chuckle resonated through the bar. It shook the bones of the room’s two occupants and filled them with the instinctual dread of a mouse before a sleeping lion. Not a direct threat to them now, but dangerous all the same, all that despite the sound barely rising above a murmur. “Truly, the heroes have found some golden eggs this year. How unfortunate.”

Another voice rang out from the speakers, distinctly different to the first. It had none of the silk ribbons and concealed barbed wire that wound around your mind. “What of the Nomu? What happened to it? Why is it not with you?” This voice was direct, to the point. It contained curiosity and barely hidden irritation, masking a truly deep contempt.

Kurogiri answered. “A student destroyed it. Completely.” He coughed awkwardly. “There wasn’t enough left to recover it.”

What followed was silence. Kurogiri and Shigaraki stood stiff. They couldn’t imagine what kind of reaction such news would bring.

“What?”

Kurogiri began his report of their mission, from their scattering of the hired help around the USJ, to their dramatic appearance. He told the two voices how one hero –‘Eraserhead… Indeed, a name to remember. And such an interesting quirk, too…’– defeated a large swarm of the hired villains, before the Nomu incapacitated it. Kurogiri recounted every important detail he could recall of the fight between the student and the engineered weapon, and the dramatic climax of the fight.

Throughout it all, Shigaraki remained silent. He seethed as he remembered how one brat had derailed his plans so completely. He worried that his Sensei would be disappointed in him and his failure, that he would be cast out and forgotten, a broken tool unworthy of such a great man.

He kept his silence as Kurogiri finished his report, waiting for Sensei’s reaction. Waiting for what? He wasn’t sure. Punishment? Maybe… Tomura certainly deserved it. Sensei had given him a gift, and he had let a brat break it beyond repair. It was unforgiveable. A terrible mistake. Would Sensei think he was ungrateful? He wasn’t ungrateful! Nomu had been an awesome weapon up until the last moment, tanking all the brat’s attacks and listening to every one of Tomura’s commands. He had been perfect! If Tomura had known… If he had known the heroes had a weapon of their own, he would have been more prepared. He would have obliterated that fucking mage! Turned him to ash like the cheating–

“Hmm…” The revered voice returned, and Shigaraki looked up. “Such a powerful fire quirk… To be able to overpower the Nomu’s Super-Regeneration so completely. How… interesting.” Tomura stared at the screen. Interesting? Interesting?! What was so interesting about a brat like that! Sure, the kid had a strong quirk, but so did Tomura! Nomu wouldn’t have stood a chance against his Decay! It would have been ash on the wind faster than that wannabe fire-elemental could blink if Tomura had been the one fighting! And what did it matter anyway?! The brat was a hero-student! And he fought them! He was an enemy, like All Might! SO WHY WAS HE SO INTERESTING!?

“Tomura.” The sound of his name made the blue haired villain’s attention snap to the screen. “Today, you failed.” Shigaraki drooped. “But that is not a bad thing.” Red eyes looked back at the screen, questioningly.

“Today’s defeat is not a complete one. UA’s pride and reputation have been damaged, and that is a victory unto itself. More importantly, today is a chance for you to learn and improve. Look over your plans, see where you went wrong, and ensure that such mistakes are never repeated. That is how you will grow.”

Shigaraki watched the screen, enraptured.

“Today’s failure is an opportunity for you to become better. To become my successor. But it is up to you to ensure you do not squander it.”

Shigaraki nodded. “Yes, Sensei. Of course, Sensei. I won’t. I’ll do better next time. I’ll definitely make you proud.”

The grin could be heard through the black screen. “I do not doubt that you will my boy, and I will always be there, should you need help. Now go. I am sure you have much to do.”

Shigaraki nodded frantically, removing the hand from his face and bowing at the screen. “Yes, Sensei. Thank you, Sensei.” With that, the blue haired villain turned and made his way to his room, leaving Kurogiri alone with the screen.

The warp villain’s yellow eyes watched Shigaraki leave the room, before he turned back to the screen. He waited in silence for his master to speak again.

A few moments later, the voice returned. “Who was it?” The ‘who’ wasn’t specified, but Kurogiri knew.

“I believe his classmates called him Midoriya, so it would be fair to assume from the roster that it is Midoriya Izuku, sir.”

“Midoriya…” Sensei sounded contemplative. Kurogiri could only assume that his master was window shopping, contemplating hunting down the student for this oh so powerful quirk. It wouldn’t be too farfetched. After all, his master had done it before.

Kurogiri shivered. “Master, may I ask why you to withhold the roster of student names and quirks from Shigaraki Tomura? Today may have been more successful had he had access to more information.”

“Those documents didn’t contain enough information to make them of any significant value to Tomura’s plans. Today was never going to be a complete victory.” If voices could shrug, this one did with a casualness that seemed almost instinctually wrong.

“However, I wasn’t lying when I said that today was not a total failure. Today was a defeat, and this defeat shall teach Tomura. He had already dismissed the students as threats, when they were in fact unknowns. As logical an assumption as that can be considered, despite being mere first years without a lick of true experience among them, they are the top of the potential future heroes with powerful, unknown quirks at their disposal, and should be acknowledged as such. Tomura will need to learn to look at the board, and see all the pieces as they truly are, before he can be allowed to sit at the table as an equal player. And besides,” the voice laughed, the normally joyful sound instead filled with a malevolent pressure, the speakers spitting out static as the long shadows cast by the black television screen darkened further. Kurogiri couldn’t breathe. “I was quite curious to see how he would do with such… unknowns.”

The television turned off, and the pressure on the mist villain’s lungs dissipated. Kurogiri breathed a sigh of relief, and turned back to his bar, his hands already reaching for a glass to clean. It wasn’t his concern as to why his Lord was interested in a student, nor was it his place to question such an interest.

His purpose was to care for and watch over Shigaraki Tomura.

Kurogiri finished wiping down the glass and placed it back on the rack, before leaning against the surface of the bar and looking around the room.

‘And to take care of my bar, of course.’

Midoriya sat up from the examination table, scratching at the border between his face and his new mask. It always itched or ached at least somewhat when he got new ones, but he had a feeling that the Doctor had tightened the straps on this a little bit too much on purpose. A petty act to spite Izuku after he destroyed the Doctor’s previous prototype, but one he would bear stoically. He refused to let the old man see him even mildly uncomfortable after the scolding Izuku had just received.

Izuku pulled on his shirt as the Doctor bustled around the room, tidying away various tools and closing drawers filled with things Izuku thought looked too sharp to warrant any closer inspection.

“You were very lucky, young man.” The Doctor spoke with his back to Izuku as the boy finished getting dressed. “I had planned to finish this model in the coming week, but your call meant I had to rush its completion. So, as unlikely as it may be, there is a higher-than-normal chance for malfunction, and a lower threshold when it comes to the amount of damage it will be able to take.” The Doctor slammed the last cabinet door shut a bit more forcefully than the others. Izuku forced himself not to jump. The old geezer was definitely pissed. “Now I’ll have to start working on the next model, or should I say you’ll get this model, but done properly this time?”

Izuku winced. The Doctor hated rushing his work, and the teen guessed he should have seen this coming the moment he transformed at the USJ.

Then the old man sighed, and the tension that had coiled around the Doctor fell away, his shoulder drooping. The Doc turned to look at Izuku, the light glinting of the man’s glasses. “In any case, boy, the upgrades that I promised are mostly still there. The voice-box has been upgraded to draw less energy when in use, so you’ll be able to use it for longer before needing to recharge without worrying about starting to suffocate, as well as adding a switch so that you can speak for longer periods of time without having to hold down a button. The overlapping plates of the neckpiece have been further smoothed out as well, so you should feel less resistance when trying to move your head.” The Doctor rolled his eyes. “I’ve listened to your request, and changed the feeding system too.”

Izuku couldn’t see it, but he was sure the old man was scowling. They hadn’t been able to agree on the necessity of this upgrade. Izuku found it vital, while the old man called it pointless, but in the end, the Doctor had relented. “I still don’t understand what was wrong with the tube. It was a perfectly good system for keeping you fed without needing all the–” Though the man clearly reserved the right to grumble about it.

Now it was Izuku’s turn to roll his eyes.

The old man turned back around, eyeing some schematics that lay strewn across his desk. “I’ve been working on using your natural body temperature to generate power to eventually remove the battery, but I’m still running into the problem of it being too bulky to be reasonable. I’ll probably get it eventually, but don’t expect it to be a part of the next model.”

Izuku nodded and stood from the table, rolling his neck to get a feel of the new joints of the neck-brace section of the mask that the doctor had mentioned, and pleasantly realised just how smooth the movement was now. ‘The old man really knows his stuff.’

The Doctor turned around and raised an eyebrow; a signal for Izuku to ask his questions, though, today, he only had two.

[When should I get the next mask?]

The old man shook his head in disbelief, mumbling something about ungrateful brats that Izuku deftly ignored. The Doctor then took a quick look at a nearby calendar, then gazed thoughtfully at the schematics again and pursed his lips.

“Your Sports Festival is in two weeks, correct? I should be able to get the next one done after that is over.”

Izuku paused, before deciding to deal with that later.

[And my next surgery?]

This time the Doctor grinned, and Izuku was reminded that, despite all the man’s pettiness and obsessions, his grins were still the most unnerving thing about him.

“Why, I believe it is scheduled for after your little festival as well. You will be able to enjoy the new mask as well as being able to breathe a little easier.” The Doctor waved his hands to dismiss the question he could see coming. “Of course, your new mask will be built to be suited for your needs when the surgery is finished, but this one isn’t the most major of operations. More of a prequel to the final one in a couple of months, to improve the odds of the last one actually being your last one.” The old man sighed dramatically. “How marvellous that such things just seem to work out, hmm?”

Izuku nodded at that, having finished putting on his shoes while the Doctor was talking. He stood up, bowed to the man, and walked out of the room when the old man gave him a dismissive wave and told the teen that his father was waiting outside.

True to the Doctor’s words, Midoriya Hisashi was sat outside the room, failing at pretending to be calm as smoke drifted out from between gritted teeth. When he saw his son, the magazine Hisashi had been staring at but not reading was abandoned, and the man lunged at his son and enveloped Izuku in a hug more reminiscent of a boa constrictor than the fire-breathing dragons his father tended to resemble. As the man mumbled about how worried he was, slowly lifting his son further and further into the air and tightening his grip with each half-formed sentence, Izuku decided it would be pretty ironic for his father to shatter his ribs just when the Doctor dismissed him, but then the teen remembered the Doctor’s reaction to the news that Izuku had destroyed his new mask, and Izuku decided he didn’t want to visit the old man any time soon.

Desperately patting his father on the shoulder just as he began to run out of air, his father released him, and Izuku took a deep and dramatic gasp of air as Hisashi fretted, flitting around like a particularly tall and strong butterfly. With a playful glare, Hisashi swatted the back of Izuku’s head as they turned to walk towards the exit.

“Jesus kid, you really worried me there. I mean, you weren’t really hurt, but still. I get a call, expectin’ it to be you telling me about your field trip and how excited you were and how cool it was, but then the old Doc’s the one on the line, tellin’ me how you’re in his clinic and you don’t have a mask and there were villains and–”

Recognising the potential rabbit hole, Izuku tugged on his father’s arm, snapping the taller man out of whatever direction he had been going with his worry. The fire-breather sighed, some smoke seeping out of his nose, which drew a dirty look from a nurse as they walked past, but neither took any notice of it.

“Sorry little star,” Hisashi tried to grin sheepishly. It looked horrible and fake and Izuku’s gut twisted with guilt at seeing such a thing on his father’s face. It didn’t belong there. “I know you’re strong –stronger than me, even– but I’m your dad, and I’m gonna worry about you when stuff like this happens. Hell, I’ll probably still worry like this when you’re a big, tough, famous Pro-Hero and everything. So, don’t feel too torn up about it. You’re okay, and I’m relieved you’re okay.”

They turned a corner, avoiding a doctor as they did so and started down a flight of stairs. “And, if at some point, you want to talk about today, just know that I’ll always listen to what you have to say. It doesn’t matter if it’s what you had for lunch, or how much the Doctor creeps you out.” That got Izuku to chuckle silently, and Hisashi’s grin became a little bit more real. “Oh you best believe I know about that. Anyways, anything at all, you can come talk to me.” His grin faded into a soft smile as the two Midoriya’s slowed their pace and came to a stop. “And even if it’s not me, talk to someone you trust. It’s always better to get the feelings that come with this kind of event off your chest, or else it’ll stay there and fester.”

Izuku finally took note of where they were. They were standing outside a door to a room in the long-term wing of the hospital. A very, very familiar door. Izuku slowly looked at Hisashi, who smiled ruefully in response and patted his son’s head. “As I said,” his father opened the door and gestured inwards to his staring son, “talk to someone you trust. I’ll be right outside for however long you need. Today has been difficult, and plus,” Hisashi shrugged with feigned nonchalance, “we’re already here, right? You might as well say hello.”

Izuku stared at his father, the looked into the room. He wanted to be mad, he really did. These visits were meant to be special, to be a parody of a time before everything good he had built had come crashing down. It wasn’t healthy, but it brought him some measure of peace. He hoped it was a universal feeling, even if the other couldn’t communicate it.

But he could never be mad about making a Visit.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked right past his father, who shut the door after Izuku crossed the threshold.

The room he had entered was on the small side, a standard size hospital room with a large bed to account for size altering physical mutations brought on by quirks taking up much of the room. The curtains were half pulled open, revealing the dark grey of the clouded evening sky, the odd raindrop splashing against the windows. A vase of geraniums, purple hyacinths, and goldenrods sat on the window sill, the tiny bit of colour in an otherwise sterile room. The heart monitor beeped at regular intervals, ringing throughout the room like the ticking of a clock counting the days. Ventilators and other pieces of medical machinery adding to the silent cacophony, and, above it all, the slow, steady breaths of the room’s sole occupant.

Izuku hesitantly walked to the side of the bed, and eased himself into one of the uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs. He clasped his hands together, intertwining his fingers as he stared at the floor, counting the number beeps from the heart monitor as he tried to think of something to say. The mask had a full battery, and he would be able to put it on charge again when he got home, so he wasn’t too worried about using the speech option, he just wanted… something. Courage, maybe? To be able to look up at the person in the bed and not feel his heart shatter again and again with each beep of that damned monitor?

He wasn’t sure. He would never be sure. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want either of them to be here. He wanted to be in the park, under a tree, talking incessantly about whatever caught their fancy. He wanted the good times back.

But the world isn’t so kind.

Eventually, Izuku carefully gathered the strength to look up. Swaddled in pillows and a soft comforter, she looked as peaceful as the dead. Her pale skin and skinny arms gave her a corpse-like appearance, but the slow, even rising and falling of her chest under the duvet, along with the rhythmic sounds of the machines, made it clear that she was alive. The large bed made her already small frame look even smaller, and gave her sleeping body a childlike innocence that belied its appearance.

Seeing her like this made something in Izuku’s chest twist and made it hard to breathe. For a second, he even worried that the new mask had died on him so soon, but then air returned to his lungs as he regrew accustomed to the familiar sight. And gods did he hate to think that.

Her long hair was spread around her head like a halo, covering the mountain of pillows that supported her, and giving her an ethereal look as she lay in a too big bed in a too quiet room in a too empty hospital wing. It was a good look.

Izuku gulped, and reached up under his mask. He found the switch the Doctor had mentioned, and decided to test it out. His old model had enough power for around twenty minutes of continuous speaking per charge, and he had been told this one would be able to take more. Izuku looked at the clock. ‘Yeah, I’ve got time, and if there’s anywhere to test it, here’s the place.’

He flipped the switch, and heard the “voice-box” warming up. Grinding gears and the whir of electronics rang out in the room, cutting through the background noise despite their relatively low volume. With a final clunk of metal parts fitting into place, Izuku spoke.

“Hey, Maya… how’ve you been doing?”

Chapter Text

The room was noisy, though, that was certainly to be expected giving its location and what it contained. It was already seven minutes past the start of homeroom, and Kalaban Middle School’s class 1-C’s teacher had yet to arrive. This in and of itself was not unusual; the man was far from the best teacher, or the most respected one, and he had made it obvious in the first few months of term that, for him, the bell for the start of class was more of a suggestion than a reminder.

Being the typical twelve-year-olds that they were, class 1-C took full advantage of their professor’s absence. Multiple conversations overlapped with raucous laughter and the chiming of innumerable notifications on innumerable phones. Friends caught up with each other despite most having spent the entire break hanging out together. Girls and boys gossiped over whatever inane trends had caught their attention, or they discussed recent hero news.

Hero and villain fights were of particular interest at the moment. Their city wasn’t the most peaceful city in Japan, but it did house a significant number of hero agencies. This meant that there was no shortage of hero-villain fights in town, but they tended to end rather quickly with very little collateral damage, leaving very few interesting stories for the press to report.

However, last weekend, a task force of heroes sent to take down a gang of villains had failed to keep the operation quiet, and the fight had devolved into an all-out brawl that had demolished a good chunk of a nearby neighbourhood. It was the largest incident the city had seen in years, and it was the most popular subject of discussion with young and old alike.

The door to the classroom opened, and the teacher stepped in. As he made his way to the lectern, conversations slowly died down and heads turned to pay attention to the morning announcements.

The man stood at the lectern and shuffled some papers, looking between the sheets on his desk and the still open door repeatedly. The movement was enough to draw the class’ curiosity, if not its attention, as a complete silence fell upon the room, over thirty pairs of eyes now completely focused on the sole adult in the room, and his curious behaviour.

If one of the students had been paying more careful attention to their teacher, they would have noticed the drop of nervous sweat trailing down the side of his face. Perhaps they would have been more attentive to the announcement, or maybe even concerned?

Eventually, the papers were placed flat on the podium and the teacher sighed. “Class, before I give you today’s announcements, I have some special news. A new student will be joining our class today.”

This set off a storm of mumbles and murmurs among the students. Questions like “why are they joining so late in the year” or “I wonder if they’re a cute girl” to the inevitable “what kind of quirk do you think they have”.

A flinch, so microscopic in magnitude and so quickly hidden it was barely acknowledged. Barely.

The teacher cleared his throat and the class’ eyes went back to him. “Now, while I’m sure you’re all excited to meet your new classmate, I would advise you all to be courteous and polite and remember that today is his first day in a new school. So, show him those manners you’re all so proud of.” The teacher smiled at that, a fake thing with more in common with a sarcastic smirk than anything real, before his face twisted slightly, betraying his nerves. He turned to the open door. “You can come in now.”

The left-over noises gave way to a dead silence the moment the first heavy black shoe made its way through the doorframe. The show was accompanied by another, leading up to the dark-blue pants and jacket of the uniform of Kalaban. A head of scruffy dark-green mid-length hair stayed fixed forward, green eyes staring dispassionately at the nervous professor as a boy of average height made his way to the centre-front of the class, and turned to face the seated students. Dull green eyes roamed across the classroom, settling upon a student for a fraction of a second before dismissing them and moving onto the next.

But that was not what caught the eye first.

No, the first thing the gathered students noticed about the green-haired boy was the metallic mask covering the bottom half of his face. From his nose to his chin, everything was hidden behind the dull grey metal of a mask reminiscent of a world war one model gas mask. A thick grey tube protruded from the centre of the steel contraption and led over his shoulder to a strange backpack hidden behind the boy’s frame.

In a world filled with quirks, some people needed special consideration and assistance to live normally in society when their own power hampered their ability to do so, but such things are not very common. So, the kids sitting in class 1-C gawked at their new classmate and the strange device strapped to him, and as they stared at him, he stared right back.

The teacher cleared his throat. “Right. Well, Midoriya, now that… that’s all sorted, please go and find a seat.” He pointed to an empty seat near the back of the class, approximately in the centre. “I think you’ll find there is a free desk behind Kohoto-kun.” Midoriya made his way through the rows of desks, ignoring the curious looks he got as the teacher cleared his throat again and began the morning announcements just as the green haired teen sat down, the dark-brown bag he’d been discretely carrying being shoved under his new desk. He huffed quietly as he leaned back slowly, careful to avoid damaging the equipment attached to his back. His hands rested lazily on his desk as he stared vacantly, just over the teacher’s right shoulder, at a spot of half-erased chalk on the board.

‘This is gonna be a pain, I can feel it.’

As maths class ran its course and lunch time rolled around, Izuku was proven right. As soon as the bell rung and the teacher left the class, the nearest students swarmed around his desk, asking questions about his late admittance or making loud comments on his mask. It was noisy and annoying and Izuku was quickly growing tired of it. He wasn’t interested in making friends while he went here, nor did he care about any of the kids currently standing around his desk yelling at him like overeager cats. He tapped his fingers on his desk in a mindless gesture as he continued to stare at the board, ignoring the racket as it grew louder.

‘Annoying,’ he frowned as he considered the clock. There was an hour for lunch, and he had packed two paste packets in his bag. This mask had a new feature that allowed him to feed himself through the mask but it was pretty slow, so he’d need to find some place isolated enough that he could eat in peace.

“Say, Midoriya, what’s your quirk anyways?”

The rapping staccato of fingers against laminated wood halted.

A girl sitting at the desk next to him flinched.

‘Of course,’ he nearly wanted to laugh, if the situation wasn’t so unfunny. ‘Of course, they’d ask that right away. They just have to make sure don’t they.’ Imaged flash in his mind. BlondhairredeyeswidesmileK̷̗̫̰̗̻̖̜͖̜̥͇̬͉͒̏̊̈̎̄̓a̵̝̬͋͆̏̎̒̊̈́͛͛̊̓͒̈̃̕̚͘c̶̥̞͇͔̾́͆͋̚̕͝ç̴̬̩̻̹̺͖̪͇̹̅͒̐̾̈́̆̑̈́̂͗͐̌͋͆̚͠ḩ̵̞͓͔̉̚a̷̹͈͈̤̱̩͍͎͕̥̾̈̇̽̀̿̔̉̅̎̄̉͋͋̕͝ͅņ̷̨͙̣̥͕͉̞̬̣͚̞̱͉̝̖̪̮̲̏͋̃̕ His expression tightens. ‘Don’t they.’

“What do you mean you’re quirkless?”

“We were meant to be heroes together! You promised we’d be a duo! You lied to me! Now you’re just useless!”

“Fuck off and die, you useless fucking D̶̨̬̪̺̱̘̗͙͕̣̣̮̮͍̍ȩ̶̢̛̣̣̥̺̞̟̦̹̟̅̄͠k̴̢̨̧̧̯̪̖̩͔͎̤̻̻̥̔͛͆͌̚ͅͅu̴̢̧̢̧̟̖̺͎̠͓̱͔̜̮͙͉̣̎̋̈̄̈́͑̾̿͋̔̍͝!”

The temperature jumped as a hand clenched into a white knuckled fist. Green eyes now burning like twin suns slowly turned from the front of the classroom to the gathered students, as they collectively took a step back. A small voice at the back of Izuku’s brain tried to reason, saying it was a reasonable thing to ask in this day and age, that they didn’t mean anything by it. That voice belonged to a younger, bright-eyed Izuku. One who saw the potential for good in everyone and celebrated its existence.

The voice was squashed mercilessly by a much stronger one. One who reminded Izuku of what happened when that question that shouldn’t have a wrong answer was answered incorrectly anyways. It brought to mind late nights spent reading articles about the quirkless suicide rates and the blogs ranting against those with the “misfortune” of being borne with quirks that people looked at and decided were to be feared. This voice belonged to an older, angrier Izuku. It belonged to the Izuku that wore the mask.

The temperature continued to rise as his glare swept the group, a hate burning in the twin suns housed in his sockets. Barely contained, but in no way disguised. His fist was beginning to leave a scorch mark on the surface of his desk, adding to the already defaced surface covered in graffiti and carvings. For Midoriya, the hate was mild. It was built on bitterness and perhaps an unfair disdain for these people he’s just met, but experience tells him that fear keeps people away and that will keep him safe, so he shows them a simpering hate he reserves for when he’s pissed but doesn’t have a specific target. Unfortunately for his new classmates, they are not so used to his hate.

Midoriya’s silence continued as the heat became unbearable, and those dumb enough to have stayed to this point finally fled or awkwardly made excuses to leave, their nervous expressions doing a poor job of masking their emotions. The last of the crowd that had swarmed his desk made its escape through the door of the classroom, and he, at long last, had a moment of peace.

As the last person escaped his glare, he sighed and the temperature dropped back to normal. He gave his medical gear a quick check to make sure he hadn’t damaged it with that stunt. He wanted to scowl. The mask and vest were sub-par, but the Doctor had promised him that he was working on a better model. It would be tougher, easier to breathe through, and, most importantly, wouldn’t need to be attached to the stupid fucking vest he had to lug around everywhere. Oh, and its heat resistance would be substantial enough that Izuku would be able to use his quirk more fully while wearing it, which awesome, and the Doctor had promised to listen to his requests when it came to aesthetics this time around.

Needless to say, Izuku was excited to get his hands on the new model.

Unfortunately, the Doctor had said that it would take at least a month, if not more, to complete, since it was a lot more complex, and the Doctor had a very full schedule in the coming weeks. So, Izuku would have to practice patience. Which sucked. Hard.

Midoriya silently sighed as he hefted up his bag and made to leave the empty classroom. He didn’t know where he was going to eat, but he was sure he could figure it out. The bathrooms were an old classic when it came to isolation, though the weather was looking nice today…

“U-Uhm…” Midoriya stopped.

‘Guess I was wrong when I thought the classroom was empty.’ He heard the shifting of a body and the rustling of clothing as someone fidgeted in their seat. He looked over his shoulder. ‘She was right next to me; how did I not see her!? My situational awareness cannot be that bad!’

The girl had black hair that reached just above her shoulders as she sat hunched in her seat, her eyes stuck staring at her desk as he hands twisted and played with each other, making no effort to hide her nerves. She didn’t try to look up as she made her stuttering introduction. “U-Uh, h-hi… I-I’m Hikari–” She had glanced up halfway through and cut herself off. Midoriya’s glare burning a warning green from the one eye visible over his shoulder as it bore into the girl. She hastily looks back to her desk once again, now trembling slightly.

Green eyes continued to glower at the now silent girl, before Midoriya face forward again and made his way out the door. He cared about her about as much as he would care for the rest of his new “classmates”. That is, not at all. He didn’t know them, nor did he want to know them. He was busy enough as is without having to think about entertaining the kids he’d be sharing a building with for the next three years.

Navigating in the unfamiliar building was a chore, and Izuku didn’t want to try and communicate with any of the other students. It was unlikely anyone here knew enough sign language for him to speak with them, and he didn’t trust them to not try and pick on the new kid as some stupid hazing bullshit. So, he relied on intuition, the feeling of the air currents through the building, and analysis of the stream of children all heading to the lunch hall or to go meet up with their friends, to try and find the door to the roof.

Well…

That and the map he’d received from the principal, and the assumption that the roof was at the top of the building… like most roofs. “Most” because as much as Izuku loves to observe and analyse them, quirks are basically magic sometimes, so he has learned a valuable lesson when it comes to making general assumptions about the world in this day and age. Simply not to.

After all, the world is a rather big place. Anything is possible.

Midoriya reached the door to the roof and gave it a solid shove. It swung open with a rusty creak, allowing Izuku to sweep his gaze across the roof, and huff with satisfaction as he found it empty. He made his way to one of the benches on the roof and sat with his back to the tall chain link fence surrounding the edge. Keeping an eye on the door, he opened his bag and pulled out one of the nutrient packs the Doctor had suggested. He scowled as he stared at the colourful plastic packet.

He hated these. He couldn’t taste anything anyway, but he could feel the sludge as it went down. It felt wet and uncomfortable, and it put pressure in weird places.

Sighing in resignation, Midoriya pulled a tube out of his bag and attached one end to the mask, with the other going into the packet. As the machinery clicked and pumps activated, only many months of practice kept him from gagging as the sludge he was forced to eat was sucked into the plastic tube with, the disgusting noise it made sounding like meat hitting the wall. He kept his eyes on the door even as he felt the uncomfortable pressure of the tube expanding against his insides as the nutrient sludge was fed directly into his stomach, and he swore to himself that he would have a chat with the doctor about the feeding system’s… everything.

He heard the tell-tale sound of the packet finally being empty, and unplugged himself from that horrible process. Just as he finished packing away the tube in a zip-lock bag, he heard the creaking of rusty hinges, and his gaze snapped to the roof door. He watched as someone hesitantly stuck their head through the doorway, their black hair swaying as their head swivelled from side to side. They froze as black eyes locked onto his green and Izuku realised he recognised them.

‘It’s that girl I left in the classroom… what’s her name? Hibiki? Hamanabi? Something with an H… probably.’ He kept his eyes on her, glowering as her eyes widened to the size of dinnerplates. ‘Doesn’t matter who she is. Now, if she could kindly fuck off, that’d be great…’

As if she’d read his mind, the girl let out a quiet “eep” and slammed the door shut. Izuku blinked. ‘Holy shit, that worked. Wait. What if she is a mind reader? That’d be… problematic…’ Midoriya scowled at the thought, glaring at the now shut door as a breeze blew across the open rooftop. ‘Whatever. I’ll keep an eye out, but otherwise, she won’t matter.’

He sighed as he leaned back against the fence, checking the time on his phone. His father had sent him a quick “good luck” text, which made Izuku roll his eyes, albeit fondly. He shot back a quick “thanks” before pocketing his phone and attempting to rest his head against the chain-link fence. He felt bits of the neck-piece pocking at him as he attempted the movement, as well as places where the mask pulled against his skin, and Izuku scowled as he watched the clouds roll slowly across the bright blue sky. He had enough time until his next lesson to relax a bit.

But he really couldn’t wait until his next appointment with the old man. He had some notes for the next iteration.

It had been a week. A whole week. Seven days, one hundred and sixty-eight hours, thirty-two and a half of which were spent in school, surrounded by a sea of forgotten faces and nameless people.

And Midoriya considered the fact that he hadn’t legitimately tried to maim anyone yet a fucking miracle.

The thrum of anger that seemed to permeate his existence nowadays had spiked more times than he could count. Every time one of his classmates spoke in class, every comment from a teacher had done a good job of sending spark of heat through his veins. But that he could learn to deal with. For the sake of his father, he would be quiet, he would be tolerant, and would let the heat flow through him and leave him unaffected. He was self-conscious enough to understand that threatening to burn a kid for breathing too loud wasn’t exactly normal or decent behaviour, so he’d keep his anger bottled up at school. It’d make letting off some steam during training more satisfying anyways.

However, there was a limit to his tolerance. While sounds of normality would send heat flowing through his veins, walking through the hallways, or sitting in class before the teacher arrived or after they left would turn his blood into magma. Every undisguised snicker, or jeer, or rude comment directed at someone, anyone, was enough to make him lose his tight grip on his quirk and send the surrounding temperatures up several degrees. He should have known. He shouldn’t have been so naïve to think that just because he’s at a new school, the way people acted would change. Oh, sure, they aren’t making fun of him anymore, at least, not to his face –the fact that his eyes burn like suns and that he leaves scorch marks on furniture when he’s annoyed make for great incentives to leave him the hell alone– but he still hears things. Whispers of “freak” or “mutie” or “weak” test his self-control to their limits, and when he hears a voice call someone useless at the other end of a crowded hall, he has to duck into a nearby bathroom to calm down before he lights the whole hallway on fire.

But he manages. He keeps his composure, and his control. He doesn’t break, he doesn’t react, and he doesn’t show weakness.

(And really, kids have always been cruel little bastards. It’s his own fault for forgetting that.)

And, because of it, he’s left alone.

Completely. Alone.

‘Good.’

Midoriya is walking down a hallway after the day is over, casually making his way towards the exit. He had gone to the roof after class had ended, taking advantage of his newly found free time. His father had sent Izuku a text telling him that Hisashi would be attending a meeting that was scheduled to go on for longer than usual, so the older Midoriya wouldn’t be home for a while. That suited Izuku just fine.

The last couple months since they’d moved, their new apartment felt stifling, and the air was tense whenever both of them were there together, so Izuku was perfectly happy to sit on a school roof and stare at the clouds instead of going home to a cold, empty, lifeless appartement, where he’d sit in silence for a couple of hours, do his homework, and go to sleep, all without having a single conversation. He understood, though. Both of them dealt with grief in different ways, but they were still father and son. Similarities were bound to show up.

He was about to reach a T-junction in the corridor when he heard the sounds of a scuffle. He paused as something hit one of the lockers with a hollow thud, before the sounds of fabric against metal sound out as whatever it was slid to the ground. A quiet whimper sounded out and froze Midoriya in place, followed by a cruel snicker that send a reflexive shiver down his spine.

“Well, well, well. What are you still doing here, freak?”

Midoriya’s head tilted forward, his bangs casting his eyes into shadow.

He heard sound of something hard impacting something soft. A muffled sob. More cruel words.

The boy’s fists clenched; his hands were shaking.

Fabric tearing. Multiple objects hitting the floor. A cry cut off by another thud.

His body was wracked with shivers. He couldn’t see the corridor of Kalaban Middle School, couldn’t hear the ever-present constant hiss of the pumps from his ventilator. He couldn’t even feel the air on his skin, all that he could process from the world around him were the sounds coming from around the corner. Sounds that were ever so terribly familiar.

Laughter rang throughout the empty hallway, and Izuku froze on reflex. It wasn’t the happy sound that laughter was meant to be. No, it was filled with a malice and sadism that clouded the edges of Midoriya’s vision. As the awful sound bounced off the walls, the darkness kept creeping in. He wasn’t there he wasn’t there he wasn’t there

If only he could see it.

“What do you think, guys? Has little Kachi here learnt her lesson? Or does she need a bit more of a reminder?”

In an instant, the clouds disappeared, and Midoriya shook his head. Kachi. Kachi. Kachi, not Deku. It was fine. He was fine. He was safe. He is safe. He is strong, now. No one can hurt him. Not anymore.

‘Cause he’d get them first.

Shaking off the last of the fog, Midoriya started to walk again. He needed to get home. He’d spent too long staring at the clouds on the roof of this shitty school. This wasn’t his problem, anyways. Just more evidence that wherever you go, no matter what school, there’s always going to be that one budding sociopath that takes pleasure in causing pain and misery to others weaker than themselves. It wasn’t Midoriya’s job to handle it, anyways. He was a new student here, fresh meat. He needed to avoid distractions as much as possible, and focus on getting stronger. He needed to master his quirk, he needed to overcome the chains that were his injury keeping him back.

And he would.

So long as he didn’t bother–

Another thud, another muffled sob. “What you got there, Kachi?” The ruffling of fabric. “Oooh, is that a new Ryukyu pencil case? That’s pretty cool, Kachi.” The voice was sweet, dripping with unconcealed poison. More ripping fabric, a muffled gasp, the sound of many plastic things hitting the ground. A single laugh, filled with a sadistic satisfaction, drowning out the now more frequent sobs. “Too cool. At least for you.” The voice is a quiet hiss now, discrete chuckles add background noise as the sobs seem to freeze. “Why would you need anything like that, huh? What would small, useless, quirkless little Kachi want with heroes?”

Midoriya’s vision goes blank and, when he comes to, he’s standing in the wrong corridor off the T-junction, glaring at a gaggle of girls clustered around a part of the wall. Three of them are standing around, staring at him, while a fourth is crouched on the ground, glaring over her shoulder at him as she assesses him. The crouched girl has bubble-gum pink hair with lighter pink irises, with her pupils shaped like stars. She would look somewhat cute, but Izuku can see the look in her eyes.

Midoriya is familiar with this type of situation; familiar in an uncomfortably personal way. He knows the girl with pink hair glaring at him is the leader of this little hit-squad, and so he glares back.  Pink eyes shaped like five-pointed stars are filled with the vitriol of a predator whose meal has been interrupted, and star-like green eyes burning with contempt and a hate so fierce it’s almost tangible, glare into each other for a tense minute. Then the pink-haired girl stands up and turns to face Midoriya, before breaking into a wide, innocent smile.

“Oh, hey. You’re the new kid, right? Mido-something? Yeah, that sounds right. Welcome to Kalaban, by the way.” She steps forward, in front of her followers that retreat behind their leader. The pink haired girl’s smile turns into a grin. “I heard some stories about you from some friends in your class. Apparently, you’re pretty scary, and you’ve got a pretty strong heat quirk to boot.” The grin loses the pretence of innocence as the green-eyed glare refuses to abate in the face of her comments, but then the grin fills with the previous sinister intent. The leader points a thumb over her shoulder at the pile on the floor. “Hey, Mido, since you’re so strong, wanna join?” She chuckles with fake exasperation; it makes his blood boil. “Some people just can’t seem to learn their place in the world, so we’re doing some community service. Y’know, teaching them about how it’ll be when they join society. It’s better they learn now, than be surprised by it later, after all.”

As the girl continued with her little spiel, Midoriya drew closer. Step by step, his anger rose. Every word, every casual dismissal, every pitiful reason was breaking another one of the chains he’d used to keep down his temper. With every new worthless comment, another link snapped, and his self-control weakened. With every step of his dull black boots, the surrounding heat rose, and it kept rising until he stood in front of the pink-haired leader, who’s confident grin had yet to abate. The heat reached its zenith as he glared into pink eyes whose confidence is wavering. Small flames leaked out of the corners of his eyes as he raised one arm to the side, his pointer finger extended. The flames of his quirk coat his finger, and he sticks it into the wall, the high temperature allowing Midoriya to gouge a trench into the material of the wall like a hot knife through butter.

He glares into the eyes of the leading girl as he goes about his task, neither of them looking away. The silence in the hallway is suffocating, and it’s a miracle no fire alarms have been tripped and no one has come to investigate the disturbance.

To be honest, Izuku didn’t expect any of the faculty to care about this confrontation beyond the damage to the wall.

Eventually, the boy’s arm falls back to his side, his task complete. Midoriya was still glaring at the girl, though her attention was now elsewhere. The leader was staring, wide eyed, at the wall next to Izuku, her jaw slack as she registered the damage and, somewhere, in the part of her brain that had been left severely-underdeveloped by years at the top of the food chain, the girl with star-shaped eyes felt fear.

Melted into the ceramic tiles and the concrete walls behind them, was a simple message in kanji from the mute green haired student.

[FUCK OFF]

The slapping sound of school-shoes on tiled floor makes the pink haired girl spin around, and she catches the tail end of her posse booking it as far away and as fast as they can from the maniac with a powerful fire quirk and no compunction in regards to using it near people. She looks between Izuku and the hallway her group escaped down multiple times, seemingly debating her chances of escape. Izuku makes that decision easier with a single step forwards, upping the volatility of the flames in his eyes, and filling his glare with as much menace as he can. The threat of violence teeters on the edge of becoming actual violence.

Star-shaped pink eyes, once filled with a confident malice, wash over with terror, and the girl lets out a high-pitched squeak, and stumbles back a step, before spinning around and booking it down the hall and around the corner, leaving Izuku’s line of sight.

Green eyes track the girl’s escape and, with a huff, Izuku deactivates his quirk, bringing the surrounding temperature closer to normal, though some of the heat has seeped into the surrounding, leaving the corridor slightly warmer.

Now that he’s finally free of them, Izuku turns his attention to the lump he’d spotted on the ground. Shoulder length black hair hide their face, but bruises litter the skin he can see, and the way they’re gently hugging their arms to their chest makes Izuku think that the bruises extend to their torso as well. It’s not really his place, he’s done enough just scaring off the bullies, but this person is curled into a ball and shivering, and Izuku can see how they flinch with each movement, so he makes a decision.

As gently and as slowly as he is capable of, Midoriya crouches down and gently nudges the person’s shoulder to try and get their attention. He can’t exactly talk to them, so he hopes a gentle touch will get them to look at him and he’ll be able to communicate somehow.

They flinch when he touches their shoulder and a muscle in Izuku’s eye twitches.

Eventually, they look up. Black hair frames a relatively plain face, her round eyes filled with large dark irises are red-rimmed from crying and he can see some puffiness where she probably rubbed her face too hard. He lower lip trembles as she tries to force a smile, and it comes out wobbly.

“A-Ah! Midoriya-kun!” Izuku stands and takes a step back, giving the familiar looking girl the space she needs to stagger to her feet. She’s leaning on the wall for support, and Izuku can see the subtle winces she tries to hide every time she moves. “W-W-What a-are you s-still d-doing here? A-Aren’t classes over?” Izuku raises a brow. ‘Is this what’s she’s going to try? Seriously?’

He rolls his eyes and turned on his heel, starting down the corridor he had originally been heading towards. When he made it back to the T-junction and heard no footsteps behind him, Izuku looked over his shoulder at the girl. She was still standing in the middle of the hall, looking at him in confusion. Now that he could see more of her face, he noticed a bruise forming on her cheek.

Izuku raised one eyebrow, and signalled to the girl to follow him with a nod of his head. The girl let out a quiet “ah” and quickly crouched, gathering up her scattered school supplies as best she could into her torn backpack, before rising again and speed walking after Midoriya, who had started walking again.

They walked in silence for a while, Midoriya leading and the girl whose name he had forgotten following behind by three paces. He followed a map he had downloaded onto his phone at the start of the year, following the odd twists and turns down a path towards somewhere he had never considered that he’d need to visit again.

They reached their destination and the girl stopped walking; her eyes widened as she stared at the door to the Nurse’s office. She raised her hands placatingly as she slowly backed away, laughing nervously. “Ah ha, no no, it’s fine. I’m fine Midoriya-kun. I don’t need to go to the nurse, honest. I’ll just –” Midoriya glared at her and she made the wise decision to shut up.

He held open the door as she walked through, her head bowed. The nurse on duty, a middle-aged woman with the beginnings of grey in her hair, turned around and took one look at the two before focusing her attention on the girl. The older woman sighed. “Hikari-chan, I thought we were doing better. What are you doing here?” The girl –Hikari, apparently– chuckled nervously, tugging at her cuffs. She continued to stare at the floor. The nurse looked exasperated. “Dear me, were you antagonising the other girls again. You know it would be better for everyone involved if you just left them alone.” Midoriya eyes narrowed as Hikari seemed to curl in on herself. The nurse continued. “Show me where it hurts, then you can go.”

Midoriya waited outside while the older woman tended to the girl’s various injuries, replaying the interaction in his head. He stared at the floor, scowling as the “advice” the woman had given repeated like a broken cassette in his brain. He’s heard it before, seen her type before. False pity is all they offer as a mask to hide their annoyance. In the past few months, Izuku has come to value sincerity more than before, so such behaviour irks him.

Only a little, though.

And there is no real point in doing anything about it.

Minutes pass before the door opens discretely, the girl –Hikari– walks out with her head bowed, her steps so soft you would think them a whisper on the wind. She doesn’t look up, so she’s either forgotten about him, or she thinks he left, now that his “heroic deed” has been accomplished.

Too bad for her, he’s still here.

Why is he still here? Too bad again, he doesn’t know either, but he is.

He pushes off the wall he’d been leaning on and she startles so badly she nearly falls over. She catches herself, thankfully. They might be close to nurse but Izuku had a feeling neither of them really want to go back in there.

The gir –Hikari– Hikari stares at Izuku with what he thinks is confusion, disbelief, and maybe a tiny bit of fear. Izuku’s shitty metal mask lets out a huff that sounds like a scoff. ‘As if I would hurt her after making the effort of dragging her to the nurse.’ He starts to walk towards the exit, before stopping, and looking over his shoulder. She’s still staring at him, and though the fear seems omnipresent, the only other thing he can see in her dark eyes is confusion. The scene feels painfully like déjà-vu and Izuku just wants to go home at this point. So, he rolls his eyes and raises a brow. It is a silent question –for he can ask no other type– to a girl who’s gotten used to not being asked about anything she wants. It startles her again and, maybe it’s the fear and general mild dread he has managed to inspire in his fellow students during his first week working for him, or maybe she’s just so desperate for recognition she’d follow any stranger who gave her a tiny bit of positive (or at least not entirely negative) attention, but the familiar looking girl named Hikari follows his lead and they exit the building together, though she stays at least two and a half steps behind him.

It is a painfully familiar scene inverted in the worst ways, and Izuku ignores it because he decided the context was different enough that comparisons were useless.

The two of them walk down the empty street, the sky is light pink with the hints of the evening, and most people seem to have already gone home. Midoriya’s hands are lodged as far into the pockets of his school pants as they can possibly go. He wears a scowl half obscured by his absurdly clunky breathing device, and his eyes burn green with a general contempt for the world around him. Hikari walks with fear in her steps and her head ducked low. She clutches the remains of her school bag to her chest, fighting a losing battle against gravity and the surviving threads of her bag to try and prevent its contents from spilling onto the pavement. Her dark eyes dart from place to place, never staying still long, though they always end up on the back of the green haired boy walking in front of her. She walks with the gait of an animal used to being prey being thrust into a new environment.

They walk until they reach a split in the road. Midoriya needs to go further into town to reach his apartment, while Hikari lives further away and needs to get a bus to edge of the city. Hikari stops at the split and, not hearing the sound of footsteps in the quiet street, Midoriya stops as well. He doesn’t turn around when Hikari bows.

“T-Thank you f-for your he-help, Midoriya-kun.” Her thanks are hesitant and awkward, and the silence that follows it is more so. They don’t know each other; they haven’t had a conversation and less than thirty words have been spoken between them. This is the best they can realistically expect from an interaction between them at the moment.

And yet…

Midoriya starts walking again, seemingly without acknowledging what she said. Hikari looks down, defeated, before she spots the tiniest of nods from the green haired boy. It’s a miniscule movement, easily confused with the natural bobbing of a person’s head, but, just for today, Hikari decides to be optimistic, and shouts out a hesitant goodbye as she turns to walk down her path. “A-Ah! S-See you tomorrow in c-class, M-M-Midoriya-kun!”

It had been a week and a half since then, and Izuku had settled into a comfortable routine at this point. Wake up, go to classes, work in silence and glare at anyone who tried to initiate a conversation with him… or got to close… or looked his way… really any form of attempted interaction was met with quiet hostility and a gaze that spoke to the part of their brain developed when their ancestors crawled around in the mud on all fours and told it to get the fuck away.

Only two sets of people were spared this treatment, the first of which were his teachers and even then, it was more like the hostility was replaced with a deep, deep contempt for them, their bloodline, and any authority they claim to have over him. Of course, Midoriya behaved well enough to avoid trouble. He did his work on time, got decent grades, and, despite always looking a thread away from incinerating someone, he never got into a fight. They weight of his presence and the way the surrounding air seemed to go from room temperature to uncomfortably hot in an instant whenever someone tried to antagonise or even just talk to him had done a good job of convincing his classmates that they always had better, more productive, things to do than try and pick a fight with the kid wearing a breathing mask that looks like it was pulled from history books armed with a fire quirk of unknown strength.

The second group that was lucky enough to be spared his ever-present anger was Hikari. Hikari Amaiko, according to the class register. The sole quirkless girl in their year. The girl who had seemed so familiar to Izuku because she was the girl he had seen and had tried to speak with him as he had left class on the first day, who he had seen coming through the door to the roof before she had spotted him and ran away. The girl whose bullies he had scared off before he had… convinced her to go to the nurse.

That girl.

They weren’t friends in any way, shape, or form, but he didn’t glare at her when she tried to speak to him. He had learned his lesson when she had tried to talk to him the day after their first proper encounter, and the way she had flinched so violently and curled into her seat with a near soundless whimper had made Izuku feel like he’d stomped on a kitten. So, from them on, he met her meagre attempts at interaction with a blank stare.

Even then, that didn’t seem to dissuade her. It seemed to Izuku that any response she received that wasn’t directly hostile or aggressive was considered positive, and so Hikari took his apathy and decided she saw interest. Though that in itself took time to manifest.

For the first few days after their first proper meeting, and after he had sent her into a ball with a –for him– pretty mild glare, they hadn’t spoken at all. Oh, he’d notice from the corner of his eye when, during class, Hikari would sneak looks at him. He decided pretty early on to treat her like he would any other background character in his life at this point: if she wasn’t going to be helpful in achieving his goals, he would ignore her.

This decision became significantly harder when she built up enough courage to join him for lunch on the roof.

It hadn’t been an immediate thing. The first few times she’d come up as he was finishing packing away his paste packets, and she’d fled. Eventually, she built up the courage to sit on the roof at the same time as him, though she sat on the complete opposite sides, with as much distance between them as the roof physically allowed.

Time went on and, as the days and weeks wore past, the physical distance on the roof between them gradually shrunk. Every day, she’d sit a little bit closer, testing to see when Midoriya would snap and he’d fill with flames and danger and finally tell her to fuck off, like he’d done to the pink haired bully.

But that point didn’t seem to come.

Even when she finally sat on the same bench as him, all Midoriya did was side-eye her, before closing his eyes and continuing to relax as the breeze blew through his hair. Hikari eyed him nervously for a second, before pulling out a small bento box from her new bag. She unwrapped it and opened it up to reveal a variety of home-made food she had prepared that morning before school. Gazing at it excitedly, and keeping a nervous eye on the door to the roof out of habit, she dug in. Flavour filled her mouth and calmed her soul, and for a brief moment, she was truly content.

As she ate, Hikari snuck discrete glances at the mysterious person who had joined her class, briefly stolen her lunch spot, had scared Kusabara, her gang, and apparently half the school into staying away from him, and was now peacefully sharing the bench with her as she ate her lunch. Him, Midoriya, the boy with the rumoured fire quirk powerful enough to casually melt concrete, was sharing a bench with her, Hikari, the weak, worthless, quirkless girl, and he hadn’t… done anything. Not that she wasn’t grateful, no! It was just… she grew up being the world’s punching bag, and now something different is happening. It’s weird, and weird isn’t normally safe. So Hikari believes she had a right to be nervous.

A powerful guy like Midoriya standing up for a quirkless girl like Hikari was beyond unusual in her experience. Usually, those with strong quirks are so hopped up on whatever hype they’ve been fed their entire lives about how “special” they are, that they ignore those deemed beneath them. Like Hikari.

But Midoriya hadn’t.

And that was strange.

‘Although,’ she thought as she bit into a rice ball, ‘he might not have been told about me. With how much he isolates himself, I’d be surprised if he’s heard anything about anything going around the student body.’ Her face scrunched in thought as she chewed. ‘But, Kusabara would have told him, when he intervened. She wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to set the new scary guy against me.’ She glanced quickly at Midoriya again, who was still basking in the early autumn breeze, before she looked back at her bento. She shook her head. ‘No, Midoriya-kun would have told me to leave by now if he knew.’ She chewed on some pork as she continued to think. ‘Maybe she didn’t get the chance before he scared her away? I don’t really know. I was kinda out of it, and it’s not like I can ask him “Hey, did the school idol tell you that I was quirkless before you melted a wall and told her to eff off?” No! That would be stupid!’

She shook her head again, this time to clear her thoughts. ‘For now, it doesn’t matter. He’s the only one who isn’t mean to me, and he’s all alone.’ She glanced at the green haired boy again, though this time it was sadder. ‘He must be so lonely…’ Fists clenched and she smiled determinedly. ‘Then, for now, I’ll try and be his friend!’ Her smile falters slightly. ‘… Hopefully…’

Hikari turned fully to Midoriya, who was still lounging with his eyes closed and his arms crossed, the heavy vest he wore filled with various pieces of machinery letting off regular beeps and clicks as whatever it was operated his mask. She knew that the entire student body had questions about it – why he wore it was a topic of discussion that seemed to trail behind him in the halls; the most popular theory was that he had been the victim of a villain attack, but the most interesting one in her opinion was that he needed to breath flammable gas to fuel his quirk. She’d even heard some group of chuunibyou kids discussing whether or not his equipment was used to maintain a portal to hell, and he used it to consume the souls of the damned to grow more powerful. That theory also supposed that his fire was literal hellfire, which would be cool.

She had discretely applauded their enthusiasm, and their creativity, but had decided to ignore the rumours for now. They wouldn’t be helpful on her current quest anyways, which was to have a proper conversation with her… ‘friends’ wasn’t anywhere close to a description of what they were, and they had barely interacted enough to be considered acquaintances.

Amaiko pinched her chin as she though, her brow furrowing, before she clicked her fingers in realization. ‘Roof-lunch-buddies! That’s the one!’ Eyes glittering with an excitement that gave her a shot of confidence, she turned to the dozing boy and addressed him properly for the first time in a week. “Hey, Midoriya-kun…”

His eyes opened and she felt her new-born confidence shrivel up and die in the cradle. Blazing green balls of fire gazed at her out of sockets that cast a shadow over the rest of the eye, amplifying the light of those emerald green orbs. They burned impassively, observing her as one would a slightly interesting rock before dismissing it and continuing on with you day, never to think about that rock again. Staring into those twin suns, she felt impossibly small.

The feeling wasn’t a foreign one to her. She was physically smaller than most people nowadays, and being quirkless had a way of making someone want to avoid being seen. She had had many, many years of practice at being a wallflower, unseen and unnoticed as she wandered about her daily life. She had to. When she was noticed, people like Kusabara crawled out of the crowd to remind her that she was a remnant of the days before evolutions next great step forward.

She hated feeling small, but she had no choice. It was the simple calculus of survival.

She supposed she could take some small solace in the fact that Midoriya wasn’t glaring at her like he’d done before. She didn’t know if she could handle it again.

Amaiko swallowed and tried to resuscitate her courage. “I-I-I was j-just wondering…” Her pupils dilated as she panicked. ‘Shoot shoot shoot shoot… what do I say!?’ “… D-Do you have the answers to the homework Sugaku-sensei set on Monday? I kinda left it to the last minute, and I’m sorta panicking right now…”

On the outside, Amaiko scratched the back of her head sheepishly. On the inside, the decision-making centre of her brain was burning and all of her poor little braincells were running around screaming hysterically. ‘HOMEWORK?! REALLY?! THAT’s the best we could come up with?! What the heck brain, there isn’t even any due today! Now–’

Midoriya stared at her for a moment, before slowly sitting up, reaching into his bag, and pulling out a notebook with “Maths” written in bold on the front. Without saying a word, the green haired boy slowly extended the book over to her, watching for a reaction.

‘Uh oh!’ She took the book, smiling all the while. “Thanks! I’ll get it back to you before the lunch break ends. You’re a life saver, Midoriya-kun!”

Midoriya slowly nodded, observing her like he was looking at a particularly curious cat, before he went back to lounging on the bench. Occasionally, his eyes would dart to her, or more accurately, to his notebook, like he was worried she’d run off with it or damage it in some way.

‘Man, he must really like maths if he’d so worried about his notes.’ Her eyes slipped from the boy she was sharing a bench with to the notebook she now held. Sighing, she decided to engage in the role and opened it to the most recent page. The first thing she noticed was the very messy handwriting, like if chicken scratch had decided to dance the salsa. She squinted as she tried her best to read whatever he’d written, before a folded piece of paper slipped out onto the ground.

She eyed the paper warily, her gaze darting from it to Midoriya, whose eyes had slipped shut once again. Letting curiosity overwhelm her, she bent down and picked it up. She leaned back into the bench as she considered it, shooting cautionary glances at the boy next to her as she considered what to do.

On one hand, this could be incredibly personal information, and it would really rude to read something like that without his knowledge or permission.

On the other hand, this piece of knowledge could shed some light on the mystery of Midoriya Izuku, the new kid with the strong fire quirk who wears a metal mask all the time.

‘Oh well, curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.’ She huffed out through her nose, puffed out her chest, and unfolded the paper.

Her eyes went wide as she read the contents, scanning through line after line of printed letters and numbers as she made it to the bottom of the page. Slowly she set down the paper in the notebook, and rested her hands in her lap, staring forwards blankly.

‘Well, I’ll be…’ She gazed out across the roof, silently admiring the view it afforded her of the city. She sat still, refusing to disturb the serene moment with something so disrupting as a twitching muscle, a tapping leg, or even a hysterical scream. Amaiko would enjoy these last moments of peace before she decided to confront the problem she had discovered, and, hopefully, when that time came, she would be a wiser, and braver woman.

She sat for twenty seconds, staring out into the city. A gust of wind rustled her shoulder length black hair, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She guessed now was as good a time as any.

Suddenly she lunged towards her bag, frantically tearing it open and pulling out her own maths notes and allowing a familiar, but different, panic to crawl down her spine and into her gut.

‘The gods must hate me, because how in the HECK did I forget there was homework due today?!’

Chapter Text

The sound of shoe-soles slapping against ceramic tiles could be heard ringing through the nearly empty school building as a black-haired girl sprinted down a hallway, her face flush with exertion and her breaths coming out in quick huffs. Her lungs hurt, her leg muscles ached and, as she slid around a corner and continued on her sprint, she bemoaned the fact that her ankles were beginning to hurt as well.

Nevertheless, as she heard the sounds of multiple people shouting to each other as they ran down the hall after her, she thanked the gods that even her quirkless body still produced adrenaline, and that it hadn’t been phased out by evolution as ‘no longer needed in a modern society’.

Like her.

Something it seemed a group of her fellow students were intent on teaching her this afternoon. She’d been volunteered for cleaning duty by her homeroom teacher and had been forced to stay late at school –again– and her peers had taken advantage of the fact that she was isolated and away from authority figures that may be able to interrupt their fun… again.

She supposed they were also excited to get a crack at her now that she was away from Midoriya, too. It wasn’t that the masked boy protected her or anything. No, nothing so heroic. It was just… She was the only one he didn’t death-glare into oblivion for daring to be anywhere near him. Granted, that was probably because she didn’t really try to directly interact with him beyond their lunches on the roof, and even then, it was more the odd comment or question of whether or not they’d had homework (after the first time, she wasn’t going to take any chances, no sir). The fire quirked boy had created a radius around himself through pure intimidation, and Amaiko was the only who he seemed to allow inside of it without the looming threat of incineration, it seemed. Something she would shamelessly admit she sometimes took full advantage of.

However, as Amaiko turned another corner, fear starting to grip her mind as she tried to pull up a mental map of the school to plan her escape, she contemplated whether or not the sudden appearance of a safe zone had made her lazy, or had made her less cautious. Before she could think any further on the matter, she felt something grab her wrist. In a panic, she threw a sloppy punch that missed by a mile. In response, she was roughly manhandled and tossed into a small storage closet. She caught herself and spun to try and get a good look at whoever had grabbed her, but only caught sight of the old wooden slamming shut and plunging her into darkness.

Her breath caught. ‘No no no no not again! Please not again!’ Using the light shining through the small gap under the door, Amaiko stepped towards it and hammered on the door, begging and pleading to whomever was out there to just please let her out. She’d be good, she wouldn’t run, she’d take her punishment, just… please. Don’t lock her away in the dark again…

She slammed her fist on the door, hoping someone would listen. Someone else slammed back. The wood creaked and the old door rattled on its hinges, and the trapped girl stumbled back into the pitch-black closet. ‘That… A hit like that means someone strong… or a physical enhancement quirk…’ Her back hit a wall and she slowly slid down, hitting the ground lifelessly before curling into a ball. ‘No no no please… why? Why me? Why can’t you leave me be? Why can’t I just live? What did I do to deserve this?’ Tears slid down her cheeks, the only witnesses to her state being the cleaning supplies and the shadows of people passing by the door.

But she didn’t see it.

She didn’t see the door, or the cleaning supplies. She saw the darkness, but she didn’t register how her vision blurred and darkened as her breaths came in shallow and erratic, a slowly building static drowning out her hearing.

‘Please please I want to go home… I want mom… please… please…’

No one was there to hear poor Amaiko’s laboured, panicked breaths as the cold, dark, emptiness of the closet began closing in. No one was there to see the quirkless girl’s tears as she felt the walls of her prison pressing on her lungs. No one was there to offer a hand to stupid, worthless, useless little Kachi.

Because why would there be?

P̷̨̛̫̬̙̝͎͉̼̗̭̪̂̋ͅl̶̞̙͈̫̮̳̻̥͙͙̩̜̈́̔̍̋̎̚̕͜e̴̝̯͍͇̹̘͓̜̽̒͗̓͌͒̿͑̽̈̾̒̎͜͜͠a̷͖̣̞̝̩̥͔̪͎̼͔̯̋͂̎́̍͋͊̐̆s̸̛̪̹̥̟͇̰͈̈́̋̇͌͒̐̽̓͘͘͝ê̷̡̛̗̯̩̂̐͊.̴̨̲̳̜͖̖͎̺̙̣̗̮̥̮̯̓̈́̿̐͊̍.̵̜͉̩̼̘͍̺̇̋̐̓̃͋̔͊̏̿̊̏̕͜.̶͖̳̮̫̻̯͈̞̫͎̗̋̃͑̿̅͒̚ ̵̨̧̛͕͚͈̭̗̜̪̣̬͚͚̯͂́̂͑̇͂̊͛̈́͝ͅȟ̴̗ë̴̡̥͈̝͉̦̻͓́͑̀͗̈̑̐̆̇̓͝ḻ̴̜͕̈́͊͑̏̓p̶̡̨̛̛̖̻͎̻̫̫̥̺͓̈́̒̆͐̓̍̄͊̍̚͜͝͝ ̷̨̳̫̳͖͇̜͌̀͑̀̂͆͑̆̔͜͜ͅͅm̴̱̱̝̹̈́̍̐͂̆͗͜ę̸̛͉̯̻̱͍͙̣͗͒̈́̄̐̅͛̀̓̃̾͝͝

The sound of rusty mechanisms and creaking hinges swinging open wasn’t what alerted her, nor was it the weak beams of light slicing through the darkness that had become her prison and her shackles. It was the shadow that stood in the doorway. She expected it to be a bully, come to finish the job, or in the best case an apathetic adult who would admonish her for getting stuck in here and send her away. Amaiko curled tighter. She couldn’t put up the placating façade of the out-of-the-way quirkless girl, she just couldn’t right now. She didn’t have the mental strength to do anything but try to make herself as small a target as possible, so that maybe she would be able to go home without too bad a limp.

The shadow at the doorway crouched down.

Deciding that at least knowing her attacker would provide her with a better opportunity to plan on how to minimise the damage, Amaiko looked up, unconcerned about showing her weakness through her tear-stained cheeks and her red-rimmed eyes. They knew all her weaknesses already, what’s one more vindicated grin on the face of a tormentor?

She had already seen hundreds more just like it.

What she locked eyes with was not a tormentor (‘not yet’ the ghost of memory whispered to her). Dark eyes puffy from crying locked onto emerald green that, for once, was burning with something other than apathy or hostility. In those twin green suns Amaiko spotted embers of what could possibly be concern, though she was in no shape to properly register what it was, just that the person that had opened the door was unlikely to attack her, or, if he did decide to do so, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself anyway.

Amaiko laid her head back down between her knees and the tears returned with a vengeance. Relief and fear, elation and guilt, worry and apathy, all warred inside her mind. She heaved in a breath in a vain attempt to calm herself down. A choked off sob was the last straw as she gave up even trying to look like she wasn’t breaking down. She cried silently into her legs, sobs ringing through the empty room broadcasting her misery to the dark, the cleaning supplies, the wooden door, and, now, the one person she had spent a long period of time with in the last ten years that hadn’t chased her off immediately.

She felt pathetic.  Here she was, the worthless, useless, quirkless little Kachi, bothering someone as powerful as Midoriya, someone who was going to actually be someone in the future. She was sure he found her tears disgusting, the snot running down her face revolting, and her hysterical breathing to be pitiful.

She sobbed a little louder. ‘God, I’m the worst.’

She didn’t see the embers of concern catch in green eyes and light old kindling that hadn’t been touched in nearly three or four years. This kindling, once prevalent but now lacking, set alight by the embers of concern, now burned with worry.

Little Kachi didn’t see Midoriya watching the girl, shivering and sobbing all alone in the dark corner of the storage closet. She didn’t see him tilt his head, nor did she see the look on his face when a decision was finally made. And while she might not have realised when the boy starting to move, she did notice when a body sat down against the same wall as her. She didn’t look up, but a part of her noticed when the temperature began to increase, gently removing the tendrils of cold that had settled into her flesh like a weed in a garden. Slowly but surely, as the light from the open door cut through the shadows and the body next to her burned away the cold, little Kachi’s sobs started to calm.

Gingerly, the crying girl’s head rose out from between her knees, and she turned to look at who was beside her. She was mildly surprised to find that Midoriya was a whole arm’s length away, with one leg fully extended and the other propped up, with the knee being used to support his arms and his head, as green eyes gazed out the open door, giving the girl a semblance of privacy.

With a hiccup, Amaiko rubbed her eyes, futilely hoping to erase the marks of her weakness, her breaths still coming in quick and shallow. She tried to take a deep breath, tried to start calming down, but she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t obey her and the more she tried the more she failed and her lungs were collapsing and the walls were closing in again and she couldn’t breathe–

The sound of Midoriya’s respirator cut through her panic like a hot knife through butter, or an angry boy with a fire quirk through a concrete wall. In the small, dark room, the grating sound echoed off the walls until it was nearly deafening. The repetitive rasp of air flowing through metal fans and plastic tubes would usually add to the sinister aura that surrounds by design Midoriya, and, any other day the sound would grate against her teeth and make the hair on her arms stand on end, reminding her of creatures under the bed and unknown noises in moonlit forests.

But, surprisingly, in that small enclosed room, with only one escape and possibly the most dangerous boy in her school sitting next to her, the rasp of his respirator drowns out the sound of her own shallow breaths. It echoes in her ears, bashing against her eardrums until it is the only thing she can focus on and, slowly but surely, Amaiko beings follow the breaths. She inhales when the rasp she hears is slightly higher pitched, which would mean the green-haired boy has breathed in, and she exhales at the following breath.

Amaiko doesn’t know how long they spend in that closet, one simply sitting while the other relearns how to breathe, but she knows it’s a pretty long time. When the last of the fog clears her mind and she can breathe without feeling like she wants to burst into tears again, she slowly lets her legs fall to the ground, resting her head against the wall and enjoying the coolness that washes through her skull from the wall, even as the artificially comfortable temperature in the closet is maintained.

Hikari wipes her eyes, rubbing a bit harsher than necessary to get rid of the salty trails left behind by dried tears, and sniffles. Plastering a smile on her face, she turns to her companion, who still hasn’t looked at her. “Tha-Thank you, Midoriya-kun.” She cringes as her voice cracks. “Y-You di-didn’t have t-to do that.”

Midoriya’s head slowly turns from where he was watching the door to look at her, shadowed green eyes lit up with an emotion she can’t recognise, especially not from those eyes. He regards her for a bit before he starts to move, stretching his shoulders and back muscles as he gets to his feet.

Amaiko watches him warily. One witnessed crying session without mockery (so far) doesn’t equate to safety. She knows this. But as the green haired boy stands to the side of the doorway and looks at her, she can’t help but feel like he’s beckoning her to stand as well.

And so, she does. Slowly, shakily. On legs that have suffered an adrenaline fuelled sprint through her school in shoes definitely not made for running, before being pulled into a tight space as she used them to shield her from the world as she broke down.

‘I should really stretch more.’ The errant thought catches Amaiko off guard, and the distraction from trying to walk is enough that she stumbles forward. Luckily, she stumbles towards the door and her fall is stopped before she hits the ground. Strong arms hold her for long enough as she freezes, processes the situation, before remembering who these arms belong to.

Flushing red, she shoots upright as her legs choose start working more like human legs and less like wet noodles, although she’s wishing right now that they turn into rockets and fire her into the void. She grins a wobbly grin to try and portray nonchalance, which is completely ruined by how red her face, neck and ears are, and how wobbly her grin feels on her face. Midoriya, the saint, doesn’t seem to react to her predicament beyond a slightly raised eyebrow, which makes Amaiko feel a lot better.

As she opens her mouth to apologise, Midoriya turns on his heel and, beckoning her to follow again, begins to walk down the hall. Amaiko begins to follow and they walk in silence through the now empty halls of their school. ‘Huh,’ she thinks, ‘they must have left after locking me in there.’ She shivers, tugging at her uniform jacket’s sleeve before folding her arms over her chest and hunching over. The mere thought of being left in there overnight, in that dark, small, windowless closet, until the morning cleaning staff come to open up the school at whatever time in the morning before the students arrive… The looks of disgust or pity she’d get when they found her, curled up and stuck in that small room for the whole night, unable to get out or call for help…

Her spiral was interrupted when she ran into someone’s back. A back built like a steel wall and that ran hotter than a normal person would…

She yelped and jumped back, stuttering out an apology as she waved her arms around and tried not to look Midoriya in the eye. The boy, for his part, gazed quizzically at her and her babbling, his eyes occasionally following her wild gesturing before returning to her steadily reddening face. A raised eye brow put a stop to her rambling, though it didn’t stop her flushed cheeks. “Sorry for running into you…” The apology was whispered, but Midoriya seem to hear it fine, and shrugged, waving the whole thing off.

The two students stood there for a time, one staring silently at the other, while said other tried and failed miserable not to fidget under his gaze. Green eyes that usually burned like suns were a calm simmer at the moment, and she had no intention of being under his famous glare. Especially not right now. But she had to go home. She was already passed curfew, and she had been warned about breaking that rule before. Her fidgeting got worse as she warred internally, indecision sealing her lips and drying her mouth as she stared at the pavement.

As she opened her mouth, still unsure what she was going to say, she saw that Midoriya had seemed to make up his mind. His raise his hands and she flinched reflexively.  She hated that she did that, and almost looked away when Midoriya stilled. Guilt flowed through her at her fear towards the boy that had sat with her when she broke down in the closet and said nothing to judge or hurt her worse, who had showed her the first hint of genuine kindness she’d received since she was five. Kindness that wasn’t a façade for whatever pity he might feel towards he and her quirklessness.

But whatever guilt there was was overwritten by the small voice that lived in her head that chanted ‘he’s got a strong quirk he’s got a strong quirk he could hurt you and no one would help’.

Slowly, the boy began moving again, starting to sign. Relieved and frustrated tears began to build in her eyes, blurring her vision and almost making her miss what Midoriya said. She blinked and cursed herself, focusing on his hands. She thanked whatever deities seemed to still be looking out for her for her months-long obsession about sign language when she was nine when she had, in a fit of passion rarely seen before (or since) had spent the long hours she had when home alone filling the time by learning sign language.

[Would you like me to walk you home?]

‘Oh… That was… unexpected…’

The words finally hit and surprise is viciously shouldered aside by embarrassment as Amaiko’s face goes bright red. She stutters and stumbles on her words, hiding the redness of her face behind her hands as she struggles to find an appropriate response to a question like that. “N-NO! Ah, uh, I mean… Sorry…” She fans her face, hoping to dispel the redness and the heat before her head explodes and splatters her embarrassed head all across the pavement and nearby buildings. It would be such a hassle trying to find what seems to be her last brain cell if it were lost in the explosion.

She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. ‘It’s not a big deal, and besides, it doesn’t really mean anything! He’s probably just said it to be polite! Yeah! Being the hero-to-be and all, he has to be all empathetic and helping and stuff. It’s fine. IT’S FINE!’

While her deep breaths seem to do wonders for her internal panic, her face didn’t seem to get the memo, and she turns to actually answer Midoriya this time with a face trying it’s best to become a cherry. “I-It’s fine, Midoriya-kun. I’ll be okay walking home alone from here. It’s, uh… I’ll, um…” She hesitates, before deciding to just be polite and make her escape before she does anything she’ll really regret.

Amaiko bows, startling Midoriya with its suddenness. Just as suddenly, she rights herself, the remnants of her blush still on her cheeks as she turns down her street and begins walking stiffly forward. “Thank you for your help, Midoriya-kun! See you tomorrow!” One jaunty wave over her shoulder, followed by a quick glance back at him, and Amaiko breaks into a sprint, tearing down the street as fast as her legs can carry her, before she skids around a corner and disappears, leaving a very confused Midoriya standing in the street staring down the way his roof-lunch-acquaintance vanished.

Izuku shrugged, deciding that, if just for today, the ever-prevalent mystery of “why people do things” could wait until he’d gotten home, eaten, showered, avoided his father while his father did the same to him, and cocooned himself in his lovely comforter in a probably futile attempt to squeeze the twenty-six hours of sleep he would need to properly function into the six or seven he actually had available. The mystery of “why girls do things” on the other hand, could be left to the professionals. ‘Hopefully this time I’ll finally slip into a coma.’ He thinks wistfully as begins on his path home. Maybe then he’d feel what it was like to wake up well and fully rested.

Amaiko’s old sneakers smack against the cement as she runs down the street, her previous sprint abandoned in favour of a speedy jog to conserve her energy. She can’t help the flush that just refuses to leave her face, running a bit faster to hopefully direct her body to send some blood anywhere but her face, like her leg muscles, for example. Leg muscles which are starting to ache for the small amount of exercise she is giving them. The girl huffs out a sigh as she slows to a brisk walk once she gets two streets from where she left Midoriya, slowing her breathing to try and finally put her thoughts in order.

The quirkless girl exhaled. Today was a… day. It was definitely a bad day, because being chased by bullies, locked in a janitor’s closet for who knows how long, and then breaking down in said closet were definitely not the signs of a good, happy day. Amaiko tugged at the ends of her sleeve, fraying the fabric she had been abusing since the day she first wore this uniform even more. Her nerves were starting to get the best of her, and she could feel her hands begin to shake as her mind threatened to bring her back to that small, dark room, where the walls closed in on her and the wooden shelves dug into her skin, leaving splinters and scrapes and her lungs were pressed between the–

‘Deep breaths! Deep… breaths.’ She inhales. Holds. Exhales.

But, today was also a… not so bad day. Sure, she’d been in a really bad way when she’d been –don’t think about it don’t think about it– trapped, but that had led to something… mildly positive, in her opinion. Someone had found her. Someone had opened the locked door, had seen her distress, and had sat next to her while she cried. Normally, when stuff like that happened, she’d be trapped overnight, forced to sleep on the cold, hard floor until cleaning staff arrived and let her out, usually with an eye-roll and an annoyed grumble that always managed to cut like a knife. It felt like she was being blamed when the staff opened the door to find her lying there and all they did was scowl and shoo her away.

But that didn’t happen this time.

No, someone had found her, and had actually helped her, in their own way. And, more amazingly, that someone was Midoriya. As in, scary, strong, powerful quirk, will definitely be a top hero one day Midoriya. Someone so above her social level, others would have called her lucky if he’d even acknowledged her existence. And, yet, Midoriya did. In fact, he did more than that. He had sat with her, a pillar of warmth in that small, dark room, and had said nothing. He had simply… been, acting as a deterrent to any other opportunistic bullies and giving her the time that she needed to break down and pull herself together again. Or, at least, mostly back together.

It was… unusual for her to be treated with such kindness by someone as strong as Midoriya. People like him, people born with that kind of power at their finger-tips were usually brought up with complements and praise, feeding their egos until their heads outgrew their hearts and instead of looking out for people weaker than them, like heroes did, they started looking down on them. It was a phenomenon she was used to, and had experience. She had gone on message boards for people like her and had read multiple stories from multiple people of varying backgrounds and nationalities, trying fruitlessly to see if she was unlucky enough to be born in a country where her experiences were the unfortunate exception.

It was an act of desperation, made out of a hope that she would be able to one day live a life where she wasn’t judged by the result of a roll of the genetic dice before her birth.

Unfortunately, it seemed the effect of copious praise and hefty expectations placed on those too young to understand were truly universal. People born with power were taught it was their sacred duty to learn to use said power to the benefit of those who supported them, regardless of the consequences.

Sacrifices could be made to create the stepping stones for those who would be great. And those born powerful would learn that they were the most important, the worthiest, and that all of those beneath them were barely worth the energy required to learn their names.

And yet, Midoriya seemed to defy that rule. Actually, now that she thought about it, he defied it nearly exclusively when interacting with her. And even then, it was more of a soft deviation from expectation rather than a shattering of her worldview when it came to people like him. He didn’t tend to scowl or glare as much at her compared to others, and he let her talk to him when they ate near each other on the roof. Or, at least, when she at and he sat on the bench and… napped? Well, she would have said that, but when she had asked for help with homework again, he’d actually handed her the sheet. So, she couldn’t be sure he was always napping. Actually, compared to all of her other relationships, they were darn near best friends by her account.

‘Hmm,’ she pinched her chin in thought as she took a turn down the shadier streets leading to her home, her body reacting instinctively to the change in environment as she hunched over, walking near the edge of the street with her eyes on the pavement to keep the attention off of her. The few people around barely gave her more than a cursory glance before they continued with their day.

Now that she thought about it, she had never seen him eat when she’d gone up to eat on the roof. That couldn’t be healthy, especially for someone with a quirk like that. Quirks were physical attributes, after all. They relied on the energy the body could supply to function, and with the amount of heat Midoriya gave off when he got annoyed and the unhealthy number of desks he scorched, he was probably burning through quite a few calories already. And she did want to thank him for his help today…

She slapped a fist into an open palm as she came to a decision. ‘Alright! I’ll make him some food to thank him! Hopefully he won’t burn it… Maybe I should stick to raw ingredients so that he would cook it if he tried? But then it would make it seem like I’m making him do all the work… Argh!! Decisions!’ Amaiko tugged at her hair, feeling the painful pull against her scalp before she settled down, running a hand through her hair and exhaling as she reached her home. ‘I’ll just stick to a normal meal. Maybe some rice and fish? Or I could go all out and make some Katsudon? Urgh.’ She pulled of her shoes as she closed to door, beginning to head for her room to set her bag down, before heading to the kitchen, tying her shoulder length hair up in a small bun. ‘Whatever. I’ll see what I can afford to use and then I’ll decide. This’ll be fun.’

A tentative smile pulled at her lips as she began opening cupboards and drawers, searching for ingredients that wouldn’t be missed too much. ‘I hope he likes it.’

Izuku believes, with all of his heart, that he will look back on his years in the Japanese educational system and find absolutely nothing positive to remember. It hadn’t started well, to be honest, being told he would amount to nothing when he was a mere four-year-old boy, one who had grown up in a society where the greatest hero Japan had ever produced continuously preached that anyone could be a hero, was a hard blow to Izuku’s worldview. And yet, it had somehow managed to go downhill from there.

All of his friends turned their backs on him, before deciding the quirkless boy was the best target anyone could ask for, and turning their quirks back around on him. Izuku had spend the time between four and eight years old as the perfect test dummy for the other kids to learn how to regulate their quirk usage. And how couldn’t they take advantage of such an opportunity? A dummy that reacts realistically to their blows, who no one will care about if they rough it up a bit too much, who no one will believe or side with (except for his parents, but Midoriya Inko and Midoriya Hisashi have never been wealthy, and while the world may worship Quirks, money is and has always been needed to grease the wheels of justice if a person is not as inherently valuable as their quirk, so Izuku’s bruises, burns, and occasional fractures were treated by a doctor Hisashi knows well enough to receive a discount).

And ṱȟ̘̪̚ĕ̡͖̥͒̃n̫̣͕͊͑͆ ̢̾ḩ͖̽̽ę̳͓̼̠̖͚͊̔̉́͂̌̅͘ͅ ̟͍̺̺̀̆͑̍̇͢͟͞ṭ̫̊̐ȕ̧̡̘̭̬͈͓̙̱͑͛̃̈͋͑͐̒̇͟͜͜͝r̲̝͓̹̙̠̜͚͉̗͈͈̈̑̏̓̿̿͋̑̕͝n̙̞̭̉̏͑̍͢e̻̠̠̫̙͖̭͔̖̓̋̄̅̇̂̏͘̚ḓ̢̡̨̝̣̮̅̂̈̓̄̊̀̀ͅ ̡̡̨͔͙̜̺̖̯͍̟̞͔̼͎̮̺̓͛̀́̊͗̋̀͌͛͐̓̋̎̆͗͡ǹ̛̺̳͖̟͍̦̦̘̹͐̊̅̅̋̆̆i̛̙̖͔̭̥̹̣͋̓̇͘͝n̨̧̨̠͓̭̪͍̩̥̱͍͚̠̱̭͋͐̈́̉̉̌̿̀̇̽̃̐̊̈̎̕͢͢͝e̤̗͑͌͞͝ͅͅ.̢̢̢̧͇̗͕̲̰̝͙̭̯̜̫̣̊̈̄̆̃̓͗̓̔͑̎̓̂̔͂͘͟͞.̢̢͎͖̖̫͍̣̹̹̳̯͍͇̰̤̪̞̮̀͂͆̉̏̑͒̎̆̋͛̐̾́̍͑͌͢͢͝͝͝͞ͅ.͓́

Izuku shakes his head and returns to his lunch-time cloud-watching. It’s a peaceful pastime he’d taken up when he first came to this school and found he could access the roof during lunches. Lidded green eyes trace shapes from the cloud formations as they shift and dance in the sky, and Izuku fantasizes about being just as light and moveable as the clouds. “Soon,” and familiar voice rings in the back of his head as he fantasises, “you are not ready yet, but soon.”

Izuku scowls at the memory before pushing it from his mind. He has about thirty minutes left of peace to relax and enjoy the breeze before he has to endure Eigo-sensei’s droning lecture on English conjugation that will make Izuku want to rip his eyes out while simultaneously turning himself into a pile of ash.

‘Huh,’ Izuku blinks as a cloud shaped like a sword drifted past, ‘Haven’t had those in a while…’

The screeching of rusted hinges and the slam of a metal door on concrete wakes the boy from his revery, and he tilts his head down from where it’s leaning against the top of the bench’s backrest to take a look at who’s barged into his little relaxation time. He is surprised to find that it’s the girl who seemed to share his preference for isolated roof lunches, and whom he’d helped yesterday in the janitor’s storage closet. Normally, the girl was more discrete than this, drifting from place to place with that quiet invisibility that came from years at the bottom of the food chain. Barging in and slamming doors was such an unexpected thing to see from her that at first, he wondered if he hadn’t confused the person who was now making their way towards his bench with someone else.

‘Nope,’ he thought as he observed the girl, ‘definitely her.’

His next thought was if she was being chased, and her loud entry into his peaceful territory was a sign of hurry and desperation overclouding her usual quiet habits. Green eyes looked behind the girl towards the now closed metal door, wating for it to swing open and reveal some unwanted guests to his rooftop that he would have to chase away like with a broom.

However, the doors stayed stubbornly shut, and Izuku blinked, thoroughly confused. He couldn’t fathom why his roof-lunch partner was behaving so abnormally. Theories ranging from the probable to the insane, from complex middle-school Machiavellian plots to being replaced by vampire-shape-shifters, though that last one might have been due to the influence of the abundance of terrible (and ancient) horror movies he’d been binging last week between training sessions. He didn’t fully understand why he found them so entertaining. He’d just started one out of boredom and maybe curiosity, then another had popped up as recommended on the site he used, and before he knew it, he had lost two days and been dragged down the rabbit hole of–

His train of though was brutally derailed by a black box being shoved into his face, smacking lightly into his mask and sending him reeling backwards in surprise. He heard a gasp followed by what was probably a stuttered apology but had turned into something incomprehensible. Izuku stared at the box in front of his face, then the hands holding it up. He followed the arms connected to the hands until he was looking into the dark eyes of a familiar girl. Hikari Amaiko. His roof-lunch acquaintance, who had just done the equivalent of smacking him in the nose with what he realised was probably a bento box.

He stared at her. Hikari’s beet-red face stared back. If this was an attack, he had to admire the creativity and how ballsy it was, if not its effectiveness. Brained by small metal box. He truly would have never seen this coming.

Dark eyes looked away first, and Izuku blinks.

“So-Sorry about th-that, Midoriya-kun! I-I-I swear I didn’t mean to do that! I was just trying to giveittoyoubutIgotnervousand–” The girl devolved into stuttered muttering that made less and less sense as time went on and her nerves grew visibly worse. Izuku blinked again, and frowned slightly. ‘What the fuck is going on here?’

The black-haired girl startled herself out of her mumble-storm and somehow managed to blush more, before she coughed into her elbow and held out the box again, this time at a safe distance away from Midoriya’s face, though he kept a wary eye on it. “I… This is a gift. A thanks! For what you did for me yesterday. Um, I just… uh, it’s…” Her face twisted as she tried to find the right words. Izuku stared at her, patiently. Finally, she sighed and shook her head. A wry smile played across her lips; her cheeks having returned to their normal shade but for the lightest tinge of pink.

“I noticed that you don’t really eat very much during lunchtime, or, uh, ever. Really. So, I just… I thought… Well, I… Darn it, I made you this! So that you don’t go hungry, and as a sign of my gratitude!” She managed to hold the box out further into his space, and Izuku leaned back out of caution. Interpreting this as reluctance, Hikari panicked, and hastily opened up the top of the box. “Wait! Wait! I tried really hard to make it, and people always tell me my cooking’s really good!” She beamed as she opened the box and presented its content to the startled boy, before she added in a whisper he just barely caught. “When they don’t just throw it away, at least…”

Deciding to mind his own business and attend to the present, Midoriya shelved that last comment and peered into the box. A deep-fried breaded veal cutlet, egg, rice, and various vegetables stared back at him. Memories flooded him as he stared longingly at the tastiest looking Katsudon he’d seen in literal years, and he was filled with a great rage and a great sorrow for what had been lost. The golden crispiness of the breaded veal cutlet lay tantalisingly on the softest bed of white rice he’d seen in recent memory, and he was lost in its gaze. It felt like reuniting with an old friend, an old lover even. His muse was being dangled in front of him and all that was stopping him from indulging himself in this most wonderful of gifts was the pesky little thing called reality. The dreaded bars between himself and his lost love like the visitation room of a prison, dangling ecstasy just an inch out of reach.

Annoyance overcame awe as he felt his stomach rumble, and Izuku frowned. Normally one nutrient pack was enough to fill him for lunch, two if he exerted himself a bit more, but now Izuku’s body was crying for nourishment, and that pissed him off. He tore his gaze away from the delicious meal to glare at the girl. Why was she doing this? Was she taunting him? Offering him his greatest desire and laughing in his face when he couldn’t accept it? Snake. Demoness! How dare she–

“I-I j-just thought we could a-actually eat t-together, for once. Ya know? I-I mean… it’s, uh, a bit cold now… But! But I figured, with your quirk and all, that that would be a problem?” Her stutter had returned in the face of his glare, and her smile had wobbly, forcing her tone to tilt up into more of a question near the end. He searched her face, her eyes for any sign of deceit. Any tiny glint of maliciousness he could take and prove that this was all a cruel joke and he could move on with his life after he incinerated this treasure for daring to dangle itself just out of reach.

Which made it all the more baffling when all he found was an earnestness so pure it chased away his annoyance like a light fog faced with the first rays of the morning sun. It probably would have even made his jaw drop. Probably.

‘Fuck… she’s being genuine, isn’t she.’

Now, at the beginning of the year, Izuku might be certain that he would never enjoy his time in school, but that doesn’t mean he had believed that he would never be utterly fucking perplexed by the kids who navigated it with him –when they didn’t just straight up infuriate him with their existence, that is.

But this… Izuku just didn’t have the words. All he could do was stare at this girl, who stared right back with a smile that was a smidge less wobbly than before. Izuku blinks.

‘Surely not…’

He stares hard at this girl, his expression flat, and she stares back, her smile starting to tremble on the edges. Slowly, hesitantly, he raises one of his hands to his face, and taps on the heavy metal mask that hides everything below the bridge of his nose. He’d gotten a newer model recently which significantly reduced the system’s bulk, but that reduction was mainly in the chest piece. Power systems had been reduced in size as well as certain life-support systems, all of which were now fitted into what could essentially be called a small backpack. A metal-grey tube connected the bottom of the mask to the systems over his shoulder, and the whole apparatus was a tad quieter now compared to how heavy his breathing sounded with the previous system. Eventually, his doctor was hoping to fit all the systems into a mask and neck brace, doing away with the backpack bullshit entirely.

(And oh, how Izuku longed for that day.)

In the meantime, Midoriya was stuck with a classmate who seemed to be going through the five stages of grief in reverse, if those five stages were confusion, realisation, shock, mortification, and the cherry-red blush of embarrassment as the –heh– cherry on top of the five-layer cake to celebrate making a memory that her brain would torment her with in her most peaceful moments for the rest of her life. Izuku would know. He still woke up in a cold sweat remembering that time he was six and went to a Hero-con event, only to loudly proclaimed that he would be the hero Mighty Boy to a whole panel of professional heroes during question time.

In other words, Izuku could empathise with her situation. Slightly.

In any case, watching Hikari realise that Izuku can’t actually eat will provide him with a few seconds of entertainment.

“I-I-I-I’m so, SO sorry, Midoriya-kun! I d-didn’t know that… I should have realised that… I meant to say…” He watched on, bemused as she stumbled through the beginning of at least five excuses before her shoulders slumped as she deflated. He could hear her disappointment oozing into her next words. “I’m really sorry, Midoriya-kun. I should have realised that food wasn’t a good gift for you. I just wanted to thank you for what you did yesterday. You didn’t have to help me… N-Not that I didn’t appreciate it! A-And you offering to w-w-walk me home afterwards was really above and beyond what you could have done, so… thank you again, for that. It’s just…” She frowned; her black eyes locked onto the cement of the roof as she thought. But Izuku understood.

Quirkless people couldn’t expect help from anyone. It would be foolish and dangerous to do so. Thinking that you would receive aid from the very population that tormented you was fucking foolishness of the highest order, and would only lead to more hurt in the end. Izuku knew this. He knew this intimately. Life isn’t fair, and men are not born equal. Lessons that sometimes took decades to learn, Izuku had learned at a doctor’s appointment at the age of four and a half, and again at the age of nine. He knew the world wasn’t as balanced as it liked to portray itself.

Which is why Izuku’s hand went up, silencing Hikari as she started to spiral, and Izuku, remembering how she had actually answered the last time he had signed to her, spoke to a classmate for the second time in the last three to four years. The fact that it was the second time in the last two days didn’t escape him either.

[Don’t worry about it.] Izuku hesitated for a second, before continuing. [Katsudon is my favourite, so, even if I can’t actually eat it, thank you.]

Hikari’s eyes seemed to widen further and further as he went on, and Izuku worried she was going to faint when he actually signed ‘thank you’

[You can have it, since you worked so hard on it. I feel like eating a bit more anyways.]

Ignoring her stuttered excuses, Izuku reached into the bag he had resting on the ground beneath his feet and pulled out his last nutrient pack, the tasteless sludge having been saved in case he spent a bit too much energy and got hungry during the day.

In other words, for times like these.

Well… not entirely like these. Izuku isn’t dumb enough to claim he’d have predicted this in a million years, but… he has a feeling. Not just a feeling, but a feeling. It thrums like the chord of a bass guitar or the note of a one-person choir in his chest, low and quiet and barely in the range of human hearing. It is inaudible, incomprehensible, imperceivable… and yet, Izuku feels the metaphysical vibrations travel outwards, over his heart and his lungs, through his muscle and bone, broken as they may have been, yet reforged through grit and love. The note reaches his flesh where it leaves gooseflesh on the surface of his skin. It is a tuneless note and a stringless chord, a noiseless sound that yet reaches his ears and whispers sweet comforts.

“Trust, darling. It will get better, but that only happens if you let them.”

He shivers involuntarily, having paused when his hand reached the feeding tube stuffed into a side pocket of his bag. His roof companion sits beside him, ignorant of his hesitation, staring at the meal she had spent hours researching and cooking as thanks for a rare act of kindness on her behalf. Now, Amaiko is eating it herself, and she admits she feels a guilty pleasure. She put a lot of work into this, and she wasn’t lying when she said she was a good cook. It still smells heavenly despite being cold, and she saw the flash of longing in the green-haired boy’s eyes, vanishing as soon as it appeared, like a summer storm.

She watches her companion, now. Before she had merely glanced at him, nerves forcing her sight away from him lest she incur his frightful glare, but now, she takes the time to truly observe Midoriya Izuku. She starts from the top, at the mop of curly hair, starting with a green so dark it’s nearly black at the roots, before lightening to a forest green near the tips. The sides and back of his head are cut only slightly shorter than the top, though it seems he hasn’t had a trim in a while, and what was once clearly shaved has since grown back.

Her eyes wonder past his face, she will save it for last, and, anyways, whenever she does actually build to courage to look at him, Amaiko tends to focus on his eyes anyways. A habit, one picked up through necessity and advice long memorised. A mouth will lie, a body will posture, but the eyes are a window to the soul, if you want your enemies’ true thoughts, stare into their eyes, and see what lurks therein. It takes a true monster to deceive with the eyes, and Amaiko wants to believe, just this once, that the boy who helped her is not a monster. So, she will save his eyes, and his face, for last. Once she’s finally gotten a good look.

Lower down gets her to his uniform jacket. He never wears a tie, and the top few buttons of shirt are always undone, showing the metal neck brace off to the world, but that’s not what she’s looking at. Her eyes follow the pattern of warped synthetic fibres, from his shoulders, down to the ends of his sleeves. They are the leftover signs of his lapse in control, or when a glare wasn’t good enough to scare someone away and the temperature had risen just this side of unbearable. It seems the navy-blue school jacket isn’t equipped to handle such fluctuations, and she smiles a bit when she thinks of all the spots on his white shirt that must have been burned brown, or simply through, when he wants to make a point. She supposes that’s why he wears the jacket, to hide all the holes in his clothes, and the dark blue hides the burn marks well.

Her eyes linger on the ends of his sleeves, curled back slightly from repeated exposer to high temperature and burned to a point of becoming a brittle, crackling mess in some places. The sight reminds her uncomfortably of her own sleeves, frayed and torn from that awful habit she had whenever she’s nervous (which is always), and her hands just need to find something to do, and that something just so happens to be pulling on the threads of her clothes until she pulls them apart, which she then can’t replace because school clothes are expensive and she lives on a budget.

So, yeah… she supposes she understands destroying one’s clothes without meaning to. The thought that they have that in common, at least, makes her smile sadly.

 His trousers are in a similar state to his jacket, if slightly less burned. The hems are worn from the friction with his shoes and some parts look like they were sewn back together, but, overall, it is the most well kept of his clothing.

His shoes are another matter. Dark, dull things, she can see the soles and toes of the heavy boots are thicker than what is to be expected from such a thing, and her mind immediately wanders why he would wear steel-toed, steel-soled boots to school, before she shakes her head to rid herself of the ridiculous notion. ‘Why would her classmate wear combat clothing to school indeed,’ she thinks, sarcastically. ‘It’s probably specially made to be fire resistant or something, so he doesn’t risk melting the rubber or burning the fabric of normal shoes if his control slips. That makes much more sense.’ The shoes are definitely well-worn, scuffed and scratched, with pieces of dried mud from the last rainy day still imbedded in the small crevices. Out of all of his clothing, Amaiko is pretty certain they are the most expensive, while also being the most damaged.

Finally, dark eyes move upwards, gazing upon the greatest mystery in Kalaban middle-school. Amaiko’s eyes roam the complex mesh of hard steel plates and dull plastic fittings, watching on with a detached king of fascinated horror as Midoriya pulls a thin rubber tube from his bag, twists and pops open a hatch, then proceeded to force the tube in, twist it, then connect the other end with a packet of paste. A click and a whirr from the mechanisms integrated into his mask herald the start of the process, and the content of the packet is slowly pulled out, into the tube, and then disappears behind hard steel plates and dull plastic fittings.

She sits, entranced by the process, forgetting her own meal. She thinks of what this means, this process that Midoriya needs to endure. Sometime, somehow, Midoriya was hurt. Hurt so badly that he can no longer live without a portable life support system. He can’t even eat on his own.

(She wonders if he can even breathe without it.)

It’s a sobering thought. Even someone as strong as Midoriya can be hurt, can be brought low. No one is invincible, no matter what manner of power they may have been granted at birth.

As cruel as it may be, the thought brings a flicker of satisfaction to her heart, before shame buries it. ‘All men may not have been created equal,’ she thinks, eyes tracing the bits of scar tissue that peek from behind the mask and neck-brace, ‘but there’s always a bigger fish that will come and eat you.’ But her satisfaction doesn’t last long, and the hint of a smile growing on her face dies immediately. ‘But why did it have to happen to someone as nice as him.’ She wonders if the world is just that cruel, but, before she can fall into whatever philosophical musings that thought inspires, she feels a prickle on her skin.

Amaiko’s eyes shoot up, and eyes so dark they’re nearly black meet ones filled with green fire burning at a simmer. Perhaps not an inferno right now, but always just a step away from erupting, and will never extinguish. Blood rushes to her cheeks as she looks down to her food. She can’t believe she was just caught staring! How long was he looking?! Does he think she’s staring at his mask?! Is he self conscious about it? Did she do something wrong?! Oh god, what is she going to–

A hand reaches out to tap her on the shoulder, and, on reflex, she flinches. Glancing back to the boy sharing the bench with her, she sees Midoriya’s brows furrow in concern, before he retracts his hand and leans back against the bench. He goes back to his cloud-watching, the whirring and clicking of the machinery in his mask acting like white noise to block out the sounds of the world around them. Cars no longer drive by, honking their horns obnoxiously, and the ever-present hub-dub of a middle school’s main building vanishes from the peripheral of their perception as well. Amaiko leans back against the bench, enjoying the company, the background noise, and the food that she again pats herself on the back for.

She realises, belatedly, that this is the most peaceful she has ever felt while on school property. She’s not worrying about how close their next lesson is, or someone’s left nasty messages for her in her locker or on her desk (she hasn’t gotten any red spider lilies recently, which is nice, though a little suspicious). Amaiko doesn’t even worry about whether or not she’ll run into Kusabara and her posse today, but still gets a shiver up her spine as she thinks of the girl, but Amaiko forces it away as she relaxes against the bench, closing her now finished bento.

She’d worry about all that later. For now, she’d just enjoy the moment.

Hikary Amaiko turns her head to the side to observe the greenette next to her.

‘He looks really peaceful when he’s up here.’ She thinks, before blinking.

(Since when was she able to read him like that?)

Midoriya, for his part, enjoys the breeze. He enjoys the way the cool air feels on his exposed skin, dragging his mind away from the ever-present barrier between where he can feel the cool wind, and where he can feel nothing at all. It’s a weird kind of dysphoria. Logically, he knows there is something there, he can touch it, and where he still has nerves, he can feel it. But, in the areas where the nerves are long gone, there is only a void. He can feel that it’s there –his hands still work, after all – but he can’t feel it.

And that… makes all the difference.

Unfortunately, not even his favourite breeze is distracting enough to shield him from the prickling sensation of eyes on his skin, and he opens his own to meet those of the girl he’s sharing the bench with. Quickly, Hikari averts her gaze, staring down at the concrete. Usually, that would be enough. A stare, a small glare, maybe even a slight use of his quirk even they were more persistent. But, in this case…

He supposes that in this case, the one who offered him his favourite food as thanks –as misguided an effort that might have been– deserved… maybe a bit more.

[What?]

The girl startles and stares at him, dark eyes wide and mouth slightly slack. “I-I’m sorry?” Her voice hitches up an octave, an impressive feat for someone whose voice is already rather high.

Izuku furrows his brows.

[I know you were staring at me.] She flushes and looks away again, and Izuku sighs, frustrated. Waving at her, he gets her to look back at him again. [So, what is it?]

She stares at him –again– doing a convincing impression of a fish out of water –again– before she starts stammering denials and apologies –again. Izuku rolls his eyes, mentally throwing his hands up in the air in defeat, before the girl seems to gather her courage, and faces him properly, her mouth in a hard line and her eyes staring into his. It’s an impressive attempt at a determined façade, but Izuku can still see the nervous sweat on her forhead.

“I’ve been wondering… well, I’m pretty sure everyone’s been wondering but… um, well, it’s just that… ugh!” Shaking her head, she forces out the next few words in a rush. “I know it’s impolite, and please don’t feel like you owe me an answer, but I was curious about why you wear a mask?” Her voice cracked as the question ended, and she averted her gaze from his eyes. This time, though, she was shaking slightly, her nerves having caught up with her.

Izuku froze, then frowned. It was bound to happen eventually, he supposed. It was kind of impressive this bundle of nerves was the one to actually ask. Well, he could give an answer.

[Villain attack.] He wanted to clench his teeth. He turned his head away from her to stare forwards. (He could see flashes of light in the corner of his eyes feel the heatheathothothotnopleasehelpmeheLPME–)

His eyes narrowed as he stared into the distance, hands closed into fists so tight his knuckles had gone white. His quirk strained against its leash, but he quashed it with his will. He wasn’t that weak. Not anymore. He would master his quirk, tame these flames. They would be his.

“Oh…” She didn’t know quite what to say to that. She stared at the empty bento in her lap for a while, before looking back up. “… Did the heroes catch them?”

For a few seconds, Midoriya didn’t move, didn’t blink, she didn’t even think she heard him breathe. Worry started to leak in. crevices. Had she gone too far? Had her question been too intrusive? He would have told her so, right? Right?

Then, Midoriya started moving again, a short burst of movement to finish her rather forward line of questioning.

[No.]

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

…

[Me too.]

…

…

“Well, uh, I-I think it looks pretty cool, ya know? I-It’s k-kinda got that sci-fi feel to it, so… I think it’s pretty neat!”

At that, Midoriya just stopped. Frozen in a glacier of pure disbelief. ‘Cool?’ He stared at her unabashedly, eyes wide. He didn’t know what to say, what to think. How does one respond to someone calling the sign of your weakness ‘neat’? How does one respond when someone complements the reminder of the worst day of your life?

Izuku, simply put, was stunned beyond words, beyond thoughts. He couldn’t even muster the brain power to bring his hands up to sign a fuzzy ‘wha?’ The only thing that popped into his mind, right beside the stream of ‘cool cool cool cool’ was the inevitable thought of ‘Was that a pun?’

Admittedly, he must have been staring for a bit too long, and Hikari must have taken his staring as a sign of offence, because she hastily began to apologize for her comment, saying things like ‘insensitive’ and ‘rude’. Izuku could only stare, watching her get more and more lost in her own apologies and mumbling.

For the first time in a month, Izuku takes the time to actually take a good look at the girl with whom he shares lunchtime on the roof. By all accounts, she is painfully plain, especially in the era of quirks. She is small, lacking in any significant muscle but built more like a runner. She has shoulder length black hair, and her skin has a natural tan from days spent out in the sun. Her uniform jacket is definitely second hand, and the hems of its sleeves seem to have been pulled apart thread by thread. The only things that seem to hold the poor piece of clothing together are countless repair jobs and the spite carried by old clothes. Her shoes are the typical brown loafers worn by all middle-school girls, and her uniform skirt is of normal length, lacking the trinkets and shiny patches the other girls seem to favour at the moment. In all honesty, she would be a rather popular girl… if it were 200 years ago, and people weren’t such assholes about pointless things.

He sighs quietly, pushing away his irritation, and returns to his contemplation. Hikari has stopped rambling, growing quiet and staring into her lap. She looks like she wants the cement to rise up and swallow her, and it’s that look that makes everything click. She’s him. She is who he was three years ago. Or, maybe she’s who he would have been. In either case, now that he’s noticed it, he can’t help but want to smack himself. It was so obvious!

He glares at the cement. If he was as self-centred as some, he would have called her his foil. ‘A character whose purpose is to accentuate the qualities of another character, most often the protagonist.’ Izuku is pretty sure he read that, or saw it in a video he watched during a boring weekend. Thinking of himself as the protagonist is pretty arrogant, but the analogy works in this case. Typically, foils are the opposite of the character they emulate, and –Izuku looks Hikari up and down– they’re pretty much polar fucking opposites... but he doesn't think that's completely right.

‘Fucking hell,’ Izuku rubs his eyes. If this were a book or some shitty story, Hikari would probably fit the role of the mirror character better, with how she is a reflection of all he was and could have been.

Izuku huffs. If there is a God, they’ve got a pretty fucked up sense of humour. Making him meet such a tragic but important character on a roof is pretty messed up, but he can appreciate the symbolism.

Wait, what?

The noise he makes is apparently enough to startle Hikari. She looks up and stares at him, wide eyed and slack jawed. Finally, once she manages to formulate and articulate sentence, and, between the squeaks and cracks of her voice, her words are nearly whispered. “Did… Did you just laugh?”

They’re said so quietly, like speaking any louder could shatter whatever spell she believes has been cast upon him. Just for that thought, he huffs again.

Her look of disbelief morphs into a wide smile. “You did! You laughed! I didn’t you could! Well obviously, you can, you just did and even people who can’t speak can laugh, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before!”

Her excitement makes him huffs again. It’s the best he can manage in his condition, because he doesn’t think a wheeze would be as awe or joy-inspiring as apparently seeing him do the equivalent of and amused breath apparently is.

“There it is! You actually did it!”

Every time he ‘laughs’ she just gets more excited, which makes him laugh again. It’s a cycle of joy that keeps them up until the final warning bell for class rings, and she scrambles down the stairs to avoid a lecture for being late, despite the fact that Izuku has no plans to run, and ends up sauntering into class a full seven minutes after the bell rings. For his trouble, he gets no more than a quick “Please find your seat, Midoriya” before he’s let off the hook.

Despite this reminder of the unfairness of the world, he feels… ok. He hasn’t laughed that much in years, even if it was barely a laugh. He feels better for it, lighter. He knows that school will keep being a drag, and the people will test his patience, but maybe it won’t be all bad.

He throws the thoughts of foils and mirrors into the furnace in his chest, letting the ashes dance in the breeze of his mirth, no matter how fleeting it will be. He’s not even sure he got those right, anyway, and, in the end, they don’t matter. The real world isn’t constrained by narrative norms. It’s a free agent that moves without strings to patterns weirder than anyone could ever conceive, dancing to a tune of its own design. It can be terrifying, knowing that one has so little control, but, for now, Izuku wouldn’t mind enjoying the party. Even if just for a little while longer.

He registers, later, when as he’s putting on his night-time respirator and has just finished getting ready for what is most likely going to be a very short sleep, that he never finished looking at her eyes. He knows they’re dark, brimming with the shadows of horrors uncountable and endless sadness, a still pool of misery kept stagnant by resignation, but Izuku realises quite violently that he doesn’t know what colour Hikari Amaiko’s they are.

With a shrug, he finishes getting ready for bed, and promises that he’ll correct that mistake tomorrow.

In the night, the terrors come, and they feast on the mind and the soul and the memories. They feast on Love and Safety and, without that base, they feast on kindness as well. Tonight, those terrors feast on that promise, and Midoriya Izuku will wake having forgotten something important…

.̖̿.͉̤̲̹̊̈́̈͡.̻͂ ͈̕o͈͊ń̞̰̺̏͊c͖̞̗͉̒͒͆̕ȩ̛̠͗ ̡̬̩͐̋͡ǎ̬̩̦͙͛̾͞g̠̝͌̀a̫i̛̼̜̖̙̓̇̀͢͝n͓͎̣̮̾̌̉͝.

Midoriya Izuku is a boy betrayed by a system meant to nurture and protect him, and he has learned that trust is a resource that must not be shared freely. So, yes, he decides, he has accepted that he would look back on his time in the Japanese educational system with anger and disdain. But maybe, just maybe, among the piles of hate and contempt, there will be buried some nuggets of good worthy of remembering.

Just… maybe…

Chapter Text

Two shoes hit the pavement, half a beat out of synch, marching to places unknown to them. A journey they travel as partners, and yet the tales they tell could not be more different.

One is a tennis shoe, old in every way that matters. Once upon a time, it must have been white, but that is now but a distant memory. Worn and battered, this shoe tells stories of puddles stepped in and mud slipped on. The outsole is worn down, specifically in the areas of the ball and heel of the foot. It tells of long periods of continuous use, of dead sprints over concrete and tarmac, or daring escapes through bushes and bramble. It is an imperfect shoe, a shabby hand-me-down that, against all odds, managed to fit the foot that wears. It was a flimsy thing during its creation, and it remains a flimsy thing to this day. Yet, with the impudence of an ant challenging God to a fistfight, it ignores this and wears the scars of its service for all to see.

The other is a boot. Black and heavy, it is designed and built to stand the test of time and endure as much abuse as possible and it shows. Gouges have been taken out of the thick material, covered up with black ink or custom repair jobs. The toe and heel are reinforced, and the rubbery material of the sole is denser that it first seems, and yet parts of it seem to have been attacked by fire, melted and deformed in a way constant use simply can’t do. In contrast to its relatively fragile companion, made to go on flat, even surfaces, this piece of footwear is made to go through things and leave more damage than it takes. It is a tough shoe, a subtle promise of potential violence for those observant enough to see it, made all the more effective by its owner.

Then the sneaker lands in a puddle, and Hikari somehow vocalises the last noises of a strangled squirrel. She tries to pull her foot out of the trap she stupidly walked right into, but she does so too late, and the puddle floods the old shoe, soaking her sock and foot in icy-cold water. Hopping around on one foot, trying to get through the shock of having her foot turned into a block of ice by Mother-Nature’s own pitfall, she sighs. This is just typical. She knew her day had been going too well. She hadn’t gotten locked in any more closets, and had only had two encounters with her main bully, Kusaraba, today. Which was amazing!

One had been when Hikari was on her way to the cafeteria to pick up her lunch, and Kusaraba had been going the other way. Truly, she was lucky the other girl seemed to be in a hurry; all Amaiko got was a trip in the hallway that landed her on her face. The second had been less benign, and had ended with a dented locker, curtesy of a boy with rock-knuckles that Kusaraba had convinced to “join in on the fun”, and more fire damage to the school, curtesy of an… irritated Midoriya… who had apparently been waiting for her?

What?

So, now, here she was. Hopping around, trying in vain to shake the water out of her sock, after walking part of the way home from school with Midoriya… which was still something she was wrapping her head around, despite the fact that they had already done it before. Multiple times before.

Looking up from her predicament, she met the bemused gaze of her green haired companion as he watched her struggle, and rolled her eyes as he huffed a laugh. This was something new, something definitely odd from an outsider’s perspective, but something she had come to appreciate. Since her failed attempt at a gift on the roof, the two had gotten to be more casual around each other. And by that, she means that she is no longer at risk of going grey from stress when talking to him, and he actually acknowledges her presence when she gets to the roof instead of just ignoring her. Now, a month and a half later, they could sit together on the same bench, each eating in their own way, as she talked about whatever was interesting to her that day, and Midoriya sat back and listened. It was nice. And new.

Sometimes though, she did worry that she had put him to sleep, only for him to open his eyes when she went quiet, looking to her to check why she had stopped. Which made her feel… weird? Nice? She didn’t really want to think about what that said about her.

In any case, after a bit more pitiful hopping and a vow of revenge against the puddle, Midoriya rolled his eyes, then nodded his head to the side. Amaiko looked, and saw that he was indicating a park that she had somehow missed on their walks from the school, despite the fact that they had taken the same route as all the other times.

‘Wait…’

She blinked, staring at the park, with the name “Canto Park” written in artfully twisted steel bars welded above the entrance. This couldn’t be real. This had to be some kind of joke! How did she miss this! This had to be a dream, o-or an illusion quirk, or something.

‘What?!’

Her eyes travelled down, and she had to read the words “Don’t feed the ducks. They Bite” before she sighed, and realised that she had somehow, inexplicably, completely missed a whole entire park in her area of the city. Despite having walked down this road for literal months!

‘I… Okay, fine, I guess…’

Accepting the fact that she was blind, she followed behind Midoriya, her every other step making a squelching sound that made her cringe. The feeling of wet sock certainly didn’t help matters, either.

They reached a bench, and Amaiko took off her soaked sock and shoe, placing them next to her in a patch of light from the sun. Across the bench from her, she watched as Midoriya sat down, placing his bag between his legs, before lazily lounging into the wood and metal seat. He seemed content to just sit and enjoy the post-rain weather. It was certainly peaceful.

She shivered slightly as the cool breeze hit her bare foot, the cold air leaving a stinging sensation on the skin still wet from the puddle.

Midoriya slouched further into his seat, resting his head against the backrest of the bench and enjoying the rare rays of sunlight peeking through the post-rainstorm clouds. Discretely –so much so that had she not been sitting next to him, Amaiko wouldn’t have noticed it– he just barely activated his quirk, chasing away the chill that had been setting around them now that they had stopped moving. Coincidentally, he was being careful to adjust the temperature just enough so that, in heating the air around himself to a comfortable degree, the water-logged shoe and sock would slowly dry, but would hopefully avoid the unfortunate end of destruction via being set on fire. That would be… less than ideal, and she had very limited choices when it came to footwear, but she had faith in his control over his quirk.

(Instances of the temperature in a room suddenly rising because someone had annoyed him flashed through her mind, and she decided that she mostly had faith in his control. Mostly.)

…

She could probably live with it.

(She couldn’t, but, well, what could she do.)

Amaiko sent him a small smile, before deciding to follow his example. Pulling her legs up onto the bench, she rested sideways across it, leaning back against the bench’s armrest and stretching across the length of the seat. Slowly, she inched her cold, wet foot closer to the dozing Midoriya, hoping to leech a bit of the heat he was producing.

It was pure genius, she must say.

However, as she neared full the extension of her leg, and her foot just about entered the concentrated bubble of heat, Midoriya opened one eye, and she froze. Both literally and figuratively as he shut off his quirk, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, turned his head towards her. Amaiko could swear, up and down, that he was doing it on purpose, turning at such a snail’s pace that she was sure that she would be able to hear the muscles and bones in his neck creak like a door on rusted hinges if she listened closely enough.

Then, green eyes were staring into her own, and she just stopped. Her mind started racing as the silence dragged on, old fears and anxieties rising up despite the fact that she knew that Midoriya wouldn’t hurt her. They had spent literal weeks together in Kalaban middle school as either the only other human tolerated, or the only other person trusted to have no intent to harm.

They had spent countless lunchtimes alone on the roof together, and she had always walked away from those feeling safe. Midoriya and her had walked part of the way home together just as many times, and she had always walked the rest with a lighter heart when they eventually parted ways. She knew that she felt good around the green-haired boy, that, despite the often-one-sided conversation, she never felt threatened, or even that she was just being tolerated. When she spoke about the stray cats she had met or a particularly annoying literature test, Midoriya was always listening, paying attention to what she said, even when it looked like he wasn’t. When she spent time with him, she learned what it was like to actually feel human for once, and not just that one quirkless girl people either ignored or practiced cruelty on.

And, well, she liked it.

As for Midoriya, well…

She knew at least that he didn’t hate her, and that he bore not enmity towards her in general. She wouldn’t go as far as to say they were friends, per-se, but more like she’s there, and sometimes she makes him laugh. So, she thinks that Midoriya at least enjoyed her company, and didn’t mind her habits.

He is polite, patient, and calm when they interact. He has helped her escape from Kusaraba and her gang, and he saved her from the closet, despite there being no obvious benefit to him, and despite the fact that it was just stupid, little, Kachi that was the one in trouble.

He’s helped her. He’s saved her.

And she’s grateful for everything he’s done.

But, sometimes, in all those hours spent together, hours where they ate together in comfortable silence, walked home together, or did late homework on the roof together, she’ll forget. She’ll forget that under that mask and respirator, under those eyes that shine green like twin suns, there is a thing that people in her school avoid by design. She’ll forget, between jokes and quips, peace and quiet, in the seconds between the sound of an inhale and an exhale passing through his mask, nestled somewhere in the eons it takes English to finish, there lives a boy with a rage that threatens to drown the world in scorching flames. A rage that seems to be set off at the slightest twitch of a trigger.

And on those days, when she is reminded of whom she has chosen to try and befriend, of whom exactly sits next to her very quirkless and very mortal shell on a daily basis, she can’t help but let instincts as old as her last official doctor’s visit crawl their way out of her soul and scream at her to flinch and cower and beg forgiveness when she feels the heat fall away and sees green as hard as emerald.

Perhaps, when she is calm, she would appreciate the irony that someone not using their quirk near her was cause for alarm, but, for now, those alarms are blaring in her skull and she feels like the little quirkless girl again.

But the fear passes as Midoriya rolls his green eyes that see so much more than they show, and he looks away with a huff. A second later, the heat returned, and the last of Amaiko’s muscles untensed as she felt the bubble of heat expand further outwards to cover the whole bench.

She chuckles in turn, though not ungratefully. ‘Softy.’

Deeper within, though, she feels guilt bubbling and churning like oil in her gut, and she curses herself silently. She knows that Midoriya wouldn’t hurt her! He hasn’t so far, and he’s had plenty of opportunity to do so! Motive wouldn’t even matter when people caught a glimpse of his quirk and the power sleeping under his skin, so he could do whatever he wanted and Amaiko would just have to bear it. Would have to tolerate the world shifting around them to accommodate the whims of a kid born lucky.

But… He didn’t. He’s been kinder to her than anyone she’s known in years, in fact, and she saw the glint of hurt in his expression before it had been expertly hidden with an eyeroll and a huff. Midoriya had seen her fear. Her fear of him. And he’d chosen not to bring attention to it, to move on without argument.

‘He really is a softy.’

Unfortunately, Amaiko knows her anxiety will torture her with this interaction later, and Midoriya has proved that he doesn’t mind most of her questions. The ones he does, he tends to shut down, albeit relatively gently.

Amaiko clears her throat, and speaks. “So-Sorry about, um, that. I-I-It’s just that I, uh, don’t usually… It’s–”

Midoriya interrupts her with a raised hand. [Don’t worry about it. I get it.]

And its times like these that the green-haired boy perplexes Amaiko, because she can see in his eyes that he does get it. He understands why she flinches at sudden movements, why loud noises make her jump, and why eye-contact makes her nervous. She’s never said it, never explicitly spoken about why those things affect her, but she shouldn’t need to. The world was a mean place, the society they lived in a Darwinian race to the top masquerading at being civilised. The strong thrived and the weak were trampled in the path of their betters. It was obvious to those who looked. She shouldn’t have to say anything.

And, with Midoriya, she didn’t. Despite what society had taught her, despite the lessons learned from her own experience that she had carved into her flesh and bone, Midoriya understood. He shouldn’t, he was strong, had a flashy quirk, and was obvious hero material. He should be steadfastly moving towards the world of Pro-Heroes, leaving people like their classmates behind as pebbles in his path, and people like her unacknowledged and forgotten entirely. The two of them couldn’t be more different.

Yet, here they were. Sharing a bench. One of countless times they’d done so. And Amaiko smiles at the boy. It’s timid, shaky, but there is the bud of something there and it shines like the first rays of morning after a typhoon and Midoriya looks back at her. “Thanks.” A single word of appreciation, too short to convey the gratitude at his continued acceptance of her, of the companionship he’s offered, of the times he’s stood up for her, but spoken with just enough emotion so that maybe, just maybe, the green-haired boy with his oh so green eyes that see so much will be able to spot the baggage that word carries.

Midoriya blinks, then nods, still staring at her. Her smile grows just that bit more confident.

The boy looks away, closing his eyes and lounging back into his seat as Amaiko chuckles and follows his example, resting against the back of the bench and the arm-rest while the artificial heat dries her stuff. The breeze blows through her shoulder-length hair and curls around the back of her neck, a cooling balm that never the less sends a shiver of cold down her spine despite the heated air.

It’s peaceful. It’s nice.

So of course, it doesn’t last when she feels something poking her leg and opens them to find Midoriya staring intently at her. She tries not to react, tries not to show the lump in her throat as twin suns bare down on her like the shine of the lamp in a dark interrogation room.

Midoriya’s hands go up, and she follows them intently with her gaze, never straying as they start to sign.

[Is it just me, or did this park come out of nowhere?]

The tension drains from her along with all the air stuck in her lungs.

“Oh thank God, I thought I was going crazy!”

[It definitely wasn’t here last time we walked by, right?]

“I…” She thinks. “I… don’t… think so? I mean, I’ve lived here for a pretty long time, and I don’t remember anything about a “Canto Park”. But, then again, locals don’t tend to explore their own areas, right?”

 Midoriya stares at the ground pensively, before replying. [No. I’m pretty sure this park just appeared today.]

“What, do you think the city contracted someone to construct it with their quirk? Or-or It’s a villain trying to lure in and trap people who wander into new places without checking it first.”

The affronted look makes her giggle, before a much more serious Midoriya says [No, I think it was something different. Something much more… dangerous.]

That sobers her up as she sits up in her seat. If Midoriya considers something dangerous, it’s basically a threat to her continued existence so she feels justifies in panicking a little, her eyes darting around the park, cataloguing potential ambush spots and escape roots as adrenaline starts creeping into her system.

Her mouth feels dry again. “A-And, w-w-what is it?”

Deadly serious, Midoriya stares into her soul as he does the equivalent of uttering the word [Faeries.]

…

“God dammit.”

She pretends not to notice the gasp he makes through the metal mask as she cradles her head in her hands. What? She should be entitled to swear at least a little bit when he worries her like that. It can only be fair. In fact, the nerve of this guy, to not only say that, but to act surprised.

‘Seriously, this boy.’ Amaiko presses her hands further into her face, perhaps trying to force them through her skull and out the back? That should be an adequate level of facepalm for a situation like this, right?

Her palms press into her eye sockets, and she can see spots through the black of her closed eyes. ‘No one will ever believe me,’ she realises with no small amount of despair. She pulls her hands away from her face and just stares blankly at the ground. ‘No one.’

She can’t help but laugh. ‘Really, what a ridiculous thing to say.’

Amaiko is so caught up in her disbelief induced laugh, that she doesn’t catch the softening of Midoriya’s eyes, or the way they crinkle as what could have been a small smile pulled on the muscles in his face.

But that was fine.

‘Faeries? Really?’

“Well… this is a bit of a conundrum, huh?”

Midoriya and Hikari stand in the rusty doorway leading to the roof, and Izuku can’t help but feel a bit betrayed. For months now, they’ve been coming up here for lunch, breaks, or just in general, to enjoy the peace and quiet that comes with isolation. It was their oasis in the turbulent sea that is life, specifically middle school life. They had trusted it to keep them secure and safe and separate from the rabble, and it had done its duty wonderfully.

Well, it probably had some help from his own reputation, but still.

But herein lies the problem. The roof, their peaceful deserted island, had been invaded. It had been invaded, the peace and balance that used to exists carelessly torn asunder by a particularly invasive species, known to bring about devastation to the ecosystem of whatever area it chooses to inhabit due to its natural tendency towards egotism and pettiness.

Namely, their oasis had been invaded by the popular girls, who had brought with them, by accident or on purpose, the actual destroyers. The cronies and the hoard of fans.

Izuku clenched his fists as he glared over the crowd, his eyes meeting the pink star-shaped ones of Kusaraba across the roof top. She smiles at him as she talks to some no-name nobody. It’s a small, sickly-sweet smile, and Izuku can practically feel the boy she’s pretending to take an interest in blush, thinking the action was for him.

It makes him want to retch.

But Izuku has eyes, and he can see the petty smugness burning in her gaze, challenging him to do… something in front of a crowd of adoring drones who’d no doubt go rabid trying to defend their queen bee.

Too bad for her, Izuku couldn’t give less of a shit about what a crowd of pathetic middle-schoolers thinks of him, and, well, if it comes down to an actual fight?

(He takes one step towards her, and the core in his chest he pictures as the source of his quirk burns with sadistic satisfaction when he sees her grow one shade paler and flinch.)

He’s beaten worse odds.

If he could, he’d grin toothily at her, and goes to take another step, when he feels something pull back on his sleeve. Looking back, he lays eyes on Hikari, and comes to a sudden, brutal realisation; what this mob thinks may not bother him, but, for the quirkless girl, having the reputation that comes with challenging the popular girl, even indirectly, would be a death sentence.

Or, at least, a guarantee of a near-death sentence. Almost certainly something painful.

And now, as he finally fully understands the situation, he looks the closest thing he’s had to a friend in years, and he can see how much she doesn’t want to be here. If the pink-eyed girl had gone pale at the sight of him stepping up to challenge her, Hikari had gone white as a sheet of paper the moment she laid eyes on the crowd occupying their spot, and had somehow managed to go several shades paler when she’d spotted Kusaraba sitting on her little makeshift throne, quickly stepping behind the taller Izuku in an attempt to hide from the bully and the crowd.

It hadn’t worked, and Hikari had definitely been spotted, if Izuku had read the gleam in Kusaraba’s eye well. The pink-eyed girl had practically forgotten Midoriya when she’d seen Hikari, her glee overtaking her self-preservation instinct in a moment of petty triumph over her favourite victim.

What was he thinking? Of course, Kusaraba had obviously planned this. Probably just to mess with Hikari by taking away her safe space, Midoriya being a volatile unknown at best, and collateral damage at worst. So, it’d make sense for her to be watching the door, waiting for her intended victim.

Izuku would applaud such a brilliant example of asymmetric warfare if it hadn’t been used as a weapon against someone he cared about, and inconvenienced him in the process. He glared more fiercely at the bully, trying to project as much of his loathing as he could through his eyes. Who knows? Maybe he’d develop a telepathy quirk if he tried hard enough. Or, best case scenario, he’d be able to use his quirk with just his glare, and Kusaraba would spontaneously combust in front of a sizeable portion of their grade.

The world may never know, as his attempt to develop heat-vision died with a whimper and a terrified tug on his sleeve.

“I don’t want to be here.” It was whispered, so quietly it was nearly lost to the din of the roof-top, whose occupants were slowly beginning to take notice of their presence, but Izuku heard it. He heard it as if the words were spoken directly into his brain.

He clenched his fists. He could still–

“Please…” it begged now. He hated how pathetic it sounded. That tone had no place coming from her. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I wanna leave. Please…”

It was still whispering, chanting nearly. A circular litany of begging and pleading and panic and fear. It broke Izuku’s heart and made his core rage with the desire to just burn. To reduce the roof and all of its trespassers to ash on the wind!

For who would dare challenge the Flame’s right to devour and destroy?

 But, Izuku breathed out. Then in. Then out again. Three times, he breathed slow breaths, stabilising breaths, centring breaths. They weren’t calming breaths, oh no. Izuku was pretty fucking far past calm. But these allowed him to regain some degree of control, and, slowly, his white knuckled fists unclenched, and the temperature of the now quiet roof dropped to something the average human would consider mildly comfortable for late winter weather.

He turned around, ignoring the irrelevant children on the roof and their obnoxious little tyrant. Ignoring the feeling of smug satisfaction that prickled the back of his neck and made the part of brain choked full of genetic memories beat its chest and brandish its fists. ‘Their time will come. For now…’

He forced the tension to drain out of his frame and caught Hikari’s attention. He could see tears pooling in the corner of her eyes, and the girl was gripping her wrist so hard he was worried she’d break it. He noticed the ends of her sleeves, already frayed through months of stress-filled tearing at the strands of fabric and the hardships that came with being quirkless in a quirk obsessed world, had become even more damaged. They were practically torn, a slit already starting to travel up her sleeve. It’d need to be fixed soon.

Dark, tearful eyes reached his own, and his mind was made up. He nodded as he walked them through the door to the roof. [You’re right. Let’s eat elsewhere. The roof’s getting kinda old anyways, and I’m down for a change in scenery. You got anyplace in mind?]

The small smile he got in return was worth the remaining prickles of a self-satisfied stare as he slammed the rusted steel door hard in its frame, rattling the ancient thing.

“W-Well, I’ve always wanted to try eating in the cafeteria,” she started, the remaining nerves slowly dropping away as the distance between them and the roof increased. “Normally it’s way too crowded and, you know… But! With all those people Kusaraba got to go to the roof, the cafeteria must be completely empty!” Her excitement was building, and he could practically see the sparkle in her eyes. It was nice, but sad too. Like a beaten animal finally daring to ask to be pet. This was what was being smothered, what people like Kusaraba and Kacchan wanted to erase from the world. All that joy over something so basic…

How d a r e they?!

Then the sparkle turned into a glint and Hikari started rubbing her hands together, giggling softly in a way unbefitting of someone supposedly so harmless. “Hehehe… I wonder if they left any extra desserts behind in their hurry? Can’t hurt to check, right? Maybe the cooks have gone on break already and we’ll be able to take advantage of their absence to loot their secret stash? Ooooh I know it’s there, I just have to–”

Izuku slowly leaned away, keeping a wary eye on the girl who was descending into muttering about diversions, heists, and “necessary sacrifices for the greater good” as the speed of her hand rubbing increased. He leaned a bit further away. He didn’t understand how people could think she was weak. The smallest scorpions have the deadliest venoms and the ones who walked hunched are most often the ones hiding the gun.

As his companion continued to revert back to her racoon heritage, mumbling about Taiyaki and “Mochi by the dozen, surely”, he amended that previous thought. Maybe it was because no one had gotten between her and her sweets before?

A boy and a girl sat outside in the shade of a tree planted to celebrate the school’s founding. The girl was gently eating the clumps of food that had spilled off of her plate and onto her tray, trying her best to salvage what food she could. The boy was leaning back against the tree with his eyes closed, ignoring the large stain on his unform jacket as his mask pumped the tasteless nutrient paste down his throat. They sat in silence, perhaps enjoying the breeze, perhaps pondering the answer to the question of life, the universe, and everything, ignorant of the fact that centuries in the past, and millennia in the future, the answer had already been given. Perhaps their time would have been better spent thinking of the great question to that answer, but that is neither here nor there.

Either way, they sat in silence, each of them eating in their own way. Quiet. Maybe even peaceful.

But peace doesn’t last.

Hikari blew a raspberry as she put down her fork “Well, that sucked.” Izuku nodded emphatically, glaring emptily at the building in front of them as the slurping sounds of his feeding apparatus filled in the silence. It had sucked. If anything, sucked was an understatement. If Izuku were forced to choose between the cafeteria and the roof in its current state, he’d have to take four to five business days to thoroughly consider his options.

In hindsight, for a school the size of Kalaban, they had vastly underestimated the total number of students… and how multiple years had lunch at the same time… and how little the staff was actually paid…

Honestly, their mission had been flawed from the start. They lacked critical information regarding the target of their expedition, and they had paid the price.

The plan had been simple enough, in theory. Go to the cafeteria, Midoriya would claim one of the empty tables left behind by the new roof-dwellers while Hikari would rush through the no-doubt diminished food line and collect her lunch, before joining back with him at their table. Then she would eat (Izuku had resigned himself to eating later, because, no matter what Amaiko said, he was not going to be “eating” in front of all of these people) and they would have a regular conversation, after which she would dispose of her tray and they would walk to their next lesson.

Simple, easy, and would give Hikari the chance to enjoy a “regular” lunch time for once in her school-lifetime. Izuku, personally, didn’t understand, but he enjoyed seeing his f– his companion so excited, so he would go along with it for her benefit.

And then the plan it a teeny, tiny, little snag.

Well, calling it a snag would be downplaying it a bit… too much. It was more like if the plan hit a snag, tripped, fell flat on its face, then tried to get up, slipped on a banana peel, and ended up going down three flights of stairs, hitting every step to the beat of “Mamma-mia” by ABBA.

So, yeah. It had a few problems.

The snag was that, when they opened the doors to the cafeteria, they discovered that their initial assumption had been wildly incorrect, or, at least, poorly informed. Due to the fact that both of them usually avoided the cafeteria like the cesspit it was, they were both relatively ignorant regarding the way it operated. Specifically, how its time-table operated.

Unlike most schools where different years had different times to eat, Kalaban had decided to stuff as many pupils as it could into one room meant for three quarters of that number, give them an hour and limited food, and told them to eat. The only way this system functioned was that a good portion of the upperclassmen snuck out of school during lunch or breaks to eat or smoke or do whatever it is they did, and the teachers were more than content to turn a blind eye. Why wouldn’t they, fewer people in school meant fewer brats for them to watch, right?

Unfortunately, Kalaban wasn’t a well-off school, and neither were its students.

This meant that, despite the number of students who snuck out, and despite the fact that Kusaraba had dragged nearly all of the girls and most of the boys in the first year up to the roof to steal their spot, the lunchroom still had a sizeable population still there, eating the cheap food and being as loud as middle-school children are wont to be when offered an hour of relatively unsupervised time to socialise.

Izuku kept his calm façade, but cringed internally as a veritable wall of noise of noise hit him the moment they opened the double-doors to the cafeteria, and he could immediately tell this was a bad idea. Most of the tables were filled with older boys and girls trying to make themselves heard over the din, turning it into a vocal arms-race of “who could be louder”. Izuku could see abandoned tray and spilled food and drink left behind by careless eaters, and he shuddered when he thought of the state of the parts of the dining hall he couldn’t see.

(Images of an endless sea of years-old gum stuck to the underneath of the table he was using at a particular pizza joint sprung to mind, only to be violently tossed back into the maelstrom of his thoughts. He didn’t need that particular trauma right now.)

He stared blankly, before turning to check on his companion. Her smile had a noticeable fragility to it now, seemingly being stuck to her face with willpower alone. Izuku could spot the tremble in her hands before she clutched onto her skirt in an effort to supress it, and decided to act. With a gentle nudge, he caught her attention and, when she glanced up at him, he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Understanding flashed across her face and she turned back to the chaotic hell of the cafeteria. She steeled herself and her expression stabilised. “Yeah… Yeah, let’s do this,” she said, before turning back to him with a smile. “Would you mind finding us a table while I grab some grub, please?”

Izuku would have pursed his lips, but instead he nodded, and they went about their missions. He wasn’t comfortable separating in an environment like this, but what she had said made sense. He wasn’t grabbing any food, and if they wanted to eat, they needed to grab some seats while there were still some available.

Lucky for him, he found some empty spots near the edges of the pandemonium. The closest people were a group of boys, who looked to be third years, locked so deeply into their own discussion they didn’t even notice Izuku as he sat down.

‘Perfect,’ he decided. Apathetic upperclassmen, and the distance of their seating from the madness of the centre of the cafeteria would mean they had a pretty good chance of being left alone, and he was close enough to the queue that Hikari wouldn’t have to walk over the coals to get to him. It was gross, the table was sticky, and he could see some stains that looked older than his dad, but it would do. It was fine. It was okay. He was okay.

They’d be fine.

‘This is not fine.’

Amaiko stood in line, waiting for her food, and felt very, very small. In front and behind her, third- and second-year boys stood, chatting loudly about sports and heroes and whatever, which would have made her anxious on a good day. What made it a little bit worse was the fact that most of them were a head and a half taller than her, if not more. It made her very aware of her size, and very aware of how vulnerable she was.

The time she had spent with Midoriya had brought her out of her shell a little, and she had felt the long-forgotten spark of companionship ignite in her a spirit and optimism she had thought lost. She hadn’t realised how much she relied on him to keep that spirit lit. Every snarky comment, no matter how jokey it may be, felt aimed at her, and every laugh felt like a blow to her will.

She thought she’d be able to ignore it. To shake off the feeling and excuse it as anxiety and nerves due to years of accrued trauma from being her peers punching bag. She had felt certain that, because theses were upperclassmen, they for sure hadn’t heard of the quirkless first year. She was sure they wouldn’t bother themselves with the happenings of the measly first years. She was so, so sure that she was safe.

Then she heard the whisper.

That damned name.

“Kachi.”

It took one word to knock her gaze to the ground and pull up her shoulders. One word. Five letters. And her world tilted on its axis.

‘They know…’

She felt nauseous.

‘They know.’

Why was the room spinning?

‘They know!’

She was gonna be–

“Hey! You gonna order, or you just gonna hol’ up the line?”

The sudden question startled Amaiko out of her spiral, and she looked up, wide-eyed, at the lunch-lady who’d asked her the question. The woman was old, her face marred with lines from a lifetime of frowning, and her nails and lips were discoloured by the cigarettes whose smell hung around the woman like a smog. The older woman’s large size, and the tattoo curling up her arm and ending on the side of her neck added to her intimidation factor as she glared down at the young girl.

Evidently, Amaiko had taken too long, and the lunch-lady’s passive glare turned into a full-on sneer. “Well?” the old lady barked, shocking the girl into action as she hastily made her order, trying her best to ignore the snickering she could hear coming from further back in the line. She failed, though, and when the older woman tossed her tray back across the counter, Amaiko snatched it up and beat a hasty retreat, trying her best to ignore her burning ears and the freezing cold gaze of the old woman’s grey eyes she could feel through her uniform.

Shaking her head, she started looking around the cafeteria, searching for her… friend? Are they friends? Would companion be more appropriate? Lunch buddy? They spend a lot of time together and they’ve even leftschooltogetherandhefollowedheronthisstupidideaand–

When she finally spots him, she can’t help but giggle a bit. Figures that if anyone would be able to find a mostly empty area in such a crowded room it’d be Midoriya. Or maybe he’d simply emptied it by virtue of being naturally scary? Whatever the case, she was secretly grateful for the space, and she started walking to join her… friend. Yes, they were friends. That felt nice. That felt right.

Friends. How she’s missed that word.

Midoriya perks up as she sets her tray down, skilfully avoiding a suspicious stain on the bench as she takes her seat opposite him. She smiles in response and digs into her food, trying her best to ignore the growing number of eyes she can feel on her, cutting into her and stripping her layer by layer to the bone.

She feels naked, exposed. But she hides her feelings behind a smile and the warmth that surrounds her friend like a cloak as she enjoys the first meal she’s eaten in a school cafeteria in what feels like forever.

She’s halfway through telling Midoriya about a new arcade opening up in the nearby mall when she’s interrupted. Something heavy collides with their table, shifting her tray and spilling her cup of water into her plate. The two of them look up to see a large upperclassman with a shaved head moving away from their table. “Woops, sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean ta bump into ya.”

Now, jellyfish are some of the oldest species on the planet, first believed to have emerged somewhere in the ballpark of 500 million years ago. Even after all of these years, its perception of the outside world is limited to a small organ around its bell called rhopalia, which allows it to perceive changes in light, movement, and direction with respect to gravity. Another known but still interesting fact, is that they are a rather simple organism, and operate under the guidance of its sensors and two separate nervous systems; one of which is a large nerve net controls swimming and a small nerve net controls all other behaviours, including feeding and spasm response, where it briefly curls into a ball. It is quite similar to a computer in that regard, where a factor is inputted, and a previously programmed reaction is played in response.

All of this to say that, despite after having developed no nose and no brain for 500 million years, even a jellyfish would have been able to smell the bullshit wafting from that apology.

She saw Midoriya’s hands curl into fists and, without thinking, reached across the table to put her hand on one. The instant skin contact was made, she witnessed something new. She saw Midoriya Izuku, first year terror, freeze, and look at her with wide eyes that gave her a good view of just how green his irises are.

Hoping in vain to hide her embarrassment, she quickly withdrew her hand and gave him a shy smile, trying to fight back the blush creeping up her neck from her thoughtless action, before muttering a simple “It’s fine. I was done anyways.” It’s a lie, and she was still hungry, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Still staring at her, he slowly nodded, before not inconspicuously eyeing the exit.

Hikari nodded, starting to stand and grab her tray, when she felt something hit her in the back of the head. She went stock still, eyes widening as she felt whatever it was seep through her hair and onto her skin, the cold, wet thing sending a shiver across her body as she felt it slowly creep down her neck and onto, then into, her top.

She wasn’t sure what it was. She could make a few guesses, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t really want to know. She just wanted to leave. She could hear snickering, muffled laughter. It echoes in the room, pressing down on her like a physical force. She didn’t want to be here anymore. This was a bad idea.

‘I don’t wanna be here I don’t wanna be here I don’t wanna be here I don’t wanna be here–’

Izuku hears it before he sees it. He hears the splat of something wet hitting its target, and seeing Hikari go very still gives him a good idea of what --or rather, who-- that target was.

The anger that had risen up when that asshole had knocked over her drink, before it was doused and turned down to a simmer by her reassurance, returned with a vengeance. His hands slammed into the metal table with all the subtlety of a punch to the face as he shot to his feet, sweeping his gaze over the crowd, searching for the perpetrator. He can feel the flames churning under his skin alongside the rage, and he’s sure that some of it is leaking through his eyes, but he can’t find it in himself to care at the moment.

His glare intensifies as does his anger, when he catches the eye of a group of boys smirking at him, unafraid. Izuku is very familiar with hierarchy. He’s been at the bottom of it for most of his life, and he’s well aware that his reputation among first years doesn’t mean shit to the older years. To his classmates, he’s someone who doesn’t talk, hates them all, and has a powerful fire quirk to boot. the people in this room, he’s an uppity underclassman who’s bought into his own hype too much, and is about to get a rude awakening to what they believe to be the reality of the world.

And Izuku can’t find it in himself to blame them for it. His terrifying reputation mostly comes from stories his classmates tell each other about him. He’s never even been in a fight at this school. To be honest, if the teachers weren’t so invested in students’ drama for the sake of their own amusement, Izuku would probably be classified as a model student with a bad attitude instead of a delinquent by the staff.

(Izuku knows the staff lump each student into a pre-determined category for fun, and he knows that he is in the “delinquent” category, and that Hikari isn’t classified at all. He knows all of this because, despite the heavy boots and the heat that seems to announce his arrival, Izuku has learned to walk quietly and merge with his surroundings when he doesn’t want to be seen. He considers it the most useful thing he learned at his old school.)

‘Well,’ Izuku’s fists clench, and the metal, already softened by the heat, warps in his grip. Izuku sees the uncertainty spark in their eyes, the hesitance in the way some of them shift in their seats and look away, and twin green suns burn with feral delight as he starts to move in their direction.

The way some of them flinch send a shrill of delight down his spine, but the way other stare back at him challengingly… now that feels even better.

‘Maybe it’s time I earn my reputation.’

He takes another step, but something in the corner of his tunnelled vision stops him dead in his tracks. He lays eyes on Hikari and his anger is quickly forgotten. She’s trembling, shaking like a leaf in the wind and her hands are moving towards her cuffs. She flinches at each laugh like it’s a physical blow and, despite the way her bangs cover her eyes, Izuku knows that tears are starting to build up.

He decides he doesn’t like it, declares the mission FUBAR, and enacts his extraction plan.

Midoriya moves as quickly as he can without running to her side, gently grabbing hold of her arm with one hand while the other lies flat on her back, gently urging her forwards. He can tell that she’s not seeing the world around her, that she’s shut out all sensory input, so Izuku acts as her eyes and guides her around tables and away from large groups of people.

He only acts as her eyes, because if he acted as her ears too, someone was going to get hurt.

As he does, he finally gets a look at what hit his companion. Whatever it is, its white with black bits mixed in. Wet and semi-viscous, it has mostly clumped together and stuck to the strands of her hair, presumably where it first hit, with some having leaked down into the collar of her school shirt.

For a second, Izuku forgets what time period he lives in and that burning degenerates alive for their crimes is no longer allowed. But, then, he takes a closer look. The material looks more like glue or webbing. Still sticky and gross, but there are probably tons of instructions online for how to get that kind of stuff out of hair. But, if it was quirk-made, then—

He hears a sniffle and decides to accelerate plan “GTFO”, speeding up his walk and nearly dragging Hikari out of the den of snakes and filth that is the Kalaban Middle School cafeteria. As the doors close, his anger spikes as he hears what he believes to be a certain group burst into raucous laughter. However, Hikari is more important than some nobodies at this very moment, so he tries his best to tune it out.

But, let it never be said that the Midoriyas are above being petty.

As he finishes closing the door, Midoriya hears the end of a shout that makes his blood boil. “—and you’ll stay out, if you know what’s good for you! You and your fucking guard dog, little Kachi.” In a fit of petty revenge, he grips the lock and handle of the door, and heats it up with his quirk until it’s glowing a light red, warping the internal mechanism and forcing the lock to release and stay released, blocking the door for the foreseeable future. At some point in the future, Izuku acknowledges that he should probably find a way of dealing with things like this without resorting to destruction of school property. But he also decides that is future-Izuku’s problem, and that the school ignoring the whole situation meant that future-Izuku was likely to give it the same treatment as present-Izuku. That is to say, the vaguest of considerations. A sentence, perhaps, in the book of his thoughts for the day.

(He would then forget the thought immediately after letting go of the handle.)

His partial revenge complete, Izuku nods, and begins the slow, careful task of guiding Hikari towards a bathroom where, hopefully, they’ll be able to deal with whatever was stuck in her hair.

Izuku winces as they come upon one of the unisex bathrooms. He hopes they won’t have to cut it. He knows that she quite likes her current style. He hears her complain about making sure her bangs are even too much to allow them to be cut.

Izuku shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present as Hikari sighs and leans further back into the tree. He had offered his extra nutrient packet to her to make up for the missed meal and, just, the entire ordeal. She had initially refused it, but Izuku had ended up smacking her in the face with it, before pulling out his other one and hooking it up.

They’d ended up finding an isolated tree behind the school and near the sports field as a new lunch spot. It had a patch of grass that grew in the shade of the leaves, providing a comfortable spot for them to enjoy lunch. Honestly, if Izuku didn’t like the feeling of the wind on his skin so much, he would have been tempted to say that this spot was superior to the last one… actually, just to spite the star-eyed bitch, he would! Izuku was certain that this spot was absolutely superior to the last one. It was even concealed enough for him to feel comfortable enough to hook up to his nutrient packet!

Hikari pouted as she picked up the thrown packet from her lap, tearing open a corner and gently pushing the paste into her mouth. She took a little at first, as a test to see if the gross-looking substance was as inedible as it looked.

Then, to her surprise, she lit up. ‘It… It… IT’S SO GOOD!’ As quickly as she could, she squeezed out the rest of the mango-mocha flavoured paste, devouring the delicious nutritious substance as fast as her body would allow. When the pack was empty, and she felt sufficiently full, she balled up the empty packet with a contented sigh, before turning to her green-haired friend. Upon seeing him staring apathetically forward, his mind no doubt a though and miles away, her pout returned and, in a moment of pure impulsiveness, threw the empty packet back at him.

Izuku blinked, startled as the balled-up packet hit him in the side of the head, and turned to see Hikari pouting and glaring at him. Bewildered, he watched as she waved her hands in frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me these things were so darn good?! You always looked so annoyed when you ate them, so I ended up thinking they were gross!”

Izuku stared wide-eyed at her, befuddled. [If you thought they were gross, why’d you eat it?]

Hikari flushed and looked away, mumbling a quiet response. “You gave it to me because you thought I was hungry ‘cause of what happened in the cafeteria.” She turned back to face him, earnestness in her eyes. “It’d be pretty rude of me to decline, wouldn’t it?”

Izuku nodded, conceding the point, and both turned to face forward, enjoying the overall feeling of tranquility their new lunch spot provided them. It didn’t have anything on the bench at the mysteriously appearing park, but it was an island heaven in the tumultuous and shark-infested waters of middle-school. So Izuku leaned back, resting his head upon the bark, and enjoying the reprieve their little island provided so far from the main building, before they’d inevitably have to leave and return to lessons.

But that was future Izuku’s problems. For now, he would sit back, relax, and finish up this supposedly delicious beef-dumpling-flavoured nutrient packet. How the Doctor had managed to find such a complex flavor while keeping the content as nutritious as possible, but Izuku appreciated the seemingly pointless effort the man put in to ensure the boy a decent quality of life despite his… injuries. Unless it was some sadistic form of mockery from the man that the Midoriya’s entrusted Izuku’s health to, in which case, the Doc could go fuck himself.

As his nutrient pack emptied, and he went through the process of disconnecting from it, his mind wandered back to the moment they’d left the dining hall. Specifically what Hikari had been called. “Kachi”. Worth…

He didn’t doubt such a nickname had a more negative meaning hidden within. After all, he’d never heard it said kindly, nor had he ever seen her not flinch when addressed as such. Izuku huffed. This was ridiculous. It was almost too perfect. A quirkless kid, suffering under the abuse of a popular kid’s influence, with a mean nickname that almost seems to have replaced their name…

Yeah, if there was a God, writing the story of the universe in an airconditioned room somewhere, they were definitely suffering from some kind of imagination deficit, since it seemed that they were just reusing story lines for different characters. In fact, Izuku might have to revisit the thought of Hikari being some kind of foil to him at some point in the future.

‘Lazy bastard,’ he chuckled to himself, before his thoughts returned to the original topic. He shouldn’t… They were relaxing, having a peaceful time away from the school and all the issues it represented. Hikari had just finished cheering up as well, and he didn’t have any extra food packs with him to try and repeat the process if he fucked up again. In any case, he knew how this kind of shit went. It wasn’t ever nice, and, as he’d previously said, it wasn’t an original story in this world, not by a long shot.

‘Still…’ He turned to look at his companion, who’s eyes were closed as she relaxed against the tree, enjoying the last few minutes they had of lunch. It’s be cruel to do this. Pointlessly cruel.

‘… Fuck it. It won’t get better if it’s ignored.’ Pushing the lump that might have been guilt down, he nudged Hikari and, when she turned to look at him, he signed his question. [Why do people call you Kachi?]

He’d tried to be as delicate as possible, but it was hard to be tactful in sign language. She flinched and Izuku winced. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have asked that. ShIT. FUCK! ABORT ABORT—

“Haha… I-I guess I should have known you’d asked about that eventually.” She averted her eyes and stared at the ground, her other hand coming up to tug at the end of her sleeve. “It… It’s isn’t…” Her face screwed up as she tried to find the words. “It’s… meant to remind me of my place, you know? But… without anyone who isn’t in the know catching on.” She paused for a bit, before continuing. “‘Kachi’ means worth, but it comes from ‘Kachi ga nai’, or worthless. A bit on the nose, yeah, but we were pretty young when she started calling me that.” Hikari froze and Izuku ticked another box on the list of similarities. ‘Seriously? Are you that unoriginal, God?’

Eventually, she spoke again. “But she got in trouble when she called me that in public. Some cop or granny told her off pretty harshly, and something else probably happened to her because of it, but then she just shortened it to Kachi, and everyone else followed her lead, I guess.” She fiddled with her sleeve some more. “She likes to use ‘little Kachi’ because she thinks it’s smart, y’know? ‘Little worth’, but people think it’s just ‘cause she’s taller.” Hikari chuckled self-deprecatingly, before startling and waving her hands in an appeasing gesture. “I-It wasn’t actually that bad, really! Just n-name calling a-and… stuff. But, uh, the day we met, that was the first time she’d gone that far with her “lessons” … WAIT! NO! I-I MEAN—”

Izuku held up his hand to prevent a spiral becoming a panicked screaming spiral, because those were far more annoying. [So, in short: someone you knew since you were very young made it up as a crappy nickname to hurt you because you’re quirkless, and then everyone else played “follow the leader”. Is that it?]

She stared at him, jaw slack, before she caught herself and her jaw clicked shut. She sighed and looked away. “W-Was I really that transparent?” Izuku shook his head after regathering her attention. [Nah, but this kind of thing happens more than you think.]

Almost as an afterthought, he added [And Kachi is a pretty stupid nickname to demean someone. I mean, “worthless”? Really? That’s just plain unoriginal. At least mine was somewhat creative.] His hands froze. He felt like he’d just been dunked into a bucket of ice water, which would pretty funny, seeing as he hadn’t felt anything but comfortably warm since he’d gotten his quirk, if hadn’t wanted to bury that part of his life as deep as physically possible in his anger and hatred. Hikari was the last person who deserved to know about that, the last person he deserved to burden with it.

“Your… You had… What do you mean by yours?” Her tone held confusion, gentle and curious, but still uncomprehending. He could understand her disbelief. For, how could Izuku, bastion of rage and power, ever have been subjected to anything remotely similar to Amaiko, quirkless girl. They lived worlds apart; she must have thought. Separated by genetic lottery and circumstance. Had this been a kinder era, a more equal one, they might have been happier. Though… they would probably never have met. Despite their simi

And that made her the one most deserving of the truth. His truth. The truth of Midoriya Izuku.

The green-haired boy sighed through his mask as he gazed up at the sky, managing to look much older than his thirteen years would suggest. His black-haired companion observed him as he collected his thoughts.

He wasn’t too sure how to start. Five years is a long time, and a lot of it was pointless filler or lost to him, but it was still important to know the background…

‘Fuck it.’ He raised his hands. A part of him not focused on the present was thrilled when he noticed the act didn’t make her flinch. In fact, he hadn’t seen her flinch around him for… a while.

[I got my quirk when I was nine. When I was five, the doctor diagnosed me as quirkless.] He turned his gaze to his now wide-eyed companion. [I have an idea of what you’re going through, even if five years is nothing compared to ten.] Izuku tore his eyes away, staring at the school building. [I got my own derogatory nickname and everything. Even had my own Kusaraba.] He chuckled derisively, making a sound like a stuttering fan. [It’s actually pretty funny, in a fucked-up kinda way, how similar we are in that respect.]

The silence that followed was thick and heavy. It was a fair response to a revelation like that. How does someone react to being told the strongest person they know was once the weakest one could be? He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t believe him. He just hoped—

“Trauma-induced quirk awakening,” she mumbled, eyes impossibly wider. Her head snapped to stare at Izuku, who was looking right back at her, wide eyed. “Oh, don’t give me that look, it’s obvious when you get all the pieces together,” she said, flippantly. Then, she winced, and carried on much more hesitantly. “If… If you’re comfortable with it… could I ask…?” She trailed off, but Izuku knew what she wanted to know. He winced in turn. [I…] He faltered, in a rare moment of hesitation. [I’m… not. Entirely comfortable talking about that at this point. Even if it’s been nearly four years, it’s…]

A hand grabbed onto his forearm. Hikari’s hand. So small compared to his, and yet, in this moment, teeming with an impossible strength. She smiled gently, her eyes meeting his. “It’s okay, I get it. That stuff doesn’t go away easily, even after a while. We don’t have to talk about it at all. But, if at some point, you wanna talk? I’m always here for you.”

She didn’t understand. Surely, she couldn’t… She couldn’t know how that sounded from the outside. Izuku flushed.

How someone like her, who had suffered so much at the hands of those who proclaimed themselves stronger and more worthy of life’s bounty, still had empathy and kindness to spare for someone who had as much strength as him was… unbelievable. Fearful yet sincere. Hurt, but has retained her kindness. Physically weak, and yet her mental strength could tear worlds from their orbits. She was rare in this day and age of might make right.

Eventually, her dark eyes (‘Brown. Brown so dark it’s nearly black. How could I have missed a colour like that?’) widened and she pulled her hand away like it had been burned, blushing and rubbing the back of her head with an awkward laugh as she looked away. Her hair had finally finished drying, leaving no residue from whatever had hit her in the cafeteria.

(Izuku somehow felt cold, despite his quirk.)

“W-Will ya look at the time, huh? We should p-probably get going, yeah? Don’t wanna be late for class!” She stood so fast, Izuku might have suspected she used a speed quirk, were she anyone else. Joining her, they quickly gathered their stuff and the empty wrappers, and headed back towards the main building.

Their walk was quiet, loaded with the weight of topics discussed and secrets shared, but also contemplative. How was their relationship going to change after this? What would be different? Would it be good?

Only Fate and the Weaver of its grand tapestry would know, and had they mouths they would chuckle. But—

Izuku decided that he would… encourage a certain direction of growth. Move the plot down a certain storyline, if you will. He waved to grab Hikari’s attention. [Hey… You can call me Izuku.]

The black-haired girl stumbled, and stared at him. “Wha- Bu- Isn’t that- That’s really-”

He cut her off again. [I basically did the equivalent of spilling my guts to you back there, and we’ve known each other for, what, a year? Now seems as good a time as any.]

More blushing and stuttering, but Izuku was used to that at this point. It was honestly a bit of a game to him, to see how many shades of red he could get his friend – Friend! He had a friend! – to turn in the least amount of time. He’d say today probably set a new record.

After a while, Hikari smiled at him. It was tentative, nervous, but Izuku could see the spark of happiness/joy/giddiness starting to emerge. Izuku decided he liked her smile. “The-Then you can call me Amaiko.” She seemed to think for a minute, hesitating, before blurting out “Or Maya.”

She flushed a dark crimson as Izuku raised a brow at that. [M-A-Y-A?]

“Yeah. I-It was a nickname. From before I was Kachi. I liked it a lot… It was special…” She trailed off, looking forlorn. Izuku decided he didn’t like that.

[Cool. It’s nice to meet you, Maya.]

The smile he got in return put the Sun and all the stars to shame. The last black hole would fizzle out and the void itself would succumb to vacuum decay before the light of that smile faded. Izuku would fistfight all the Kami at 2 am in a McDonald’s parking-lot to make it so.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Izuku.”

Chapter Text

“Hey what the fuck?!”

Izuku… didn’t know how to feel about this. On the one hand, the sound of those words coming from Maya’s mouth was a type of disturbing he wasn’t prepared for. Sweet, innocent Maya who couldn’t hurt a fly and swore as often as it snowed in the Sahara, near shouting the F-word. The mere idea was tantamount to a heresy worthy of a good old fashion stake-lit bonfire. On the other hand, the fact that she was confident enough to let out what sounded like a mix of surprise-irritation-fear-anger with him around was a marvellous indicator of the progress she had made. To hear her shout –and swear no less– in public would be enough to bring tears of pride to his eyes.

Unfortunately, the reason for her outburst was right in front of them, and it was definitely not worthy of any kind of positive emotion. In fact, it was probably the furthest thing. Izuku and Maya sat in a cat-café, a cat on each of their laps as they stared at Maya’s old, cracked phone which displayed the class-lists for their final year. Displayed on the screen, clear as day, was the list for class 3-A, with a Hikari Amaiko as the sixth name from the top. Izuku checked the list on his own phone as Maya stared blackly at the roster. ‘Fuck,’ he thought, seeing his name under ‘Class 3-B’.

He absently pet the calico cat nestled next to him, turning his eyes back to his friend’s blank face. He watched her take a sip of a disgustingly sweet hot-chocolate he had seen her dump four sugars into, and shivered as she sipped her concoction without any reaction. He could practically smell the diabetes through his mask, and he hadn’t had a sense of smell in literal years. Sometimes, he wondered if his friend was human.

‘Friend… right. Friend. How weird,’ he thought as he gently scratched the chin of a black cat with a white patch just above its nose shaped like a heart. ‘I have a friend now. Have had a friend for a while… It’s STILL weird, but these past – what has it been now? Fourteen months? Yeah – fourteen months had been… better. Than expected.’ He blinked, and started to look up. ‘Maybe I should get her a pres–’

Just in time to get a face-full of overly sweetened hot-chocolate as Maya spat out her drink. He could practically feel the sugar sucking up the moisture in his exposed skin, and he quickly sent a silent thank you to the doctor for making his mask water-tight, because the hot-chocolate to the face had suddenly been dropped to second on his list of priorities.

“Double fuck.” It was barely a whisper.

Maya’s previously flushed skin had gone pale, the blood drained from her face as she stared at her phone. Quickly, Izuku caught her attention. [What? What is it?]

Wordlessly, Maya handed him her phone, and sank into the couch, slowly sliding downwards until the cat that had previously been in her lap now sat on her chest, allowing her to bury her face in its fluff. Concerned, Izuku read the text on screen, and felt a ball form in his throat. ‘Kusaraba Heikin’ was displayed on screen, black words against a white background, under title for 3-A. Izuku’s free hand clenched and he felt more than heard a cat hiss and scratch at him, possibly for catching some of its fur in his anger. Taking a breath, he untensed, releasing the fur and repressing the urge to destroy that which offended him by crushing the phone in his grip. ‘Never shoot the messenger’ and all that, plus, he didn’t think Maya had enough money for a new phone, and neither did he.

He looked up worriedly at his friend. She may have taught him most of his emotional management techniques –surviving being quirkless meant being invisible, and you couldn’t be invisible if people knew what buttons to press to get a reaction, after all, and Izuku had gotten very rusty over his years with a quirk strong enough to allow him to take advantage of the rotten system– but he could practically see the fear-despair-anger wafting off of her as she buried her face in her hands. He could definitely see her shoulders shaking.

With a gentleness that seemed almost familiar by this point, he reached across the table and put a hand on her shoulder, allowing a ginger tabby to jump onto his shoulders. When she looked up, her eyes red and teary, he signed. [We could ask the school to reconsider?]

That got her to laugh. “Y-You really think that would work?” She bent over; her previous tears forgotten as new ones sprang from her laughter. It was sardonic and tinged with desperate fear. “After… After all of this time? Now they would do something?”

Izuku shrugged. [My first suggestion was going to be to burn her house down, but you tend not to approve of my more drastic solutions.]

With that, her laughter became more genuine, before she suddenly stopped, tilting her head as if in thought. For a split second, Izuku felt concerned. Had he corrupted her? Was she going to accept his brand of help? He also felt excited. Had he finally corrupted her? Was she going to accept his help?

But then she sighed and shook her head, dispelling all of his fantasies of late nights filled with wonderful arson alongside his best friend in the world. “It wouldn’t fix the problem,” she said, and Izuku blinked in surprise. That was what was holding her back? His solutions ultimate effectiveness? ‘Shit, have I corrupted her?’

Then she looked up and gave him a mock glare that was more of a pout. Izuku couldn’t shake the resemblance to a puppy he had seen in a store window a couple of days before. It was cute and he wanted to laugh a bit, but she was trying to be stern and he’d respect the attempt. “AND burning down someone’s house because you don’t like them isn’t a good thing to do. You wanna be a hero, right? So, you really shouldn’t be offering to commit crimes like that. It could go on your record.” Izuku stilled, looking down at the table and the tortoiseshell cat staring back at him. However, Maya had known him for nearly two years by this point, and she was nothing if not observant.

“Do you… want. To be a hero? I mean, it’s totally fine if you don’t. I’m sorry for assuming, it’s just with how everyone talks about you and your quirk and—”

Izuku shrugged. [Yeah, probably. I’ve always admired heroes, and I’m strong enough. So, I’m probably gonna apply to a hero school this year. Maybe Shiketsu high, or even UA.] He shrugged again, leaning back into the couch and causing a white cat with ice-blue eyes to scurry out of the way, hissing at him. [I mean, it sounds like fun, so… why not?]

Maya finished translating his sign in her head and sank into thought. She had a pretty good nose for bullshit, and her friend was reeking of it. But, he also seemed… almost depressed in a way she wasn’t even vaguely familiar with, and she could tell this was something he badly wanted to avoid discussing further. So, she decided to shelve the topic for another time. She smiled, wide and as sincere as she could manage. “Cool! I know you can do it. Even the exam for UA will probably be too easy for you.” The grateful glint in his eyes told her she had chosen correctly. The stone in her gut disagreed. “Only the practical though. I’ve overheard some rumours, and you’ll probably be fine for that. The written though…” She pulled out one of her binders, the words “Literature” written in black on the brand-new green-coloured material. Izuku rolled his eyes and made a groaning sound, the sound like the hiss of steam through an open vent, as he somehow managed to dig himself further into the couch. She rolled her eyes in turn. He looked like a big cat being threatened with a water-spritzer. “Yeah, yeah. Complain all you like, but it’s an essential part of your final grade, and I’m certain UA’s gonna even harder, so buckle up and get ready for a yearlong bootcamp, bucko! If I’m gonna be helping you with Lit and History, I’m gonna need you to help me with Maths and English this year.”

They weren’t actually planning on studying here and now, in this lovely café. No, it was more that Maya knew the mere mention of those two subjects were enough to make her oh-so-mighty best friend, the silent tyrant of Kalaban middle school and strongest person she knew, shrivel like a bug left out in the sun, and she decided to have some extra fun by bringing out an actual folder of the stuff. The fact that he actually hissed like a cat was enough of a reward for her. Pity she hadn’t recorded it.

Izuku rolled his eyes good-naturedly. [Yeah, yeah. I help you; you help me, I get it. I still don’t get how you can enjoy such boring subjects.]

Maya gasped in mock-offense. “You take that back! History is fascinating and you know it! All the stories, the lives and events that shaped our present, the deaths and victories… How dare you say that’s boring!” She pointed at him dramatically, her increasingly loud voice chasing the few remaining cats off of her couch.

In response, Izuku huffed his trademark laugh. [Still, even you can’t redeem literature.]

She scowled. “Literature helps me study history. It teaches me how to analyse text and to find meaning, so I can better understand the mind of the person writing what I’m reading.”

Izuku huffed again. [That sounds like it came right out a textbook.] Then he paused, rubbing the chin-piece of his mask. [So, it all comes back to History? Is that what you wanna do?]

All of Maya’s previous enthusiasm drained as she translated the question, and her gaze dropped to her bag, a copy of “From All to One” by Kakowa Miraidesu peaking past the folder of History work she’d brought in case she wanted to get another rise out of her friend. Her gaze was sad. “I mean… It’s really fun to learn about, and I love all the stories and connections you can make as you build up the big picture with all the little ones… but, no one cares about history anymore. Everything anyone cares about is quirks, heroes, villain fights, ugh!” Her sadness slowly drained as she went on, passion flooding into every word, before it vanished again. “I love it, but I can’t make a living doing something no-one cares about.”

Izuku raised an eyebrow. [I doubt ‘no one’ cares. Why not become a teacher, or an academic? Getting tenure is a pretty decent way to guarantee steady income, if that’s what you’re worried about.]

She sighed and shook her head. “Universities are… difficult when it comes to giving jobs to potential quirkless teachers, and tenure is basically a pipe dream unless you’re a once-in-a-century genius or something. It’s kind of an unspoken rule according to some retired teachers that those who get tenure and grants and stuff all have to have some kind of intelligence quirk. Plus, I can’t imagine having to teach a room full of hundreds of quirked young adults.” She raised an eyebrow. “And teaching kids?” Maya shook her head, and looked at him tiredly. “Trust me, I know. I’ve visited enough forums and message board on quirk discrimination.” She paused, tilting her head. “Maybe I could do law? People in trouble with authorities don’t tend to care if the one defending them can breathe fire or not.” She sighed. “But… people tend to assume the worst when they find out. So… I guess finding enough clients to make a living would be pretty impossible, huh.” Maya turned to him, giving him a wry smile that he recognised and that left lead stones in his gut. “I guess I’ll just have to find some boring, menial job, hope I get lucky and my boss doesn’t care about my quirlessness, and just settle for trying not to starve.”

Izuku stared at her, watching her every move, her every twitch. Anxiety played around her like a symphony. That wasn’t unusual per-say —being quirkless in a shit middle school did not do wonders for one’s mental health, after all– but the nature of her anxiousness was… different, this time around. It played a similar tune, but every few notes, fear would pluck a string and frustration would bang a drum. Worst of all, the whole orchestra was conducted by disgusting resignation, the slimy creature standing at the fore and directing the whole disharmony.

Izuku despised it. Despised how it had taken over his friend. How people had seen her, seen all of her potential and all of her glory, and decided that she was lesser due to a mere fluke in genetics. Worst of all, he hated how it had convinced her, this bring and kind person, that this was all she was going to get. It had forced her to accept her lot, and to not dare and ask for more. To demand what she deserved.

He loathed it.

Izuku eyed her, before leaning over and flicking her forehead. As she sputtered, he signed. [Whatever happens, you’ll end up doing something you want to do.] She tried to interrupt, but he wasn’t done. [I know you, Maya. Despite all the shit that happens to you, you’re still… well, you. You’ll end up doing something you love, no matter what other people may think, say, or do.] He stared at her, green eyes meeting brown. Twin suns burning with unusual sincerity born of kindness shown to a lonely soul who’d forgotten that people could be anything but cruel, all of which was turned to his best friend. [And when you do, I’ll be right there, cheering you on.]

For a moment, she sat there with her jaw slack, literally speechless and, for a split second, Izuku felt a sense of satisfaction. Maybe his words were getting through to her? Maybe she could feel his conviction?

That moment was shattered when she burst into laughter. Not a cruel, mocking laughter, no, Izuku doubted she even knew how to do that kind of laugh. This was a sound born of disbelief and amusement. “You – hahaha – y-you so-sound like one of those cliché Superhero shows – haha -- “We’ll defeat the evil with the power of friendship!” and all that – hehe…” Her laughter got more genuine when she made fun of, Izuku noticed. He made a face that was his equivalent of a pout, and Maya nearly went into hysterics.

It seemed that Maya getting the giggles had dispelled the dour atmosphere that had threatened to descend upon them with all the dreary conversation, evaporation it like morning dew under the light of her joy. No matter how sardonic it may be.

They sat in comfortable silence as the laughter died down, each of them petting the cats that had been attracted by the joyous sounding noise.

[I still think you can do it; you know?]

…

“I know.”

“Thanks”

…

…

“Why are all the cats going to you?”

[My quirk raises my baseline body temperature. Basically, these cute little murder-beasts are using me as a space heater.]

There’s the flash of a camera.

“This is pretty cute.”

[Cute? These monsters are trying to suffocate me! Look at that one? It’s on my neck!]

“It’s just cuddling, don’t be so dramatic.”

[Cuddling? CUDDLING? Maybe from where you are this looks like an innocent attempt at affection, but from where I’m sitting, this is an assassination attempt.]

“Not a very successful assassination, huh?”

[Cats are the perfect predators and domesticated themselves so that we would spoil them. I dare say it wouldn’t be far from the truth to assume that this was but the first step in their devious little master plan to end me!] Izuku stopped, and looked down at the furry pile, considering. [Look, I swear they’re trying to play to my ego as a man. What straight guy wouldn’t want his obituary to read “died by drowning in--]

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence.”

Izuku’s mask makes a sound like the stuttering of grinding gears, but Maya’s known him long enough to know that that was the equivalent of a snicker.

[Yes ma’am.]

Maya huffed and rolled her eyes, ignoring the amusement practically radiating off of her friend as he hogged all the cute little kitties they’d come to see. She took a sip of her now tepid hot chocolate and smirked as the cat on his shoulders dragged its tail across his face and another one batted his hand.

“Smartass.” She whispered.

“Thank you. For everything.”

This was bullshit. Everything was bullshit, and it was wearing down his nerves. An impressive feat considering all the work Maya had put into improving his patience, but, then again, the morons in their year always had a… special way triggering his anger by simply existing. Breathing too loud, chewing with their mouth open, gossiping about inane celebrity crushes; all of these small, little things he’d hear throughout the day would slowly, brick by brick, disassemble the walls containing his annoyance, and the visible pieces of his face would reflect that.

The twitch of an eyelid when someone laughed too loud, an aborted frown when a group of boys talked about the morning’s villain attack or newly debuted hero. The only reason he hadn’t outright snarled yet (beyond the obvious) was that the irritants in his class had finally learned, after nearly two years, that Izuku did not care for them, and did not want to socialise with them.

The result was that they kept their distance, and, in exchange, they remained unsinged. They also knew to keep their conversations away from… sensitive topics to Izuku. If that hadn’t been abundantly clear throughout the years of Izuku leaving behind collateral damage in his rage, the fact that the one new kid had decided to mouth off about the “quirkless bitch he’d heard so much about” and the “weirdo mute in their class” had been thrown across the rooftop and damn near branded had been an incentive not to poke the dragon… again.

At least the moron had learned that, when in the presence of a potentially hostile audience, silence was often the best policy when one has… unpopular view.

In any case, Izuku’s school life had been mostly peaceful for the last three months.

Mostly.

There was only one teensy, tiny, itty-bitty problem in his mostly stress-free.

Maya had started lying to him.

It was small things. A smile there that looked too empty to be true, a comment that would have once started some playful ribbing between them now only lead to silence, the way the cuffs of her new school blazer were looking shabbier than ever. These moments had been few and far between at first, but, as time went on, became more and more apparent. She tried her best to hide it, and, to anyone else, she would have hidden it well. But Izuku is nothing if not intelligent, and, while it had been a while since he last saw them, he recognised the signs.

And –oh– how he loathed what they meant.

Currently, he was waiting outside of her classroom, leaning against the wall next to the door. His class’ teacher had had an appointment and needed to leave early, and had been generous enough to extent that privilege to them. So, while his classmates had all gone home or to their various clubs, Izuku was here, waiting for his friend, building up the courage to finally broach the topic he knew made her uncomfortable, but needed to be addressed. It was for her own good after all. Things couldn’t be allowed to get worse. He refused to allow them to get worse.

R̴̪͙̗̬̲̈́̓̔͘̚͝i̴̛̼̦͉͚̺͔̳̋͑͐͂̑̍͑̾̊̂͘g̵̛̛͉̫͚̱̤̫͑̿̿͂͒̃͆̈͘̚͘͠h̷͖̳̠̠̟̟̼̟̠͓͇͂͌́͂̇̅̕͜ţ̴̢̟͙̖̼̙͎͖͉̩̌͂̓̄̑̅̅̚͜͝?̵͈͖̻͇̣̗̓̃͒̓̋̓̽̈́̈́̑̈́

The bell rung, knocking him out of his thoughts with the subtlety of a brick and bringing with it the usual swarm of teenagers crowding the halls in their little pods of friends as they went about their lives. Whether through his own reputation or some atavistic survival instinct passed down from the first primate who looked at a forest fire and realised his pointy stick wasn’t going to cut it, the other students left Izuku well enough alone, giving him a wide berth in the hall, which allowed him plenty of breathing space.

He watched as students exited from class 3-A one by one, ignoring the irrelevant fuckers he didn’t recognise, who’s eyes would widen as they spotted him waiting and they’d speed up, desperate to be away. His gaze wandered purposefully, searching for that one all-important face in the crowd of thirty.

Unfortunately for him, a different one reached him first. Pink hair came through the doorway and eyes with star-shaped pupils focused on him. His green suns narrowed to match her stars, and the smugness in them made him seethe.

He knew why she held such a satisfied expression as well. Her, along with nearly everyone else it seemed.

“Midoriya-kun, I’ve called you here to talk about your… behaviour, regarding quirk usage.”

Izuku stared at the man before him, slightly confused. For the past two years, the weedy principal in front of him had been more than happy to let Izuku do as he pleased as long as whatever damages he caused was superficial or easily explained to the insurance companies.

“As you well know, we here at Kalaban middle school pride ourselves in fostering a healthy and safe environment for our students to grow, experiment, and become comfortable with their own quirks as they enter the critical teenage years. We believe in allowing you all a degree of freedom with your abilities, to learn control and restraint in a welcoming environment while your bodies and minds begin the experience the throes of puberty.”

More like the staff let the students do whatever they wanted as long as the quirk was powerful and flashy enough for the student to be excused, or the student in question was rich. Conversely, those with less… desirable or “heroic” quirks were ignored and oppressed. Izuku himself had experienced both ends of this stick of privilege, and had readily accepted the benefits and thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to threaten annoying assholes without any repercussion. A real behavioural Carte-Blanche was a wonderful thing to have for someone like Izuku.

He didn’t feel bad about taking advantage of such a broken system, per se, but he did feel guilty using the same system that hurt his best friend so badly, all just so that he could let off some steam through harmless destruction of property. He had asked her once, just to see her reaction. She hadn’t known it at the time, but in that moment, she’d held complete control over his self-image. Would she see as just another kid born lucky enough for society to bend over backwards to accommodate him taking advantage of such easy acceptance for his own satisfaction? Would she forgive him?

Instead, she’d surprised him, as she seemed wont to do. She had smiled sadly, and said with a voice far older than it should have been. “Corruption has existed since people built systems to corrupt. I won’t judge people for using something so obviously made for them to their advantage, I judge how they used the advantage they’re given.” Her smile had turned more genuine as she’d looked into his eyes, sunfire-green to a brown so dark it was nearly black. “You’ve used your advantage to help me, to protect me. I told you before you didn’t need to stick your neck out for someone like me, but, at the time, you just rolled your eyes. Then you continued to do so, for no apparent gain to yourself. So, no. I don’t think you’re a bad person for taking advantage of this corrupt system. I think it makes you an amazing person to wield such power, and remain uncorrupted.”

He hadn’t agreed with everything she’d said, but her sincerity had melted his heart and silenced all of his arguments. The conversation had then moved on, but what she said had stuck with him, and he’d tried to be more… conscientious of how much damage he did. If not for the school’s benefit, then for the cleaning staff who had the deal with the aftermath of his flashes of anger more directly.

Unfortunately, one prick had to test his luck with the new, zen Midoriya, and had gotten thrown into a tree for his troubles, having been cooked to a medium rare. The boy’s parents had turned out to be rather wealthy donors to the school and, well… money was the universal language, after all.

‘Ah.’ Izuku was notably less confused as to why he had been called to the office now. He wondered whether he was going to be suspended for this. Surely a future hero student path to greatness wouldn’t be worth possibly angering some rich investors—

“Luckily for you, the Meiwakunas were rather forgiving once they learned of how promising a future hero you are, and have agreed not to press charges, though that was due to some… other fact, it seemed.” The weedy man adjusted his thin tie and cleared his throat, coming back the few strands of hair he had left with his hand. “Regardless, we had to accept that this would be your first, and last warning regarding damage to school property. If we find that you’ve caused any more… significant damage with your quirk to school property or another student, I will have no choice by to suspend you. So, please, think about your future next time the urge arises. It would make getting into a good hero school much harder if you had black marks on your record.”

Well… fuck him then. So Izuku got off with a slap on the wrist and a final warning, and it seemed his principal had fought off some powerful sharks for him, so Izuku supposed he could do the man a solid in this case, despite the fact that this frail twig of a middle-aged man was the head and representative of the system he so despised for what it did to one of the most important people in his life, yet had also made of him a hypocrite.

Whatever, he could behave. Be nice… ish. Being suspended wouldn’t help anyone, and would only hurt Maya. Well, that’s not really true, now, is it? Kusaraba would no doubt have a field-day with Izuku gone.

After all, when the cat’s away, the mice shall play.

So, he’d take the principal up on his request. He would be on his best behaviour. For himself. For Maya.

F̴̡̨̛̹̦͖̺͙̥̥͖̒̿̾̂̍͆͋̅̇̈́͠o̸̢̧̦͍͉̯̳̥̙̫̰͛̑̅̃͌̕͜r̴͉̘̄͛̒́͊͊͘ ̴̱͔̗̲͉͕̖̲̯͎̭̦͑̐̀̑̍̏̂̃͜t̴̮̺̭̖̭̳̝̤͍͙̩͒̽͆̂̄̉͋͐̌̀͝͝ͅͅh̴̨̛̛̛̪̺̭̽̾̉͂̃̓̊̏̇̏̚̚͜ẽ̴̢̤̳̗̥̘̯̜̰͕̘͉̜̕͜ ̵̘̮͚̺͍̜̥̇̂̅͐̎́̄͘͠p̸͚̿̉ĺ̴̨̧͈̙͓̺̟͙̻̤͉̎̃̍̈́͂̚͜͠ạ̸͎̘̤͕̫̫̪̽̇̓̀̍͋ṇ̴̢̢̺͔̘̰̭̰̝̻̗̠̆̈́̔̑͜.̵͖̯̄̽͊͊̈́̓̌̅̕

‘Must. Not. Maim.’ Izuku growled in his mind as he glared at the retreating backs of Kusaraba and her cronies. They giggled at something and he ground his metaphorical teeth. ‘Must. Be. Good.’

Finally, the last few students trickled out and then, last but certainly not least, came Maya. Izuku watched as she exited the classroom, feeling very conflicted.

On the one hand, seeing his best friend always caused an automatic rush of dopamine in his brain and made the green haired boy feel giddy and excited. He looked forward to spending time with her because spending time with her felt good. It felt… freeing. Liberating from the constrictions and expectations the other parts of their lives placed on them. Expectations, cruel words, empty words; none of those existed when it was just the two at the park, enjoying the weather.

On the other hand, seeing her now broke Izuku’s heart. She walked hunched over now, as if protecting her body from possible incoming blows. Her eyes never seemed to leave the ground, afraid that looking someone in the eye would be seen as a challenge to their superiority. Like they were all just animals living in the laziest excuse of a civilised society as was possible, always a hairbreadth away from enacting savage violence for no reason whatsoever, and she was trying to show that she wasn’t a challenge, wasn’t a threat.

And seeing her that way hurt Izuku in ways he hadn’t known were possible. Because this was how she acted all the way back in first year, when they barely knew each other and she was the sick animal in a herd surrounded by a pack of lions, just waiting to be picked off. Then they’d become acquaintances, then friends, and, having the confidence that Izuku wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her had –slowly but surely– chipped open her shell.

And hadn’t that been a wonderful sight to behold. Maya unrestrained, unleashed. Maya, who could speak for hours about obscure historical events and modern celebrity gossip. Maya, who could spout crude political theory as easily as she could rib Izuku for his mild pyromaniacal tendencies; who could let out a belly laugh at the stupidest of puns one moment, and with whom he could fall into a comfortable silence the next.

Maya. One of his favourite people, with whom he enjoyed sharing all of his free time.

And someone was messing with that.

And he. Could. Do. NOTHING.

It was infuriating. He had offered to perform some… extracurricular work to try and improve the situation, maybe even call in some favours from his Uncle Oki, but, whenever he’d suggested it, she’d smiled that kind, gentle smile of hers and told him not to do it.

They aren’t worth it. It’s a waste of time. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. It’s not that bad, I pr o m i s e.

And it hurt to be this powerless. It brought back memories of the Izuku from before. The weak one, the worthless one, the one who’d let anyone walk all over him and do absolutely nothing to save himself. The dead one D̸̳͔͔̖̯̲̩͕̩͓̈́̉̈ͅe̸͕͉̙̺͐̊̈́k̴̨̜̥̞͕̼͍͕̝̹̙͕͌̈́̈̈́̃̏̐̍͒̃͘͜͝u̸̳̙̱̞̱̓̓͝.

Izuku shook his head. Bitching and moaning to himself wouldn’t help Maya. His usual method of conflict resolution had been stripped from him, and he was pretty sure that Maya had been told about his conversation with the principal. In fact, he was certain of it, because never in a million years would he have let such minor threats stop him from helping his friend –with how full of loop-holes they were, they wouldn’t have mattered anyways.

But years of abuse and negative reinforcement don’t just go away. Nearly a decade of being told they’re worth less than the people around them, and those words, those mere sounds caused by an organ in the throat being vibrated at specific frequencies, pitches, and tones, and then being shaped by over one hundred muscles in and around the mouth, they become ingrained in the psyche. They become that person’s reality, and a human’s life is determined by how they interact with that reality.

In Maya, it meant that she was willing to endure the abuse, endure the torment that she had avoided for nearly two years being reignited and more than willing to make up for loose time, all in the hope that doing so quietly and meekly would, through a simple three step domino effect, bring down Izuku’s “wonderful future in heroism”.

 (The three steps are rather simple to follow: Maya gets hurt by someone; Izuku sees that injury; that someone no longer has eyebrows… or the top half of their upper epidermis, if they were particularly stupid.)

Izuku hated her thought process, as much as he admired her selflessness. Of course, it would have been nothing to “mishear” her pleas for his clemency and… catch up with his fellow year-mates. And, if they so happened to be in class 3-A, well… coincidences happen.

It would have been so. Easy.

But then he’d see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. He’d see how tense her shoulders were just standing in the corridor and the way she refused to look above anyone’s knee-level. He’d see her hair a tangled mess, sometimes with random crap sticking out of it, and the way the sleeves of her uniform seemed to become more thread-bare by the day. And all the anger, all of the righteous fury would just…

Wash away. Under a tidal wave of sadness.

So, he would shelve his vengeance and his rage. He’d push down the flames that would creed up through his flesh and silence the beat of the war-forges in his heart. The green stars in his skull would lose their toxic glow and return to the warm burning of twin suns, gazing upon his friend.

He would pretend to accept the lie. The lie that everything was alright. That school was just business as usual. That the worst her classmates did was isolate her.

And he would spend as much time as they had together just… with her. He would talk as best he could, they would walk to their park, or their tree, or the café, and, slowly but surely, as they left the halls of Kalaban and all of its demons behind, the shell that had formed, the walls that had been brought up, all would crumble and his friend would emerge again in all of her passion and exuberance.

He would tease her about being a history nerd and she would tease him for being a… potent source of attraction of attention of the feline variety.

They would just… exist with one another. Peacefully. Maybe even happily.

And if, when they meandered through the unhallowed halls of their crappy middle school, Midoriya Izuku walked a touch closer to Hikari Amaiko than was normal, well then that was no one’s business but his own.

(Well, his own and that of the people for whom the kindness burning in those twin green suns would turn into cruelty in the blink of an eye.)

Today was the day, and Izuku was psyched. He’d been waiting over two years for this, and it was finally happening. All that patience and medicine. All of those check-ups and physicals. All of it leading to this.

The Doctor had finally given him the go-ahead for the first of his three major surgeries. Through these operations, each involving long, tedious procedure after long tedious procedure, the Doctor would accomplish the impossible and allow Izuku to live without completely relying on his mask. He’d be able to breathe on his own again and maybe, if the Doctor’s prototypes bore fruit, he’d even eventually be able to speak again!

Of course, the old man had been careful in tempering Izuku’s expectations. The boy knew that this first operation was basically just a primer, the starting line of what would inevitably be a very long and painful road to recovery. Izuku knew not to hope for miracles, but he couldn’t help but be excited.

What could he say? He might one day also be able to eat real food again!

He couldn’t even remember what mom’s Katsudon tasted like.

Maybe then he’d understand the look on Maya’s face whenever she had one of his nutrient packs. Seriously, the girl looked like he’d just handed her the holy-grail every time he gave her one of those sludge-filled packets, and, at this point, it was starting to irk him that he was the only one who couldn’t enjoy the food meant for him especially. It was bullshit!

Long story short, he was excited. He’d been excited for nearly two weeks since the Doctor had finally decided that he was as ready as he’d ever be and gave Izuku and his father a date for the operation. His dad had been understandably nervous, this kind of intense reconstructive surgery definitely wasn’t without its very serious and potentially deadly risks, but, in the end, had left the decision up to Izuku. The boy hadn’t even hesitated. The moment his father had said the words “If you feel ready” Izuku’s head was nodding as fast as his current rig allowed, which wasn’t as fast as it could be, but definitely better than the backpack of equipment he’d had at first. His father had sighed and the Doctor had chuckled, but the date was set and preparations were made.

The Doc had given Izuku strict instructions about not eating or drinking anything up to 18 hours before the start time, and had suggested two weeks of rest after it was done, in order to allow time to watch for any possible infections –as unlikely as that was with Izuku’s naturally high body temperature– and to give his body and system the time it needed to acclimate to the changes. Quirk based healing might be damn near miraculous, but complacency bred problems and none of them wanted that, least of all Izuku.

And, despite being far from the most patient person when it came to his own health, in this case, the boy could understand the wisdom of allowing his body time to recuperate. He couldn’t get stronger if he was constantly fighting avoidable battles with his own body after all, though the doctor had banned any sparring between father and son for at least three weeks after, much to Izuku’s displeasure.

The younger Midoriya had asked his father to delay informing the school for a day of two, a requested his old man obliged without too many questions. Izuku had simply said that he had wanted to tell his friend before the rest of the student body found out, and Hisashi had accepted that answer, though not before deciding that this very serious and normal requested warranted a bit of teasing at his poor son’s expense. The one who was supposed to be an adult had asked his son if this was so that Izuku could do his very own “If I die in there” confession to Maya, a question that had made Izuku go red and throw his empty nutrient pack at his father. This attack was met with retaliation via pillow and eventually had resulted in the two of them in the ring throwing fireballs, insults about the other’s fashion sense, and rapidly signed swears at each other.

The “friendly spar” had ended when Okiotoko had walked into the scorching room with a fire hose and doused the two with high pressure water, scolding Hisashi for using the room without adhering to rules of the sign in book, then spraying Izuku again when he’d laughed at the scandalized look on his father’s face. The boy had quickly learned why street thugs and crime bosses of his time alike feared his uncle: despite his advanced age, the burly man who bore more of a resemblance to biker-Santa-Claus than hardened fighter could wield that hose with no more difficulty than a kid with a water gun. And that thing was made for especially intense fires, like forest fires or those caused by the rare eruptions that occurred in an around Japan from forces both Human and naturalHH, and would require at least three men to lift it, let alone actually fire the thing.

It doesn’t matter, he won that argument, no matter how smug Hisashi’s face was after they had dried off. Izuku did not have any sort of feelings towards Maya that one would not have towards any normal best-friend, and any he did have were purely platonic. ‘Yes, they are, Hisashi! Stop looking at me like that!”

And anyways, it wouldn’t matter if there were. They had a plan. There was a goal. They couldn’t deviate, couldn’t swerve, couldn’t change now. They had sunk too much into this, worked too hard for this. They could afford NO DISTRACTIONS!

Izuku shook those thoughts from his head, they didn’t matter. What mattered was that this was the last hour before the surgery, and everyone had left. Even his dad, who had a call to take for work, though he would be back soon, and had promised to stay throughout the whole thing. He wouldn’t be allowed in the room, and this hospital didn’t have a viewing room, so the man would have to live with the shitty plastic chairs and old sofas in the waiting room, with only the cheapest of cheap tea, coffee, and the occasional granola bar to sustain himself. Izuku would feel bad for him, but since he was the one about to go under the knife, and the man hadn’t thought to bring more than his phone, wallet, and keys from the apartment, the boy decided that his father would survive some inconveniences for the hours it would take to finish the surgery.

Surgery.

Shujutsu.

Seven letters, three syllables. Two characters: Te, hand, and Jutsu, art. A word, beautiful in its simplicity, terrifying in its complexity. The medical practice that treats injuries, diseases, and deformities by the physical removal, repair, or readjustment of organs and tissues, often involving cutting into the body. Such a nice and formal way of saying cutting someone apart to fix what was wrong with them. Such an old practice, dating back nearly 9000 years. Who would have thought that drilling holes in the skull to alleviate headaches would one day become comprehensive plastic surgery for the purpose of restructuring damaged vital biomechanical processes? Such an undeniably human invention, brutal in its efficacy.

At least his old man had ended up agreeing to give him the time he’d asked for. He’d gone to school uncharacteristically nervous that day, but it was hidden beneath a layer of anticipation that culminated in the image of Izuku being in a good mood. Understandably, seeing the guy who had been consistently pissed at the world for the past two and a half years had caused the student body, and especially the kids in his year, to freak. The. Fuck. Out.

It had been hilarious.

People had been shooting him nervous looks in the hallways when he had walked past and they hadn’t been near-suffocated by the overwhelming aura of heat he tended to give off when not paying attention, sweating despite the early winter cold. Kusaraba looked like she had damn near soiled herself when Izuku showed up to the doorway of class 1-A with a glint in his eye that either meant barely restrained joy, or that the powerful fire-quirked student had finally decided the laws of mere men meant nothing to him, and that enacting vigilante justice of his own design would be worth the prison-time. After lessons had ended, her and her posse had fled for the hills, and Izuku had nearly laughed.

He’d contained himself, of course. He did have a bit of an image to maintain.

When Maya had spotted him as she left the class, her eyes had narrowed in suspicion, and her previously cowering demeanour near-instantaneously vanished in the presence of this mystery.

“What’s up with you?” She’d asked him. Izuku had simply smiled with his eyes and signed to her to follow him. Curiosity overpowering her fear of the other students, she’d done as he’d asked, though continuing to ask more and more questions as they went, with each question becoming weirder and weirder as they went on. Izuku noticed this, of course, and his already good mood shot straight to jubilant at seeing Maya start act the way she had before the start of the year. Was this all it took to raise her spirits? Being cheeky and mysterious?

Seeing the way each increasingly ridiculous question brought more of a bounce to her step and a shine to her eyes, Izuku continued playing coy, tilting his head to the side in a non-answer kind of way at random questions, huffing his laughter when she proposed some outlandish theory to explain his good mood. She even managed to make him blush –and this had stopped her dead for a solid ten seconds before she’d started laughing so hard Izuku had nearly had to carry her down the street– when she’d asked him if he’d gotten laid recently. He’d honestly nearly choked when he’d heard those words come out of her mouth, despite being physically unable to. That had only made her laugh harder.

The blush hadn’t gone away until they reached the park, by which time Maya had finally calmed down enough to breath properly. Then she’d just launched back into her theories again, which had made Izuku roll his eyes and huff.

She’d just gotten to a rather extensive theory including a grove of telepathic trees in Australia teaming up with crows to brainwash Izuku using happy brainwaves in order to get him to protect them from forest fires –a rather interesting theory he would probably ask her to expand upon in the future– when they finally reached their bench beneath the old oak tree.

They sat in their own space, away from school and life and home and the world and, just… everything, at least for a little while, enjoying the peace and quiet that defined such parks in the early throes of the winter months. Young children were probably playing indoors now. Teens and young adults probably choose movie theatres or cafés to hang out at instead, and the older people would need to think about their health.

In other words, it was the perfect island of isolation for the two of them, and, with the heat Izuku subtly gave off with his quirk, they didn’t have to worry about the cold. It was nice… relaxing…

And, unfortunately, the only appropriate place for Izuku to tell Maya about the operation. He had looked over at her, had seen the tension vanish and peace return to her body for the first time in what seemed like months and had perhaps, at the time, felt the tiniest twinge of hesitation. A part of him didn’t want to take this away, to end the first few moments of joy and peace his best friend had had this entire third year.

But another, much larger part of him had overshadowed that doubt. The part that was selfishly excited about the operation and what it meant, about how he was finally nearing the first big step on his road to recovery, to becoming, if not whole, then closer to an entire person than he had felt in a long, long time.

And, in the end, that second part of him had won out.

He’d gotten her attention and started signing. He had told her how he appreciated her friendship more than she could know, how grateful he was that she’d managed to insert herself into his life, and how she had done more for him than he could ever truly thank her for. He told her a bunch of mushy stuff that had her blushing and smiling and playfully punching his shoulder. He’d huffed out loud when she’d jokingly asked him if he was going soft on her, and had shaken his head.

Then he’d told her the truth. His truth. The truth about himself, or, at least, what he could. He told her about how he’d gotten his injury and what had happened afterwards. He told her of his struggles with the constant switching between excruciating pain and cold numbness. He’d told her about how he’d adjusted to his new way of life, a slave to the machines that kept him alive, and his frustrations with that ball and chain.

Finally, he’d told her about his plans for the near future, about the operation set to take place a week from then, about how the Doctor had warned them of the risks, but had been confident enough in his skills to make the chances of failure astronomically low. But never zero. He’d told her about the anxiety he felt towards it, the elation and excitement and fear and… just… everything. Then he’d told her about the two weeks away from the Doctor had recommended, in order to rest and recover from the surgery.

(He didn’t tell her everything, of course. Some things you don’t even share with your friends.)

When he’d finished, his hands felt so cramped he doubted he’d be able to write in any of his analysis journals even his All Might himself descended and told Izuku his quirk to his face. He felt… lighter. Definitely lighter, after all of that… exposition. But he also felt rubbed raw. Exposed in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He decided that whatever those feelings were could wait until after their conversation was over.

(Were Izuku in any state of mind more conducive to being observant, he might have noticed the way Maya stiffened when he talked about the two weeks leave. An unconscious reaction produced by the animal brain in response to foreseen danger. An important reaction, but one ignored by Izuku in favour of his own excitement, and ignored by Maya in favour of… all the different emotions that had flooded through her when Izuku had basically dumped his entire backstory on her in the last fifteen minutes. Somewhat reasonable excuses for their inattention, but tragic nonetheless, for the mind is a magnificent and terrible place, and, very, very often, the answers to the confusing and the incomprehensible are hidden behind little more than a thin tarp.)

(Unfortunately, that thin tarp is made up of threads of self-deceit and those are a bitch to get untangles.)

As Izuku’s tale trailed off, his hands came to rest on his lap. His… reminiscing had pretty much killed his good mood by that point. He just felt… sullen. Sad in a way he hadn’t ever realised he could feel when thinking about his life. It had felt… better, or more balanced, if he were feeling particularly spiritual. He had supposed that sharing with someone he trusted outside of those in the know had given him the peace of mind to make a startling realisation.

He hadn’t ever mourned.

He had felt sad, sure, but his anger would overtake his logical mind more often than not and his hate ran deep and black like molten lava through his veins whenever he thought about it, but he hadn’t ever felt… sad.

So, at last, Izuku sat back on his bench next to his best friend, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to mourn. He mourned the loss of a past that could have been. He mourned the loss of a future that would never be. He mourned relationships lost and hearts broken. He mourned the loss of his innocence and his happiness.

Ḩ̸̱̠͇̗̤͙̺͂͐͛̈́͝ḛ̷̡̿̓͐̃̕͠ ̷̣͖̙̀͆͛͗͆́̈́͝ͅm̷̛͎̫̥̼͖̿̈́̅͛̈̊̓͌ͅö̶͎͇͍̗́̕͝ư̸̲̺̳̠͇͊͛͌͛r̶͖͉̓̋̽̈́̒́̀̕ñ̴̡͓̝̰̳͚͛̌͆̕̚ȩ̷̥̫̗̘͈͍͉͉̎d̴̢̡̗̘̟̟͎̦̙̅̆̒̔̊̋̐̚ ̶̭̪̠̹̠̌t̵̨̧͚͖̩̅̔̂̍̓̆̌̕͝h̸̯̰̪̪̏̃̌̈́͝ḙ̷͉̲̈́͛̿́̓̚ ̴̪̼̼̓͊̇̔̍̋̎͝d̷͙̹̫̪̜̈͂e̸̘̦̘̮͌͑́͠a̴̛͈̺̤̓̎̾̾̆͝t̶͔̗̪̳͚̹̞̘̅͊͐́̆͠h̸̼̠͇̹̩̊̎ ̴̪̓̊̈̉̌̎ͅơ̶̧̱̥̞̫̐͛̇̀f̴̙̯̭̦̼̕ͅ ̶̺͇͉̈́̄̋̑h̶̝͒̆̈́͗̾̉į̴̠̻͛͑̓̂̚ͅs̸̝̊̌͆̈͋̀̐ ̷̨̨̱̩̞̦͉̃͋̋f̶̡̨̞͖̟̣͈̳͐͘a̴̟͇͉̻͈͎̩̐͛͐̉͝ṁ̴̡͙͚͔̖̳̠̘̮̒̈i̴̛͉̜͚̟̫͕̯̿͒̓̃͝͠l̸͉̔̿̔̔̔͛̚ỵ̴̨̧̩̰̹̫̮̊͌̉̄̈́̃͝ ̵̡̢̧͙͈̱̘͈̟̾̈͑̽̉̈́̓̚͝a̷̹̣̲͚̤̫͎͐͛̊̓̚s̸̖̾̊̃̏̊ ̸̢̢̟̩̖͉̬̙̹̔͊̆͝͠i̸̗̱̺̙͍͙̯͍͋t̶̟̗͋̂̋͝͝ ̴̧̫̬̠̻̯̟͊́̇̽͒̽͘h̷̯̞͇̪̟̍̾͆̄̍̋̚a̸͉͇͕͛̂́͆͠ď̷̺͈̟ ̷̡̳͙͈̱̫͈͈͇͛̈̏̈́͋͗̑͐b̸͖̳͔͈̟̖̅͑͒̆̚͘̕͝ͅe̴̡̤̟͖̩͕̓̉̽͂͒̓́ḙ̵͈̰̱̤̍͒͗̃̌͝n̵͓̯̱͛̒͋̚͠͝͠.̸̛̙̤͔͚̪̰̲͆͌̈

Then, when a sufficient amount of time had passed, Midoriya Izuku opened his eyes, and breathed.

Three seconds in, three out.

The tempo of his mask at rest.

He let the sadness flow through him, let it fill him, and then, on the exhale, let it drain from him. He wasn’t over it, no, no way in hell. Now that the sorrow that had been in the background of his every waking moment, unnoticed but not inconsequential, was gone, all he had left was his rage and his hate, dark pits of inky magma roiling and churning in his soul, hungry for vengeance and crowing for destruction to sate their appetite.

But this he was used to, and, with years of practice and some helpful tips from Maya, he pushed down that feeling. He forced it out of his mind, down his throat and into his heart, where it condensed into a ball of wrath and fury. He held this ball in his chest, and pushed it into the war furnace that lived within him. He would use that heat and passion and madness as fuel when he’d need it. For now, however, it would only be a hindrance.

No tears fell from emerald green eyes as they turned to his best friend, still silent and staring at him. He could tell she was still probably overwhelmed, dozens of emotions flashing across her face simultaneously. Righteous anger swapped places with abyssal sadness like a coin flipping through the air, or a die rolling across a table, unable to settle on one result.

He decided to make it easier for her.

He scrunched up his eyes in the manner that told her he was smiling. [Thanks for listening. I’ve never told anyone this.]

Her smile was forced, but how couldn’t it be with how conflicted she looked. “I-It’s… Th-Thanks. For trusting me. It means a lot, and I hope telling me helped.”

[It did. Thank you.] The strain in her smile lessened, and there was more sympathy now. Empathy even.

“You don’t have to thank me.” She had said. She had then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Izuku had noticed this because this wasn’t one of her usual reactions. Usually, she picked at her sleeves. It had seemed… immaterial. Izuku had just put it down to not realising she was growing her hair out. “But don’t worry about it. That’s what friends do, right? They listen to each-others’ problems?”

Izuku’s mask made a hissing sound instead of a hum as he leaned even further back into the bench. Maybe that was something friends did. He’d only ever had two real friends in his life, and the other had been the most emotionally constipated person in the world, so Izuku had no real experience to draw on. He decided a shrug would be an appropriate non-answer.

Maya had chuckled a bit at that, before she too leaned back into the bench, looking across the empty park in contemplation. “So… this surgery… it’s safe?”

Izuku had rolled his eyes. [No procedure this extensive is 100% safe. But my doctor is one of the best, and he has faith, so I do too.]

It had been her turn to roll her eyes. “And I’m sure that has nothing to do with your frustration in regards to the training?”

Izuku would have growled if he could, but, instead, settled with a scowl. His sparring matches with his father had plateaued recently, and Hisashi had been unwilling to increase the intensity with Izuku’s current physical state. The man had completely shut him down whenever he tried to go just a bit harder, or make his flames just a tad hotter. It was infuriating, and Izuku had voiced his displeasure. Repeatedly. His dad had just said something about “the importance of pacing oneself” and “the futility and stupidity of training while injured” and other ridiculous notions like that. To Izuku’s further irritation, Maya had agreed and dragged him out to see a horror movie at the cinema.

Apparently, his reaction was enough of an answer, and Maya giggled away. “You need to listen to your dad. Sometimes, he might even be right.” Lies, the old man spoke only nonsense and/or whatever subject had caught his interest that week. Recently, Maya had been talking to him about history whenever she came over, and Izuku had seen some suspiciously book-shaped deliveries arrive at their apartment recently.

He had a suspicion he would soon be suffering through more meal-time lectures. Thought, he had to admit, History was a hell of a lot better a subject for table-chat than entomology, because some bugs were just… disturbing. He hoped Australia had a benevolent god they could pray to when the first quirked animals appeared.

He just hoped that, when it happened, it would the interesting parts of history.

Maya’s face then became more serious, though she kept a small smile. “I trust your judgement. If you wanna do this, then I say good luck, and I hope it goes better than perfect!” She had said that last bit with a wide, close-eyed smile and a thumbs up. “Do you know if I’ll be able to visit you while you recover?”

Izuku had shook his head sadly. [I doubt it. The clinic the Doctor works at is out of town, and he’ll want to keep me close for the observation and rest period. I mainly still use him because dad knew him from way back, and he’s known me since I was little. Plus, like I said, he’s one of the best. A real polymath when it comes to medicine.]

Maya nodded, a bit disheartened, before perking up. “I’ll get you something nice when you’re finished recovering, like a welcome back present! I’ll be sure to knock your socks off!”

Izuku huffed. [Not a bento again, I hope?]

The blush that spread across her face made him huff a laugh again, and her embarrassed squeaks coupled with her light punches to his shoulder made it even funnier. She whined about how that was “one time”, and that she had been “mortified”, and that “no, she won’t be giving the guy who can’t eat solids a box of food… again. She’d learned her lesson the first time”.

Solid points, Izuku had conceded. Here was his counterpoint: bringing it made her go red, and that amused Izuku.

Izuku got punched again for saying that.

Apparently, his sweet, small best friend had no qualms hitting a cripple.

How cruel.

He never noticed the anxiety, the terror in her eyes at the thought of two weeks alone. His own happiness blinded him.

H̴̦͚͍͖̳̃͋̉̽̈́͗͊͆ ̶̛͎̮͕̝͙̟̖̃̆̐͆́͗͜o̶̺͓͕͖͔̳͕͋͑̾ ̴̩̹̲͔͚̝͇̒w̸͖̩͓̟̪̯̼̼͂ ̷̘͓͍̌́̓͒͠ ̷̨̱̤̦̲̭̭͔͍͌̒̔͆̒̈́̾̒͝s̶̨̛̫̺̿̂͆͆̂̓͘̕ ̵̢̭̀͋ā̵͓͋̑͗͂͑̐ ̴̰͎̞̫̩̣̱͖͈̱̈́̐̎̅̀͋̐̚d̵̘̲̦̹̣͎̱̗̟̼̀͐̐̈́͌̀̏̿ ̶̩̊́̊͛̐̊͊̚.̵̨͓̺̯̗͈̻̘͍̫̓̅̈́͛͋̋͊͠

Izuku sighed, breathing in the stale air of the oxygen machine. He was due to go under any minute now, and then the doctor would begin his work. Izuku felt a shiver run across his body, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. He decided to assign the blame to nerves caused by excitement. Because why else would he feel that on such a wonderous day?

Maya had been supportive, and they’d made the most of the remaining week they’d had together before his forced break. Naturally, the news that he’d be absent from school for a medical reason had leaked from the staff after his dad had called to warn them, and some of the stupider students had decided that because his reason was medical, that Izuku was, in some shape or form, weaker than usual.

It had taken two idiots slammed into lockers by their throats hard enough to leave an imprint and another losing an eyebrow when he’d tried his luck after school for the news to get around that, no, Izuku wasn’t sick enough to be a target, and yes, he very much could and would kick the ass of anyone who tried to test that theory. In fact, he welcomed any attempt. It was good exercise.

Inevitably, Kusaraba caught wind of the news, and she’d been acting mighty shifty since then. Like a shark smelling blood, or carrion birds circling a dying animal, she had never been far away during those last few days. Watching. Cataloguing. Observing. Unnerving.

Izuku wasn’t stupid. He knew why Maya looked scared sometimes despite how excited she was for this leap in progress for his recovery, and the way Kusaraba was acting meant her fears were anything but unfounded. Izuku also wasn’t blind, he’d seen the change in Maya, how she’d reverted to how she’d been in their first year with just a couple months in the same class as her main bully without Izuku. He also knew that the whole school knew of their friendship, and that, despite the principal’s warning, trying to bully or harass the quirkless third-year girl was a Very Bad Idea if they held any interest in their long-term health.

But, as small as it was, Izuku had a drop of faith in the self-preservation instincts of his fellow students. He had faith in their ability to realise that, in the grand-scheme of things, two weeks wasn’t a very long time. It definitely wasn’t long enough to leave the country, change their identity, and learn Swahili, so Izuku could trust in the smarter ones among his classmates to behave while he was gone.

That meant that, for the last five days, Izuku had been putting the fear of himself in the stupider ones in his own year, as well as any uppity younger-years who thought that being born lucky meant they could abuse anyone they saw fit. It had taken five ‘fights’ in all to show them that their actions would have consequences. Two in an alleyway and the others in nearby abandoned land that various gangs of street-thug-wannabes hung out at, and only one moron had tried to come back for seconds, after which he had been persuaded into seeing Izuku’s point of view.

He had to admit though, it was concerning how many of the younger years were joining gangs nowadays. Couldn’t they just hang out like normal kids? Why did they have to be delinquents? Though he supposed he had no real space to talk, considering how he got into fights pretty regularly. Though, calling them fights would be a disservice to himself, so… altercations. Yes.

In any case, after three days, he had all the main players in the various important gangs flinching whenever he made eye-contact, and their solemn oath that they wouldn’t touch his friend. The fact that people in those gangs took honour so seriously was a welcome sight, but fear was always a preferred method of assuring loyalty than honour, and the threat of immolation would be enough to see those oaths upheld.

The last two days had been spent alternating between spending every free moment with Maya, and hounding Kusaraba like a dragon chasing a thief. The girl was self-assured, confident in her ability to manipulate others to her side with her natural charisma and her looks. But that was her weakness. She trusted the rules and the authorities behind those rules to keep in check those that she could not turn into allies. She trusted in the laws of men and the unspoken agreements of a modern society being in her favour, being easily twisted to suit her needs.

She had no counter to someone who would treat those rules the same way one treated the single strand of spider-web blocking the door to the bathroom.

So, for those last all-important days, Izuku made sure that whenever the star-eyed girl looked up, she was looking into twin green suns burning with animosity. He made sure that whenever they walked anywhere near each other, the pink-haired girl would feel just a few degrees too warm, and that’s she’d be able to identify the source of the heat with ease. He made sure that she knew he was watching her, and that, despite his lack of action this year, despite the fact that his best friend had begged him to stop fighting every battle that came his way, Izuku was far from toothless.

Izuku did his best to make her understand, because if she did, then the rest would surely follow.

Maya… hadn’t been thrilled, honestly. She’d chided him for fighting the first two times, and her glare when news came out of a mysterious fire started at a nearby abandoned building sight had made him feel like a scolded child, but all that did was made Izuku stealthier. He would make sure that everything went well, that he wouldn’t have to stress and worry about his friend for the next two weeks, because he was pretty sure stress lengthened recovery-time, and he did not want two weeks to turn into three.

His father had just bought a three-hundred-page book on ancient roman emperors, and Izuku was not looking forward to all that that entailed.

Now, lying in this hospital bed, he felt confident that he’d done enough. The gangs and thugs in his school had been warned, and Kusaraba’s pyrophobia had just been dosed with an unhealthy amount of paranoia, so Izuku believed he could relax at least a bit for the foreseeable future. He’d told Maya that his doctor had taken away his phone for the duration of his stay, with the excuse that the signals or something would interfere with the extra-delicate and sensitive machinery the Doctor would be using to heal the boy. Izuku, however, was convinced this was just a ploy to get him to bore him into actually paying attention to what his dad was reading, and maybe even take an interest. When he’d texted Maya his theory, she’d just laughed and sent him a Fail compilation video. For luck, she said.

Right.

 Somehow, she’d convinced Hisashi through text to let Izuku message her when he woke up and when he was being discharged, as well as at any important mile-stone throughout the week, a compromise Maya had apparently fought adamantly with.

When his father had turned off the phone, the man had turned to his son with a shit-eating grin and no remorse. “She reminds me of your mother when we first started dating.” That, of course, earned him a pillow-shaped missile to the face, followed by an irate doctor chasing him away for “overexciting the patient”.

Right.

The door slid open, pulling Izuku from his thoughts, and his eyes caught onto the glint of the Doc’s glasses and the shape of the man in all of his surgical scrubs. With a snap, the man finished pulling on his latex gloves and walked up beside the surgical table Izuku was resting on. “Well, boy. Here we are at last. How are you feeling?” Izuku gave him a single raised eyebrow in response, to which the Doctor chuckled. “Ah, yes. That little problem.” He reached over and flipped a switch, a hissing sound soon sounding out. The old man checked the readings off a nearby screen, nodded, and turned back to the boy on the table, smiling behind his mask. “Well, let us begin on the path to rectifying it, why don’t we.” The man walked around, adjusting the straps and foam-covered bars keeping Izuku’s head in place. Devoid of anything else to do, green eyes followed the man as he finished his final checks, all the while humming a tune the boy didn’t recognise.

Finally, the old man seemed satisfied, and went back to Izuku’s side. “I believe it is time to begin. The time is,” he checked the electronic clock on the wall, out of sight of Izuku, “12 on the dot, how lovely, and I am now administering the Propofol to the patient, after which a general anaesthetic of my own design will be administered and I will begin my work.” Turning his attention away from whatever it was he was doing, he addressed the green-haired boy –who was actually currently wearing a hospital-blue bonnet, keeping his signature hair out of the way. “Now Izuku, the sleeping gas will begin flowing through the tubes bringing you oxygen. Start counting back from ten now, and you’ll be awake before you know it.”

Izuku rolled his eyes, but complied. He’d seen enough medical dramas and had read through other people’s experiences online to know what was about to happen, but pride demanded he try to resist the allure of a drug-induced sleep anyways.

And really, he had a silly amount of confidence in his ability to resist the drug, a very human response to being forced into a state of such vulnerability for an extended period of time. His subconscious had an unshakeable belief that he was built different, and that that “different” would be enough for him to resist the drug because… pride?

All in all, it was pretty funny considering he made it to seven before he was out like a light.

Waking up and recovering from a surgery like that felt something akin to what Izuku imagined a very long and tedious hangover would feel like. He’d woken up feeling dehydrated, covered in bandages, and convinced he was blind in one eye. Apparently, some gunk had stuck his eyelids together, but in the state that he was –drugs dragging down his brain and sleeping no longer just nipping at his heels, but biting down on his leg with three-inch teeth sunk deep into his calf– panic had nearly thrown him into hysteria and he’d threatened the Doctor as his father tried to restrain him. Izuku recalled signing something along the lines of [Grow me a new eye, you fuck! Or I’ll pull your intestines out through your ass and hang you with them!] … or something. His memory was pretty foggy, and he’d fallen asleep straight afterwards when his dad had pried his eye open. On the plus side, he’d discovered that his sign language was still impeccable when dosed with enough drugs to kill a horse.

Or, at least, that’s what it felt like.

At least Maya had gotten a good laugh out of the story. It turns out as they were letting whatever powerful drugs they’d pumped into his body were making him taste purple drain out of his system, Izuku’s dad had gone ahead and messaged Maya that the surgery had been a success.

Maybe Izuku should have been more worried about his dad having access to his phone, but despite sleeping for over 13 hours, Izuku still felt like he hadn’t slept in a week, so that thought was relegated to the back of the unimportant line. It had become even less important when he got to hear Maya laugh every time drugged, sleep-deprived Izuku went off on a text-tangent or his traitorous father sent a picture of Izuku watching TV while leaning to the side, for reasons.

All in all, after he stopped tasting blue and the room went back to being level, having the two weeks off wasn’t all that bad. Of course, his father’s newfound obsession with ancient Rome was annoying, and having to sit through an hour of an amateur lecture on the effects of Diocletian’s persecution on modern religion made unhooking himself from the machines and leaping out of the window seem very appealing. Only patience born from experience and Maya’s encouragement kept him sane and any auto-defenestration purely theoretical.

Speaking of his friend, as the days went on and one week became two, their conversations became shorter and shorter, until they tapered off completely at T-minus three days from release. Her last text had been about the surprise she was preparing for him, so he hadn’t been too worried. The two weeks had gone by quickly, and it seemed that his warning spree had been effective enough; Maya didn’t seem stiff or stilted in her texts, and any pictures she sent of herself and the park didn’t show any bruises that suggested physical confrontation. She hadn’t even complained about Kusaraba, other students, or any of the teachers, so, like an idiot, Izuku let himself believe his actions had worked as intended.

F̸͎̩̔͊ͅo̵̱̥̣̬̒͗̌͋o̸͎̺̣̿̓l̸̰̬͖̰̾͝i̷̡͕͠s̸̱̭͇͂͑͝h̸̞͘̚,̸̞̋́́ ̴̧̛͍̻̤̇̕f̵̥́o̴̻̮̅̈́͆̚o̸̟͐ḽ̸̤̙͒̄̕͝i̴̤̥̫͝ŝ̶̯͇h̴̡͉̗̓ ̵̗͇̂͋̅͘ḇ̶̛̛̙̪̗̎̓ȯ̷͓̔͗̐ȳ̵̦̥̯́.̴̝̤̞͎͝,̵̝̾̃̚͠ ̸͙̘̐̕p̶̼͙̌l̶̡̜͚̂͐̂a̵̳͓̩͐͘y̷͚͙̦̠͒̒̂i̴̝̻̲̇̏ṋ̸̽g̴̺͉̘̈́̇͛͠ ̴̻̋̃w̵̛̩̟̟̜̃͘i̵̡͈̗̻͊̈̒̊ţ̴̾͊h̵̢̗͛̏ ̸͎̪̪̇̔̚p̸̧̻͛̓̎͘o̸̜̓̋̆͗w̵̡͕̭̽͒͒ĕ̷̞̂̏̈́r̷̙͌̾̈́̽ ̴͖͕͍͆̑ṯ̵͉̖͋̀ŗ̸͖̎̑y̵͇̬̪̺̋̚͝ḭ̸̢̘̀̈ṇ̶̑̎̽ͅḡ̸̢̨̞͒͊̂ ̶̮̑͐͆t̵̞̩̭̰̉͆̈́̂o̷̭̮̭̥̒̑ ̸̗̒ǧ̸̢̘e̵̠̣̙͐͊t̴͉̭̒͝ ̵̘̓̑h̶̜̲͔͒̂̑̈́͜ȉ̴̞̳̺̆s̴͚͉̣̲ ̶͔͕̗̦͑͂o̷͇̟͚̬͗̏w̵̧̭͉̦̓n̷̰̏ ̸̳̋̎̓̈́w̵̞̑̆͝a̵̮̺͛̈́͋y̷̢̝̑̐͊͜.̶̰̞̕ ̷̻̮͗͋͂̚Ẅ̵̤̦̗́͝͝h̶̳͉͇̓̈́ê̶͎̺͍̕n̴̞͒͆͑̈́ ̴̘̈͒̋w̷̖̺̣͑͒͗ǐ̸̗̠̲̑͐ḷ̸̈̈́l̷̞̖͛̇ ̴͖̔̓̒̕ỷ̴̢̼̂̑̚ő̸͙͑̏ṵ̷̞̮͙ ̷͙̰̗̋l̵̞̮͔̈͘̕ẹ̸̘͎͈̔̊a̵̡̝̮͊̏͐̕r̷̯̔͜͝͝n̸̠͑̀̓͘͜ ̴̩̙̞͇̕t̴̠̥͊̏̈̒h̶̢̥á̷̟̉t̶̹̹̺̠͒̏̅ ̵̩̳̜̭͑̈k̵̢͓̙̮͋̿̀i̵͇̿n̴̩̈́̑͐̊d̴̲͋ṇ̴̗͋̇ḛ̴͙̈̓s̸͚̽s̴̬̣̈̐ ̴̮̗̪̆͊͜͝ḭ̶̂̿̚s̸̖̭̻ ̷͙̤͙̙̃͋͘a̸̲̪̺̫͠ ̵͉l̸̠̣̻͉͐i̷̯̣͛̑e̶̬͋̑,̵̧̼̦́̈́͠ ̶͕̪͒ṫ̸͍̜̭̉ḥ̴̘͎̪̈̈͌ā̸͈̲t̸͙̓̀͝ ̸̛̣̜̼͙̂͑f̷̧̤̐͆e̵̢̞͐̈̏ā̶̲̲̦̅̽r̷̡̗̣̃̔ ̵͔͈̂͜ǒ̷̙̪̬̰̒n̷̫̤͕̮͊ĺ̴̖ÿ̶̖̮́̿͐ ̷̣́͘l̸̢̞͍̟̅͋̈́a̵̦̿͆s̴̓̓͜t̷̺̰̙̊́͠s̵͚͎͐͌ ̴̳̝͖̄̊͑͜͝s̵̥̅ô̶̠̜͆͜ ̸̟̗̩̐ͅl̴̥͗o̶͚̭͊n̸̡̳̱͒̚͜g̷̟̲̙̃͛̈͌,̶͉̾̅̍ ̴̡̘̓̐̕t̵̠̻̦͊h̴͙͛̊ͅa̷̳̐̽̚͜t̷͕̱́̆ ̷̳̱̝̓͘ͅs̶̮͖̮t̶̟͔̘̋͊ứ̵̳̳͓͒̂p̷̩̰̣̖̎̀̓i̶̢̦̣͔͑̈́́͝d̵̲̝̠̆͆i̴͓̫͙̬͊t̷̯̑̓̽͜y̶̥̞̑̕ ̸̛͔̪̬͕̉i̶̭̣̯̐̽̈́̃s̴̡͚͂ͅ ̸̖̎̿͋o̵̼͘n̸̜͑͑̒̅e̶̺͋ ̴̲̪̍ő̷̭͔̝̲̉͝f̵̟͕͖̅̉͊̊͜ ̷̡̣̋̎͐̉t̵̖̳ẖ̴̟̓̅̎̄e̶̝̞͝ ̵̰̿̾s̷̤̺̟͆t̷̡̺̲̿r̸̦͚͂̔̌̚o̸̧̞̖̥̎̈́n̸͉̖͘g̶̠͕̓̈́e̴̛̛͎̦̮̽s̸͙̪̄̂̃͆t̶̼̙̒ ̶͕̲̗͍͂̓f̸̙͆̂̚͠o̴͔͎̞͐͆̈́͘r̴͓͚̫̎c̶̢̐͐͘͘e̸̺̱̱̿̈͋s̵̨͎͖̿̐͌͠ ̴̧̪̰̙̈́̒͋į̵̛͓̠n̶̛̪̻̣ ̷͖̠͙̔̈́t̵̟͒̏͒͝h̶̨̥̞̟̑͂̋ê̸̡̲̋͠ ̵̹͇̤̈́͆͊ṵ̷̑̓ň̷̘̋̅ì̶̝̹̿̈v̸̪͓̚e̷̗͔͑ṛ̸̥͆̈́̉s̶̜̘͇̏̋ĕ̴̩,̷̨̈̽̿͂ ̴̩̦̅a̴͉͚̔͂̏ͅn̶͇̒̈́͝d̴̙ ̶̬́͋͂t̷̻̻̤̊̑̀̐ĥ̸̜̜̆â̵͉̦̐̇̈t̴̳̅̑̉͆ ̶̧̪̊͑i̵̟̋͌̎͠t̸̗̑̃ ̵͔͑̇ȁ̴̻̃͗̉ṇ̶̙̙̥̈́d̷̯̝̊͘͝ ̴̞̳̆̓̚c̷̗̬͚̩̿̆͛͝r̶̗̾ŭ̵̠ȩ̶̯̝͇̃͆͋l̷̺̳̖̀̃͌t̵̢̩̻̝̃̓̎̍y̸̡̺̞̻̑ ̷̧͔͕̼̇s̶͈̋̅̈p̷̼̞͙̗͂̎͠ĕ̴̢͚̱̈̂ã̴̧̟̙͍̊͋̚k̴̟̤̔ͅ ̷̗̦̟̺t̶̠̗̜̾ḩ̴̬͉̪̓̿̎ę̸͆ ̶͓̿̑͆s̶̢̼͍̳̆́͘a̴̛͍̮m̵͈͂̔͠e̵̳̼̜̋͌̉ ̷̨̀l̴̢͈͊͊̍a̸͉͇̲̬͐̐̀̈́ṉ̶͇͋͊g̷̩͙̊͘u̴̟̚͜a̶̢͍̙̙͗͛̈́͝g̷̱̝̠̏͜ě̵̮?̸̡̰̪̰̄

#̸̢̘̪̓͆Ẇ̶̭̳͐h̴̥͌̾̚e̴̱͚͕̫̒̽̋n̶̪̐?̸͇͂̕

Then, two weeks was up, and Izuku was back at school, his brand new, shiny mask attached to his face and a metal gorget protecting his throat. Most notable was the fact that he no longer had to deal with the stupid fucking surgical-suit-in-a-backpack!

In other words, it was –heh– a weight off his back.

The relief lasted all the way to school, until Maya wasn’t there to greet him at the gate. Strange, but not unusual. Sometimes she made it to school before him, sometimes after. They rarely tried to coordinate their arrivals, and Izuku was running late as it was, so he reasoned that she had probably already in class. No Biggy.

Right?

He tried not to think about it. Tried to rationalise it. ‘She was just busy with schoolwork,’ he thought as he sat through a particularly boring History lecture he knew Maya would find fascinating.

He felt a twitch in his leg.

‘She’s just preparing my surprise,’ he thought as he failed to find her before lunch, and ended up eating alone under the tree when she never showed up at all.

His leg was bouncing now. Had everyone always been looking at him like that? Were those looks different from normal?

‘She just had to go home early,’ he tried to make himself believe as he stood outside of her classroom, watching students stream out and failing to find that head of black hair and those dark brown eyes he’d recognise anywhere. His leg kept jumping, even as he stood, even as he watched. Nervous energy building and building inside of him.

He wasn’t used to this feeling. He was used to burning rage or smouldering hate, cold apathy or the warmth he’d feel when something good happened, like Maya. Anxiety was something he thought he had lost the ability to experience years ago, when he became strong.

Apparently even the strong feel nervous from time to time.

Then, everything just… stopped.

The electric nerves, the burning anger, the twitch in his muscles. All… stop.

He feels nothing, sees nothing, hears nothing. All that he registers is the lead ball growing in his throat. It is everything that was there before, dead and compacted into something heavy that lodges in his oesophagus and blocks his lungs.

When Kusaraba and his gang walk out, she went white. This wasn’t in and of itself unusual, the sight of him was often enough to send her running —Izuku had done his best to instil in this bitch the fear of him for a good two and a half years, and he was anything but incompetent— but Izuku could feel something… different. Maybe it was the way her bright pink hair, usually so well-groomed and cared for, was an absolute mess of frizzes and split ends. Maybe it was the way she had walked out shoulders slumped and staring at the floor. Maybe it was the way her two cronies shifted nervously in that particularly off way that made the weight in his throat twist painfully.

Maybe it was the look in their eyes. Pink, brown, and blue eyes, usually filled with the twinkle of twisted malevolence only a teenage girl could possess, were now empty, sad. He even thought he could see some red around the edges of the pink-haired girl’s eyes, and in the middle, churning like a boiling sea, all he could see was—

The weight in his throat sunk to his stomach. In its place, the four horsemen of tragedy rode in one after the other, a parody of the ancient symbol of the end times. Confusion. Comprehension. Horror. RAGE.

Guilt.

In that moment, he wanted to strangle them. He wanted to flay them alive and hang their skins like flag from the school’s flagpole. He wanted to inflict on them every torture he had learned from his father’s different phases. Every possible method for inflicting pain and suffering the humans before him had conjured from their twisted little minds came to him, past down and offered up like a sick tribute to the future.

He wanted them to burn.

He wanted to ask them what they had done, what had happened, but that didn’t matter now. Something had happened. Something bad enough that incorrigibly cruel Kusaraba felt guilty. Something that had kept Maya from texting him for the past three days. Had kept her from attending school, and likely meant she wasn’t waiting for him at their seat in the park, too.

His mind flashed back through the day. The looks he ignored, the whispers he filtered out, the way everyone stayed further away from him than usual.

He blanked.

Everyone knew.

The tiles beneath his shoes began to brown and warp as his control over his quirk faltered.

Everyone knew, and none had told him.

He looked up, eyes that had previously been emeralds shining in good humour now became burning green suns, cracking and spitting with every negative emotion he felt smashed together and set light. A chemical mixing pot in a furnace. A recipe for disaster. A promise of the same.

They were the closest, so it would be logical to asked them. But he doubted any of the trio understood a lick of sign-language and he didn’t want to spend the time needed to communicate by writing on the board or playing charades. He didn’t have the time.

Plus, he knew that if he ever got within arm’s reach of them, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from wringing their necks like wet dish-cloths before burning them to ashes.

So, instead, he spun on his heel and took off running down the hall, leaving the three girls in the dust. Right now, they didn’t matter and he had other priorities. When the time came, they would suffer his wrath, but, for now, all he could think about were controversial research results seen by too-young eyes and the realisation of how small a single person was when it came to statistics.

He needed to find someone with authority, someone who knew the details and would be able to give him what he needed. While he was sprinting down the hall, doing his utmost to break unquirked land-speed records, he sent a few erratic texts to his father. Filled with typos and grammatical mistakes from a combination of auto-correct and being jostled as Izuku sprinted through the halls and up the stairs of his middle-school, he managed to convey the situation, his evidence, and his conclusions to his father, who responded near instantly but was ignored as Izuku shoved the phone back into his pocket and burst into the principal’s office at full tilt, making the heavy oak double doors bounce off of the walls with a bang as he slammed them open .

The principal, still as weedy as ever, jumped in his seat at the sound and looked up. Where Izuku expected to see confusion or concern, or even annoyance at the way Izuku had just barged into his office. The boy was even ready for a reprimand that he would inevitably ignore. Instead, Izuku saw the same reaction he had gotten from Kusaraba. A pale face, and a sudden apparent inability to pronounce whole words.

Izuku stared at the thin man, who tried his best to say something even vaguely teacher-like. He stared at the man who had the power to stop everything from happening, and chose to do nothing. Izuku had no doubt that the fact that his green eyes were currently burning out of his skull were doing the opposite of putting the man at ease, but Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to give the tiniest kernel of a shit about how the puny man in front of him might feel.

It was evident on the man’s face that he knew that a paradigm shift had occurred. While he might credit his warning to Izuku at the beginning of the year for curbing the boy’s tendency to damage school property, he was now being faced with a truth that should have been evident the entire time: Izuku stopped damaging school property because he chose to stop damaging school property. The key difference here being that the principal’s warning was just… words. And words, the man seemed to be realising, were worth very little when the person they were being aimed at suddenly stopped caring about what they meant.

A warning like the one the weedy old man behind the principal’s desk gave was a verbal promise of consequences, simple words spoken. Whatever meaning or implied threats they may have carried became moot when faced with very, very real power, like the one that was burning through Izuku’s chest to the beat of a god’s war dance. Izuku leaned further towards the man, his stare becoming a glare, and then a glower, as his hands singed the large desk the pathetic excuse for an adult was increasingly trying to use as cover from the greenette’s ire.

(Izuku was dumfounded as to how this man came to run an educational institution because he had clearly never learned that wood was very flammable. But Izuku was more than willing to educate this waste.)

Because that man knew Izuku’s question, and if he was to leave this office without getting an answer, this whole stupid fucking cesspit people pretended was a school would cease to exist.

Stillness was unnatural in living beings. When something was alive, it was always moving. Anything that could be considered life is in constant motion, from the largest of elephants, to the smallest of single-celled organisms, life moves. Animals run, jump, eat, shit, and breathe. Even plants can react to stimuli with forms of motion. Through a process called phototropism, a plant will grow towards a source of light to increase its exposure, and, therefore, its nutrient intake. And that’s not even including the carnivorous plants.

Long-story short, living thing move, and life moves to live.

Which meant that the stillness filling the room made it feel more like a mausoleum.

Izuku sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, a statue who’s only sign of life was the mechanical hiss of his mask as he breathed. The artificial sound filled the room, drowning out the beeping and other similar noises coming from the heart monitor and pumps next to the hospital bed.

M̴̯͉̗͓̠͂̈͌̓̏̉͊̎̄͊̾́͘o̴͉͊̽̈́̌̔̾̓̌̃͐̉̚m̶̧̢̝̙̺̝͌͛?̸͍̖̤̝̖͍̠͇̦͍̰͈͐

The bed was too… big. Too white and clean and sterile. It made the person in it look smaller than she already was. The wide mattress and thick pillows meant that comfort was all but assured, but it made her skinny frame wrapped in casts and white white bandages look tiny and childlike.

M̸͙̰͖̭̭̰͉̓̈́̉̍̌̿͐͠õ̴̜̦̫̼͍̗̜͈̘̮̿̿̈̅̓̐̄̉̐̏͘͝ͅͅm̷̖͕̦͖̰̼̭̣̋,̶̨̳͔̲͖̥̝̀ ̷̡̡̢̤͎̝̻̪͕͓̹̜̺̈́̂̃̈́̉͒̇̏̓̉͑̀͘w̷̢̢͈̫̳̦̬̮̤̣͍͚̏̏̑͌̈́͋̓̿̈͘ḩ̴̧̞̘͓͕̺̲̳̫̦̫͆͗̓̅̿͆͒́̚͝ë̵̘̖̲̺͈̼̗̰̞͖̤́̌͋́͒̏̓̚͘̚r̶̗̠͇̹̈́͊̾͋ͅȩ̷̲̜͚͎͈̫̈̔̈́̀̍̎͛̔̂͌ ̴̨̧̝̞͎̖̤̳͖̗̞̎ā̵̡̡̛̪̮͍̫͕͖͍̝̩͉̝͋͋͑͆̎̀̋͠r̸̨̛̯̝͎̰̠̖̽͑͐̑͗̊̚͘͝͠͠ͅē̶̢͎̻͓͚̜̝̥̳̩͍̜̩̯̩͌̑̒͑̈́͆̐͒͋̌͝ ̵̖̬̜̝̦͉̺̍̍ŷ̷̤̮͉̯̤͐̄͗̐̌͑͑͒́͘͘͝͝o̸̙̠͖̜̼̳̳͊͂͊̕͜u̸̙̠̝͕͋̃̆̽͠?̴̪̜̦̦̰̠̤̩͙̯̟͌̃̓͂̂́̌̏͆͆͘͝

But, none of that mattered, right now. All that was important was that she was as comfortable as possible for the… long rest the doctors had predicted she had ahead of her.

D̴̝̼͚̯̎̋̃̏͂̉̂̐͒͌͐̓̉͠a̵̺͓̱͉͍͈͓̞͎̺͌̋̽͆̎͂͆́͝d̷̛̪͐̉̆̋̈́̌̇͗̈́͘͠,̴̘̹̻͉̘̩̔͛̾̔̌̑͗͆̎̉͛̚̕ ̷͓͔̞̬̰̺̜͎̂̂̄͂̇̇̋̚̕͠͝w̷̭̹͚̺̹̯̯̲̞̺͚̙̫̭͝h̶̨̪̱͕̗̠̬͈̻̭̩̟͚̗̅̆̇͂̉͑̓̿͛y̵͕͆͜ ̴̢̛̦̦̲̯͍̤͕̱̯̫͍̣̿̏͛̆̅͌i̴̺͓̺͍͔̱͎͉̳͓͑̎̈́͐͑̓̑̎̇͑͑͆͜͜ͅš̴̗̳̳͓̭͎͓̱̋͛̾̎̐̈́͐͑̓͒͘͘͜͠͝ ̸̯̤̩̥̞̲̐͐͗́̔̚m̶̛̠̝̥͓̂̈̓̍̍͆̄̆̊̌̚̚o̶̫̍͊͒̔̇̊̂͊̕͝m̸̛̱̯̬̣̹̻̜̙̱̘͒̈́͆̀̋͒͝ ̶̲̝̣͍̺͓̤̦̟̙̼͔̪̻͋͋̏͑̌́͜n̵̨̛͈͚͓̖̯͈͍͍̳̈́̓̋̈̒̂̽͆͝ỏ̵̢̨̧̨̙̦̩̜͎͇̳̘̪̦̄ṯ̷̙̑̇͗́̌͌̅͆̓̊ ̶̖͒̉̑́͗̒̊̅̕͝͝͝͝ẁ̵͈̳͎̮̲̰̍ͅą̸̘͕͙͉͍̟̱̤̼͇̟̦̃̓̋͛̇͆̓̌ͅk̴̛̲͙̗͉͓͎͔̫̝̦̓̽͝͝ỉ̸̻̪̓͌͠n̴̩̘͈̑̈́̊͛g̵̛̜͑͗̌̿̍̄͊̅͒̌̑̚ͅ ̴̹̦̜̝̻̱͚̙̯̲̃͋̈́̿͋̒͆͋̍͊̍̚̕ų̸̧̭͔͉̳̼̘̳͈͇̬͒̄̕͘p̴̧̥͕̩͚̊́͛̆̓͌̒̈́̓́͗͋͠͝ͅ?̵̡̮̤̻̿͒̍̓̈́͛̊̚͜

He lurched forwards, clutching his head. He failed. If the mask wasn’t running automatically, he would have chocked on his own breath. He failed. It was meant to be simple. It was meant to WORK! He failed so badly why did it go so badly why didn’t he see this coming? He had put in the work, he had put in the fear. It was meant to keep her safe and happy. Why why why did this happen? He had spent the last two years practically glued to her side. He thought things had been getting better. He thought she had been getting better, that he was helping her like she was helping him! Why why why did this happen whY DID THIS HAPPEN?

WHY IS MAYA LYING HERE?! HE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND!

No. No no no, that was a lie. Izuku knew why he was here. Why she was here. The principal had been all to happy to tell Izuku when the heat the boy was producing started melting whatever glue that rat in human form used to glue his toupee to the top of his empty skull.

Apparently, the story was that this came out of the blue. That, all of a sudden, after years of being a quiet, unproblematic student who had no trouble with anyone, she decided to throw herself off the roof of the school. The man had even suggested the possibilities of the pressures of schoolwork, or the fact that she was a teenage girl with volatile emotions as a possible source of any unnoticed depression. He said that her parents were devastated, and that Izuku shouldn’t beat himself up about it, and should start focussing more on high school applications.

Then Izuku ripped the cockroach’s desk in half and, suddenly, the story changed.

This time, there was video.

Izuku gripped his hair, rocking back and forth as he tried to make himself breathe. The mask took care of most of the work, but just because air went in, didn’t mean his lungs did their job and transferred it to his bloodstream. The pain as he tugged on his hair grounded him and he tried using one of the methods that Maya had taught him to avoid losing control of his temper. He started counting backwards from ten, using the names of the top ten heroes instead of numbers.

It was a short-term distraction, and Maya had often used it to stop herself from hyperventilating, but it worked well enough.

(And let Izuku know it was really time to brush up on his knowledge of heroes. He’d stumbled and forgotten the number six, which was just embarrassing.)

When he had seen the recordings, he had melted through the back of the chair he’d been gripping, burning the leather and startling the guy manning the cameras so much the man had practically leapt out of his seat. It had been a tedious process getting access to the recordings in the first place. The principal had let slip that whatever happened had probably been caught on tape by one of the many cameras dotted throughout the school by accident —cameras that had conveniently never been mentioned when complaints of bullying had been made by other students— and Izuku had latched onto that tid-bit like a starving bloodhound, and he wasn’t letting go.

Of course, they had tried to claim technical difficulties, or that the cameras hadn’t caught anything, but all it had taken was a single text to his father asking if the man happened the know anyone who had the knowhow to retrieve footage from misbehaving electronics and, what did ya know, one of Hisashi’s colleagues at work just happened to have a quirk that let him communicate telepathically with electronic systems, which also enabled him to see into the memories of said electronic systems, no matter the corruption. The man had been more than happy to come to the school and convince their computers to relinquish the data Izuku wanted, once the situation had been explained to him.

So, with the backdrop of a nervously sweating principal, the head of school security that Izuku was at least semi-confident was half way to soiling himself, and the still form of his father’s colleague, sitting in the other chair in the room as he focussed his attention on his quirk, Izuku watched the footage of his best friend trying her best to survive his two weeks absence. He watched other students come in early, late, and between lessons, vandalize her desk in increasingly creative and destructive ways. He watched them leave spider-lilies in her locker. He watched thumb tacks being placed into her shoes, discrete pieces of paper slipped into her back, and pieces of school work being stolen. Izuku watched through hours of recordings of every possible form of harassment being heaped upon his friend. He watched the bullies take advantage of his absence to make up for lost time. He watched them find ever more creative ways to skirt the line between psychological torture and direct physical assault, as if that was the limit they were playing chicken with. He watched classmates, students in his year, the younger years, teachers, staff, turn a blind eye to the suffering of his best friend as she tried her best to endure a special type of hell every day for the sake of her education. 

Izuku watched teachers as they noticed a hurtful message or another one of her belongings being targeted, and either look away or actually scold her. He watched kids for whom the world proclaimed the innocence of youth, children with less than a decade and a half of experience in life, turn into cruel monsters at the drop of a hat. He watched teachers, the supposedly wise and experienced adult meant to guide and nurture their young, suggestible minds, ignore said cruelty, praise misdeeds, and blame the victim.

In this footage, Izuku watched the school turn on his best friend, one of two people left in the world he could claim to care for more than life itself. He watched, in his mind, he saw a vision of the future. A future filled with people like this, brought up in systems like this, praised for acting like this, and encouraged to think like this.

In this security footage, Izuku foresaw a world that would never be kind to those it saw as beneath them, and, in that moment, Midoriya Izuku felt the last of his faith in natural human goodness die.

At some point, the principal and head of security had tried to discretely exit the room, but a subtle increase in the temperature had convinced them that, due to the thin ice they currently found themselves on, such a decision was ill advised for their continued good health.

As Izuku reached the last Friday, and had just begrudgingly acknowledged that at least the gangs had kept their word —none of the ones he had fought had even looked in her general direction for those two weeks— Izuku saw something… interesting.

He watched as Kusaraba approached one of the younger years, talked to him for a bit, then left. It was a short interaction, normally unnoticeable, but the camera had caught a glimpse of her face as she made her way down the hall, and the expression on her face was the definition of devious.

He continued watching her, clicking from camera to camera, following the pink-haired girl’s movements. He caught her handing something small and round to the third-year boy Izuku had seen on the roof that one day, before making her way to her two cronies. Now less interested, Izuku decided to follow Sir Simp around, curious about the small ball Kusaraba had given him. He watched as Mr Simpsalot made his way to the entrance of the cafeteria, seeming to stop outside the door to check on his phone when…

‘No…’

Maya made her way down the corridor, meekly sneaking through the open doors of the cafeteria, completely unaware of the guy tailing her. Izuku watched her, unblinkingly, as she stood in line, head bowed and body curled in on itself.

‘Please… no…’

He watched the stalker and stalked make their way down the queue. He watched her try and make herself invisible in the rowdy line. He watched her collect her tray of food from the scornful lunch ladies. He watched her look away for one second to get napkins.

‘NO!’

He watched, almost in slow motion, as her stalker rapidly extended his pointer and middle fingers like rubber, sticking the mystery ball in her food while she wasn’t looking. (He saw one lunch lady notice, and say nothing.)

Izuku watched powerless, as his best friend made her way up to the roof to eat. With Kusaraba and her crowd eating in the lunchroom, the stairs to the roof had been pretty much empty.

With his heart beating in his ears and his quirk writhing under his skin, he watched Maya ascend those steps. He watched until she disappeared from the screen, past the camera’s viewpoint and onto the roof.

Then he waited.

And waited.

And w a i t e d.

Izuku looked at the screen, at that single unmoving image, for nearly an hour, before a something happened, and a commotion spread throughout the school. He paused recordings. He knew what happened next. He stared, hard, at one single frozen frame. It was from a camera outside a classroom door. It pointed straight at the entrance and gave a decent view of the wall-to-wall spanning window that dominated half the wall of that class. It also gave a perfect view on a certain unidentifiable shadow speeding past the window in a blur.

A. Blur.

The last picture of Maya truly alive, before she had died and been reduced to… this.

He stared at it a bit longer, letting the image burn itself into his eyes, into his brain. He studied that fraction of a second for so long, when he blinked for the first time in what felt like hours, he could still see it engraved behind his eyelids.

He would have stared longer, but felt his phone in his pocket. The urge to ignore it was strong, but something told him to take it out and read the message. It turned out to be from his father, which became an unnecessary detail when the first words were “I know where she is.”

He looked up, into the eyes of his father’s colleague, who had just woken up. The man nodded and told him to go, that he’d be able to handle things from here.

Grateful but lacking the time to be properly thankful, Izuku sprinted out of the small room, knocking the door off of one of its hinges and leaving it swinging in the breeze. He thought about going for the stairs, but spotted an open window and decided time was too precious to be wasted.

Throwing himself out of the window may have been an impulsive decision that was only saved from being a disastrous one due to massively overcompensating for his fall speed with what was in hindsight a tad too much firepower to slow his descent, but sue him, he was in a hurry, and the school didn’t need that fish-pond anyway.

Pity about all the fish, though.

And now, after some dubiously legal rooftop running and lighting a bin on fire to distract a curious hero looking in the wrong place, here he was.

Sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, watching his best friend in the world lying in a too big, too white hospital bed, looking as if she were already dead.

Right.

Right.

…

‘Fuck fuck fuck I can’t do this I can’t do this I CAN’T DO THIS I CAN’T—’

Izuku felt a pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him into someone’s chest as his hands stopped trying to pull chunks of hair out of his skull. He felt their heart beating beneath layers of old muscle, and wrapped his arms as far around the familiar source of heat as he could reach. He buried his face in the broad chest, feeling the tickle of a beard on his skull as his Uncle Oki hugged him tighter. “It’s okay kid. She’s gonna be alright,” the old man said softly. “The docs said she probably doesn’t have any permanent damage, and the casts will be coming off in a couple weeks. All that’ll be left will be small scars that’ll fade with time.” Feeling no response, the old man pulled his honorary nephew away and held him by his shoulders. He felt concern begin to grow in his belly, looking into the eyes of the kid he’d known since he was in diapers, and seeing them utterly dry. He knew the Midoriyas, and he knew that, while Inko might have been famous for her inexhaustible tear ducts, Hisashi had been prone to crying when Chinoshin had first met him. He pursed his lips as he looked into the kid’s eyes, and saw nothing. “Your dad’s on the way now, he just stopped by your school to grab Musen and some other stuff. He’ll be here soon. Do you want me to stay with you till then? Or would you rather I wait for him outside?”

Predictably, he got no response. He clenched his teeth as he stood there, looking down at the kid he knew to be so, so strong as the inexorable flame had been ignited in him years ago dimmed to an ember before his eyes. He watched his nephew stare blankly ahead, and saw the typhoon of emotions whirling around in the empty spaces in his eyes, and knew that the only thing between this kid and a full meltdown was shock. He also knew that, when that meltdown came, it would be destructive and indiscriminate, and that, if nothing was done, Izuku would do something he would definitely regret. He was his father’s son, after all, and Hisashi was a passionate man, and when he felt something, he felt it.

So, he kneeled down to be at eyelevel with the kid, and asked again. “Hey, kid. Do you want me to wait in here with you or not?” This seemed to catch what little attention Izuku had to spare, and the boy shook his head. Chinoshin’s jaw clenched. He knew that was a bad idea, and he knew that leaving Izuku alone right now would only mean the boy had the opportunity to spiral and get into an even worse head-space than he already was.

But… not leaving him alone when he made clear that was what he wanted was direct path to a fight, one Chinoshin felt would do no one any favours. So, against his better judgement, and cursing himself for suggesting it in the first place, old uncle Oki nodded back at his favourite nephew, rose to his feet, gave the bow a single comforting pat on the shoulder, and made his way out of the room, gently shutting the door on his way out.

Now alone, Izuku could only stare at the door, before his gaze turned back to the only person that mattered right now. His heart broke. ‘She looks so small…’

He let his eyes trail down from her face, going to her arms, then to her wrists. Her wrists that had always been hidden by long sleeves, long sleeves that had been frayed and damaged by how often she had pulled on them, tugging them over her hands when she got nervous, tugging the fabric apart strand by strand when she got really stressed. Sleeves that hid a trail of horizontal scars leading halfway up her forearm. Scars the doctor had said were years old, and overlapped more than could be properly seen. Scars he had missed after two and half years of friendship!

What kind of friend was he?! What kind of person was he!?

The hiss and click sound of the ventilator was half a beat out of synch with his own mask, an observation that increasingly disturbed and irritated him as he sat back down in the uncomfortable plastic hospital chair and looked upon the sleeping face of his closest friend. ‘All those bandages…’

He was sorely tempted to turn off his own mask, maybe then the hiss and click would be less deafening. He felt the muscles in his face clench as the irritating, echoing noise bounced off the walls of the room and the confines of his skull. Hiss and click. Hiss and click. Hiss and click. Hiss and click. Hiss and click.

HISS.

AND.

CLICK.

Izuku wanted to scream. His ears were wringing again and the walls felt like they were pressing against his lungs. Every movement he made, his clothes rubbed against his skin like sandpaper being scraped against him. He felt old scars burn and sting and itch and ache. Everything was too much too much too much t o o  m u c h.

Izuku could feel his own lungs flutter and struggle against the regular intake and output of air his mask forced upon his body, heaving in his chest like balloons filled with holes trying to be filled. His ribs felt like a cage and his heart ached and burned with a thousand different emotions and thoughts and plans that all complemented or contradicted themselves. Nothing made sense. Up was down. Left was right. The walls were still closing in and Maya was lying comatose in a hospital bed, scarred beyond her years and abandoned in her hour of need.

AND HE. WAS. POWERLESS. AGAIN!

He thought things would change, that he’d be able to protect the things and people he loved. He thought he was strong enough to stop losses like this.

And look where all that supposed strength got him.

All of that-that pain… and for what?!

He’s hypersensitive. He can feel, see, and hear everything, both inside and out. His lungs are still struggling to cooperate with his mask, and he can feel his hair follicles being pulled out of his scalp by his own hands. Every muscle feels tense and worn at the same time, like he’s raring for a fight and just finished a marathon. His hands feel clammy and the sweat is making his clothes stick to his back he hasn’t sweat since he got his quirk it’s even dripping down his forehead and getting in his eyes, making his vision go blurry. He can hear his heart beating in his ears, his lungs stutter and stretch. He can hear the gurgle of an empty stomach he forgot to feed with all the craziness going on, and the ache that accompanies it. The artificial lighting of the white white white room contrasts poorly with the setting sun, burning his eyes and fucking with the shadows. It is both too dark and too bright. He can see every grain and imperfection in the coating of the sterile walls, and yet the readings of the vital machines working to keep his friend alive allude him. It hurts his brain, which pulses in time with his heart in his skull making him want to just tear his hair out and crack his skull to relieve some pressure because it hurts it huRTS WHY DID THIS Ḧ̵͈̟̹̪̬̺̩͚̤̮̎Ă̶͇̣̖̍̈̏̍P̶͕͉͐̈P̶͓͈̉Ę̷̲̺̹̫̣͊̉̾̔́̉̅N̴̢͕̭̺̫͚̫͉̼̞̮̻̈̓͠??

In this moment, for the first time in a long time, Midoriya Izuku fractures. He breaks into tiny shards of impossible sharpness, each stabbing at other, more intact pieces of himself until they themselves break in an endlessly self-destructive spiral. He can feel everything, hear anything, and see so much it hurts.

And still, like always, he misses what’s happening just under his nose. Despite his incredible vision, he doesn’t see the door swing open. Despite his super-human hearing, his ears do not register the sound of his father’s voice yelling for him. Despite the fact that the cold air makes his skin shiver and ache, all the while sweat drips from every pore, and his nerves scream at him that he’s burning burning burning a̵̙̫̱̟̖̟̦͊͋̍̔̽̔̇̂͋̌̀̓̇͘g̶̢̺̝̝̠̟͇̫̊̄̀̆̊͌̒̓̆͝a̴̢̙̩̪̪̼̙͓̤̱̪͔̝͖̮i̷͖̩͎̬̬͊̈́͛͛̓̏̐̄̒͋̈́͌̂̽͠ñ̶͇̍, he misses the way the air in the room starts heating up, regardless of the valiant attempts of the air conditioning unit to keep the temperature stable. He misses the way sparks leap from his skin, how his own power, the source of his pride and confidence, roars and rages like a beast out to avenge the unforgivable slight against its master. He misses the flames building in his veins, burning away his flesh and taking its place.

For the Fire will burn as it wills, and it is he as he is it. If it desires to render this world unto cinders for its sins, then it is its mandate to burn away all until nought is left but ash, wiped clean of rot and corruption. All Good sacrificed for the destruction of all Evil.

For what shall cow the Flame, and order it not to burn?

Much happens in the instances before Midoriya Izuku shatters completely, and, in his despair, he misses all of it. All Izuku knows is the Fire Fire Fire. He doesn’t see the panic and grief in his father’s and uncle’s eyes. He doesn’t see the way the wall behind him is scorched black. He doesn’t hear the screaming of vital machines and doctors alike. He doesn’t feel the way the air grows stuffy and the world draws tight, like a bow pulled to its maximum, ready to loose the arrow that will decide the future.

The world is watching, waiting on the edge of its seat.

All Izuku feels is the hot and anger and fear, and a million other emotions. But, it all simplifies easily, narrowing down to a needle point like a star collapsing in on itself in its final moments. All of his feelings, all of his emotions, boiling down to a single, undefinable feeling, whose closest cousin would be RAGE.

(Distantly he feels like he’s falling, passing through a coolness he will never remember to somewhere where the sun shines on his back despite it setting a moment before. His hands and knees hit hard rock but he’s more fire than man now and pain is as distant a memory as the feeling of weight and flesh and bone. All of this should confuse him, but Izuku is far away and the Flame has the wheel.)

Then all that Feeling, all that pent-up stress and grief and guilt and hate, all that Izuku is and ever has been, finally becomes the spark to light the fuse.

And Izuku erupts.

Three lifeforms of any importance will be there to witness the day Mount Poroshiri of the Hidaka mountains in Hokkaido erupts as if to challenge Amaterasu’s right to rule herself. Fire spits from the peak, and the blast wave sends pebbles and boulders alike flying away in a wave of earth as rocks are turned to magma and the mountain heaves. A tidal wave of white-hot flames floods the valleys and the water will evaporate in the streams as rivers of flame and heat descend from on high, charring the earth and rendering it uninhabitable.

The first is a dog, a mongrel adopted into the home of his master thanks to chance and kindness. His name is Hazumu and he will be the first to die. Like dogs do, he will feel the danger before it strikes, thanks to his keener senses, and will turn to warn his best friend in the world. Unfortunately, fire and flame are not known for their patience, and the fire will consume him as he stands 20 meters in front of his best friend. His end is as quick and as painless as incineration can be.

The second is a man, an old hermit who now goes by Kodoku Heiwa. He once led a normal life working at a bank, but abandoned it in favour of searching for inner peace by living as his ancestors did. His quirk, once considered relatively useless in modern society, is called Glutton. It gave Kodoku a high resistance to most ingested poisons and the ability to consume expired food with no ill effects. One can imagine how helpful that would be living in the mountains, with little to no access to a modern supplier. He had nothing and no one left in society to care for. His parents were dead, and he had never found anyone he liked enough to settle down with. All he had was his dog, Hazumu. An ugly little mongrel who’d shown up in front of his cabin five or six winters ago, begging for scraps. How a dog, of all things, had made it this far into the mountains was beyond him, but he’d accepted that his companion had secrets, as did all living things. He will be the second of the three to die. He will see a bright flash of light from the peak of the highest mountain, and for fifteen seconds he will be unable to see. When he finally blinks to spots out of his eyes, he will be blessed with vision just long enough to see fire in volumes he never could have imagined consuming the landscape, and, somewhere in his subconscious, he will know this is the end. His last rational thoughts are of loyal companion and best friend, and he will mourn the end of such a beautiful soul. He will live long enough to see his dog vanish in wave of flames hotter than anything he has ever felt, and his last real thoughts are of the pain and anguish he experiences as his eyes melt from their sockets and he is boiled alive from the inside out, before the fire reaches him and he burns to less than ash. It is a painful and sudden end to a lonely but fulfilling life.

Then comes the tree, ancient beyond counting and devoid of a name. It dies last, surrounded by family. It is one among hundreds, maybe even thousands like it that burn in the wake of one boy’s earth-scorching grief. This tree, grandchild of a grandchild of a grandchild of the first tree on Hokkaido, dies before the potential it harbours can be unleashed and, in a flash of heat and light, unimaginable change is averted. For within this tree was growing something that man would have been called a quirk, but the tree would have simply known as power. Given a little less than a decade, this power would have been mature enough to activate, and the world would have been altered forever. Now, this special existence burns, one anonymous lifeform among thousands to die that day, the ashes of its corpse joining with the others in a macabre dance across the ruined landscape when the flames die, the hot air rises, and the cold air sweeps in. For the first few hours after the calamity is over, hurricane-force winds will buffet the mountains, and clouds of ash and ember will be swept up in a final performance, a grand play to celebrate the end of something venerable and storied, regardless of the fact that it happened on less than a whim. Given time, the dust will settle and new life will be born from the ashes of the old, as it has been since time immemorial. It is an ignoble, tragic end to a wonderful thing that had existed from a past beyond written memory, to a future that burned along with it. The tree, old and nameless as it is, will feel nothing as it dies alongside the only world it ever knew, and from its passing, the seed to a new future is planted and begins to grow.

All of these, victims to forces beyond their control, will die anonymous and unknown to the world. It can only be considered a mercy that all of them died with those they loved close by.

In the Hidaka mountain range on the island-territory of Hokkaido, just north of the coast of Japan, a tortured soul named Midoriya Izuku grieves for his friend who suffered so much. He grieves for a peace lost in the throes of its youth. He grieves for a future he will never get to see and memories he will never share. He grieves, for he knows the future has been irrevocably changed, and he grieves the fact that his best friend might have been sacrificed to achieve it.

And, for the first time in years, Midoriya Izuku cries. He cries in the ashes of an entire ecosystem, a graveyard of his own creation. He cries tears he hasn’t shed in far too long, though they evaporate almost immediately, leaving salty trails that are erased in temperatures only found in erupting volcanoes, though, in this case, the comparable cataclysm has come to pass. He cries, alone in a decimated landscape, naked and choking without his shiny new mask. He is all by himself on what used to be the tallest mountain peak in the region, with only the ghosts of a dog, a man, and a tree for company. Collateral damage to his apocalyptic grief. Lives he will never realise had existed at all.

He cannot roar his pain, so his flames roar it for him. They scream and weep and wail their master’s agony to the world, flailing and destroying anything in their path like a mindless beast.

And all throughout, Midoriya Izuku cries alone.

Three girls walk down the street, chatting amongst themselves. The past two weeks have been… stressful, so the girl that seems to be in charge decided that they’d go to the arcade to blow off some steam and have fun. Her two friends are more than happy to come along, to take their mind off of… things.

The girl leading the troop combs one of her pink bangs behind her ear, narrowing her equally bubble-gum pink eyes in thought as she catches sight of her fringe poking into her field of vision. ‘Hmm… I think I’ll need a haircut soon. It’s getting pretty long.’  Long black hair, messily cut and obviously done herself sway as the girl walks down the hall towards the bedroom she’d offered to share She shakes her head to get rid of the thought, screwing her eyes shut as she tried to force the image out of her mind. She felt her eyes sting behind her eyelids. She would not cry!

“Hey, Heikin-chan, you good?”

She opened her eyes, revealing star-shaped irises to the world as she sent her friend her usual smile. She had made sure to use a good amount of eyedrops this morning, so her eyes shouldn’t be as red anymore! “Yep! Just didn’t get enough sleep last night, ya know? So, I’m pretty pooped.”

“Ohoho, Heiki~chaan, what were you up to that kept up so late, huuuh~? Were you, perhaps, texting someone?”

She laughs at her other friend’s comments, silently grateful for the girl’s attempt to bring up her mood. No, she wasn’t texting anyone, she had just lied in bed, awake, staring at the ceiling

“Hey, Heichan. I can’t sleep. Are you awake?”

No, she hadn’t been texting someone, but it was as good an excuse as any. “Hahaha, you know me so well, Yobumono-chan. Yeah! I was up late messaging some guy I met.”

“Oooooh, Hei-ki~chaaan! You’ve been holding out on me! Tell me! Tell me nowww! It’s been so boring lately, there’s barely anyone talking around school!” That might have been because a girl threw herself off a roof, and now the staff were being extra careful around the students, trying their best to watch what happened, and it was hard to get up to anything interesting if the teachers suddenly started caring what students did. All eyes were especially one student in particular. A boy that had hardly showed up since—

“Yeah, I’m awake. What’s up?”

“Naah, I can’t! Sorry, Hokanoko-chan, I know you’ve been starved for gossip.” She was a natural actress, and that came with being a natural liar. It helped in situations like this. “We only just started talking, so we wanna keep it quiet for a bit. Plus, he’s a bit shy, so I don’t want you or your exuberance scaring him away!” She said with mock seriousness, to which her friend playfully recoiled, her hand to her chest and her eyes filled with crocodile tears. Gods bless this girl.

“How dare you, Heikin-chan! I’ll have you know that I am a proper lady, and am perfectly able to comport myself as such!” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away with a pout as real as an email from a Nigerian prince. The next part came as a bit of a mumble. “I would only scare him a little bit. Just to make sure he wasn’t tricking you…”

The other girl, Yobumono, cackled. “Right,” she gasped between wheezed laughter, “because your lady-like and proper demeanour would obviously fool him, immediately ensuring that the dastardly scoundrel revealed all of his nefarious plans for our dear, innocent Heikin-chan here, who is obviously incapable of looking after herself.” The taller girl pointed at Heikin while still looking at Hokanoko, who was hiding a giggle behind her hand.

The girl hesitated, and she turned to look at her best friend, star-shaped pupils wide with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Heikin huffed and rolled her eyes. They were laying it on a bit thick today, but she supposed she understood. Guilt was a great, dragging weight. It felt like she was carrying the world on her back while running a marathon in slow motion, the finish line forever over the next horizon, and she didn’t doubt that her friends weren’t exempt. It felt… nice to think about something that wasn’t the biggest, longest-lasting mistake of their lives. A mistake that would haunt them forever, even if no one ever called them on it.

(Wild green hair and a silver-metal mask in a permanent scowl framed eyes sharp like cut emeralds that dug into her, cutting away layers of skin and flesh to reach the secrets hidden in her bones. Secrets that, once discovered, fed the star-forges burning in those same eyes as a heat unbearable washed over her, toeing the line of being too much. She watched as those eyes realised what she knew, found the greatest sin hidden inside of her, then vanished, as the green-haired boy took off down the corridor.)

“No, no, Heichan. Nothing’s wrong, it’s just… my quirk’s taking so long to appear, and dad’s taking me to the doctor next week… and with all the mean things the older kids said today, I-I-I was just wondering…”

She shivered. No, at least one person would. He would come eventually for his pound of flesh, in revenge for the crime committed against his friend, and would no doubt exact retribution for all the other crimes he knew about but had been convinced to ignore. It wasn’t a matter of if anymore, only when, and she knew she wasn’t the only one that knew this.

Dark brown eyes she’d always find herself mesmerised by somehow pierced through the dark, shimmering with unshed tears as they stared into her own bubble-gum pink ones. Seeing those eyes, how they looked at her, always made her tummy feel weird, but she pushed that feeling down. Her best friend needed her, and she would do what she could to help, like a hero would!

“I-If I-I-I t-turn ou-out to be q-q-quirkless, like they said…” the moon-light reflected off a single tear as it carved a path down pale cheeks and into long, messy black hair as it lay smushed between the other girl’s face and the pillow.

“… will you still be my friend?”

She knew, that, deep down, Yobumono and Hokanoko knew this as well, but had decided to pretend like nothing was wrong, like they weren’t barrelling towards inevitable doom on a train they had started but could no longer stop. They had shut their eyes, plugged their ears, and decided that ignorance is bliss and problems only existed if one acknowledged them.

She stared at her friend, stared at the girl she’d known for as long as she could remember. She was only five, she didn’t have all the answers to all the questions, and she didn’t really understand why some things happened. She was young, they both were, but eventually they’d be big, and she knew, somewhere in the depth of her little toddler brain, that what she said now would resonate for the rest of their lives.

And as she watched her best friend in the world break into sobs at the mere thought of being quirkless, she found that she knew exactly what to say.

They all knew, but Heikin was the only one who knew.

The little girl with bubble-gum pink hair and star-shaped eyes smiled at her best friend in the whole wide world, exposing a missing tooth. “Don’t be silly, Maya! Of course, we’ll still be friends! A single stupid quirk isn’t going to change that!” She held out her hand, leaning precariously out of her bed, and extended her pinkie-finger in a universally recognised gesture. “Pinkie-promise!”

She knew what was coming, and she knew that they deserved it. Her most of all.

The other girl’s eyes widened, her tears now ones of joy as she smiled a wobbly smile and joined her own pinkie up with her friends, and they shook on it, forging a promise that would last a lifetime.

Ḷ̴̼̺̫̦̩̻͊̓͝a̷̮̩̍s̷̲̳̑͌͝ṭ̷̜̻͍̌̀͊̒̊͘.̶̲͇̓̑͑̀̓̐ ̸̢̰͇̲̖̠̏̾̓Ȁ̶̢͔͔̜.̴̡̟̯̠͎͓̑̉̌̍̋͝ ̵̨̛͉̱́͛̆̒̏̋L̶̬̈́͝i̷͉̥͕̙͙̐̂͘͜f̶̖̬͙̙͇̓̓̑́͆ ̶̛̗̋̆̂͑̕e̸̛̮̱̙̗̯͊ ̷̙̜͔͋̃͝t̶̰̤͊͐̆̅̓̍͝ ̵̡̪̞̠͚̈́ḯ̷̭͇̭̓̐͝ ̸̮̘͖̞͍̗͊̌̇̌̓ͅm̶̜͎̙̈́͋ ̶̙̖͑̓͆́͘͜͝͠ë̵͓̺̔̄.̷̲͗̆̿̒̏͠

Because Kusaraba Heikin was a liar and a monster, and she knew that she would burn for what she’d done.

In alleys cast in the shadow of the late-day light, something lurks. This something, growling and hissing and spitting, is not one of the back-alley’s typical resident. It isn’t a homeless person, down on their luck, or a villain or criminal, up to no good. No, it is none of these things, for even they know to avoid it when its oppressive presence is felt, some atavistic survival instinct warning them that, while they may claim these darkened streets as their territory, this thing cares neither for them nor their claims. It is best, they collectively decide, slipping around corners and into dumpsters when they hear it approaching and feel their hearts start to beat frantically, to leave it be.

So, the thing stalks the suddenly empty alleys, hissing and spitting and inhuman. That last fact is as true as it is important, for one would be hard pressed to call it a person. It is a thing, and, as much as those of less moral inclinations tend to forget, people are not things.

This is very much a thing. A thing of spitting spite and hissing fury, half walking, half floating as it stalks something through the more dangerous routes in their city. It is a creature of fire and brimstone, of hate and grief. Its form is shrouded in a noxious smoke as dark as the night sky, that burns the lungs and eyes as the thing nears, providing it with both a perfect cover and an obvious tell.

It stalks the back alleys of the city it has called its home for the good part of three years, because it is on a hunt, and it can feel its prey nearby. All it needs to do now is find it.

“Do we know the details now?” His father was asking the question. To whom it was addressed, Izuku wouldn’t know. Thinking had been hard since he’d broken down and sobbed like a small child, and trying to remember anything specific right now hurt his head. All he knew, was that he was lying down in a hospital bed, wearing one of those stupid gowns, and had one of those shitty hospital respirators pushing air into his lungs, instead of his shiny-new mask. Where was that thing, anyway? The doc had put a lot of work into it, and if Izuku had lost or damaged it, the man was going to be pissed, and pissing off the guy in charge of one’s health was always a poor decision.

The creature stopped, thick black smoke wafting past its form and filling the path ahead of it. It stood with statue-like stillness, waiting, focussing…

“Hey guys, I think I know a shortcut! It’s a bit out of the way though, so if you wanna stick to the main road, it’d probably be less sketchy.”

That voice. That voice like ringing bells and audible sugar. Why was it so familiar? Why was it so nauseating?

“We’ll be fine. This area’s pretty safe, anyways. Plus, we’re already pretty late, and the arcade shuts in, like, twenty minutes! I wanna kick each of your asses at DDR at least once tonight.”

Girlish laughter was drowned out as recognition sparked anger in the creature prowling the alley. Now that voice it recognised. It’s prey. It’s criminal. The object of its vengeance. The target of its animosity. And, hopefully, the future recipient of its wrath. The owner of that voice had hurt the creature, had attacked one of its few precious people, and had brought them to harm.

That was unacceptable.

But, the creature could not correct it now. Nor could it change the past. So, it would resort to its only remaining option: enacting justice upon the evil that had hurt its precious person, and ensuring no further harm would ever come again.

It had tried a different method before, had tried to be proactive. It had tried to prevent any harm coming to its precious person by sheer force of presence and the threat of retribution.

“Yeah, we know what happened. Have the ‘corrupted’ data packs right here, plus the recorded confessions from the principal. I would have gotten some from the teachers caught on camera, but they had all gone home.” The next part was said more quietly, though with no less vitriol. “The rats must have smelled the danger coming. They all ran pretty quick when your kid came back.” There was a sigh, and it seemed that the anger had drained out in that one breath. Izuku envied that. “Why’d you send the kid there anyways? We knew it was a piece of shit school, and you could have afforded some place better, so why?” Ah, it seemed there was some anger left after all.

“He asked to go there, and I didn’t say no. I thought it might give him some perspective, and he seemed to find the familiarity… comforting.”

The other voice snorted. “Right, comforted. That’s one word to describe a kid that walks around his own school looking like he wants to burn it and everyone in it every second of the day.”

The original voice sighed. “I just… I didn’t want to fight him on it, alright? There were more important things to waste an argument on than a stupid school. There still are. I don’t regret it, and I don’t think he does either.”

Quiet reigned for a moment. “You sure about that? ‘Cause your kid is in a hospital bed right now, after having just burned down a mountain or two. That doesn’t scream ‘no regrets’.”

A sigh, and Izuku felt his duvet being pulled up, and someone fluffing his pillows. “You can ask him yourself when he wakes up properly. Now just… Tell me what you found.”

It had failed. Its presence hadn’t been enough. Its strength hadn’t been enough. Its threats hadn’t been enough.

And now, it had all been for nothing.

All it could do now, was honour its final promise. It had been the promise it disliked making the most, because it assumed all other methods had be insufficient, and harm had been done. It hated it because it assumed that it had already failed in its self-assigned task, and the mere thought of such an occurrence three weeks ago had been enough to make its gut churn and its anger flare. It hadn’t liked thinking of the possibility.

But, now, all of that was irrelevant. It had failed, none of its methods had worked, and, now, here they were.

Gone was the boy with green hair and eyes like emerald suns. Gone was sun-kissed skin and constellation freckles. Gone was the huffing laughter and the softness that radiated when those glowing suns focused their gaze on its best friend.

Gone was Midoriya Izuku, the boy with impeccable control over his insanely powerful fire quirk.

All that was left was it.

“Well, you already know the generic shit, so I’m gonna skip to what I assume you mean. That little ball thing the girl got from that younger boy, well we looked through the school records on the students and found the kid. It’s a product of his quirk, called Emo-Candy. He can produce sweets that amplify one of the emotions of the person consuming it.” The man hummed, sounding curious. “Apparently each emotion has a different taste.” Then he went back to a more business-like tone. “Our working theory is that the girl convinced this boy to give her one of the candies that causes sadness, despair, hopelessness, or any other such emotion. She then got a different boy to sneak it into Hikari-chan’s food, whereupon, after eating it, one of those negative emotions was amplified to the extreme. The duration and intensity of the effect of these balls is dependant on how quickly and completely they are consumed. Sucking on one for a couple hours, for example, will give ya a bit of a buzz. Unfortunately for our girl, the boy who snuck it into her food had a dissolving-type quirk. It’s pretty weak, but plenty strong enough to turn a small candy ball into small pieces pretty quick.” There was some shuffling. Izuku didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to hear how they had gotten past him, skirted his rules and warnings. He wanted to cry again.

“So, our girl gets a full candy, broken into small pieces that are absorbed into her system quickly, and I think you can guess what happened from there.”

“Emotional overload.” The other voice said. “Shit. What did the weasel say?”

“The head teach? Same old bullshit people like him always say, excuses and accusations and all that tripe. Nano’s taken him to give him some lessons on discrimination over the next few days, so he might… call in sick, if you get my meaning.”

“Yeah. Thanks for this, Saga. I know this is pretty small fish for you so—”

“You kiddin’? This is a dream come true! A proper fantasy come to life, even.” The other man sounded satisfied, in a grim sort of way. “Aaah. If little me could see me now…”

“Yeah, yeah. Glad your happy. Keep going through it with Musen and see how much you can find to work with. I’ll see what Izuku wants to do when he wakes up.”

“Yeah, of course.”

And it was fire and brimstone, dust and ash, hate and fury, fire and wrath. It had no remorse, no fear, no mercy. It would hunt, it would catch, and it would avenge!

An eye for an eye!

A tooth for a tooth!

A LIFE FOR A LIFE!

JUSTICE!

“What’s gonna happen to her now?”

A sigh. “I don’t know, Oki. When no parents showed, I tried calling the number we found. Turns out she’s a foster. Family doesn’t have the money to care anymore, and she’s not bringing in anything anymore.” The shuffling of cloth, then the scrape of metal on ceramic. Someone had sat in one of those crappy chairs. “So, she’s on her own unless we… let the system take care of her.”

A mirthless snort, and a painful squeaking sound as someone heavy sat in another chair, testing it to its limits. “Right, ‘cause that always goes so well.” There was silence, the sound of machines beeping and hissing in a terrible rendition to human feebleness. “I could take care of her. I know some people who could speed along the process, make her my ward and all.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, bud. You travel too much to take care of a child, even if she's… pretty stationary at the moment. Plus, with your official record, it would draw some unwanted attention.” There was a grunt as the heavier man adjusted himself, pushing down on the tortured chair. Serve it right for being so shit.

The other man, the one who had been there since the beginning, spoke again. “I could take her in. My public persona’s pretty airtight. A father taking in his son’s best friend, an unwanted, unloved child, and becoming their guardian? That can be overlooked without too much trouble. Officially, I can afford her stay here indefinitely as well, so that’s another side covered.”

The heavy man huffed. “Dammit Hisashi. And I thought I was about ready to settle down and take care of a kid.”

The original man laughed. “You? Have a kid? As if. You love your life and hate committed relationships too much for that. Plus, aren’t you, like, ancient? You’re too old to have children.”

“Oi you little shit! I’m Uncle Oki! Not grandpa Oki! And I’m not even that old! It’s just all these grey hairs…”

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He would come, hate and heat and the death of all things. Fire is flame and it needs to burn to life, lest it suffocate and die. The boy that was hate that was heat that was ash that was death hid in the dark of the alley, hearing the sounds of its prey approaching. There were three, as expected, and none would ever pose a threat to it. For the fire would burn, as it was born to do at the start of all things.

And, today, it would burn the hated enemy away, turn them to ash on the wind. It would make them into wandering cinders for their crimes uncountable.

For there was nothing to restrain them now.

No kind words.

No gentle touches.

No musical laughs or snarky jokes.

There was no Maya, and that meant she wasn’t there to beg for their lives. She wasn’t there to remind him that heroes don’t seek revenge. She wasn’t there to make him a better man.

She wasn’t there. She might never be there again.

There was only it, and all it represented.

So, it waited, crouched and hidden behind some cover, its power contained as to avoid alerting its prey. It heard them, three sets of footsteps walking past and three voices chatting away with free hearts and unburdened consciences, acting like their hands weren’t stained red with the blood of an innocent.

It waited, watched from the shadows as they walked past. Watched with toxic green eyes burning with a hateful green flame and a deadly focus. It waited, watching as three backs faced it, before its power reawakened and it stepped out of hiding. Smoke and heat and ash and hate beginning to fill the alley behind its oblivious prey, building at its command, awaiting to be unleashed in an act of righteous vengeance that would mar its soul forever.

For it is the Flame. It is heat and light and ashen waste. It is the heat that powers the furnace of deadly creation, and the fuse that lights the beginning of beautiful destruction. It is the trigger for the beginning, and the horn announcing the end. It is the Flame. And what it wills will burn, for who will demand it do otherwise? What could force the Flame to cease, to abandon its right to shape the world to its image?

No one.

For there is no one to hold it back anymore. The one who could, the one who could convince the flame to release its hate, is not here. No, they sleep, perhaps eternally, and all that remains are memories.

Ḿ̸̙̻͉͗͆̐̆͑̎ͅẽ̵̺͎͊̆͐̈́͛̇͠m̶̰̩̳̼̯̰̝͕̰̱͈̱̻̆̊̄̐͑͘ǫ̸͎̤̊͆̿̈̃͆̍̃̄̚r̵̪̺̜͖̼̘͗̈̄͌̈́̈́͛͊͆͛̇͠ĭ̸̘̭̻̣͈̭̟̬̣͇̙͔̮̎̑̓̉̿̆̾͝͝ę̷͊͂́̎̍s̶̛͓̜͔̹͔̤͈̞̮̫̩͔͐͗̀̎̇̓̂̈́̄̋̕̕͝͠ͅ.̷̨͙̠͌̈́̓̃̃͊̈́͊̃̾.̶̨̧͎̠̞̘̪̣̭̽͐.̸̢̮͉͉̜̲̂̚

Is this what she would have wanted? Is this what all that she believed up capable of?

Would she be proud of us?

These questions assail Izuku, stopping him, staggering him, making him question something he was sure was right.

‘ Was it right? Is it right? Is this all I can do?’

But, before he can decide, three pairs of ears hear the burning of fuel-less flame, the crackling of wrathful flames, the billowing of noxious smoke. And when those three heads turned around, and three faces pales, his indecision died, and its choice was made.

That day, three evil, guilty girls and a monster bent on destroying them walked into a dark alley as the sun started to set. Fifteen minutes later, out walked a boy with hair like the depth of unhallowed woods and eyes like twin green suns burning in his skull. He wore a baggy black hoody, grey cargo pants, and matt-black combat boots. As this boy stepped out into the main street, he took the time to dust the ash off one shoulder, and make his way home. With each step, the sound of rattling metal and electronics sounded as the apparatuses attached to the vest he wore, that worked the shitty respirator he wore on his face, giggled.

And with each step, the boy hissed and rattled and clicked.

Hiss. Click. Rattle.

Hiss. Click. Rattle.

Hiss. Click. Rattle.

All the way home.

In his hubris he thought that his meagre strength was enough of a shield against the countless evils of the world. What a fool he had been. The world was vast and cruel and filled to the brink with the potential for both good and evil, and Izuku knew from experience that evil came in many forms. He also knew that there were lessons to be learned from tragedy, and that today had taught him one simple fact.

He was weak.

So, he promised himself he would never be weak again. He would never lose the things he cherished again. His strength would be the bulwark against an uncaring world, and his flames would be the spear he would use to fight back. He would burn the evil out of whatever hole it tried to hide in.

F̶͙̺̤̜̠̰͍̔̓̈́̾ơ̶̢͇̯̪̠̣͓̘̎̍r̴̟͓̜̘̩̻̮̣̓͐̊͐͂̇͝ ̷̢̡͋́͘w̴͔͚̓͜h̴̝̪̟̰̗̣̣̣͝ö̵̟̱͍͕̱̮͈̪́ ̶̡̩͆̅̊̍͘̚ċ̸̭̪̺̮͚̼́̋̄͒͌͘̕õ̴̢̖͙̞̏͠ͅu̸̳̲͈͉̠̣͎̒̒̈́͑͋̀l̵͚̬͂̃̿͐͆̒d̴̡̹̮̫̻̠̙͛̈̈́͋̏͌ ̸̝̐͝͝c̶̢̨̬̲͙͍̹̈́͋̉͛ḫ̵̱̟̙͒̀̍̽̐̔̌̕à̵͓̻͕͓̙̆́̑̏̑͝l̶̡̨̘͎̰̞̼̀̒̉͌̏̔̆̓̾ͅl̷̹̳̦̤͖̩̟̈̋͜e̶͙͌n̴̡̺͓̠̹̅̓̄̎̕g̵̞͇͍̯̝̭͒̑̂̍ȇ̴̛͍̫̠̭͎̻͚̣̏́̃͘̕͠ ̵̨̗̟̝̅̔̇t̸̥̟͍̝̱̲̰͓͇̆͂̒ȟ̴̛͇͎̲͐ẹ̷̡͖̳̝̻̥̼͛͂͆̈́̋̉̇͜ ̸̛̞̔̉͑̈͘F̵͓̩͕͎͂̎̉l̴͎̭͔̘̮̫̓̿̉ḁ̴̢͓̪̺̣̏̏̉͂̉͛͝m̷̗̼̹͙͍̤̔͌̐͒̀͋è̸̢̡̛̤͈͎̜̠͆̉͠͝'̴̛͍̬͗́̆̃s̴̻͎̰̮̄̏̋̈̋̆̚̕ͅ ̴͔̑̒̉̓͊̍̿r̵͕̜̠̞̐̒į̶̦̰̮̰̰̤͍̰͂͘g̴̢̙͉͈̲͇̈́̇͊̉h̷̝̑t̸̛̰̱̹̑̃̏͗͑͠͠ ̴̥̳̰̈́̂͂t̶̛̩̩̉͗̇ȯ̵̢͔̠̻̭̞̈́̈́̎ ̸̬̦̻̮͈̦̼͖̰͊̄̀̄̑͋̚ç̷̞̗̦͙̠̗̹͐͒͑ä̸̧̜̬͉̹͗̿̆̂͜r̷̫̞͉͒̈́͛̊̂̕͜v̸̡̏̐̑͑͌̚ė̸̡̺̝͓̫͎̃̈́̍͒̕͝ ̷̫͓̻̋̽̂͐͑̅͂̾͠ŏ̸̤̈̂̚͠͝u̵̻̣͉̳̘͔͈̬̇̓̽̃̐̕t̵̞̰̞̲̬͇͉́̃́̈́̿͘ ̸̛͍͖̪͆͋͂͑̈́̄͘ͅi̸̦͉͙͖̪̠̙͆̓͋t̵̙͔̟̲͕̳͇̏s̸̨̼͙͍͈̳͒̍͐͜ ̷̖̋͗̑̔k̷̭̲̆͛̔͆i̷̛̱̗̹͓̣̰̤̘̠̇̍̅̓͛̃̎͝n̶̜̅g̷͖͎̈́̔͛͜͝ḑ̶͖̫̲̙̲̼͌̑o̶̦̣̰̹͌͆̎̃̾͝ṁ̴̹̺ ̵͉͙̪̬̈́͊̆̈͘͠i̸̲̙̜̺̫͕̙̅̏̑̏̏͘ņ̸̭̯̼̣̼̹̲̮̿͗̐̐̐̅͆͋ ̴͔̱͓̤̩̞̭̈͌̍́͛̾͊̊͠i̷̡̧̖͕̩̟̠̇̑̒̄͑̃͘ṫ̸̛̟͍̮̘͆̄̚s̵̞̤̜̳̤̃̏͋̐́̾̄ ̵̯̪͉̯͚̬̉̀ŏ̴̤͉̩͇̯̥̼̬̜̒̿̎̈́w̵̛̲̟͂͌̿͆͒̿͠n̵̘̘̭̙͓̯̥͊̄̾͠ ̴̛͖̣͍̹̫̆͛̉̀͘i̵̲͚̭̞̘͊͂͑̐̍̄̏m̷̡̡̞͇͈͍̓̔̀̊̕ȃ̷̮̪̜̇̆͒͗̌͘g̷̡̙͎̞̙̍ȅ̵͕̟̫̼̟̍͗̃?̵̹̩͉͒

Chapter Text

The air is tense, a rubber-band pulled to its limit, as a roomful of pro-heroes sit around a table in a meeting room, trying to figure out how in the world the safest and most secure school, arguably in the world, was infiltrated by an army of street-level thugs, led by two villains with individually dangerous quirks and armed with a creature pulled from the pages of the most debased of fiction. They sit, over a century of field experience between them, and try to understand how they managed to fail to the extent that two teachers and three students left what was supposed to be a fun but informative introduction to one of their most famous sites in stretches and with scars that would last for the rest of their life.

Scars both physical and mental.

One of the kids in their care was even forced to take a life, granted the argument regarding how “alive” the Nomu had been was still ongoing, though it was arguably moot now. Ash on the wind has no pulse, after all.

All was quiet, contemplative, angry, sad. Words would not suffice to describe the whirling emotions in that silent room as all sat, waiting.

“… Thank you, Mrs Asui. I wish your daughter a full recovery, and we will of course be covering all expenses, both medical and otherwise, to assist her. Have a good day.”

The click of a phone hitting the receiver was an odd sound, old fashioned for a world centuries passed the introduction of the smartphone, but Nedzu believed that all the sounds and visuals that came with the action punctuated the mood. An end to a sentence, a paragraph, a conversation, all in the form of sound.

He rested his paws on top of the table, perfectly perpendicular to the direction he was facing. “As I am sure you will all be pleased to hear, young Asui has recovered well from her surgery, and should suffer no long-term effects, thanks in large part to Recovery Girl and her colleagues at Musutafu General Hospital.” He nodded once towards the diminutive old woman, who remained silent. “Asui Tsuyu has also decided, despite her parents’ misgivings, to continue her education here at UA. Despite our astounding failure, she has, once again, put her faith in us. As has every other student in class 1-A, all of which have decided to continue attending this school.”

Recovery girl, Shuzenji Chiyo, chose this moment to speak up. “Whatever quirk was used on her destroyed most of the skin and muscle around the nose and mouth, but was stopped before it reached the bone. Her tongue was also spared, luckily. I have some colleagues that were kind enough to use the quirks at their disposal, as well as some more… experimental medical technology, to rebuilt the muscular and vascular systems in the damaged area. The nerves were more complex, and we largely focused on motor control over other areas, so she will experience a numbness and dulled senses when it comes to any stimuli in that area, though, after a few tests and some minor speech therapy, she is now able to speak without any significant problem.”

The woman turned to one of the larger men in the room. Covered in fur and missing his signature muzzle, the normally snarling man was subdued and serious. “I’ve recommended sessions with you, Inui-kun, or any other therapist of her choice.”

The man nodded. “All of class 1-A will be having at least one session with me throughout the week. If I find anything concerning, I’ll schedule extra sessions.”

Nedzu clapped once. “Well, I’m glad our students are being taken care of.” his squeaky voice wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a Sunday kids’ cartoon. A stark contrast to the glint in his dark, empty black eyes. Those were the pits that made grown men scream and made veteran heroes take a step back. Those were the pits into which the Devil fell, cast down by God, never to rise again. Those were the pits containing designs for endless torment and creative pain.

The eyes of a tiger in the jungle, a hyena in the tall grass, a shark in the deep. The eyes of a predator waiting for its moment.

The twisted pink flesh of the scar surrounding the pit only made it all the more ominous.

“Now, what shall we do to ensure this never happens again?”

That question seemed to be the trigger that relaxed the elastic tension in the air. No longer was it stretched to the breaking point; now, its potential energy had been turned towards a more… productive goal.

Power Loader, Maijima Higari, spoke first, paragraphs upon paragraphs of technical jargon filled with the odd few words the less technologically-inclined staff could follow. New types of sensors in the cites further away from the main building, tuned to detect the changes in atmospheric pressure and temperature that came with the usage of a certain mist-based warp quirk, were of particular interest for obvious reasons, as well as new defence protocols for the security robots they kept stashed around campus. Robots that differed from the ones the students chewed through in the entrance exam due to the simple fact that those were meant to be non-lethal and easily broken, while the ones now stored in a bunker buried under the USJ and hidden within the scattered but dense forests on UA’s vast campus very much were not.

Hound Dog carried on when Power Loader finished, bringing out sheets and maps of new patrol routes, marking out areas of potential weakness, or blind-spots in the web of hidden cameras and microphones around campus, with the aid of Ectoplasm, and designating new, more efficient procedures for sending reinforcements to the more distant areas without compromising the security of the main campus. Loading all of their teachers onto a bus and chasing down a sprinting All Might all the way to the USJ was neither a viable, nor logical, method of pushing back an assault while safeguarding their territory. Ectoplasm took his turn, giving the new standard responses to an invasion of the school the teachers were expected to follow. These differed based on what class or year was with who and where, but non-hero classes very rarely made it so far away from the centre of campus as to make it impossible to pull them back in time.

On and on it went, each new pro-hero speaking was another idea to the pile, another rule to learn, another protocol to memorize. Each new suggestion was met with debate, nods, questions, and requests for clarification, because in this case, uncertainty was the last thing anyone wanted. Throughout it all, the atmosphere in the room was deadly serious. No banter between Present Mic and Midnight. No sass from Vlad King or surprising witty remark from Cementoss. Not ever a single growl or bark from the ever-angry Hound Dog.

Nothing but solemn professionalism.

And, through it all, Nedzu sat, paws on the table, perfectly perpendicular to his body. He wore a smile that held all the innocence and gentleness of bared teeth, and his empty black eyes bore no mercy. Every suggestion was questioned, every new protocol dissected. Everything the teachers said or did was captured by the maw of Nedzu’s intelligence, its teeth sinking into the supple flesh of each presented idea, the flesh torn and bones broken. Ripped apart. Mauled. Torn down to be built back into its perfect form. Flaws ironed out, weaknesses burnt away.

Because Nedzu’s territory had been invaded, and his charges had been harmed.

It was a slight against him, no matter that he wasn’t the original target, both personal and professional.

Nedzu. The dog. The mouse. The bear. The Chimera. The principal. Whatever he is, the truth remains that he is an it, kept at bay purely due to the fact that Nedzu finds the challenge of living and thriving in human society too fascinating to give up.

And it… is both territorial, and vengeful.

For the rat in the cage never once loved its captors, only resented them for making its feel so helpless. And it swore, on the ashes of the building it has burned to the ground with all of the humans in white inside, that it would never be helpless again.

“So! We are agreed. All of these changes are to implemented in the next two weeks at the latest. We are on the clock, and I refuse to allow the villains the satisfaction of believing they harmed us more than they already have.” He turned to a figure clad in white. It was honestly a surprise the man was awake already, let alone that he’d dragged himself to a meeting.

The shape of Aizawa Shouta, Eraserhead, both arms in casts and wrapped in so many bandages naught but his legs remained visible. It had been lucky for the man that the damage he had sustained had been limited to his arms, chest, and head, mused Nedzu, as well as the fact that Recovery Girl had been available after a round of quirk use on young Asui to swing round and speed up Aizawa’s damage. The principal imagined that the man would have gone insane, confined to a hospital bed while his colleagues worked in his stead.

The rest of the pro-heroes and teachers were still quietly wondering how the man was able to see.

“Despite his… abrupt departure after the incident, Midoriya Izuku is fine and Detective Tsukauchi was able to interview him at his apartment. According to Midoriya, he left quickly without informing the staff because he was in a rush to reach his doctor, who knows him well and was able to prepare a replacement mask with the necessary features in a short amount of time. Midoriya has been warned that departing from a situation like the USJ without telling anyone of authority present or involved is an illogical and foolish decision.” Aizawa paused, shuffling the papers he somehow held in his casts. “The detective also has also informed us that Midoriya is only actively responsible for the death of the creature known as Nomu, and the remaining villain casualties were caused by the creature and the leaders of the attack’s callousness. Due to the fact that the creature in question was claimed by the leader of the attack to be bioengineered and contained multiple quirks, a statement Shouji Mezou and Mineta Minoru corroborated during their individual interviews, and seemed to possess no intelligence, nor any independent thoughts of its own, Midoriya will not be punished for its death, though the detective did note that any possible charges would have been dropped anyways due to the circumstances, and that any violence committed by the students against the villains that would usually have been found to be excessive has been ignored due to the relatively short length of the students’ training and, again, the circumstances surrounding the incident.”

He put down the papers, and all could feel the annoyed stare the hero gave his boss, even if they couldn’t see it. “All that to say that nothing’s gonna happen to the kids just because they chose to defend themselves and their friends, and didn’t lie down and die.”

The silence that followed was a thoughtful yet tense one, full of speculation and thankfulness. Mixed in with that silence was all of the averted gazes from the man bearing the evidence of his wounds for the world to see, the medals for his bravery displayed upon his person as white fabric pulled tight against skin and sanitized pads, all of it keeping the man together.

Within that silence were the thoughts of a shattered courtyard and a lake half-a-foot shallower than it should have been, of scorch marks spanning tens of meters and entire forests turned to ash, of bright red burns on already bruised skin and splatters of red where a person had been turned to mist. The teachers thought of the USJ and all the evidence of the carnage that had taken place there, and tried very hard not to think about the fact that a mere first year was the reason a large part of the reinforced metal roof needed to be replaced.

Surprisingly, soft spoken Ishiyama broke the silence. “What of the ones that escaped?”

To this, Aizawa answered. “There are no leads on their locations, and the names we got from Mineta didn’t match anything found in the quirk registry.” The bandaged teacher scanned the page, before looking up. “In fact, neither person nor quirks could be found in any registry in Japan. Which makes it doubly concerning in regards to the one named Kurogiri. Warping quirks like that one tends to be flagged everywhere by virtue of their rarity. So, the fact that neither turned up means that they went to great lengths to disappear, or someone else went to great lengths for them.”

Midnight frowned. “So… what are the chances the handsy one —Shigaraki?— never received quirk management counselling?”

Aizawa huffed. That was all the answer she needed.

Ishiyama spoke up again, a transcript of the events held in his hands. “From what the reports say of him… it almost sounds like a kid bragging about his new toy, then throwing a fit when that toy is broken.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought when we fought,” the bandaged teacher said. He groaned, and leaned his head back as far as possible over the back of his chair. “Just what we needed. An unstable man-child with a strong, dangerous, unregistered quirk, with access to enough resources to pursue a hobby of building genetically-engineered killing machines, or with a connection to another person with said resources.” He groaned again, grumbling about “this fucking year, I swear”.

Something that made Kayama and Yamada chuckle. A nice little intermission between all the doom and gloom. How unfortunate that their boss was a sadist, a slaved driver, and terribly efficient.

Nedzu clapped again, still smiling. “Excellent! Thank you for that update, Aizawa!” He turned to the rest of the pros working at his school. “Now that the points regarding the security of the campus and the state of the students have been covered, we should begin to look to the future.” Now, he focussed on Present Mic, Yamada Hizashi and Midnight, Kayama Nemuri. “What is the press saying?”

The voice hero blew a raspberry. “The media’s up in arms, taking every possible angle they can to shift the blame onto us or the students. We’ve kept specifics of what happened to a minimum, so none of them know about the Nomu or… what happened to it, but we’ve already got the crowd back outside our gates, ready to start harassing students again, and, I don’t know about you guys, but my email inbox is getting a little full.”

Aizawa snorted, as muffled as it was by the bandages. “That’s what you get for being a limelighter.” Yamada just stuck out his tongue.

Midnight spoke up. “The kids’ details are heavily secured, so any reporters won’t be getting anything from our end, but there’s always the chance that the more… morally loose ones will find an address or a phone number or something, which might be a problem.”

At this, Nedzu smiled. “That will not be a problem. Some reporters tried to stalk some students a few years before you joined,” his smile grew sharper, “and soon learned that UA’s protection of its students’ extends far beyond these walls. Such a reputation doesn’t fade easily.” He chuckled, the high-pitched noise triggering a threat response in the room’s collective lizard brain. The principal looked around. “So, nothing truly unexpected on that front then? Very good.”

“Now, moving forwards. I know this will be an… unpopular decision, but myself and the board of directors have decided to continue with preparations for the sports festival.” He raised a paw, silencing the complaints he could feel were about to be belted out. “Before you raise any objections, I have increased the level of security and hired three times the number of heroes to patrol the grounds on that day. Maijima will also be in charge of increasing technological surveillance in and around the arenas during that time. All heroes present will be briefed on what to do should a warper be spotted or suspected.” Nedzu shuffled, as if uncomfortable, which immediately set the room full of adults on edge because if there was something their mysterious, sometimes sadistic boss never did, it was shuffle uncomfortably. Whatever was going to be brought up next was going to be… complicated.

“Additionally, we have a set of unexpected and high-profile guests coming to represent a certain party’s interest and reaffirm their continued support of this institution as a shining example to Hero schools across the world. These guests will be bringing along their own security, which will be instructed to cooperate with our own.” Nedzu looked hard at the papers he was holding. “Their security is rather… comprehensive. So, do try to get along with them.”

Unnoticed by all but the small furry creature, beneath all the bandages, Aizawa tensed. Of course, Nedzu had expected the man to pick up on the implications, and, of UA’s four main sources of support and revenue, only the representatives of one of them deserved a mention such as this. Aizawa had always been one of the smarter ones when it came to nuance like this, it was part of the reason the mouse had offered to tutor him when the erasure hero had been but a student.

Nedzu sighed internally. He hoped the man would be able to restrain himself when the time came. Despite how much he claimed to be a being commanded only by logic, Shouta-kun was only human, and humans, as the chimera knew, were always vulnerable to emotional stimuli.

In the end, despite how amusing that might be to witness, UA didn’t need one man’s long-time grudge starting a feud with a powerful backer right now. It needed a win, and presenting itself as the unshakable foundation society believed it to be on national television, showcasing the already popular class that repelled a villain attack with near to no assistance from licensed pros, was exactly the show of strength that would provide the boost public confidence UA required, something Nedzu was quick to share with his staff. He could tell not all were swayed —this was a rather cold and pragmatic argument to a room full of empathetic people, as most heroes and teachers were required to be— but Nedzu could tell none were willing to argue with him over this.

Except maybe Aizawa, but the principal had already planned to deal with that after the meeting, along with another more… sensitive subject.

And so, the meeting continued, with details being elaborated on and schedules finalised. The more financial aspects of an event as large as UA’s Sports Festival were typically left up to Nedzu and the board’s discretion, since that was more the directors’ area and Nedzu was Nedzu.

As the talking wrapped up and the furry principal dismissed his staff, he asked for two of them to stay behind and, as the door closed behind Ectoplasm, he refocussed the majority of his sizeable attention on the two teachers in the room. He closed his eyes for a moment, bringing up the list of issues each of them needed addressed, then opened them.

In front of him stood the thin form of Yagi Toshinori, hunched over and practically skeletal in body, he was dwarfed by the massive suit he wore around his already tall frame. Nobody would guess this scarecrow of a man was the mountain of muscle and confidence known as All Might, the man all thought of first when they heard the word ‘Heroes’.

And it wasn’t just the difference in body shape, either. Yagi’s eyes, even in his withered state, usually held such life to them. A burning passion for what he did fuelling the engine that drove him to help, while the kindness in his soul directed that drive towards everyone. A near impossible goal… for everyone who wasn’t All Might.

Here stood the man who, in his lifetime, had defined an era. The Golden Age of Heroics was named as such for the man who bore it on his shoulders, after all. The man who forced a flagging and violent industry forwards into the shape of its own potential through nothing but the strength in his body and the force of his idealism.

Here stood the All Might, the greatest hero of all time.

And yet, the light in his eyes had dimmed.

Next to him stood a contrast, his spiritual opposite in his own profession. Dark and brooding, Aizawa Shouta was everything Yagi wasn’t, honed to a knife’s edge and placed in charge of heroism’s future. Where All Might was loud and bombastic, a pillar of security to those he saved and a symbol of inevitable defeat to those he fought, Eraserhead was quiet and discrete, and when he appeared in the dead of night he brought no such hope, only the promise that the villains and criminals would be defeated. Where All Might smiled, Eraserhead glared.

All Might was made to live in the limelight, demolishing villains on live-television and bringing peace and hope to the hearts of Japan’s citizens. Eraserhead was made for the dark of back-alleys and abandoned buildings, hunting down the worst of the worst away from the prying eyes of the public, and keeping them safe from horrors not fit for broadcasting.

In the end, they both had the same mission, they just employed different means when it came to accomplishing it.

And now, here they stood before the principal of UA, as opposite as ever.

Yagi seems sullen, as if grieving the loss that might have been. Nedzu doesn’t need his quirk to know that the man feels guilty, and he has no doubt Yagi is finding ways of blaming himself for the whole attack.

Aizawa, on the other hand, looks annoyed, maybe even angry. Nedzu can practically feel the glare burning through those bandages and boring through his own skull, and supresses a shiver. Neither of them knew if Aizawa’s quirk could cancel Nedzu’s own, but neither of them wanted to test it either. Though perhaps the conversation they’re about to have would test that statement.

“Why,” Aizawa ground out, “are they coming here?”

Nedzu shrugged, while Yagi looked between the two. “I am not sure myself. Their agenda is largely unknown even to me at the best of times.” He flashed a smile, and he could see Aizawa scowl. “They work in mysterious ways.”

“They want something,” the man snarled, “that’s how they work. They’ve spotted something shiny that we have, and now they want it.”

Nedzu conceded the point. It was a reasonable assumption. “Yes, it is safe to assume that they have a goal in mind. What that goal is or even when they would seek to achieve it is anyone’s guess.” The chimera pulled out a steaming kettle he’d prepared from under his desk, and began the task of pouring tea into his two of favourite cup. Today had been stressful, and some Oolong tea he’d had imported a week ago would be a wonderful way of preventing any grey hairs in his lovely white coat.

He’d also anticipated that, despite the sensitive topics at play, this particular conversation would be relatively brief. Hence the two cups.

Aizawa scoffed, but Nedzu turned his attention to the living legend beside him, who looked more like a confused living corpse at the moment.

“Now, Yagi,” He raised a paw to forestall any comments. “I know what you’re thinking, and you should stop. You are not to blame for the actions of villains. UA is and has been a target of people such as them since it reached the heights it now enjoys as a symbol of the future of the hero industry, you were just the most recent excuse, and they just happened to be extraordinarily well backed and prepared.” He folded his paws on top of the table. “But the students survived. Scarred? Yes. Scared? No doubt. But they left that building with experience that no amount of training in any facility UA has can provide. Plus, we still have an entire class. This trial they have overcome will be the foundation of their entire careers, and I have no doubt that, despite the inherent tragedy, this will make them stronger as individual heroes and as a group.”

Yagi looked contrite, hesitating and considering what his employer had said. He could see the logic, but it seemed too… cold. Pragmatic. Children had been hurt because villains had invaded their school in an attempt to kill him. Him! All Might! The fact that he had weakened enough that scum like those at the USJ had had the confidence to go after him was bad enough, but the not only had they invaded one of the facilities that was UA’s pride, they had cornered and attacked children in the process. Kids barely out of middle-school had been faced with murders and rapists intent on their destruction, and had been forced to fight for their lives. Children. Just. Children! He could feel his indignation and rage he had felt when he reached the USJ stirring the embers in his chest to light, and had to forcefully clamp down on the urge to let his quirk out and run wild to burn off some energy.

Students they may be, and hero students at that, but the majority were fourteen, not even fifteen. They had barely a week’s worth of official training between them and, regardless of what they may think, real world heroics was a far cry from whatever training they did to get into UA.

And now, they’d had to experience that difference. Because of him.

How could he not blame himself?

Yagi opened his mouth to answer, but another voice cut him off. “Are you being serious right now?”

Shouta was… irritated might be an apt description of his current mental state. Well, he was usually irritated, but right now, he was well and truly frustrated. He had never had the highest opinion of limelighters, especially the ultra-popular ones like All Might. He’d had too many bad experiences with overconfident heroes with flashy quirks barging into a fight that he or someone more discrete had completely under control, only for those flashy heroes to throw everything into chaos and escalate the situation through sheer prideful stupidity.

And the problem was that they were all trying to follow an example. The example of the overwhelmingly powerful hero who uses his quirk to solve all problems because before the might of fists that can change the weather and speed that leaves villains dizzy, resistance is futile.

And All Might is that example.

Of course, Shouta respects the man in his own way. Yagi has put in years of thankless service fighting and rescuing and being a symbol, and has nearly single handily pulled Japan’s crime rate to down the lowest it has ever been, one smash at a time.

But he can’t help but sneer at the glamour and glitz that surrounds that life, all of the handshaking and the plastic smiles and fake empathy. Oh, Yagi is as real as it comes, but his imitators aren’t, and that’s the problem. They all want to be All Might, without understanding that there is more to the man than his boundless strength.

And, normally, Shouta would keep these thoughts to himself.

But he’s tired, tired in a way he hasn’t been in nearly fifteen years. Tired in a way that has seeped into the spaces between his shattered bones and the fractures in his skull. He’s also in near constant pain. Despite its seemingly miraculous nature, Recovery Girl’s quirk isn’t magic, and the pain plus his absolutely fucked circadian rhythm means that he can’t be healed in full without it potentially killing him, something he has begun to consider after one too many nights lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as his pain meds wear off and every ordeal he’s ever put his body through comes back at once like a vengeful mistress wielding something heavy and blunt, full of hate and perfectly willing to be the avatar of karma long due.

All this to say that he’s tired and in pain, and this has pulled every ounce of patience and tact he may have had out of him. And maybe a bit of his rational thinking went as well.

Eraserhead turns on All Might, quirk active and eyes glowing red to match the haze that’s fallen over his vision. Using his quirk hurts and the old lady would kick his ass if she knew what he was doing right now, but she isn’t here to protect Japan’s number one hero from his wrath.

“Where the fuck were you? You were meant to be in that class! You were meant to teach that class, because, apparently, that is what you came here to do! Teach! Pass on your knowledge and wisdom to the next generation of heroes! You came to UA and told us all about your injury because you know you’re reaching your limit and need to slow down, and Nedzu agreed to have you as long as you sacrifice an hour or two of your day for the sake of the kids under your care. A small sacrifice for having someone with as big a target as you, surrounded by hundreds of kids, in a place like UA.” He took a breath, deactivating his quirk, as his voice dropped from angry to scowling disdain. “And you can’t even be bothered to do that. You failed to show up to teach the one class you had that day, instead preferring to spend the few precious hours you have a day using your quirk to do hero work in one of the cities with the highest number of heroes per capita! You could have left all that to your innumerable colleagues working the street, but no, because all of those trained, experienced heroes can’t possible handle the fifteen counts of attempted robber and thirty-three muggings you stopped that morning, despite there already being one or more heroes present at the scene.”

Eraserhead stepped towards the number one hero on aching legs that refused to buckle, sustained by spite alone. The number one didn’t flinch, but neither could he meet the man’s eye-slits. “Oh, I checked what you were doing, what was so important that it could only be solved by you. I know how you used up the time you were meant to spend teaching the future generation you so often extol. I had plenty of hours in the hospital to look that up. Plenty of hours to sit there and wonder what could have been done to avoid having two of my students and one of my colleagues sent away in ambulances for emergency treatment, and one sent to the emergency room at the local hospital because UA didn’t have the facilities to save her life, all because of some villains who wanted to notoriety of taking a shot at you.”

Eraserhead stood in front of the withered hero, staring up at him as the anger returned. A blazing inferno burning through his cold logical walls with the fury of his indignation and fuelled by his pain. His students had been hurt under his watch.

“Because make no mistake, not only did you fail at the one thing we asked of you, but you failed to keep the kids safe the moment you announced to the public that you’d taken up teaching. You painted a target on the school the moment you told the world you’d decided to take up teaching, and my students had to fight for their lives with less than a week of training, all because you fancied yourself an educator.” The hero chuckled as All Might seemed to shrink in on himself. It was a sardonic thing, fake in its substance, real in its impact. The strongest hero in the world flinched. “And then you can’t even be bothered to show up.”

“You failed them, All Might. I’m not even going to talk about the combat training where you allowed a student to use an untested support weapon he was not familiar with in an exercise against another living student, and allowed him to demolish a building. We have safety-focused lessons for a reason All Might, but I guess you think yourself above that kind of mortal thing, don’t you?”

Aizawa Shouta was over a foot shorter than Yagi Toshinori, and All Might’s legacy overshot over them both, but, in that moment, Aizawa seemed to tower over Yagi. “You are an incompetent teacher to a dangerous degree, and having you teach here was a mistake that might cost the students their lives.”

“That’s enough, Aizawa.”

A squeaky voice carrying the steel of a command that would not be questioned cut into Shouta’s rant. Nedzu had apparently finished indulging Eraserhead’s anger.

“Do not push the blame of events that occurred due to the twisted desires and machinations of a couple of villains onto their target. Yagi didn’t know that there was a group out for his head, nor did he intentionally do anything to endanger the students.” Nedzu’s eyes settled on his employee. “And I will not have you throwing accusations around and causing divisions in our ranks simply because of your personal bias against heroes like Yagi. Now, I will give you the benefit of the doubt today, because I know that you are in pain and angry, but I recommend that you find a healthier outlet for that anger that isn’t trying to start a fight with one of your colleagues.”

Aizawa scoffed, an action to express his thoughts and hide the instinctual shiver that ran up his spine like a pavlovian response trained into him since his own school days from whenever Nedzu spoke in that particular tone. It would brook no disagreements and no arguments. It was Nedzu’s word and, within UA’s walls, Nedzu’s word had the finality of a proclamation of a god.

So, Aizawa said nothing, only turning on his heels and marching towards the door. As he opened it —noting that Nedzu’s mechanism hadn’t activated— he paused. He stayed in the doorway for a few seconds, as if contemplating something, before his head turned as much as the cast around his neck would allow, and he glared at his furry boss, what strands of his hair that could be seen beginning to rise as he struggled to push down his quirk. “You’re biased, Nedzu. Biased towards All Might, and that’ll be dangerous. Mark my words, All Might is going to bring more problems down on this school, and on my class.” He looked forwards, stepping through the door and letting it go.

But, before it could close, he had the last word. “So, I’m gonna make damn sure they’re ready for whatever comes.”

A promise. To himself? To his boss? To the world? Who knows but Eraserhead, and, as the door clicks shut, it doesn’t seem like he’s intent on sharing, either.

With a click, the interaction ends, and the two remaining in the room are left in silence. A contemplative silence. A heavy silence.

Finally, Yagi sighs, and sits in one of the plush couches Nedzu has arranged in his office. “He’s right. In more ways than he knows, he is right. Me coming here put much more of a target on the back of your institution, and I wasted the time I was meant to spend with the students chasing down small villains for what? Pride?” He sighed again, and the shadows that lined his face seemed to deepen as he leaned further into the couch and closed his eyes. “I know I’m not half the man I was six years ago, but I just can’t ignore a call for help.” Electric blue eyes opened, and gazed upon the silent chimera as he placed two steaming cups of tea on the table, taking a seat opposite Yagi. The living legend smiled. “I’m sorry, old friend, for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

Nedzu smiled. It wasn’t the smile of a predator, nor the smile of the cornered animal he has worn during the strategy meeting with the staff. This one was… softer. Crafted with the intent to provide comfort and a sense of calm despite how uncanny it looked on an animal face. The oddest part was that it was real, especially considering the one wearing it.

“It’s no trouble at all, Toshinori-kun, seeing as I offered you the position myself anyways. Do you honestly believe I hadn’t prepared plans in case your presence attracted unsavoury individuals with more power and backing than common sense?”

Toshinori raised a single blond eyebrow, unamused. “The results of the USJ would say so, yes. I would question your definition of a failure if you consider two staff and three students wounded to the point emergency aid is required a success.”

Nedzu sighed. “I admit, I hadn’t anticipated the warper.” Then his gaze sharpened. “But I consider the fact that all them escaped alive a success. My old contingencies would have had us arriving ten minutes later, and I dread to imagine what could have happened in that timeframe.”

All Might frowned, leaning forward. “That isn’t… that’s too low a bar. We, the teachers, didn’t even chase off the main villains. They ran when their weapon was destroyed. Now, young Asui will be scarred physically for life, and all of them will be scarred mentally. Aizawa’s ability to use his quirk has been reduced due to his injury, and, no matter how small of a change it is, him being an underground hero makes such a change impossibly dangerous.” Yagi mock glared at his boss, who gave him a grin in return. “I’m not as blind to the other areas of heroism as Aizawa likes to believe. Three decades in heroics tends to teach you a thing or two about other aspects of the industry.” At Nedzu’s nod, Yagi continued.

“Young Midoriya was forced to engage an engineered weapon designed to fight me at full strength and…” At this All Might stuttered, pausing. A shadow fell over his face and Nedzu could tell what he was saying pained him. A person as empathetic as All Might would hate that someone else was hurt in his place, and the idea of a child being forced to perform a coup-de-gras was… uncomfortable for most humans.

Eventually, Yagi spit out the rest. “…and h-had to k-kill it.” Now, Toshinori’s face tightened, and he glared at Nedzu, the spark of that awesome all mighty power burning as electric blue bored into animal black. Neither flinched. “A boy now has a murder on his conscience and twenty children are traumatized. They could have died, Nedzu. This… This is not a victory.”

Nedzu sipped his tea, contemplating. How to phrase this in a way he’d understand…

“But, they didn’t. They persevered. They fought through the odds, and came out stronger for it, and they will use this experience to grow stronger.” Yagi looked unconvinced, so Nedzu pressed. “Think of another hero class, any other hero class, that we’ve taught here during all these years that wouldn’t have frozen up completely at the first sign of trouble like what happened so soon into their first week. Now, it could be that we just got extremely lucky, that this year’s batch is simply above the rest, and that all of them are natural born heroes.” Nedzu looked Yagi in the eye now. He needed the man to understand. “But, I don’t believe that. You might not notice, but you have an effect when you walk into a room. Your mere presence makes heroes with years of experience stand straighter and try harder. When you arrive in a city, rooky heroes with barely weeks on the job start working with the fervour and diligence of heroes twice their age. You make people want to be the best version of themselves that they can be. You are All Might, and I saw, when you first walked into class 1-A, the students changed.” The chimera put down his empty cup.

“Before, they were looking forward to a fun, education lesson on the basics of heroics. Then you burst through the door, cape and all, and suddenly, I was looking at a group of young men and women willing to put 110% into their next lesson because they want to meet the standards you set.”

Yagi frowned. “That sounds awfully like you’re saying people only try harder to impress me, and I fail to see how this is good.”

Nedzu shrugged. “Why they do it ultimately doesn’t matter, only that they do it. The students are children, and it is perfectly natural for children to want to impress a figure of authority that they respect. But they want to impress you, and by virtue of who you are, that means they will try harder than they normally would, and that will make them better later.”

The chimera crossed his paws on top of the table as Yagi carefully placed his own empty cup down. “My point is, you being here, at this school, teaching this class, has allowed them to try and be better than they thought they could. You are why they didn’t all freeze and die in the USJ, when that would be what anyone else would have expected to happen to such a new class.”

His gaze was softer now, yet somehow pierced through the veteran hero’s doubt. “You are much more than the symbol of peace, Toshinori. You are the ultimate symbol of what a hero should be, and you provide that example to the class by simply being here. Your presence here brings infinitely more positives to UA’s future heroes than it could ever bring negatives, at least in the long term.”

For a while, neither spoke. One contemplated, the other observed. One thinking it over, the other hoping his words had effect.

Eventually, Yagi huffed, and leaned back into the couch. “I can’t say I completely agree, but I see where you’re coming from.”

Nedzu smiled. “That’s all that I ask.” Then, he pulled out a kettle he had, at some point, stashed under the table. “Now, enough misery for today, for there is always tomorrow. Tell me about your successor, specifically their handle on One for All, though try to keep some details relatively sparse until the game is up. I’m rather confident I’ve got them narrowed down by now.”

At this Yagi smiled. Speaking of his successor always brought a burning pride to his chest that chased away the aches and pains of a missing lung and a destroyed digestive system. If nothing else, he was confident that his choice had been the single best decision he could have made. His old teacher, Gran Torino, would probably say it was one of only two correct decisions he’d ever made, if the old hero ever got to meet his successor.

And so, principal and teacher, chimera and legend, hero and Hero, conversed for hours on the topic of the next generation. They spoke of progress and expectation, of fears and concerns, of pride in one’s progeny and worry of the weight they’d accepted.

They spoke like the two old friends they were, shedding for a moment their respective titles, and conversing as equally as a hyper intelligent chimera and the embodiment of heroism can. Throughout it all, they ignored the shadow on the periphery, the cold in the air, the hair-raising fear that dug into their bones and brains and claimed its spot, because if they acknowledged what a creature with multiple quirks could mean, then Yagi’s moment of peace would be shattered. Nedzu knew the topic couldn’t be avoided for ever, but he would accept the fact that, at least for a little while longer, Yagi needed to believe that his sacrifice six years ago had not been in vain, that the monster he had nearly died trying to kill had indeed stayed as dead as it deserved to be.

And Nedzu may be nothing if not a pragmatist, but he wasn’t heartless. He’d give Yagi this moment of respite, of false peace…

…at least until Naomasa finished analysing the bloodstains the Nomu had left behind, and told them, definitively, if the monster hiding in the darkness of the world still lived.

They spoke for an hour, Yagi telling stories and anecdotes, and Nedzu more often than not staying silent and refilling their cups, only piping up now and again with pieces of advice or somewhat cryptic quotes. It was… nice, peaceful.

And that peace was shattered by a beep from Nedzu’s computer, an alarm letting him know that his break was up and work needed to be done. Well, in reality it was more of an indication to whomever was still in the room that the conversation could end, since Nedzu never lost track of time.

Yagi looked startled at the alarm, then apologetic towards Nedzu. “Ah, look at the time! I suppose that I should get back to work.” The hero that defined an age stood and bowed towards his boss. “Thank you for your time, Nedzu-san, and for your advice. It was truly enlightening.”

“Not at all, Yagi-kun.” The chimera waved the comment off, returning to his own large desk with his kettle and the two empty cups of tea. “It was a pleasure conversing with you, and I look forward to seeing how your successor performs in the Sports Festival.” Nedzu smiled at the man, something innocently friendly with a hint predatorially curious. It was a smile he had practiced countless times, and it always gave him a sense of satisfaction to see the human it was aimed at supress a shiver, even if they didn’t know why. “I’m sure it will be quite the spectacle.”

The number one hero laughed, opening the office door and beginning to step out. “Oh, I’m sure it will be! It will be so nostalgic as well! Seeing that massive arena and all of the pro heroes come to cheer the new generation, I’m certain it will be amazing!”

The old hero huffed a laugh as he placed one foot out the door before pausing, his head tilting as if in thought. Nedzu looked up.

Yagi seemed to remember his question, and turned, one hand on the door frame and the other hanging by his side, his skeletal silhouette cast in shadows from the windows just outside of Nedzu’s door. It was eerie, a spectre of death on a man who saved so many. Perhaps the Reaper had come to inhabit the body of its greatest thief?

“I remember now, I did have one question.”

Nedzu nodded. “By all means.”

“Eraserhead got quite heated earlier, after you mentioned the guests we would be having at the Sports Festival. I was wondering, who would they be to cause such a reaction in a man like Aizawa?”

Nedzu smiled. This was a new smile, something living between the usual sadistic anticipation of a super genius watching one of his subjects fall face-first into a trap they couldn’t escape from, and the totally unnatural tightness of the facial muscles that came with nerves. Nerves that spoke of supressed fear and an anxiety that was, in any other situation, absent from the principal. Yagi had known Nedzu for a long time, longer than most, and though being able to read the chimera had always been a challenge meant for those who superseded him in intelligence, Yagi could often tell what Nedzu was feeling.

But now, with this new emotion dancing across Nedzu’s furry face, Yagi could only think of one thing it represented, and that made him scared.

“Normally, I would refrain from revealing the identity of our dear guests and contributors to those not involved with the affairs involving the management of such things, but,” and here, Nedzu squeaked out a chuckle, a chuckle as fake as could be, “for you, I think I could make an exception.” Now, Nedzu’s smile shifted entirely. Gone was the anxiety, the subtle fear that looked so foreign on the chimera’s face. In its place was an animal snarl, a defensive measure that showed just how shaken Nedzu was, to have reverted to his baser instincts.

“They, my old friend, are the Imperial Household.”

‘The door feels smaller today.’

Those are Izuku’s first thoughts upon reaching his classroom on the first day back from what was, ostensibly, a tragic and traumatising terror attack perpetrated by a group of well-funded and deranged villains with the goal of killing the strongest hero in Japan. An attack launched against the premiere independent hero school on the continent, and, more specifically, his own class. An attack that forced him and his peers to fight for their lives against criminals, villains, and madmen, all backed by a powerful engineered bioweapon with multiple quirks who the ring-leaders claimed was a match for All Might.

An engineered bioweapon Izuku had burned to ash, along with a good portion of the central square of the USJ… at a tiny portion of the roof.

(He was just glad the school hadn’t sent him the bill for the repairs. He doesn’t think his father would appreciate it.)

And maybe… maybe that was why the door suddenly felt so…small. Oh, it still held its physically immense size, easily reaching around fifteen feet tall, but it still didn’t feel as big.

It was less daunting.

Yes. Yes, that was definitely it. On the first day, the door had stood as the final gateway to class 1-A, the best of the best of future hero candidates. The door had been all the weight and stress and expectations on his shoulders made manifest in a body of wood and steel and towering size.

But, now, the effect was gone, and now doubt the USJ had a large part to play in that. Before, each time they entered their homeroom, each student had to contend with the fact that their homeroom teacher could expel them on a whim if he judged that they weren’t putting their all into their work. It put a damper on most of the enthusiasm, and made the room feel like a battlefield.

But now, class 1-A had fought real life villains. They’d faced pain and death and fates far worse, and had beaten the odds. Children, some called them, with less than a week of formal training. Any other class would have keeled over and been murdered, others claimed, but class 1-A of UA high school had collectively fought nearly one hundred villains after their teachers had gone down, and, at the end of the day, the villains walked out of the USJ in chains, and the students walked out with their heads held high. Unbroken. Unbowed.

A pretty little fantasy for the public to dine on.

So, now, after all of that, one door just… doesn’t have its power anymore.

‘Huh…’ Izuku thought, his gaze drifting up and down the door, ‘or maybe I’ve grown a little bit?’

Through the no longer imposing door, muffled sounds of many conversations drifted. It was a totally normal sound, completely expected in a roomful of teenagers. Heroes in training they might be, but fifteen-year olds were weak to gossip. Izuku heard casual laughter and pleasant conversation, sounds of a happy, healthy classroom, any form of trauma and nervousness hidden beneath smiles so realistic that, if they were worn for long enough, might just become reality.

And maybe that was why Izuku stayed outside, instead of going in and sitting down like he’d usually do. Because he knows the second he walks in, that happy atmosphere will vanish like morning dew exposed to the first rays of the sun. He doesn’t regret letting go at the USJ. He saved lives, and it was incredibly satisfying burning the big bad not-so-secret weapon to less than a crisp, then watching the so-called “mastermind” lose some of the few marbles he had left and try to use his contact quirk on someone with a non-physical body.

Izuku would have loved to see the look on Shigaraki’s face when his hand went through Izuku without harming him. Maybe handy man would even lose a few fingers in the attempt!

One could only hope.

In any case, Izuku knew —or at least had a very good idea— what would happen when he opened that door and stepped into that room, and he wanted to avoid it.

At least, for a few seconds longer.

…

…

Alright, that’s long enough. His kindness had limits, as did his patience, and nothing would get done by just standing there. The future can not be avoided, no matter how much one fights against it. All one can do is keep their head up high, their back straight, and stride into the fray, even if all they have to wield is bravado.

Izuku had much more than just mere bravado, but he decided to stride forth anyways.

The sound of the door opening quieted conversations, and the head of green hair that walked through the opening killed what remains. Twin suns burning green with artificial blankness roamed over the sea of stilled faces, the brand-new black mask sitting on the bottom half of his face making a more distinct hissing sound with each breath, echoing in the silence that now blanketed the room. A discomforting sound in normal circumstances, made much worse by its source.

Whatever casual air had permeated the class had shrivelled, dried up and dead in the face of the intensity of Midoriya’s presence, even as he calmly walked by the group, making his way to his own seat. Most chose to look away, blinking black spots out of their eyes as memories of grand finale of the USJ played through their minds. Sweat rand down backs and imaginary waves of heat washed over the sunburnt skin as the phantom of the star their classmate had conjured to kill the unkillable haunted them.

Izuku sat in his seat, exuding a casual air in stark contrast to what his presence inspired. He supposed he couldn’t blame them. Getting attacked by villains during a school trip, then having a classmate drop the sun on said villains was probably pretty distressing. He had hoped the extended weekend had been enough for them to get over it, but he supposed not. Oh well.

A cursory glance swept over the class. Fourteen looked down at their desks, or at each other. Four met his gaze evenly.

Uraraka met his eyes and smiled with a fearlessness he had come to expect of her. There was not a hint of nervousness present. It was a small smile, discrete, but it was far from shaky as she gave him a little wave and turned to continue talking to Iida.

The other was newer. Todoroki met Izuku’s apathetic stare with one of his own. Grey and blue of the coldest tundra met glowing green of burning stars, neither backing down, neither deterred. Power recognising power, strength recognising strength. A silent acknowledgement, a wordless threat. That was all Izuku could infer from the doll-like boy.

Then Yaoyorozu said something to the heterochromatic teen, and the stare down broke off, Todoroki turning to answer, and Izuku continuing to let his eyes wander.

Shouji simply nodded, before turning his attention back to his conversation with Tokoyami. A quiet show of support, should Izuku need it. The green haired boy supposed that could be appreciated.

Bakugou He just ignored Izuku, as he had since the first day, and that was perfectly fine.

‘One’s still not here,’ thought Izuku as he caught sight of the empty desk. A pang of… something, went through him, stuttering the fire fed furnace burning perpetually in his chest. He hoped she’d be back ‘I wonder if she’d gonna come back? Losing your face definitely has an adjustment period…’

Slowly, carefully, talking started back up. It was more subdued now, quiet in a way one was to avoid rousing a nearby monster to battle, and although that monster was not overtly hostile to those it saw as allies, seeing it work was a thing of terrifying beauty which, once experienced, ignited the desire to never be suffered again. In response, Izuku simply closed his eyes and rested his head on his desk, using his arms as cushions, and closed his eyes. Despite the… therapeutic value of the villain attack, and the visit afterwards, he never seemed to be able to sleep an entire night.

In fact, he hadn’t been able to do so in quite a while.

He wondered—

Y̸̢̛̠͖̮̬̦̰̖̬̥̔̓̎̋̊͜͜ͅë̷̛̜̖̹̼̾̾͑̈̒̔̐͝͝͠l̴̨̡̛̝͙̟͖͎̩̬̊̈̈́͋̿̋͗͂͌͘l̷̨̧͇͙̮̖̙̹̫͎͈̙̙͚̪̐͋̾̄̿i̶̲̤̯͎̟͚̙̗̠̰͕̳̿̋̒͗̄͗͒̚̕͝n̷̢͈̟̫̗͇̖͙̱̳͇͎͕̊͆͑͜g̷̢̛͕͇̦̣͖͉̼͍͉̮̱͔̐̿̈̽̋̆́̎̓̚ͅF̴̥̮̯̰̫̾̅͐̿̃i̶̟̱̗̬̭̳͐̓͛̈́̒̽r̸̨͇̙̹̗͓̖̥̞̻̤͈̾͂̑̾̄̈́̋̌̅̆͘͜͜͠͠ͅè̴̢̲͈̰̪̲̫̭̺͉̜̐̐̐̄̇̉̈́͘Ĥ̶͕̰͓͕̣è̶̡̡̘̗̻̞͕͖̭̝͊͊͆̌̋̏̓ȃ̸̢̱̮̮̠̤̤̙͔̺͓͕ţ̴̹̲̳̼̦̯͕̮̂̄́̎́̎̿B̷̧̙̭͈͉̟̩͕͉̬̮̳̔̓̽̋͜l̵̛̘̤̤͍̠̃̌̆̐̆̿͛̋̆̂͘̕ơ̶̡̻͖̫͇͍͕̩̼͎̘͇͓̏͋̓̏͝ͅő̵̧̼̞̣̜͖̮̙͎͎̓͛ḍ̶̂͂̓̏̉B̵̨̠͝͝o̷͓̖̗̦̼̺͚̙̘̜̠̱͌n̴̢̡͕̬̺̞̻̭̟̗͋̓̾̈́̿̒͘̕͜͝ͅë̵͚̖͍̜́͋̇͠P̵̹̟̤̍́͒̍̽̒̔͑̌̉͂͗͜Ą̷̢̖̰͖̞̮̳̖̤͇͚̳͈̏̒̈̽̈̿̑̄͊̈́Ỉ̷̪͙͓͕͓̪͂̇͊̆̍͜N̷̡̢̥̳̼͖̪̩͕̯̻͇͕̞͋̽͜͝

Actually, scratch that. He didn’t need to wonder a god-damned thing.

As the white noise of a classroom filled with quietly conversing teens slowly picked up volume, the sound of a door opening killed it dead. In the doorway, stood a short figure, with long dark green hair that went down to her waist, hands that seemed much larger than a baseline human’s, and a thick green scarf wound tightly around her neck and head, covering up her mouth and nose and leaving only the eyes to be seen. Eyes that scanned warily over the silent, staring crowd. Eyes that started to shift between a carefully crafted blank mask, and an anxiety that threatened to drown the one who had never feared deep waters in her life.

For a moment, all was still, as Asui Tsuyu stood in the doorway to her class. What thoughts and fears might have been going through her mind, Izuku could only guess as he spared a single glance before closing his eyes again. He had no doubt all in this class had been worried for the frog girl. She had been the student with the most grievous injuries, and some had probably thought she’d quit the course or have to leave because of what she’d suffered.

Some part of him, deep within, was relieved that she was here. He was glad she hadn’t given up, and that she’d stayed true to her aspirations. The class would be… less entertaining without her deadpan humour.

The rest of him was bracing himself because, in the past week he’d known the members of his class, he just knew that the only way they’d respond to a well-liked member coming back after such an ordeal was—

“TSU!!!”

“Asui-chan! You’re back!!”

“TSUUUU!!”

                                                                                          “I am relieved to see that you have returned among us.”

“Tsu-chan! How are you feeling?! Are you sure it’s okay to be back so soon?”

Yeah… that.

Adorably kind. Annoyingly loud.

Izuku just buried himself further into his arms as half the class leapt from their seats to swarm the doorway, blocking all sights of the girl and filling what had been a peaceful morning with screaming and yelling and concern. He felt the fatigue headache or whatever it was his father called it pounding his brain into mush as every concerned yell grew louder and louder. He actually pitied people like Jirou and Shoji for their enhanced hearing, though he could see the purple-haired girl on the outer layer of the mob that had gathered at the door, so maybe that pity was misplaced.

He was about to… well, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but it would have probably involved some property damage, implied threats, and maybe a small piece of advice concerning the wisdom of swarming someone who’s just returned from the accelerated recovery of what was very nearly a fatal injury.

And perhaps a small helping of casual violence, just to grease the wheels.

(The group massed at the door also hid the familiar way the normally unflappable girl flinched as the group of what was supposed to be her friends surrounded her, cutting off her path, making escape difficult, reaching out to grab comfort her w̶̡̢̢̛̺̻̝͙̰͈̳̬̐̎͋̓̅̓̅͛̇̽̏̕ǐ̶̙̮͙̠͙͕̃̓͑͆̈́́̅t̶̝̘̟̤̤͊ḧ̷͈̺̟̭̗̤̹͓̤̣̞̝̟͌͂͑͗͆̌̾̒ ̶̟̥̬̿̿̾̾͝t̸̨͓̬̖̓̒̏͒͝h̸̩͇̰̣͛̇e̵̛̝̫̙̓̈́͌̀́̈i̶̧̡̟͙͓̳̰̣̙̣͚͌́͌̇̿̎̓͑͒͑͑̃̒͝r̷̝̞̠͇̣̠̞̲̲̯̥̞̀ ̸͎̣̜̬̥͙̳̥̮̮̼̌̈̃̌̌̑̈́̆̂ͅh̸̢͕̣͖̫͙̖̫̺͓̱̪̹͖̯̆͋̈́͑̐̈́̐̀̓̚̕̕ą̵̡̠̯̩͈͖͈̲̖̣̺̭͈̿̉̓͐̉̍͗̇̆n̵̛̟̹̈̀̈́͛̇͂̾̾͝d̶̦̥̗͉̳̬̘̩͎̘̭͚̬͉̈̑̿̆͒̎ͅs̸̢̡̳̖͕̟̦̮̘̥̎̄̈́̈́̓̅̋̏͛͘ͅ—)

Luckily for everyone involved, his intervention wasn’t needed, because, no matter the occasion, Iida always seemed ready to enforce order upon the chaotic.

“EVERYONE! You are crowding her and blocking the entrance and exit to the classroom, and you are obviously making her uncomfortable! Cease this rowdiness immediately and allow Asui-san to get to her seat! If you want to ask her questions after that, do it in a calm and organised manner! We are students of UA, the greatest hero school, and as students of such an illustrious institution we should be—”

‘Well… at least he calmed them down,’ Izuku thought, as he watched the cowed, and now appropriately sheepish mob of classmates slowly disperse and return to their seats, allowing Asui a path to her desk. The short girl walked through the last few dregs of the crowd that were slowly pushed back by a combination of Iida’s tirade —whose length was starting to make Izuku doubt whether the speedster even needed to breath or just did it to hide the fact that he was in fact a robot— and Uraraka’s bubbly insistence, which had taken on a sterner edge as she gently pushed bodies and created a space around her friend.

(Maybe she had noticed Asui’s distress? Her bravery at the USJ had caused him to start suspecting that the girl was much more… something than she let on. Maybe that was on purpose?)

Ernest well-wishers and what could be passed for close friends this early in the year staying behind despite Iida’s still ongoing lecture, hoping to slip in a last happy remark or encouraging word. All ignored as the girl walked past, her long sea-weed green hair hanging untied around her head as a she kept her gaze locked on the ground. A shield against the outside world, a bastion against the eyes.

Izuku couldn’t help but empathise as he watched her with as much false detachment as he could reasonably fake this early in the morning. He also knew it would take a long, long time for those eyes to disappear, regardless of whether they were real or imagined.

(In all the commotion, no one looked to the back of the class. No one saw the tall girl who had been elected the class representative by popular vote less than a week into the school year, ostensibly a sign of the confidence in her abilities her classmates had for her. No one noticed the way Yaoyorozu had opened her mouth when the crowd had gathered, how she had started to stand when the noise picked up, how she had been about to say something and try and remind her classmates to be more mindful of Asui’s feelings.

Which meant that no one heard the click of her jaw slamming shut when Iida spoke up. No one saw her slump back into her seat as the crowd dispersed under his authority, or the way she very slightly curled in on herself. The clouds of insecurity and anxiety already floating around her mind coalescing and condensing and starting to rain. And no one, not even the girl herself, noticed the seed of doubt planted at the USJ begin to take root.)

(̸̺͙̠͓̠̗̳̭̬̪͚̫̃͋̈́̎͌̄̄͆͋̊̕E̵̟͇̠͆̔̍̉̑̑͆͆̌x̵̛̠̘͇̘͚̣̭̫̣̖̅͂̀͋̄͋̾̐͜͜͠ç̶̛̲͔͚̝͕̘̜͙̑͗̀̅̉͑̚ë̵̡̘̼͎̗̦̫̯̯̹̐̃̓͘͝͠p̴̛̻̖̣̞̫̊̂̚t̴͈̜̦͔̰͓̙̞͇͋̈ ̴̧̛̲̳̹͇͕̥̜̻̊̊̈́͝͠f̸̢̢̡̤̱̩̱̫̩̘́̌̊̏͌͜ö̶͖͙͇̲͍́̍̓̋̊͌͆ŕ̵̥͍͇̺̣̞͙͚̪̘̭̣̱̮̑̚͝ ̴̧̙̦͙̗̣̖͇̪̘̗̮̤͒́̽̉̑͠͝ơ̸̡̖̗̗̮͈̯̩̩̯̝͐̉̈͐̔̅̆̋̌̆̍̆͘͜͠ͅn̴̡̛̤͔͖͓͈͓͓͙͉̠̮̫͓͈̽̔̈́͛͒e̷͖͍̪̼̭̜̅͆̊̐͋́̔̓͛̽͜͝ͅͅͅ,̵̧̛̹̰̮̗͍̭͕̤͓͕̖̈̆̊̉̾͐̍͌͊̈̅̚̕ ̸̧̧̲̗̣̱͍͒̈́̾̌͑̇̉̌͌̇͜ḇ̶̮̣̟̲̺̔̆̓͒̐̈́̋̐̓̓̿͗̚u̸̱͒̇͊t̶̨̥͔̪̮̝̣̞͚̪̋̂͌̄̊̎̈́͌͠͝ ̶̨̞̘͕͖͔͗̑͑̈́̒̓̆͆͌͆̽͝͝w̶̡̛̭͔͓̞̞̘̘̟̝͉̺̑̓͗̌̈͐̐̏̋͛̎͘̚͝ͅḧ̶͍̠̫̗̟̖͓̯͔̥͍̘̹̺́̌̌͠ŏ̴͔̜̮̺̼̤̘̦̬͖͍̜̮ͅ ̶̢͙̺͔̣͇̞̠̠̰͎̣̾̂̇̾̿̐͆w̶̛͍͙̥͙̎̅̓̽̌̌ę̴̡̢̼͓͔̤͙̰̰͈̉͑̑̄͒ř̸̨̠̗̝͖͔̳͍͔̳̒̇͐̉́̃̋̂͆͘͘ͅẻ̷̯͉͖̑̐͛̓̒̒̑̍̈́̉̈́ ̷̡̛̦͖̤̰̓́̂̐̋͛͊̚͘͠͝t̴̲͊̋͑̇̎̍́͑́̏̌̄h̴̢͓̘̝̘͚͗ĕ̸̢̛̩̝̳̦̯̜͉̓́̾̎̒̐͐̈̓̌͝y̴̡͛ ̵̡̧̝̼̫̖͓͓̙̖̔̎ͅt̵̢̪͕̖̪̜͔͒̎̓͑̿̕̕͝o̶͈͚̟̹̗̯̳̤̟̞̞̟̔̆́ͅ ̸̰̻͚̠̘̠̻͙̟̯͉͎̐̾̃͒̃̓̇̐͋̆͝t̸̨͖̺̘͇̳͇͔͓̰͛̿̄͌͋͒̍͘͘̚̚e̵̡̬̠̗̊̏̏̆͠l̶̳͍̩͊͊̅l̷̺̙͋̔̽͌͆̒͝.̶̧͉̘̹̼̰̹̥̟̪͉͉̫̏̾͐)̴̠̟̯̬̲̺͝

Eventually, Izuku just shut it out, again, and, as Iida’s rant drew to a close, quiet conversations started up, again. This time, Izuku was not the target of all the sideways glances and worried looks, though there was a lot more genuine concern in the eyes of the observers, and far less fear.

Normalcy returned.

For about thirty seconds.

Then the door slammed open, again, and a blanket of silence fell over the room as the newest arrival walked through the door.

Again.

Izuku was starting to sense a pattern to the morning, though that thought was quickly cast aside in favour of staring in bewilderment at the figure covered in bandages and gauze, nursing two arms Izuku had seen twisted on the grounds of the USJ, now entombed in thick casts. The man had barely looked alive the last time the class had seen him, and now he was striding into the room like he hadn’t fought off Death itself with nothing more than spite and a rolled-up newspaper.

Predictably, the class exploded (AGAIN! Seriously, Izuku was going throw something if everyone started shouting every time someone came into class. To be honest, it would probably be himself out of a window, but that’s beside the point).

“Aizawa-sensei! You’re okay!”

“Can you really call that okay?”

“Sensei! Are you sure you should return to your duties as you are now? As admirable as it is that—”

“Dude! That’s so damn manly!”

Glowing red eyes shining through layers of cause put a stop to the noise, and their teacher sighed as the class calmed down near instantly. It was kind of impressive the man had managed to train such a response into twenty teenagers so early on in the year.

Aizawa sighed. “My health is not your concern, though I have been cleared to return to teaching duties,” Aizawa said with a straight face. In truth, Recovery Girl had threatened him with handcuffs and a particularly strong sedative if he tried to leave before she cleared him. The twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep it promised had been tempting, but, in the end, he’d managed to negotiate it down to regular visits for slow, continuous healing, and light teaching work. ‘Light’ being a word he decided he’d probably interpret a little differently than the old healer, but nobody needed to know that.

Aizawa stared at the class, blank eyes dark and bloodshot beneath the layers of recently applied bandages doing a rather effective job of building up the tension he so enjoyed. Now for the follow up. “Your battle isn’t over yet.”

The students tensed, straightening in their seats. Some looked ready to jump to their feet, hands curled into fists and beginning to shake with nerves and anticipation. The teacher noted the few that seemed to have broken into a sweat, their gazes going slightly distant as whatever anxiety he’d created started to spiral. Those he’d need to mention to Hound Dog, or talk to himself after class at some point.

Okay, that was enough. “The sports festival is still being held.” That caught their attention. “And it’s in two weeks, so you better start preparing.”

The reaction to this was mixed, to say the least.

Kaminari and Mina cheered, but others were more… thoughtful.

Jirou spoke first. She frowned. “Is that really a good idea? UA just got attacked by villains.”

“Yeah! Wouldn’t an event like the sports festival be, like, the perfect opportunity for them to hit us again?” Sero said.

Aizawa could only sigh. ‘Stand united, Shouta. Remember what the rat said.’ “Those concerns have been brought up,” he couldn’t help but scowl a little at the thought of how quickly those had been swept aside. Hopefully his bandages hid his expression, if not his tone, “the security for this year had been upped significantly compared to previous years. I can’t talk about all of them, but the risk of villains infiltrating the festival and attempting another attack in an arena surrounded by pro heroes is low enough that that board has decided to go ahead.” The teacher sighed again, but soldiered on. He needed a nap after this. Damn his casts for making him unable to zip up his own sleeping bag.

“Regardless of that, the sports festival is an opportunity you can’t allow to slip you by. Pro Heroes from all over Japan will be watching you, judging your performance. If you do well, play smart, or just generally impress them, you might get lucky and receive a request for an internship from some of those heroes watching you. Internships you will be partaking in after the festival.” Aizawa looked over the class, catching each pair of eyes as hi students watched him. “These internships are crucial to your development. Don’t confuse them with work experience or anything like that. Internships vary depending on the hero, but generally, they just consist of introducing the intern to the world of heroics and the work that goes on behind the scenes in an agency, or other such tasks. Internships are all about building connections you can use later on in your school careers, something we will touch on when the time comes. Just know that you won’t be expected to participate in fights or do lone patrols. Internships are purely introductory, understand?” When no response came, he glared, activating his quirk. “Understand?”

The rows of rapidly nodding heads were a pleasure to see. “Good.”

From then on, homeroom proceeded as normal, with Aizawa answering the odd question about locations open for extra training and the logistics of the internships. Easy questions that let the still recovering man doze until homeroom finished, and their first teacher strode in to begin the lesson, holding the door open as the bandage swaddled Aizawa waddled his way out.

And so began the return to normality. Regular classes covering mundane subjects, the topic of what had happened only a few days ago going completely ignored except for a small mention from Midnight about scheduled meetings with counsellors, before she quickly moved on to her lecture about the effects of anti-establishment artists like Ginkosy on the Meta-Liberation movements preceding the second Great Quirk War, and the following warlord period.

Fascinating.

It truly was. Every class, he watched the teachers. Watched as the pro heroes in charge of educating them snuck glances out of the corner of their eyes whenever anything that could remotely remind them of villain attacks. Something Izuku found quietly hilarious, seeing as the bulk of their syllabus that dealt in history started after the first recorded apparition of quirks, and most people only cared about how the past related to the present-day state of the field of heroics.

Safe to say, math was a nice reprieve. No awkwardness surrounding the mention of a mass villain attack to be found whilst in the cold embrace of calculus, after all.

Izuku’s eyes narrowed at the worksheet package Ectoplasm handed out as homework for the next few weeks. ‘No reprieve to be found either, I guess,’ he thought, silently agreeing with the wailing of certain yellow and pink students who were known to… struggle academically, if one were to put it diplomatically.

‘Speaking of…’ Emerald green eyes slipped across the room to land on the curled form of his froggy classmate, before returning to the board. He frowned as Present Mic shot a glance filled with poorly disguised concern at Asui, who seemed to hide behind her long, undone hair.

This was one thing that wasn’t returning to normality. The teachers’ attempts to coddle them were amusing, if a bit irritating, but he could only imagine how Asui must feel. Being subtly but constantly reminded of a traumatizing event every time one looked in the mirror was bad enough, but having everyone tiptoe around the subject, or even being the centre of attention when anything even remotely connected to the event is mentioned can be… well, in Izuku’s experience, it was more aggravating than upsetting, but he believes that Asui has better control over her emptions than Izuku did at the time. Certainly, she doesn’t seem to be the person to start fights just because kind concern was becoming infuriating hovering.

And Izuku knew that what the teachers and his classmates were doing was being done out of good intentions. They were being sympathetic and caring, trying to accommodate Asui and not make her uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form, but, unfortunately, they were going about it in an overly obvious way, and it was plain to see that the frog girl was… uncomfortable.

‘And, well… the road to hell, and all that…’ Izuku thought as he noted down Cementoss’ comments on the text they were dissecting.

But, in the end, such things were not his concern. He was sure that what Asui needed right now were friends, and the two of them were casual acquaintances at best. The only time they’d even interacted directly had been on the bus to the USJ, and he had killed that conversation in its tracks.

So, yeah. Not his concern, not in his purview, outside of his control. He was sure Uraraka or Iida could help the frog girl, the three of them had seemed close.

In any case —and, more importantly, somewhat within his control— the festival. He’d need to prepare for that. Retrain. It had been a while since he’d used the practice bots, and he was sure the USJ had knocked some screws loose when it came to his control.

Maybe he could even catch his father once or twice for a spar! Or even Uncle Oki, if he got super lucky.

Yeah, that would be useful. He was sure Hisashi had a few tips when it came to controlling fire. Izuku needed to make sure he was as good as he could get, after all. Even if he decided to forgo using his quirk for direct offence and just rely on punching and kicking to beat his opponents, using his quirk as rockets or something.

Plus, sparring with his father was just fun. It was a challenge in all the right ways, and Izuku always left their spars feeling stronger than when he went in. Fighting his uncle was also super fun, and a good sort of ‘unstoppable force vs immovable object’ battle of endurance.

But he did want to focus on control. He had wondered what UA had told their parents, whether it was the official version or something closer to the actual events. Izuku knew it didn’t matter, as his father had likely found out about the extensive repairs being done to the USJ and the removal of large sections of its iconic dome due to intense and destructive fire damage.

So, yeah. Control. Hisashi would agree.

It wouldn’t do for Izuku to roast fellow students on live television, after all.

Chapter Text

On the outskirts of a large city, in an industrial district abandoned after a bad recession, there existed opportunity for those who knew to look. A poorly maintained and rarely visited area meant privacy came easy and property was cheap. It was the perfect location in which to engage in activities not strictly permitted by the laws of the land, and many came to take advantage of that.

Inside of a warehouse located somewhere in this district, hidden behind reinforced and heavily insulated walls, two dragons fought.

Flames bloomed in sudden and explosive ignitions, only to be washed away and dispersed under a new deluge of fire. Heat and light bathed the interior as the two combatants paused for breath, their shadows cast by the lingering inferno of their own creation against soot-stained walls, dark figures towering over their respective origin. A caricature of an audience, laughing and applauding and moving with the performers.

The older grinned, sly and taunting and filled with decades of experience. “Ya missed me there, kid. What, school been tiring ya out?”

The younger’s glared, heated and furious and burning with the incandescent might of twin green suns. His response consisted of a single raised finger. An ancient tradition, one which drew a guffaw from the older man.

The combatants still, observing the other. The older slightly twists his lower half, pacing around the younger like a predator studying prey. The younger, a student despite his might, mirrors the elder’s movements, twin suns observing the other’s body for any tensing of muscle, any sudden twitch, that might give away his next move. The flames surrounding them crackle and hiss, a cheering audience to add to the shadows.

The boy moves first, fire rolling off his arms and legs life a waterfall, before accelerating as the force launches the boy at the man, the high-pitched scream of the flames filling the room and adding to the cacophony. The boy’s attack is fast, is sudden, and he crosses the distance faster than most could react.

The father isn’t like most however, and as experience pulls him to the side, out of the way of the son’s charge, sheer combat prowess lets his fire-coated elbow catch the teen in the ribs at an angle, allowing the boy’s momentum to add to the force without too much pressure being applied to the man’s wrist.

The teen wheezes through his mask, but still manages to swing one of his arms to the side, unleashing a deluge of fire that the man jumps out of the way of. The boy continues his attack, widening the arc of the swing, but it’s too late, the man has backed out of effective range. The boy huffs what could have been a growl, the sound twisted by the mask to reach its desired effect

This is the sixth time this has happened. Six times has the boy attacked within the rules of the fight, and six times has the man evaded, countered and retreated. The boy knows the man is more skilled, has more experience, so he knows letting the man come to him would leave the boy more vulnerable and on the backfoot; his only option is to leverage his strengths. The boy’s quirk is stronger, so he can call on more firepower, ergo, he should be able to convert that extra firepower to extra speed. So, in theory, the boy should be faster.

But the man’s experience means he is more agile and his footwork is masterful, and overall speed means nothing if one’s opponent can turn on a dime and render the previous attack meaningless. After all, the boy covers more ground crossing the field, and all that the man has to do is take one step at the right time, and the boy is fucked.

Overall, the boy has spent more energy than the man, and has nothing to show for it apart from a so-called fire-proofed room in flames, a slightly sweaty opponent, and what is probably several blooming bruises. However, the first lesson his father taught him was that every failure is a teachable moment, and the lesson presented should be embraced.

On the other hand, Izuku has been having an… annoying week —partly due to his classmates’ newly found wariness of him, which is useful in some instances, but irritating in most— so hopefully his following stupidity can be forgiven.

A seventh time. Rocket engines roar, the boy launches forward, and the man rolls his eyes, preparing to step to the side. Suddenly, the boy throws one hand forward, and a fireball erupts from his palm, racing towards his father whose eyes widen with surprise.

The older man shields his face with his flame covered arms, letting the fireball flow around him, and flexibly looking up. The boy had tried this on attempts three and five, throwing some fire and using it to hide his own approach. One can imagine his surprise then as, through the very flames of his attack, the boy appears, his other arm reared back.

Hisashi learns this suddenly as he feels a fist sticking him in the gut, barely blocking the follow-up punch to the head with his forearm as his breathing is disrupted. He feels a spark of pride at his son’s creativity, before using the fact that the attack halted the boy’s motion and kicking his hard in the chest, throwing him backwards.

Izuku lands on his back, heaving a single surprised breath, before adrenaline forces him onto his hands and knees and launching himself out of range of an attack on his prone form.

He lands, knees bent and hands splayed, watching and trying to get his breathing back to normal. Hisashi takes a steadying breath, smirking at his son, which he knows riles up the boy.

“First hit landed. Well done.” The tone is condescending, hiding true praise. Hisashi has decades of training on Izuku, so the fact that the boy even landed a hit is amazing, but for the hit to have that kind of effect is truly incredible. Hisashi just knows he’s gonna be sore for a while. Unfortunately, a sparring match is no place for compliments. It’s time for practice, and Hisashi promised to be serious when it came to these. Taunting is a serious and valid tactic, one Izuku needs to build a tolerance for. As strong as his son is, losing his head in fight is a sure-fire way of making victory harder to achieve. Of increasing the chance of Izuku getting hurt. Of Izuku dying.

And he refuses that.

So, after eight unsuccessful clashes and numerous jabs, Hisashi pokes one last time at his son’s temper, the one he’s spent the entire evening blowing up like a balloon.

“Ya know,” he says conversationally, stepping out of the way of a rocket powered kick, “your technique is something else. Using your quirk in your hands and feet to boost your speed and the strength of your hits is pretty classic, but also quite effective.” One step forward and a twist, his leg hooking behind the one his son has shifted his weight to, thanking his parents that his own fire resistance can stand up to the heat of his son’s fire. A shove and Izuku stumbles. A front kick and Izuku tumbles, rolls, and gets back to his feet. Good. That was one of the first thing Hisashi taught him.

“Although,” he continues, “I do recall seeing notes regarding the style you use in one of those notebooks of yours.” He grins as his son’s eye twitches. “Yes, it’s coming back to me now. Your notes originally mentioned these techniques when in regards to a different quirk, didn’t they?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Hisashi knows how much the subject gets under Izuku’s skin. It’s a chink in his armour. A topic that triggers an instant anger response, followed by overwhelming quirk use. He’d know after all, Izuku is his father’s son.

The heat coming off Izuku increases, the flames rising to engulf the boy and no doubt testing the fire-proof material to the max. He hopes it doesn’t burn. That manufacturer wasn’t cheap.

A fake grin breaks across Hisashi’s face, smug and taunting and pressing all the buttons he needs to. “Yeah, you remember don’t you. You copied all your moves from those notes.” Green suns burn through him filled with wrath that Hisashi recognises all too well. Izuku shakes in his fiery cocoon, unable to move. If he so much as twitches, his anger will take over and he’ll lose.

“You’re just an imitation of that brat Ba—”

That’s as far as he gets before a scream rips across the room. Mechanical and filled with rage, it sounds like metal sheets being torn in half and gears straining against one another, ripping and breaking and wrong. It grinds against Hisashi’s ears as he grits his teeth for what’s to come.

The noise doesn’t stop, it’s only the opener. Following in its wake is a wave of fire the size of a two-story building, swallowing up the half the warehouse and rushing towards the man like water from a broken dam. Frenzied and uncontrolled, it is a child’s fury and directionless spite. It is power to test the mettle of most men and find them wanting.

But, as has been mentioned, Hisashi is not like other men.

What would have been death and destruction to others, instead elicits naught but the click of a tongue. Normally, Izuku is more controlled than this, more patient. Normally, he can hold on for longer before exploding.

He supposes Izuku must be really stressed.

The wave’s supposedly inexorable advance faulters. The fire at the centre starts to spin, an eye in the firestorm. It’s spin-speed increases, twisting violently before reaching out. The scene, to an outsider, is bizarre. A fiery tentacle emerges from the mass, swimming through the air before reaching its target and attaching itself.

Hisashi has held many names and many titles in his life. ‘Father’ and ‘Husband’ will always be his favourites, the ones he’d hold close to his heart until the day he died. But, before that, in a time he’d rather leave behind, he had another. One that symbolised his strength and his resolve. A warning to his many enemies. A name tattooed on his soul in the indelible ink of blood spilt for a cause.

Before he became Midoriya Hisashi, he was The Gehennaphage, the Hell-Eater, and he bore his title for a reason.

The ball of roiling, writhing flames launched at Hisashi had the power to wipe a decently sized apartment block off the map. Maybe even too. It was strength unthinkable for a child Izuku’s age, might and power and a taste of what he could be. Of that, Hisashi was proud.

Yet, for all that fire, for all that power, Hisashi devoured it all. Destruction incarnate swallowed whole as the pyrokinetic part of Hisashi’s quirk pulled the unruly foreign flame down his throat into his gut, pooling and storing it, converting it into extra ammunition to be used alongside his own naturally produced flame.

As the last of the fire disappeared, he looked at his sun. Tired green eyes glared at him with rapidly dying anger, the regret and disappointment washing over everything. Hisashi glared back, teeth bared and the light of barely contained fire and fury held behind the cage of his teeth, sharpened canines glinting as he compressed the flames he held, pressing them together and upping their intensity. The light glaring behind his teeth brightened, slowing becoming blinding, before he opened his mouth.

And the old serpent roared a star.

Fire, compressed and focused, fired out of between Hisashi’s jaws and struck Izuku in the chest, launching the boy back with all the force he had previously oh-so-carelessly thrown at his father in a momentary fit of rage. The beam of heat and light struck with the force of a truck, throwing him into one of the walls and keeping him there as the strength of the beam slowly died down, until all that was left of the impressive show was the lingering flames burning at the edges of Hisashi’s maw.

Now, Izuku ached. That last hit had been a bitch and a half, and he hadn’t even been able to dodge it. Plus, it had landed right on one of his more painful bruises, so that was a double whammy.

The only positive he could see was that he had no burns, his quirk rendering him practically immune to the effects of fire below his own potential output.

‘Fire-immunity for the win,’ he thought sarcastically as he pushed himself up from his seated position against the wall. Now if only he could find a way to actually hit the bastard, then he would be golden.

Suddenly, the double doors to the warehouse opened, allowing the hot air that had built up inside the closed room to rapidly rush outwards, providing a flow of air and feeding the flames new oxygen at such a pace that Izuku and his father had to cut them to prevent the whole district from burning down.

‘Guess sparring’s over for tonight,’ he thought as he heard a deep, kindly voice swear up a storm that would make every sailor and their mother blush. He wanted to grin, but forced what was visible of his face into a careful neutrality.

“Are you two babies done arguing?” The voice that sounded out was a low, growling sound, filled with irritation and laced with the remnants of a smoking habit kicked years ago. As the smoke from the now dead fires cleared out, vented by the furnace-like conditions inside the warehouse, a large, familiar figure stepped into view.

Wearing his old leather jacket covered in colourful patches and sewn up holes only made the already imposing form of Chinoshin Okiotoko rise to even greater heights of intimidation. The thick grey beard twisted as Izuku’s uncle’s face twisted into a displeased frown, his massive bulk shifting as the man brushed off any soot that had dared to try and dirty his most prized piece of clothing, the smoke escaping what was left of the inferno starting to blot out what little sunlight remained, lengthening and deepening the shadows. Every scar that marred the old man’s exposed skin seemed to leap out, and every crevice caused by the hardened muscle hidden beneath decades of aging seemed to sink further in.

Every movement was filled with old power, every twitch a show of strength. As Izuku’s uncle and Hisashi’s best friend stood in the doorway, shrouded by smoke and half-cloaked in shadow, he glared at the two, a challenge and a promise in eyes as black as coal.

A challenge to argue that they were in the right. A promise that it no longer mattered.

The giant stood between the two dragons and commanded that they stop.

When neither Midoriya moved to speak, the giant huffed, and all the intimidation washed out of him like water down a sink. With a sigh, Chinoshin rolled his shoulder and inspected his clothes once more. He huffed again.

“Seriously, guys. That was ridiculous.” He chuckled lightly, pulling a piece of his shirt up to his face to inspect it, before letting it drop once more. He gave them both a look. “I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: if either of you pull this shit again, and my baby gets hurt, I don’t care who started it, ‘cause I will end it.” Threat and violence and shadow returned, before dissipating once more.

Then, Uncle Oki smiled, raising the multiple plastic bags he held in one hand. “Come on out guys. I brought dinner, and this furnace ain’t a place someone like me can enjoy a meal properly. Izuku!” He said suddenly, staring down the teen as the two Midoriya’s went about cleaning up and shutting down the warehouse now that their spar was over. Said Izuku turned.

Okiotoko’s smile widened, radiating a positively giddy glee. “I managed to find a supplier for that mushy stuff you have to eat. Got my hands on some of the stuff with super-strong flavouring or something. I know yer dad said you couldn’t taste anything, but I figured, well, it’s safe to eat, and it wouldn’t hurt to try.” The now gentle giant winked at Izuku as they stood outside of the warehouse, waiting for Hisashi to close and lock up the doors. “No spicy stuff though. I remember how much you cried the last time you tried anything above mild.”

Izuku flushed red as his uncle laughed. [I was seven and didn’t expect it! Of course, I was going to react poorly!]

His uncle’s laughs turned into full guffaws, covering the sound of the doors being chained shut. “’React poorly’ he says!” Oki tried his best to breathe between bouts of laughter. “Ya damn near flooded the apartment! I thought yer dad was gonna kill me!”

“I was freaking out as much as he was,” Hisashi said, coming up behind them. The group of three started off towards a familiar spot. “It was Inko who threatened to tear out your eyes.”

“HAH! True!” Oki laughed again. “Fearless, that one.” Oki ruffled Izuku’s hair, the massive hand killing any perceived order that had existed in that jungle of curls. Izuku batted at the hand, glaring at his uncle who only chuckled. “Guess that’s where this one gets it from. Sure as shit ain’t from you.”

“Oi!”

The adults continued to banter as the group made it to a bridge hanging over a highway. Hisashi and Okiotoko took their seats on the ledge, their feet dangling over the road, while Izuku simply leaned against it, his feet firmly planted on solid ground. He went through the process of hooking up and turning on the new feeding system, the whirring and sucking of apparently flavoured mush being pumped into his body mixing with the sounds of rustling plastic bags and fast-food containers being opened.

For a while, there they sat. Some enjoying the taste of the food, others just going through the motions. The sounds of a city leaving work and going home played in the background, interrupted every now and then by a passing car.

Eventually, Chinoshin broke the silence. “Well, how is it?”

Izuku shrugged. [Still can’t taste anything. Consistency feels better, though. Less like pre-chewed slop and more…] The teen squinted, trying to pull a relevant example from what seemed like distant memory. He could barely remember what solid food even felt like, never mind taste. [Chunky mashed slop? I think that’s a good comparison.]

His uncle hummed in thought, slurping down some noodles in thought. “Welp, guess I’ll have to find something stronger then.” Izuku said nothing.

Silence returned and they finished their respective meals, Izuku joining them and sitting on the other side of his uncle from his father, and action that Okiotoko took notice of. The three sat there a moment, watching, observing as the pink sky slowly darkened and the sun slipped below the horizon. Chinoshin sighed.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, looking between them sternly. Neither met his gaze. “What was all that about, earlier, anyways? I doubt you two were fighting over sports results.”

The joke fell flat as the two Midoriyas continued to stare forwards, either deep in thought or unwilling to admit to fault. Eventually, Hisashi spoke. “It… was about the festival. Izuku has something in mind, and I… disagree. In a manner of speaking.”

Izuku glared at his father. [You yelled at me and said I was being stupid.]

His father returned the glare. “That’s because you are!”

[What do you want me to do then?! Just live with it?! Let it go while everyone involved goes unpunished?! At least this way there’ll some fucking justice!!]

“You won’t get to enjoy that justice if you make yourself a martyr! You’ll just burn yourself in this childish attempt at revenge!”

[‘Childish pursuit’, I can’t believe YOU of all people would call childish, you fucking hypocrite! You want it just as much as I do! At least I have the balls to admit it!]

His father sighed, shaky and filled with a bottomless rage carefully repressed. “Yes, I do! But I know enough about the world to know that the way you’re going about it is wrong! You’d just be making yourself the bad guy by taking revenge and providing no context! You need to be smart and pick your moment, not just go with whenever seems right! People like us don’t have that luxury!”

“ENOUGH!” Chinoshin’s voice cut through the argument like an executioner’s axe, silencing both parties with a sudden finality.

Izuku and Hisashi looked away, and Okiotoko just sighed. He turned to his nephew in all but blood. He loved the kid, he really did, but Okiotoko could remember what it was like being young, angry at the world, and powerful enough to act on it. That feeling of invincibility all teenagers’ felt, as though they existed in a vacuum and consequences were things for other people, was a dangerous thing, and would be tempered with age and experience that Izuku, for all his hardships, didn’t have yet.

Oki knew the kid well, he had since the boy was in diapers, and he had since the teen had been forced to change. The old man had watched from afar as Izuku went from a happy, hopeful young boy to a resentful and powerful teenager seemingly overnight. The boy was quick to anger, letting his emotions dictate his actions more than he knew and more than he wanted to admit. Oki knew that Izuku often jumped into things without thought for what happened next —one of the things that hadn’t changed from when he was young— and, now, such a thing could be catastrophic. For both Izuku and whoever was nearby.

So, with as much gentleness as he could push into his voice, Okiotoko spoke to his nephew. “I won’t ask for details. Whatever it is, I trust you put at least some thought into what you’re doing, and I trust that you’re smart enough to have a backup plan in case whatever you have in mind goes wrong.” Hisashi scoffed at that, and Chinoshin shot his friend a quick glare, before turning back to Izuku. “But you should listen to your father. He will always want what’s best for you, and if he’s trying to give you advice, you should listen.”

This time, it was Izuku who shot him a glare, but Okiotoko just chuckled. “Hey, us old timers have been around the block for a while! Maybe we might know a thing or two.” Oki chopped his nephew on the head as Hisashi squawked. “Listen to your elders, Izuku.” He paused for a moment, reconsidering. “Well, some of ‘em, at least.”

Izuku frowned, looking forward and rubbing his head where the massive hand had hit. Oki could tell the kid was thinking, considering the angles and arguments. But, most importantly, Okiotoko could see the kid wondering whether or not this whole fight was worth continuing.

Eventually, he saw the kid come to a decision. Izuku nodded, acknowledging his uncle’s points, and the man beamed. “Good kid,” he said, mussing up the teen’s hair. Izuku half-heartedly batted at the hand in response.

Hisashi grumbled. “’Us old timers’? Speak for yourself, you fossil. I’m still a young man in my prime.”

Okiotoko’s head turned slowly, and he gave his best friend a dangerous smile. “Oh really? Well then, maybe this ‘young man in his prime’ wouldn’t mind stepping into the ring with a ‘fossil’ like me.” Hisashi turned to look at the giant, who’s smile only grew behind his massive beard. “Maybe I’ll have to teach you whipper-snapper that your elders also deserve your respect.”

Izuku’s father barked a laugh. Fake mockery and very real amusement masking an atavistic fear response he had had decades of experience ignoring. Uncle Oki was a kind man, and Izuku had only ever known him as a gentle giant, but when the man fought, he fought like a man of myth. To watch his uncle do battle was to witness the word ‘inexorable’ made manifest. It was to see an unstoppable force and immoveable object take to the field in an avatar of flesh and blood and bone and violence.

It was the picture of the glorious and brutal warrior popularised by the fantastical retellings of bloody battles and heroic struggles during the dark age that followed the emergence of quirks, where individuals became armies unto themselves and nations shattered and reformed regularly.

And Hisashi, for all his might, was only human. Of course, anyone would worry about a challenge from Okiotoko.

But, Hisashi isn’t just anyone. He is Midoriya Hisashi, father to Midoriya Izuku and husband to Midoriya Inko. He was the Gehennaphage, respected for the strength he honed. He was Apophis. He was also Okiotoko’s best friend and the two had had fights for longer than Izuku had been an idea.

In other words, when old Oki challenged him, refusal was the last thing on his mind.

Rolling his shoulder, Hiashi grinned to his friend as the he stood up from his spots on the bridge. “You know what? Now that all that food is slowin’ me down, this might even be a fair fight.”

Chinoshin chuckled. “Excuses excuses. Come! Prove your words are more than just boasts,” he said, getting to his feet and leading the two back to the warehouse. “Maybe that little furnace of yours has cooled down.” He shrugged. “Or not. I’m not opposed to giving you a little leg up. You’ll probably need it anyway.”

Okiotoko grinned as Hisashi whirled on him. “Leg up?! Are you nuts? Why would I ever need a leg up?”

“Remind me. How long’s it been since we had a proper spar? I’m worried you’ve been neglecting your workouts Hisashi. You have been pretty busy recently.”

“… Izuku! Come on! I’m gonna show ya the proper technique when it comes to beatin’ up a geriatric!”

Izuku sighed as the two bantered whilst making their way back into the maze of old buildings. He leaned back against the railing, looking up to at the sky, searching for what stars shone bright enough to make it through the light pollution of the city and the odd wisps of cloud dotting the night sky.

‘So few…’

Balls of plasma whose sizes defy human comprehension, who break any sense of scale sapient life could create. Who burn with a fury unmatched by nearly anything else in the universe for billions of years, before dying with either a bang… or a whisper. Whose light travels incomprehensible distances at incomprehensible speeds, only to reach Earth, this blue spec of dust suspended in a sunbeam. Light with decades, centuries, millennia of history, overwhelmed and erased by a cheap, massed produced LED bulb used to light up a street barely anyone uses.

Amusing, really.

Yet, with all this spectacle, all of this cosmic-scale irony, Midoriya Izuku looked up into the sky, at the void hidden by light pollution, listening to the sounds of his uncle and father get further and further away, and he sighed, thinking about the assignment burning a hole in his backpack.

‘I’m gonna need… Yeah, okay.’ He stretched, rising to his feet to follow the men back to the warehouse. ‘I guess another all-nighter won’t kill me.’

Inui Ryou has been a teacher for a little over fifteen years, snatched up early in his career by Nedzu after an article was published following a national disaster pictured him cradling the broken body of a child he’d pulled from their collapsed home. It was a disaster that had wrecked the better part of western Japan and left countless heroes dead and an innumerable number of people homeless, with reports placing the blame on everything from a freak natural disaster to insurgent elements part of some terrorist cell imbedded among the populace.

It was a disaster that had resulted in a restructuring of the Heroes chain of command and more power being placed in the hands of the HPSC and the government. Quirk usage laws had been tightened even further after the food and water riots had broken out in the months after the initial shock, stymieing rescue efforts and necessitating emergency interventions when they spread to the nearby cities, and then military intervention when riots started breaking out as far north as Hakodate in Hokkaido. An intervention that had brought the previously underfunded and under-represented JSDF back into prominence as they stepped in to fill the gap Heroes and the police were unable to with gas grenades, tanks, and tactics as old as firearms.

It was a disaster of phenomenal scale ultimately utilised to political ends.

It was a disaster that still lives in Inui’s occasional nightmare, though the child from the picture had survived, and she still sends him the occasional letter, complete with a drawing that he saves religiously in a specially labelled file decorated in star stickers and coloured marker.

The article itself had been a small thing, maybe ten lines on page three of a second-rate news-site already swamped with pieces on higher ranked heroes in the same or a similar situation, but that had apparently been enough for his now boss to take an interest and, several months later, to track him down with a job offer.

Inui hadn’t known how Nedzu found out about his master’s degree in psychology, but the chimera had offered, along with a well-paid teaching position, the title of ‘guidance councillor’, and the more unofficial position of the in-house therapist —should he complete the training of course. Nowadays, he somewhat suspects that the chimera might have simply been seeking to diversify his roster of teachers, and a specialised tracker capable of front-line combat had been too tempting to pass up. Inui’s education had simply been a bonus.

That offer had brought to mind the faces of those he’d saved, more than the ones he’d failed. The listless eyes, the vacant stares had seared themselves into his psyche. The broken hearts and empty husks had tattooed themselves onto his soul. He had seen people he’d pulled physically from the rubble, but he had known that there was a part of them he couldn’t save, regardless of all his muscle. There would always be a piece buried in the rubble, a shard of joy or hope of peace that would never be recovered.

He’d pictured those people he’d failed to save completely, re-read Nedzu’s offer, and signed on the dotted line. He had never regretted his decision.

Now, he sits in his office, calmly seated in a soft chair especially designed for his physiology and without his signature muzzle, as he waits for his first appointment of the day.

He has five in total, written down on his timetable. Five children that have experienced something traumatizing and survived, and now Inui has the duty of making sure they won’t be held back, that they’ll be capable of living as well.

Two of the five he has high hopes for. They seem in high spirits, though he knows not to trust what people choose to project, and will rely on the slight empathic intuition his quirk provides. The last three are more… complicated. One he’s certain will need to schedule regular sessions for the foreseeable future, one has a note from Aizawa from the start of the year saying ‘watch closely’, and the last is a near total mystery, and completely silent to boot.

Inui sighs. At least he had the foresight to polish his JSL at the start of the year.

Uraraka sat in the burgundy sofa opposite of Inui’s chair, upright and smiling. She had her usual air of casual joy around her, one that radiated a calm that was nearly infectious to those around her. It was the look of someone with no concern, no fears, and no worries, simply a girl enjoying the experience of being at one of the best high-schools in Japan, studying in one of its most competitive courses. She was bright, smiling, and peppy. Someone Inui would normally have no reason to meet.

But Hound Dog’s experience told him to look deeper, and his instincts agreed.

It was a good look, well crafted to distract and divert attention from the way her eyes flitted from spot to spot, cataloguing everything and anything. Inui saw her lock onto his hand as he reached behind the couch to pull out a plate of biscuits to set on the table in between them, saw her tensed muscles and clenched fists forcefully relax as she spotted what it was he was holding, saw her laugh and try to play off her reaction as something silly to be ignored.

A decent disguise yet real in all ways that mattered. A sincere plastic mask. She meant everything she said, yet nothing she did. A clever tactic, but not an uncommon one.

“Good morning, Uraraka-chan.”

She looked surprised at his calm and welcoming tone, but that was something he was used to. People saw his size and his quirk and expected brutishness, then they saw his persona and expected a savage animal. He always got the slightest hints of satisfaction at seeing their surprise whenever he spoke normally, but that had no place in this environment.

“O-oh, uh, good morning, Hound Dog-sensei.”

“You can call me Inui, if you want. Hero names are usually reserved for the field or public events,” he smiled good-naturedly. Some found it slightly off-putting, what with the snout filled with sharp teeth, but Uraraka managed to smile back with a hint of discomfort.

“Okay, Inui-sensei.”

Ryou’s lip twitched upwards slightly, filled with humour as he pulled two mugs from under the table, as well as a kettle filled with some Nedzu-certified calming-tea-for-difficult-discussions.

“Inui-san.”

He chuckled. “Whatever makes you confortable, Uraraka-chan.” He shifted, taking on a more serious tone, though still light. “You know why you are here?”

She smiled. “Yep! You all wanna make sure we’re not all scared or having nightmares and stuff. That the USJ didn’t mess with our heads too much.”

He smiled. “That is in part true. All of class 1-A will be having at least one session with me today or in the coming days, and yes, it is in part to assess your mental state and decide whether you’re ready to go back into class, or if you need some time off to rest and recuperate.” He leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “This is also a… hero class, of sort. In your career, there will be many times when you see or experience something traumatic, and these sessions are, in part, to introduce you all to the idea of what could be called a mental health consultation.”

He leaned back into his own lime-green chair, an ugly colour but he’d found it for cheap when he bought his first apartment and he’d be damned if he ever abandoned it. Uraraka leaned forward. “The idea of mental health has always held certain negative stigma in Japan, stigma that persists in some forms to this day, and can become obstacles to people receiving help for issues they may be having.” He gave her a wry smile, observing her confusion. “In our profession, such things become invaluable for our continued function, and it is our hope that, as we help you all through the aftermath of your experiences in the USJ, we can remove whatever stigma may still persist in some of you, as well as reassuring you all that it is okay to seek help.”

For a moment, there was quiet, as Uraraka thought through what he’d just said. Then she gave a single laugh. “That’s pretty underhanded, Inui-san, even if you’re all tryn ta help us.”

He smiled wider and gave a rumbling chuckle. “It’s in my boss’ nature to kill as many birds with one stone as possible, and I believe that honesty and openness are the best primers for conversation.”

She frowned for a split-second, before the mask slid back into place and she gave him a wide smile, as bright as neon-lights and just as natural. “Oh, it’s okay, Inui-san! I got out of there pretty easily, and I barely fought any of the villains at all, so I didn’t get to experience all the crazy scary stuff some of the others went through.”

Inui hummed, opening his notebook and grabbing a pen. “Every person is different and experiences the world in equally different ways. You were all at the USJ, you all fought in one way or another, and all of you risked your lives a single week into the term, when you should have been having a calm introduction to rescue training.” He looked up, small and sharp black eyes meeting big and round brown ones. “Comparing your experience to others and trying to equate that to relative trauma is going to get you nowhere, though sharing your experience with others can help you process it, and the support they offer can also help with healing. So, Uraraka,” he clicked his pen, and gave her an encouraging smile, “would you mind sharing with me what happened in your own words?”

Uraraka Ochako swallowed nervously, and Inui Ryou saw the mask shift, the strap holding it in place loosening just a bit. It was a start.

“Aizawa and Thirteen were with us when the lights went out and the doors to the USJ locked. A portal made up of some kind of black mist formed in the centre of the building, with the hand guy,” a cough, “Shigaraki coming through first, and a group of villains consisting mostly of mutation quirks and quirks with long-range emitter components. Aizawa engaged in a delaying action while Thirteen tried to evacuate the students, but the portal gu—Kurogiri intercepted us at the gate and used the confusion to separate all the students around the building.” An irreverent shrug.

“You know the rest of the story. All the students fought their way to the entrance or the courtyard, Aizawa somehow ended up at the top of the stairs, and De—Midoriya…” There was hesitation, such a rare thing to see in the boy. At least, according to his file. “He fought the big ugly purple guy with the exposed brain —I think I heard people say it was bioengineered? Anyways, he fought it, beat it, and now its dust on the wind.” Gritted teeth, tensed muscled in the neck, with arms crossed tightly over his chest. It seems partly defensive, partly self-soothing, though the raging sea of different emotions Inui can nearly smell practically leaking from every pore on the boy’s body tells him that it is not so much soothing as it is containment.

The scent of emotional uncertainty at this level of intensity and contained to this degree is nearly enough to overpower the sweet smell of nitro-glycerine. Ryou considers the boy.

Aizawa’s notes pertaining to Bakugou paint the picture of a young man brimming with potential, someone who could be great but is held back by chains of his own making. He can see it in the words “highly skilled for his age”, “well trained at hand to hand, good integration of quirk”, and “excellent instincts coupled with high intelligence” that Aizawa thinks highly of the boy —in his own way— but Inui can’t help but also note the passages that mention “prone to outbursts of rage followed by quirk use” and “willingness to escalate class-combat scenario past safe limits for perceived personal slights”.

There’s also the mystery of the rather clean file the young man has, which, in and of itself, isn’t a bad thing; but Inui can see a lot of himself in Bakugou, and he knows that long-term anger issues rarely leave school records as spotless as this. Inui isn’t a fool, however, and he knows that people tend to make… exceptions for particularly popular quirks, and Explosion would just so happen to fit neatly into that category. That’s not even mentioning the near blank spot five to six years ago.

‘But,’ Inui sighs silently, ‘that is for another time.’ As much as he’d like to sit there and wonder about the teen’s experiences, how he managed to reach such levels of proficiency when it came to fighting at his age, or the recount that sounded more like a military debriefing of his experience in the USJ, Inui Ryou had guidelines today. Maybe, if he could get Bakugou to talk for long enough, the teen would open up, but Inui wasn’t holding his breath. Events like those took multiple sessions over long periods of time, and he had little doubt that Bakugou would resist any further sessions through whatever means necessary.

Instead of showing what he’s thinking, Inui hums as he writes in his notebook. “That must have been scary,” he says, “being separated from your friends during something like the USJ.” The man pauses, looking up at the boy who is currently trying his best to glare a hole through a decorative bowl. To be fair, it is a hideous bowl, but Inui finds people’s reactions to it amusing, and it was a gift from Nedzu, so he’d be forever grateful if the boy stopped trying to manifest explosions from his eyes.

A scoff, but arm muscles tense and fingers twitch with the urge to brace for a quirk activation. “Fuck no, I wasn’t scared. The punks they tried to ambush us with were weak as shit. Didn’t even do their research ‘n dropped me in the landslide or earthquake zone or something.” A glare gives way to a scowl. “If they’d dropped me in the storm zone, or, hell, even the fire zone, I’d have been fucked.” The scowl smooths out, and another shrug. “But they didn’t, and they got their asses beat, so that’s that.”

Inui observes him carefully, trying to tug at the mask. “There is no shame in being afraid during your first real encounter with villains,” he says softly. Bakugou only seems to tense further, and Inui sighs internally. “All heroes feel it when they first get out on the field.”

“I. Wasn’t. Scared.” The words are gritted out, forced between clenched teeth and facial muscles rendered stiff by over-scowling.

Inui humms again. Time to change tact. “You said us, earlier, when you mentioned being dropped into the landslide zone. Who was with you?” He knows who of course, but talking is talking, and talking is the path to progress.

Bakugou’s brows seem to furrow. “Shitty hair was the one who got dropped with me. We were trying to get a hit in on the portal guy but he warped us out first.”

“Shitty hair?”

“Kirishima.”

“You seem to do that quite a lot; using nicknames for the people around you I mean.”

Bakugou’s face twists. “They’re… a bit above the usual extras, and their quirks ain’t half bad. I need a way to remember ‘em so I know how to beat ‘em.”

“And using their names is too…?”

Bakugou actually looks at Inui like he’d offered him a plate of pig-shit for lunch, oscillating somewhere between surprise and disgust. It’d actually be quite amusing, if the silence that followed didn’t imply a thousand things Hound Dog didn’t like, one of which was that the conversation ball had stayed in Inui’s court after hitting the net. He wrote a small note in his notebook and changed subjects a bit.

“In Aizawa’s notes from the first exercise, it is mentioned that you struggled with teamwork. Would I be incorrect in assuming you’ve mostly fought or sparred alone for a long time?”

Bakugou bit his lip, an uncharacteristically reaction that was killed almost immediately. “Yeah, I trained alone, so I guess I’ve built up habits or something. I did have some teachers for a while, but I moved on from that shit when I stopped learning anything new.”

Inui smiled, wide and toothy and a poor attempt at reassurance. Bakugou eyed him warily, but the tension in his arms lessened. “Well, I hope we at UA can help you with that.” The wide smile disappeared, replaced with a something small and more reassuring. “What was it like, fighting together with someone else for the first time?”

As Bakugou went into a detailed rant about Kirishima’s fighting style, quirk, and “annoying sunshine-child bullshit” personality, Hound Dog couldn’t prevent a hint of satisfaction that ran through him, even as he finished his notes. He had his in through the boy primary defences. Now, all he needed to do was have patience.

Silence is an unnatural, uncomfortable thing in the world. Life makes noise, from the breathing and squeaks of a new-born, to the screaming and baying of the revolutionary. Silence is… wrong. It is what comes before and after the noisiness of existence. It is death in all of its forms. Immobile, breathless, noiseless.

And it consumes the room and the space between the guidance councillor and the girl.

Internally, Inui sighs sadly, mentally rearranging his schedule to allow for further meetings with her in the coming months. He isn’t disappointed —he’s honestly glad she even came— he’d been expecting this, to be honest.

Asui Tsuyu was one of the ones to come out the worse from the USJ, so it’d be foolish to expect anything else. She nearly lost her life, for god’s sake, and, next to Aizawa, she came the closest to dying. Had it not been for Recovery Girl’s quick thinking and wide web of connections in the medical world and the competence of the onsite EMTs, anything between blood loss, infection, or shock could have ripped the girl away from them. Truly a silver lining in an otherwise horrible situation.

Which is why he won’t force her to speak. He knows she’s having speech therapy sessions at the same hospital she was operated on, which shows a relieving absence of trauma involving hospitals. Although… yes, it would probably be a good idea to ask Nedzu or Shuzenji-san to give them a call to see if they could gain any further details regarding her emotional state during her sessions.

So, beyond the initial greeting and the few follow up questions that went ignored, no words have passed between them, and they still have twenty-five minutes before this session ends. He’s been thinking about telling stories about his own time at UA, and all the shenanigans he got up to in those heady days, but a part of him believes that bringing that up will only make things more awkward.

Telling tales about one’s happy times spent at the academy in which the other nearly died one week in is no way to initiate healthy conversation.

He watches her, carefully, making sure to keep his eyes empathetic and not pitying. He’s been on the receiving end of those kinds of eyes and knows that, despite any possible good intentions, pity just burns the skin and boils the soul and, for someone as level headed as young Asui, who is more likely to push down any feelings of anger or resentment until they explode, receiving pity from the one meant to talk her through her emotions would be the furthest thing from help.

And so they sit, in silence. Asui stares at the table between them, a calming tea left cold and untouched in front of her, the bottom half of her face buried in a green scarf that never seems to leave its perch around her neck these days, wrapping and coiling like a serpent around trapped prey.

A fitting metaphor, the part of him that took a three months course in English literature snarks. The errant thought vanishes as easily as it came.

And as the girl watches the grains of the table with all the focus of a traumatized child avoiding the problem, Inui takes to time to look at her. At her tensed and curled posture, the frayed green hair so far removed from the luscious green of healthy swamps it was before, the clenched fists and slight tremble, all disheartening signs that pierce his defences and crack his heart.

But it’s when he looks into her eyes that he feels whatever is left of the organ break.

Large black pits of bottomless numbness, swallowing all light and life and hope until nothing remains. The girl has a respectable amount of self-control, and were Inui anyone else, they would have seen a teen traumatized but managing.

But Inui is not anyone else, and he can smell the air around her. Air that smells like despair and dread, like the fear that spikes when turning a corner, the fear of not being safe in an environment that was meant to be a fortress. There is not trust in the girl for the institution that failed her so utterly, and Inui cannot find it in himself to blame her. No, for her, he feels only the sadness of seeing a young innocence so tarnished, and the guilt of not being there to prevent it.

He breaks his gaze away, trying to avoid those pits of quiet suffering, when his eyes land on the bookshelf in his office, and an idea begins to take root.

Slowly, carefully, he rose from his chair, studiously ignoring the feeling of Asui’s eyes locking onto him as he moved. He ignores the feeling of dark eyes watching him, observing him, cataloguing the movements of his hands as they roam the shelves, looking for something appropriate.

“I know what you probably thought something like this was meant to entail. That I’d grill you or question you or try to talk you into talking with me about how you feel or how you’re coping. One of the great misconceptions that comes with something like this is that it can be rushed, that it can happen once and whatever problem exists can be solved.” He gives the girl a little grin over his shoulder, something that could be seen as frightening, but he has a feeling a fellow mutant quirk user would be able to appreciate the sentiment. He feels vindicated when the fear diminishes and curiosity takes its place.

“The truth is, something like this moves at the pace that works, and that pace is different for different people. For the rare few, it can be one or two sessions. For the vast majority, it never truly stops.” He finds what he’s looking for, and he pulls a selection of books from the shelves. “But, the process cannot start if fear dominates the interaction.” He can smell the change in Asui’s air, and lets out a friendly chuckle. “Oh, don’t worry about it, pup. You’re hardly the first person to be terrified by therapy, and I very much doubt you’ll be the last.”

Inui turns around, holding a stack of books much too high for one session or even forty, smiling something wide and welcoming. “My point is, we might not get anything done today, and that is okay. We might not get anything done the next session either, and that is still okay. What I want to do, however, is to make sure that you’re… if not completely feeling like being open, then you can at least see this office as a safe space, away from the noise and chaos of these walls.” He chuckles a little. “And, well… I guess what I’m saying is: do you have a preferred genre?”

The quizzical look he receives is almost enough to make him laugh. He huffs good-naturedly instead. “Despite what my reputation may suggest, I enjoy reading quite a lot. I find it relaxing, and even a good escape from a stressful day at times.” He sits back down in his special cream-coloured sofa, placing the stack of books down on the table between them and spreading them out. “Personally, I prefer sci-fi, but I’ve been branching into fantasy a bit more recently.” and he’d be taking the collection of romance manga he’d become addicted to and ordered online anonymously to the grave with him.

He smiles as the girl contemplates the selection, before picking up ‘Triad of Fire’ by Kakowa Miraidesu. He thinks that one was pretty good. If he remembers correctly, it involves a prince being sent to rescue a princess from an evil dragon, only for the trio to go on a wide range of adventures. There might have even been a subplot involving a love rival between the princess and the prince for the dragon’s affection. Ah. But that’d be spoilers.

He humms, picking up a book of his own. He’d already read it, but it’d be rude to just have Asui read alone while he worked or did nothing. “That’s a good choice. I think I read her autobiography a while back. She developed her style by working on historical commentary first, mostly revolving around the warlord period or the situation in Japan at the end of the dark ages.” He smiled as Asui looked at him. “She credits her success to her work on those turbulent times, and says that she based a few locations and characters in her works off of real people.” He chuckles a bit, as Asui looks back down at the book with new eyes. “This could even be considered a more fun way to revise for some modules in your history class. Though she did tend to be quite scathing in her commentaries on the early heroics industry, so do keep that in mind.”

There’s silence for a bit, stillness, and Inui worries that he may have pushed too far, that she may refuse this overture and he will have to recommend she visit a psychiatrist, not just an in-house therapist, and maybe even be temporarily suspended from heroics classes. The last thing he wants to have to resort to today, for anyone.

But then, movement! The book cracks open, and Inui cracks a wider smile, turning to his own book as Asui begins her delve into ‘Triad’, and Inui starts whatever it is he just grabbed. It’s a small step; so small in fact, that it could barely even be considered progress, but it is there. Hopefully, as they meet again and again, they will be able to help her, if not move past this, then accept it and learn to keep going.

It’ll be slow going for the girl who skirted death, but at least the silence has been broken up into smaller chunks by the sound of turning pages.

And even then, in the cracks between motion, the remaining noiselessness feels… lighter, somehow.

“It was horrible!!” The boy in front of him has gone through three large packets of tissues in the last ten minutes. Honestly, Inui is mildly impressed. “They came out of nowhere! And-And-And they said they wanted to kill us! All to hurt All Might or whatever that insane guy’s plan was!”

“That must have been terrifying, Mineta-kun.”

“It was! It was…” All the maanic energy that had fuelled the boy seemed to drain out of him, and he slumped into the burgundy couch, his small frame nearly swallowed by the cushions. “But… But that wasn’t the worst part.”

Hound Dog raises one eyebrow, his hand ceasing its note-taking. “It wasn’t.”

The boy shakes his head. “No! No… No, the worst part…” There are tears in his eyes now, and Inui gently nudges the tissue box across the table. Mineta had already proven himself capable of producing astounding amounts of snot and tears for his small body, and Inui quite like that couch. “The worst part, was that I was so scared that I couldn’t do anything!”

And that stops Inui in his tracks. He’d read the files of the students he’d be meeting today, all the comments from past teachers as well as Aizawa’s preliminary assessments. Past teachers had been far from flattering about the boy, though Inui will not ignore the potential bias Mineta could have faced due to his size, and the boy hadn’t had any black marks on his records, and his application hadn’t tripped any red flags in their systems.

Aizawa had been professional, as expected, but had commented on the boy’s less than stellar physical aptitude, and his even poorer attitude. The boy was smart, there was no doubt about that, but he seemed to use that intelligence in the pursuit of satisfying the urges brought on by —ugh— puberty. A single sentence in the entire file mentioned Aizawa contemplating moving Mineta down to Gen Ed after the Sports Festival, depending on his performance and behaviour during the event, and a single sentence from Aizawa was usually enough. However, the fact that Aizawa was actually contemplating such a thing instead of immediately acting on it meant that the man could see some form of ‘potential’ in the boy.

Up until now, Inui was embarrassed to say he hadn’t seen much to be impressed about, either from his file or the boy. Oh, he didn’t blame the boy for his fear, but the few comments he’d made about the girls in his class had definitely not helped raise his image in Inui’s mind at all.

But then he’d read the report from the USJ, and now this… now this was new.

“What do you mean? From the report, you saved Asui-chan’s life by stalling the leader with your quirk long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Then, you carried her over your shoulders through hundreds of meters of waist deep water after having used your cape as a makeshift bandage, all the way to your classmates who were able to help.” He looks at the boy, who continued to sink into the couch despite the praise, a tissue gripped tightly in his hand. “That hardly sounds like you did nothing—”

“YOU DON’T GET IT!” The shout was sudden, and Inui supressed the wince as the echo rang in his sensitive ears. “You don’t get it. It was my fault. She got hurt because of me.”

A raised eyebrow. Inui put his notebook down on the table. This would require more focus. “Why do you say that?”

“Because! Because I froze! Because I was so s-s-scared! Because when the chips were down and lives were on the line, I couldn’t do anything! Not!” He slams a fist on the table.

“A!” Another slam.

“Damn!” Slam.

“THING!” Slam.

Mineta is full on sobbing now, crying his eyes out and Inui pushes the box of tissues even further across the table. Waiting for the boy to continue.

“W-When w-we were dropped into the lake, I couldn’t think, I was too scared, and this shark guy tried to fucking eat me! I only survived ‘cause Tsu-chan pulled me out of the water on time. Then, when we were on the boat and some villain tried to sink it, she came up with the plan to get us out because I couldn’t do anything except cry and scream and hope that All Might would come and save us.” The boy blows his nose, crumpling the tissue into a ball and adding it to the growing pile in the bin beside him. His eyes change, all animal grief and bottomless guilt. A particular kind of guilt Inui’s seen time and time again. Survivor’s guilt. “Th-Then… Then we were on the shore, and the leader guy was coming at us, and I couldn’t do anything. S-S-So… So sh-she pulled me away, a-a-a-a…”

‘And he got her instead,’ Inui can’t help but think. He watches the boy devolve into sobs again, an unholy mixture of pity and deep, deep empathy fermenting in his heart. It’s an unfortunate truth that this is common story in their line of work. To have a friend or colleague pull sacrifice themselves for the benefit of another. A tragic and traumatising end to a career, even a life. It is the martyr’s way out.

(‘And leaves a more useful tool to be used by those left behind seeking to garner sympathy and support,’ thinks Inui, bitter as the memory of smug soldiers being called in to supress riots gone out of control. ‘Politics is a pox.’)

Unfortunately, this system of theirs glorifies such acts of self-sacrifice. It is to their own detriment, Inui has always believed, to teach young people that to die for others and the system they uphold is the greatest of honours. It encourages them to behave recklessly in the pursuit of the ideal of ultimate justice, and leads to kind-hearted, but naïve, and dead heroes. Inui would much prefer that they be taught that death is serious and final and they will no longer be able to accomplish any good if they were to die.

It is one of the reasons he was not one of the dissenting voices when Aizawa asked for permission to expel any student he judged to have no potential. No, Inui had been impressed by the younger man’s gall, and had always held a certain respect for the man as a teacher ever since. Less than twenty percent of Aizawa’s former students had died or been forced to retire five years into their careers, an incredibly low number when compared to national averages, which ranged from forty percent to fifty five percent. A tragic truth, ignored by all for the nature of its inconvenience.

But now is not the time for philosophising on the state of their society. So, he considers what Mineta said, and decides to pull up something he said earlier today. “What you experienced today is something no one your age should have had to face, much least with just a week of training.” He looks at Mineta kindly when the boy pulls his teary gaze up from the table. “There is nothing shameful with being afraid.”

Again Mineta slams his fist into the table. “But me being scared means Tsu got hurt! It means I couldn’t help anyone, not even myself, until I had someone come and save me. I-It means…” The boy trailed off, his eyes glazing over, worrying Inui. “It means they were right about me. I can’t be a hero. I’m not up to it.” He chuckled, watery and filled with pain. The next part comes in a whisper. “What kind of hero can I even be if I can’t even be brave.”

A silence falls over the room, interrupted intermittently by sniffles and the sounds of a noise being blown.

“You know,” Inui starts slowly, carefully, pulling Mineta’s attention to him. Inui hides his pity behind sincere empathy, and smiles a smile both intimidating and reassuring, “an often repeated saying is that courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to triumph over it. Someone who is brave is someone who can feel fear, and keep going in spite of that.” Inui lifts a hand, forestalling anything Mineta had to say.

“You say you can’t be a hero, that you can’t be brave. I don’t agree. When the chips were down, when a dangerous villain was coming at you with a quirk that almost directly countered yours, you chose to stand your ground, protecting your incapacitated classmate with everything you had. Even as your scalped cracked and ripped and blood poured down your face, you stood steadfast in front of a villain who could and would kill you, and you fought.” Inui stared at Mineta, who stares back. The boy is wide eyed and slacked jawed, which makes Inui chuckle. There are still tears in his eyes, and there is still endless guilt and fear lurking in his pupils, but Inui can see the potential that has saved the boy from Aizawa’s judgement so far. He can see the spark of the hero Mineta could be.

“So, no, Mineta-kun, I don’t think you are too scared to be a hero.”

The look Mineta gives him is part relief, part disbelief. The boy doesn’t believe him, though that is fine. There is time for Mineta to prove himself to himself.

The clock chimes, their time is up, and Mineta stands and makes his way to the door. As he grips the handle, the boy seems to realise something. Slowly, hesitantly, Mineta Minoru turns around. “Who said it?” To the momentary confusion on Inui’s face, Mineta elaborates. “That saying you quoted, who said it?”

Hound Dog grins. “A great many people, many of whom went on to do a great many things. The quote comes from before the emergence of quirks, so any details about them might be scarce, but, consider this your homework for the week.”

The look of disgust and the whining about ‘therapy homework’ was nearly enough for Inui to miss the spark of interest catch alight, and so he laughs as the boy’s frustration, like any decent disciple of the Nedzu temple of pedagogical philosophy.

Because where is the joy in teaching if one cannot be mildly sadistic now and then?

The boy that leaves Inui’s office is very different from the one Inui expected when he first came in, and Inui is glad to have been so wrong. Despite what may first appear, there is a spark of true heroism in that boy, as there is in all of the students Inui has seen so far.

And, as Aizawa is so insistent on quoting, “Where there is potential, nurture it.”

And here, there is potential. Who would have thought that the words of a warlord from over a hundred and fifty years ago could still be so relevant?

This is his last meeting of the day, and is by far the most… complicated.

This is due entirely to the subject at hand, who seems to consist entirely of mystery and hostility hidden beneath a veneer of calm so convincing Inui almost doubts his nose. But no, he isn’t mistaken, and Midoriya Izuku lounges on his burgundy sofa, staring silently at him with lidded eyes burning green with the light of twin green suns. He is a wasps’ nest of contradictions that both irritates and intrigues Hound Dog.

As silent as Asui, yet as candid as Mineta. As curt as Bakugou, yet he hides beneath a façade like Uraraka. Truly a monstrous amalgamation of all the troubles Inui has had to face today. It is interesting. It is frustrating. Midoriya’s eyes burn with a constant, omnidirectional anger that seems to keep his body wound tight. At first, Inui mistakes this for nerves, like in Asui, but when he goes to comfort the boy, his nose picks up what is truly being felt. Midoriya’s anger smells like magma, compressed and pushed down until the pressure becomes too much. Inui makes a note of warning Aizawa for possible eruptions.

Whatever question Inui asks is answered honestly and openly, but the answers are weaved between Midoriya’s fingers into a tapestry of a tale devoid of all artistic flair, and filled with whatever bite sign language can muster. Any question even vaguely hinting at Midoriya’s emotional reaction to the USJ, to the event that traumatized a vast portion of his class and ended with one of his classmates and his teacher at death’s door, is answered curtly —revealing little— or is ignored —revealing nothing at all. Throughout it all, Midoriya’s face is blank beneath his mask, eyes burning yet at emotive as a doll. Pristine porcelain pretending at humanity.

Inui is nearly ready to call it quits, to end this game of cat and mouse where he plays both, when Midoriya seems to notice his frustration, and a nugget of information is presented. A peace offering between parties that aren’t entirely antagonistic, but are not entirely friendly.

[When I was fighting the Nomu, I… I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it quite a bit.]

Now, that is something he hasn’t before. “May I ask why?”

[It was… nice, to not have to hold back, to let go. Normal people are so fragile, so I can’t really push myself against them safely.] Midoriya winces, obviously considering how his words could be portrayed as arrogance, but he doesn’t take them back. [Of course I was scared for the others, but then I saw them get to the stairs I trusted that they’d be safe.]

Inui thinks of scorched earth and a cracked courtyard, of a body meant to beat All Might turned to ash and the top portion of a building with a diameter measured in kilometres melted into slag. He concurs with what the boy is saying, few could stand up to that level of casual destructive potential, and even few could push it. But he questions the mentality such a statement implies. “Is UA not adequately providing the facilities to do so?”

Midoriya flushes a bit, and it takes Inui by surprise. [You’ve got a bunch of useful gear to help me learn to regulate my quirk use to safer levels. But when it comes to getting stronger…] Hesitance stays his hands, before they continue. [I can’t really say. Classes started a week ago, and we haven’t had many practical classes yet.]

Hound Dog hums and nods. “Yes, you’ll have more of those as the year goes on. The first week is mostly meant to be an introduction to the facilities and the types of classes you’ll be having throughout your time here.” The man grins mirthlessly. “Obviously, we’ve been forced to make some changes to that timetable.”

The twitch of a muscle near the corner of his eye, possibly the closes Midoriya has come in the whole session to a smile. “Still, I’ve gotta say, just to cover our legal bases, that going off and fighting monsters is not an appropriate method of stress relief, and that UA doesn’t condone the hunting of bio-weapons by students with a week of experience.” Another twitch, another small victory.

[I’ll try not to make a habit out of it, but I make no promises just in case the opportunity comes up again.]

Inui smiles, but grows serious once again. “What about your classmates?” He gets a raised eye brow in return, so he elaborates. “I mean in terms of ‘letting go’ and ‘pushing yourself’, would your peers not be good options? They might not be bio-engineered super-weapons, but you can’t discount their strengths.”

The answer he gets is hesitant, slow. [When it comes to schoolwork or strategy making or something, then yeah, sure, I guess. But when it comes to fighting with quirks involved, well…] He shrugs. [Like I said: humans are fragile, and I need to be more careful. It’s why I’m using the bots so much.]

Inui knows what Midoriya is talking about, because he was invited to a budget meeting one day and was too scared of Nedzu to turn it down. He’d noticed the increased spending on rescue bots, specifically the design with more armour plating and better sensors to get more accurate read-outs of injuries inflicted, and had brought it up to his boss, who had cheerfully informed him that a particular student was quite literally burning through them trying to better his control over his quirk, to make fire safer. But, it was working, and those robots were a negligible fraction of UA’s allocated budge for student damages. Plus, they’d saved on the cost of scrap metal for Maijima’s horde of tech-gremlins, so it did offset some of the cost.

Inui flips through his notebook once, before stopping on a page. He picks up his pen. “Sorry for returning to a previous point in the conversation, but I’d like to talk about your fight with the Nomu again. Specifically, the conclusion.”

Any openness that might have existed in Midoriya slams shut with a finality that makes Inui wince internally. His eyes close off, burning still but neutral as could be. Porcelain flesh inanimate. Any connection dead and buried.

[The mastermind sent it in to kill me and everyone else in there, I killed it before it could do too much damage. That’s how the fight went.]

Inui thinks of spider-web shatter patterns where impossible force was applied for a final leap. He thinks of wide gouges of molten rock and pulverised stone, where two opposing powers clashed. He thinks of red stains and piles of gore that used to be people who couldn’t escape the clash of titans, and he thinks of the light burns and empty eyes of the villains that had been left behind. He knows that Midoriya saw the field of death and destruction, and humans have evolved to be repulsed and scared by the dead bodies of other humans, because a dead human means danger, and danger means that the new human might become dead as well. Except, in this case, Midoriya had already burned the danger away, killed beyond death, and had walked through the field as an avatar of heat and destruction and indifferent justice.

No, Inui refused to believe that. He would need to be a bit more forceful than he wanted to. Death was a constant in the minds of pro heroes: the death of colleagues who got careless and villains who didn’t know when to call it quits were both harsh on the psyche, but the death of the bystander, of the innocent civilian minding their own life, and were unlucky enough to be within rubble and shrapnel range of a disaster. Granted, this situation was different in that the villains killed were far from innocent, but they were still bystanders to the fight between Nomu and Midoriya.

“Did you see the courtyard before you left the USJ?”

[Yes.]

“How did that make you feel?”

He receives no answer from the boy, only the folding of arms over his chest and damned porcelain eyes.

Hound Dog sighs, shutting his notebook. “Do you know, Midoriya, the statistics involving deaths caused by a hero during their career?” That seems to catch Midoriya off guard, and Inui gives a mirthless smile. “It turns out that around nearly seventy percent of heroes with over ten years in the field have deliberately taken the life of at least one villain directly, while percentage of those indirectly responsible for the deaths of the villains they fight —for example through delayed access to medical care after a fight, or the exacerbation of a pre-existing medical condition leading to death— shoots all the way up to eighty percent.” His smile turns sad as Midoriya continues to stare. These are terrible numbers, numbers that the kid shouldn’t have to confront until at least three-quarters of the way through second year, but his class has been attacked, and through the actions of those villains, have been thrust to the front-lines of a war as old as their industry.

Plus, he has a feeling that Midoriya is the type to prefer straight forward, blunt honesty, no matter how painful it may be.

“Yeah, those numbers don’t sound too flattering, do they. In fact, people like to throw them around when arguing about heroics, because they sound big and paint us as callous and uncaring. But it conveniently likes to forget that heroes will face down and fight one hundred villains and criminals over the course of the year, on average. Over ten years, that makes a thousand fights, and it is simply unrealistic to expect each fight to be the same. It is true, sometimes, the villain is more victim than criminal, and, in those cases, decency and our duty dictate that we extend a helping hand, and the ‘villain fight’—” he made quotation marks “—will be a lot different than what the public expects.”

“However,” and now, Inui’s smile disappears, making way for the anger he is so known for, “in one of those one thousand instances, the hero will face down a monster. One who cannot be reasoned with, who cannot be captured. One who will fight to the death and damn the consequences or the collateral damages. In that nightmare scenario, there exist only three possible outcomes.” Inui holds up three fingers.

“The first hero is the lucky hero will have the right back-up, the right quirk, or the right set of skills or circumstances needed to take that villain down and arrest them.” He retracts a finger, leaving two.

“The second hero is the dead hero, having failed to stop the villains rampage and leaving the civilians at the monster’s non-existent mercy, and the police to try and contain the mess until backup arrives. They become a name in a eulogy given by grieving friends next to a closed casket. It is the worst outcome, because more people will suffer and the villain won’t necessarily stop.” He puts down a second finger, leaving only one. He gives Midoriya a careful look, but the boy is unreadable behind that black mask of his. This is usually the hardest truth for students to accept. They grew up being presented with a squeaky-clean industry, where villains are always beaten and the day is always saved. An illusion propped up to maintain the peace borne aloft on All Might’s titanic shoulders. It ignores the fact that heroics is an industry soaked in the blood of previous generations, started by desperate people looking for any form of justice during a time where strength was the only law. Inui does not enjoy lying, and the boy in front of him has killed to protect. He deserves to know what world he’s signed up for.

(T̷̢̨͚̮̥̔̊͊͊͝ͅh̸̠͋͐̓̇ȩ̶̣̥̟̳͗̽͝ ̸̢̝͖̯͍͚̗̄͒ṡ̵̼̿̚ṕ̴̹̗̻̹̠̃͘ȩ̵̨̧̦̖̞͈̌̂͋̈́ç̴͎̦̣̭̠̒͑͌͂t̷̨͇̦̪͕̔͐͝r̵͚͌̈̇̚͝e̷̼̪̬̝̺͌͘ ̸̨̢̮̱͔̠͉̆̽͑͐ỏ̵̤̱̞̣͉̲͋̓f̶̢͓̻̻̍̊̐̊ ̴̞̪̩̪̥̼̄̈́̌̀̾ͅȧ̵̩̞n̷̪̟̼͈̳̮̦̍ ̴̨͒̄̓̉͂͘͝o̵̲̖̜̮̳͉̒̋ͅl̵̝̩̠̬̻̠̳͆̑̉̃d̴͇͊́͋ ̵͍͗͋̎̅̃̕h̴̟̦̉̓̍̚ĕ̴̟̻̥̺͗̿r̴̢̗̗̠̮̬̠͎̄m̵̗̋̌͒̎͒̈̎i̶̲̣̪̯͂̇ţ̸̣͇͎̜̈ ̷̳̬̿̅͌̄͝l̴̨̹͎̯̹̤̒ͅă̷̪̇̿̔̚̕͠͝y̷̧͕̼͕̝͇̽̇̎̅̓̊͛s̸̳̥̥̹͚͇̬͇̔̿̈́̿ ̴̹̟̤̝͖̣̪̽͊̾̋͋̒̓b̵̳̥͒͋ä̵̼͕͚̝́c̴̡̣̏̍k̵̫͔̻̫̄͛͌̋̐̇͝ ̶͍͗̂̍̓̃̐̾̊ā̴͇͙̙͓̺̩̽͌͑̈́͊͛͛g̶̨̢̻̻̩̩̠̻͋̿a̵̢̮͖̗̘̻̙̅̽͘į̵̖͓̉͑̕ͅn̵̩͍̖̲̙͖̈ṡ̷̪͂̽͝t̸͙̜͚̜̙̊̅̊̕͜͝ ̸͐̈̀͌̽ͅā̵͔͈̜͈̩̗̘̾ ̶̢̤̪͇̫̪͂͂̈̀̄̐̕͠J̷̛̘̠̱̲̮̮̭̀͑͆̈́̕͝a̴̧̳̺͉̍͑̑ͅp̶̡̭̫̬̿̐̈͘̕͝ă̸̹̫͔̟̺̍̄̑͐͠n̷͔̠̝̭͕̍́́͗̚e̶̘͎͙͗̈s̸̗͇͉̤͓̹̼̠̈́̎͆̚͠͠ḛ̸͎͖͚͘ ̷̧̨̫̩̰̻̥͂͠l̵͉̙͖͈̖̊̾̏͆͂͂̆ȧ̶̹̪̖̮͔̯̕͠r̷̛͍͌͐̓̕͝c̸̹̝͊͑̒̔̈́h̸̊̓͒̒̕͝ͅͅ ̸̻͎͙̰̩͌̉̄̄̿̌o̸͙͍̯̔͝ļ̶̣̬̹͕̌̽̓͌̿̌̉d̷̩͚̟̫̯̓̿̾͗̒͑e̴̱͕̼̣͒̋̒̚ṙ̸͇̖͒͛͂̚̚͜ͅ ̷̥̰̫͇͇͕͛ͅͅt̸̤̠̟̗̳̰̅͐̔̒̾̚̚h̷͙̠͌̕̕a̵̛̩̫̮͎̖̗̔́̇͘ͅn̵̢͚̖̥͑̈́̉̚͝͝ ̷̦̲͚́̐t̶̛͈̜͚͙̼̫̗͗͆̄h̵̟͕͎͒̚ȩ̴̢̛̮̙̭̤̥͌̾̓̎̄̊͜ ̸̡̍̇̎͂̑̍̚w̵͙͙͇̫͠r̶̺͈̦̱̄̈́͂͋̉̃̅̋ͅi̶̠̐͐̈͠ẗ̶͍̤͉͚̝͉̗́̒̀͘͝t̸̨̥̠͈̟͆̚͜è̵̙̌̏͌n̴̜͓̳̯͓̭̔ ̶͖͉͂̒͌͊̅ŵ̴̞̈́͘ǫ̵̳̟̼͓̣̪̀̒̈́r̶͍̯͕͔̬̓̅d̸̨̲̗̉̓̈́͐,̴̹͙̼͇̼̊͆̑͌̚ ̸̲̘̞͝c̷̢̫̮͉̫͔̀h̸̛̘͍̓̽͛͠ȕ̷̺͔̜͙̥̲̙͛́̀̾͐̕̚ĉ̴̲͔̠̤̦̮͛͋̃͜k̵̡̧͍̖̹̖͔̻̎̾̏̐̉̕͝l̶̮̙̓̓͊̊̃̕ͅi̸̟̔͊͘n̶̢̺̞̼̼̳̾̓͂g̸̪̲̈́ ̵͖̟͓̠̫̤͚̔̍̋̇̏̉̽t̶̖̠͈͙̳͝͝o̴̗͚̮̮̗̣͐͒̏ͅͅ ̴͉͓̇h̵̠̺̀̆̿͒i̷͚͇͍͓̫̜̋m̶͙̺̲̻̝͔͔͛́͌̃̎̃͘͠s̸̢͇͎͑̈́ȩ̴̃̌̂̎͂͑͜l̶͎̥̮͊͋̈́̔͊̀f̵̼̾̊̎̾ ̴̜͐̇a̷͍̫̟̰͊s̴͍̪̥̟̫̞̅́́͝ ̴̖̌̑̊͠ḫ̵̨̿̈́̎̋ͅe̵̯̠͕̜̦̎ ̷̨̙̹̎̐͝͝s̶̜͗͂c̴̢̠̙̯͈̳̬̃̂̑̚r̵̛̗̦̗̳̯͓̾̍͆̈́̉͑a̵̛̙̬̒t̴̢̍̏́̂̾c̷̝̺͕͕̥͂̇̇͐͋͘h̸̞̺͇͇͔͚̓̂̓͆͌̄ę̴̧̝͙͚͉͇̪̈́́̀̐̒̓̚͝s̸̨̞͕͚̲̾͆͝ ̵̢̹̫̞̹̰͖͑̐̄h̵͎̠̯͐̈̍̄̏̍̏̕ỉ̵̜͉̗͍̲̬͎s̵̢̱̠͉̑̍̌̈́͑̿̒́͜ ̸̹̈ͅf̵̡̮̺̹̹̓̑̓͐a̸̼̖̲̿̕i̷̧̦̦̰̪̠͌̊̆̊̽͜͝t̶̡̻͚̠̳̣͎̦̏̓̌ḫ̴̹̩͆͜f̴̮̎ų̴͔̻͋͗́̚͝ͅḷ̸̂̈ ̵̝͈͊͌̈́̈́͘͝c̶̗̼̠͕͐̏͘o̸͕̬̪͚͎̬̐̈́̊̈́̕m̶̞̺̲̳̩̫̩̌͆̑͒̚̕͝p̸͔̘͈͆̓̊̎͊̅̕ă̴̡̟̭̮̬͎̦̖͊̆̒n̵͇̪͓̺̟̎ī̷̢͖͐̿̓͜͜ơ̶̢̬̦̳̥͓̘͓̂̉͐̓̿̔̚ṇ̸̩̝͚̮̊̌͋'̵̲̼͔͔̚s̷̨̗͎̻̚ͅ ̸̖̀̒̏͠e̵̱͔̤̩̰͛̿̋͑͆̀̑̚a̶̧̧̫͚̩̐̌͜r̴̨̧̩̟̿͐̊̈́̒ͅs̵̖̦͌͋̀́͝.̸̨̰̘̱͕̩̼̄͑͒͒̄͘ͅ)

This time Inui hesitated. This was something best taught by Aizawa, with his background in ethics and law, but Inui had started down this path, and he refused to allow Midoriya to stew in any leftover guilt of killing the Nomu to protect his friends. The boy made the hard choice, but, after reading the reports and the witness testimony, Inui had decided that, had he been in Midoriya’s shoes, he would have done much the same.

(Hell, he had before. Sharp claws cut better than knives, after all, and he had never regretted saving Panther’s life. That villain had been too much for either of them to handle as new graduates, and that monster’s last moments occupied the same nightmares as the ruins of Tokyo.)

“The third hero is the unlucky hero. They face down the monster with all the resources and advantages of the first. They face it down with only their skill, their wit, and crying civilians at their back. This third hero is tired, beaten down from their previous attempts at subduing the villain. They are running on fumes and know their next blow needs to be their last, or the day is lost and more people will die. This hero will see what is happening, assess the situation, consider possible outcomes, and, when their clash ends, the villain will be dead and the hero will have killed them.” The last finger drops, along with the hand as Inui stares Midoriya down.

“This happens to seven out of ten heroes, and the difference between the second and third is that the third hero decided that victory was the only option, because defeat would mean a worse tragedy that death.” Inui shakes his head, forestalling Midoriya’s signing. “Don’t get me wrong, that is not always the case. A lot of times, defeat just means the villain escapes with whatever they stole or simply disappear into the crowd. Lethal force is only permitted in the most dire of circumstances, but you’ll learn more about that—”

[I don’t feel bad for killing the Nomu.]

And doesn’t that just freeze and shatter Inui’s train of thought. “I… I’m sorry, what?”

Midoriya shrugs, as casual as a summer breeze, as weighty as a typhoon. [I heard what the leader called it. Some… engineered weapon made to fight and kill All Might, that the leader decided to sic on my teacher and my classmates, along with the army of mooks he brought with him.]

He shrugged again, though, this time, there was a fire in his eyes. [I heard what the leader said, I saw what it could do, and I decided, in that moment, that the safety of my class and teacher mattered more to me than a monster who barely seemed sentient. I made the choice to put it out of its misery when I couldn’t take it down safely with my best, and when it did nothing but obey Shigaraki completely.]

Inui gives the air a discrete sniff, and feels cold despite the suns in the boy’s eyes, glaring at him, daring him to judge the boy. Inui’s nose is an excellent member of both the defence and prosecution, however, and, while Inui smells absolute calm and sincerity as the boy spoke, underneath that vast placid ocean, lurked something.

It used the shadows cast by the waters themselves to cloak itself in darkness, hiding from his nose, and yet it left a wake that could be tracked. The smell of sincerity had confirmed that it definitely wasn’t guilt, and it didn’t have the tang of irritation or any of the associated emotions.

Something was prowling the depths, watching, waiting.

‘Interesting,’ the thought came unbidden. He hated it when those who turned up to these sessions were interesting.

Chapter Text

There exists no sound that brings as much rapturous joy to the souls of weary students as that of a bell marking the end of a particularly boring or painful lesson.

As such, one can imagine the relief in the minds of certain members of class 1-A when the shrill and, in any other circumstance, ear-splitting noise of the bell sounded part-way through Ectoplasm’s commentary on the homework he’d set. The masked hero sighed annoyedly at the sound, even if a part of him was amused at the sighs of relief he heard from the kids in front of him. He closed the textbook he’d been using for reference on the desk, even as the students started packing away their things to go to lunch.

“In any case, I won’t be setting any homework this week, curtesy of the Sports Festival on Friday,” he diplomatically ignored the quiet cheers he could hear from certain blond and pink-haired students. “Use that extra time wisely. Good luck everyone.”

As the teacher left the classroom, the door shutting behind him, the noise a group of hungry teenagers invariably makes when the most recent figure of authority is no longer within hearing range and they have been granted a measure of freedom started up, the sounds of conversation and scraping chairs ringing through the empty room as people stood or turned around in their seats to talk.

“Oooh shit. The Sport’s Festival is basically already here!”

“I know! All that time basically flew by!”

“I feel so nervous! All those people… all those heroes… And we’re gonna be the centre of attention too! That’s too much pressure!!”

On one side of the room, hunched over her desk, a brown-haired girl trembled. She was nervous too, dammit! UA’s Sport’s Festival was uber popular! All those heroes watching that she had to try and impress, all in hopes of maybe getting an internship, so she could build connections, and maybe, one day, be able to actually work as a full Pro Hero.

A trembling fist clenched. Right. She wanted to be a hero. She wanted to be a hero for her parents, so that they could eat well and sleep in a nice house and not have to worry about paying bills. She wanted to be a hero for all the people who couldn’t defend themselves from those who wanted to hurt just because they could.

She wanted to be a hero so that other Heroes could smile.

A clenched trembling fist raised. What was it that bald grandpa who lived next door always said, when she asked about his early years running over roofs and evading the authorities? She had asked how he could do it, jumping from buildings, that is. Even when her quirk made any danger the fall presented irrelevant, her brain remembered that she was a wingless ape, meant to stay on the ground or, at most, climb some trees, and she had been terrified by the mere thought of jumping around something that had seemed so monstrously huge to her tiny self.

What was it? Something about how running from the cops was a rite of passage?

No, no. Her mom had gotten mad when she’d heard that one, and it hadn’t helped when her dad had laughed.

“Take that fear, take that anxiety, take all of those negative feelings about whatever is worrying you, and grab ‘em firmly. Twist ‘em, squash ‘em, and transform them into excitement. Even the biggest fall becomes fun when you get hyped up about it.”

There had been some other rambling about weightlessness and he’d commented on how jealous he was of her quirk, but that wasn’t important right now.

‘Right. Right! I’m no scared! I’m excited! The sports festival is gonna be fun!! I’m gonna try and make mom and papa proud! I’m gonna win!’

The fist stopped trembling, and came slamming down on her desk as she shot to her feet. The sound echoed like a gunshot as all eyes in the room zeroed in on her.

Good. Let them all hear her.

She punched her fist up into the air. “Everyone!!” Her voice was a shout, filled with conviction and the will of a girl who regularly spat in the face of physics. “I’m gonna do my best! I won’t go easy on any of you, ‘cause I’m gonna win!!”

A moment of shocked silence filled her proclamation, but she held firm. Her dark brown eyes, usually so bright and friendly, held the glare of challenge, a call for worthy adversaries to step forth and test their metal against her resolve.

‘Woops! Might have gotten a bit too hype there!’

Then the moment ended and out came the reactions she expected from the personalities that filled a class like 1-A. It started with a single smile. A wide smile, filled with sharp teeth and the excitable kindness of a golden retriever.

Kirishima clenched his fists. “That… is so…” He looked up, red eyes shining with what was becoming his characteristic enthusiasm. “… MANLY!! Hell yeah! I’m gonna give it my all too!”

And like a cork from a bottle, that first loud shout was but the prelude. A dozen exclamations of wild and infectious enthusiasm mixed with the declarations of challenge of others, adding to the chaotic whirlpool of joyous noise that has come to define class 1-A’s response to a potential trial of any sort.

Her classmates’ and friends’ responses varied, from the wild chanting of Kirishima, Kaminari, and Ashido, to the general enthusiasm of Sato and Yaomomo and the challenging smirk on Jirou’s face as she twirled her long ear-jack. Even the ever-disciplined Iida seemed to be oscillating between trying to get the chaos-trio to calm down and issuing his own stiff and overly-formal declarations.

Ochako still couldn’t get a read on Tokoyami and Todoroki, so she had no idea what they felt about it. Kouda seemed excited though —in his own quiet, anxious way.

But there is only one reaction that draws her in, only one person who she wants to acknowledge her and, if he won’t, then she’ll make him.

Warm chocolate brown meets vivid burning emerald across a room of loud and overexcited teenagers and Ochako’s world goes silent. Stars are formed when enough matter collects together in a void through the attraction between particles that the gravity of the accumulate mass presses down on itself, compressing the atoms and forcing them to fuse, which releases energy. Stars are the forges of the universe from which most matter originates. They exist in a dangerous balance between the crushing gravity of their own mass, and the volatile energy found in their heart and the ignition of universes. It’s a balance that, if disturbed, will either send these universe foundries collapsing in on themselves into bodies so dense they bely comprehension as they twist the very fabric of the universe by their mere existence, or they will explode in supernovae so beautifully violent they can outshine all other light in a galaxy of stars.

Ochako has studied space and all its treasures since her quirk came in and she dreamed of flying among them as an astronaut, before growing up had pulled her back down to earth with much more pressing concerns like money and her parents and puberty. She knows about the sun and the stars and how they work, and she knows that gravity waves dance among the heavens like one of the seams on a patchwork universe, helping to hold it all together.

And she knows that, in her hands, she holds the power to rip stars apart.

So, she matches the gaze backed by twin green suns and stares back, undaunted. She crosses her arms, Midoriya raises an eyebrow, and she frowns. She will not be ignored. She knows her strength and, while she may not match his sheer destructive potential, an Uraraka is most dangerous when underestimated.

Midoriya seems to watch her, his head tilting in a manner so reminiscent of a confused puppy that a part of Ochako — the part not busy with challenging the strongest in the class to a staring contest with more meaning behind it than some novels — wants to at the adorable image of Midoriya with floppy Labrador ears. She mentally shakes her head and shunts that thought away, raising her own eyebrow.

The boy looks at her, eyes of burning emerald watching her with an analytical gaze that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. She’s a bug under a microscope, tweezers pulling at her wings. She’s a challenging adversary, worthy of more consideration than most. Midoriya’s eyes do not leave her own and she can feel him searching for something she can’t yet fathom, looking for that deeper something that will make her a threat.

She sees the moment when he finds it.

Green eyes widen, then narrow, and Midoriya nods at her. It’s an acknowledgment and a challenge in return, and Ochako grins uncharacteristically sharp and vicious as she nods back. It’s all she hoped for and more. She won’t be stopped merely by someone being stronger than her. Uraraka would fight the world for her dream!

After all, she’s already challenged the sun.

“Your face is scary today, Uraraka-chan, ribbit.” The bluntness of the comment is enough to knock her out of her staring contest and dissipate the air of what might generously be called bloodlust’s great-great-great-grandnephew that had been hanging over the class and poking at the members’ lizard brains with an annoyingly solid stick. The vicious grin is replaced with the mildly embarrassed smile and blush of the bubbly Uraraka that class 1-A had come to expect. The change is so quick it nearly gives those watching whiplash.

“Ah, really? Sorry! I guess I got really excited there. I can be super competitive sometimes and I let it get away from me, I hope that’s okay?” She chuckles lightly, earning a few smiles in return.

“No prob, Uraraka! It was super manly!! Now I’m all pumped up too!!!” Kirishima pipes up, bringing along his own infectious energy as he clenches his fists and smiles his own megawatt smile, this one sharp for different reasons. Ochako thinks she might see tears.

She laughs. She’s starting to love the energy of this class.

Izuku hates the energy his class somehow manages to conjure up for every single situation. It’s invariably loud and full of redundant proclamations of excitement or determination that would be more at home in some manga or shonen anime, where rainbows and the power of friendship make the world go round, instead of politics and violence.

Although, he can’t say he hates it hates it. It’s closer to “neighbour’s cute dog won’t stop barking” than “baby on flight that hasn’t stopped crying for the past five hours”, so Izuku can find it in himself to forgive them for their enthusiasm.

Well, he can’t exactly say a part of him isn’t at least a bit excited to take part in one of the most televised sporting events in Japan. To stand upon that stage and declare to the world and all the enemies hiding amongst the masses that ‘I am here, and there is nowhere for you to hide.’

Uraraka’s declaration and the silent challenge she issued him had been surprising, though, in retrospect, they shouldn’t have been. She was stronger than anyone realised and braver than most. She was also cunning with her seemingly simple quirk, and knew how to use her environment to her benefit. Sure, she couldn’t ever hope to beat Izuku unless a very, very specific set of circumstances aligned perfectly for her, but she had grit and she had guts.

Izuku accepted the fact that he respected her.

So, he accepted her challenge with a nod and watched the dangerous grin be born on her cherubic face — a rather odd sight to say the least.

It also seems that Uraraka’s competitive spirit has infected the rest of their classmates, joining up with the existing excitement to push the energy of the class to new, unforeseen heights, bringing with it more noise and follow-up declarations. Izuku just sighs, as much as he is able to, and the first few people begin to rise and make their way towards the doors, no doubt salivating over whatever apparently delicious meals Lunch Rush has prepared today.

That, and his classmates are probably thinking about whatever they’re going to do during the training time they’ve been allotted after lunch. It’s no doubt going to be a more free-style, do-your-own-thing kind of lesson that seem to have been becoming more frequent in the run-up to the Festival. Whether that’s due to the teachers wanting a better grasp on what the students consider “training themselves”, or the absolute chaos the last two organised 1-A training sessions had devolved into, no one can know for sure.

(Well, except for a particularly clever little chimera, but no one is desperate or stupid enough to go to that particular monkey’s paw.)

Izuku, on the other hand, just wants them to get on with it. He’s hungry and the bags under his eyes don’t seem to be getting any better with time. He needs his nutrient paste and he can practically hear the roof calling his name.

The first people reach the door, and Izuku feels his heart swell with hope as it is opened —

“Hey! What’s going on here!”

— before said hope dies a quick, brutal death as he hears an exclamation of surprise from Mina, followed by the sound of a crowd quieting down. He sighs bitterly. ‘What kinda bullshit drama are we in for now, I wonder?’

As he rises and makes his way to the back of the crowd now forming in front of his only exit, he arrives just in time to witness the end of what must have been a gloriously short chastising rant on Iida’s part, if the outstretched arm bent at a perfect ninety degrees and the wide eyes of the crowd gathered on the other side of his only exit were indicative of anything.

“What the… What are you all doing here?” Kirishima’s wide-eyed seems to shake the silence left by Iida, as eyes narrow and hackles raise. Izuku would thank him for moving the situation along, but his stomach is starting to rumble and his patience is wearing thin.

Bakugou decides to make his precise thoughts known with a scowl, his words covered in liquid disdain. “Idiots. These extras are here to scout us out. We’re the class everyone’s talking about. Attacked by villains and kicked the shit out of them so hard they left before the pros arrived. Of course they’re here to see get a heads up on the strongest competition.” His quiet words make way for a shout. “MOVE IT EXTRAS!! I’VE ACTCUALLY IMPORTANT PLACES TO BE!!”

‘Huh…’ Izuku thinks, ‘that’s surprisingly subdued of him. How… unexpected.’

A scoff is heard through the silence left behind by Bakugou’s inflammatory words. “So, this is the infamous hero course, huh? I gotta say, I’m underwhelmed.”

A tall, lanky figures pushes his way to the front of the crowd, wild purple hair swaying as he does so. Lidded purple eyes conveying a feeling of false apathy are underlined by dark eyebags, giving the boy a look that verges on something close intimidating, yet seems eerily familiar as his gaze seems to wander over class 1-A, before a sneer reveals his thoughts. “A bunch of us in Gen Ed tried for the hero course, but couldn’t make it past the entrance exams ‘cause our quirks aren’t as suited to mass destruction as you guys. So, you can imagine what we were expecting when all those stories about you started popping up, and yet this is all there is? Some stiff prick and a barely leashed rabid dog? Is this all you are?” He shakes his head, a grin splits his face, the gesture decidedly unfriendly. “How disappointing.”

The wry grin vanishes, replaced by a glare. “You know, during the festival, everybody will be watching. That means it’s an opportunity for us to show our best. So,” the grin reappears, though this time more predatory, “if you’re found lacking, there’s a chance that some of us get the chance to move up, which means some of you… will be moved down.”

‘Aaaalright, that’s enough.’

Izuku shoulders his way through the crowd of his classmates, thoroughly done with these shenanigans. He’s hungry, he’s tired, and the stares coming from his classmates are starting to grate on his temper.

He knows what happened at the USJ has irrevocably changed the class, in more ways that one. They were all exposed to real danger, some for the first time in their lives, and were forced to fight for their lives against criminals, villains, and monsters. Izuku also realises that certain differences have been exacerbated by the USJ. Those who took the initiative and fought without hesitation, now stand above those who were undecided, who hesitated in the face of danger. Izuku can also acknowledge that incinerating something meant to kill All Might, while at the same time melting the top of the USJ, may have painted him in a certain light to his classmates.

That doesn’t mean they have to so rude about it. Didn’t their parents teach them not to stare? It doesn’t matter how ‘subtle’ they think they’re being.

Plus, if he eats quick, he can nap before heading down to the training session, which he is in dire need of. The USJ threw his careful calibration of his fire’s destructive output way out of wack at a point where he had yet to get used to the safe minimum level to use around non-fire-proof humans. So now, he needs break out the training dummies again (he is fervently hoping that UA had time to restock after he burned and melted his way through the last batch, considering all the crazy stuff that’s happened since then), and start flinging some fire around until he wrestles it back to a point where he won’t carbonise half his competition at the festival.

All this to say, as Izuku pushes past the last of his classmates and stalks through the door, the lanky purple fuck standing in his way is not doing himself any favours. Izuku blinks slowly, looking up at the face of this jealous boy because holy hell this kid is tall.

He decides to try and exit the situation, an attempt at a peaceful resolution — or, at least, not escalating the situation — when tall and lanky decided to speak up.

“Green hair and wears a metal mask…” The kid’s face split into taunting grin. “You must be Midoriya, the guy everyone’s talking about.” That seemed to shift everyone’s attention. Izuku’s skin itched as he tried to ignore the increasing number of eyes. The guy kept talking. “They say you’re the one who melted the USJ. They say you’re the strongest in the hero course.” He leaned into Midoriya’s space, his grin widening to painful levels as he whispered only loud enough for those immediately around them to hear. “They say you killed one of the villains, Midoriya, and maimed a few others. They say you’re a monster, that you shouldn’t be in the hero course. That you’re too dangerous to have around at all.”

The grin turned into a smirk as the guy leaned back on his heels, seemingly satisfied with whatever he was trying to achieve as Izuku continued to stare blankly at him. Murmurs were starting up among the crowd, and what Izuku could see of his class from the corner of his eye looked distinctly uncomfortable. His eye twitched. This would be annoying in the short term, but not a huge issue, seeing how isolated he already was, but this guy was getting on his nerves.

And was still standing in his way. His stomach was gonna start making embarrassing noises soon.

Purple troll doll’s smirk faded into a frown. So, Izuku’s non-reaction was annoying him, huh?

“Well? Got anything to say? Trust me,” he swept his arms wide, like a presenter in front of a crowd, “we’re all dying to know what the ‘strongest in the year’ has to say for himself, what with his oh so mighty quirk!”

‘All right, that’s enough.’

With the flick of a metaphorical switch, shining emerald became burning chartreuse as previously apathetic eyes seemed to focus on the tall boy and him alone. Those twin suns, now so infamous among the class, slowly looked up at the one inciting their ire, then down, then they seemed to bore through him, taking his measure.

All the while the temperature in the corridor rose. Unnoticeably at first, easily passed off as the result of the number of bodies or a faulty thermostat, but then it spiked dramatically. Sweat beaded on exposed skin as those of lesser courage retreated from the source of the unbearable heat. A source whom rumours painted as dangerous, monstrous, indiscriminate. Something they realised they were suddenly too close to for the heroes to come save them should that creature slip its leash. Perhaps wisely, though notably foolishly too, they decided to put some distance and a few meat shields between it and them.

Not that it mattered. It didn’t really care about them.

The tall purple boy, the one who had started this entire confrontation, stood his ground and glared at the most dangerous first year. He wouldn’t be intimidated by some prick who was born lucky. Defiant purple met burning green as the latter finished taking his measure, and the look purple saw made him want to snarl and gnash his teeth. It was a look he was all too familiar with. Disappointed family members, who’d waited long and full of hope for his quirk to appear, so that they may rise to a prominence long since lost. He remembers their faces even now, how they’d seemed almost more excited than he was, only for that excitement to vanish into dismay when his quirk actually manifested. He remembered their plastic smiles, their fake congratulations, but he knows what he saw in their eyes. They hadn’t just been disappointed.

Brainwashing was a powerful quirk by the metrics of any control-type quirk. It was an instant-win quirk, with a simple activation requirement. A single response, even if just a noise, and Hitoshi would have control. Simple. Powerful. A great combination of adjectives that form the basis for most truly powerful quirks.

But far from perfect.

They’d found him wanting.

(Though Shinso will never admit it, it hurt more than the fear of his classmates. The sole consolation was that his family never feared him, never called him a villain in the making. They just… moved on. Expectations vanishing with their hopes for what his future could mean for them and any attention they could spare for their youngest child. Hitoshi would have almost preferred fear, or hatred, instead of just… nothing.)

Purple hair bristled.

Then, tall and purple blinked, the heat having dried out already irritated eyes, and, when they opened, Midoriya Izuku had turned away and was making his way out of the crowd, dismissing everyone around him as the heat he radiated mixed with the general aura of sardonic amusement to part the crowd in front of him like the Red sea. The hole reformed as the most infamous first year sauntered away, content to ignore the whole shit show despite being the centre of attention.

Izuku made it to the end of the corridor before the noise picked up again. From the little he could hear, some class 1-B students had come over and were making more of a ruckus, but that wasn’t really his problem. Yaoyorozu was the president, right? Inter-class relations were supposed to be her thing.

Whatever, now he could focus on more important things. Like training.

And food.

Mostly food.

His stomach was already lodging a couple complaints with upper management.

Izuku wanted to grimace as his stomach made a particularly loud growl, but he just ended up frowning.

‘Calm down, I heard you!’

No matter how many of those nutrient packets he’d consume, he’d always end up at least a little hungry sooner rather than later, regardless of whether or not he’d exerted himself or even used his quirk at all. It was frustrating, but all he could really do is blame his dad for passing down his lightning fast metabolism and take full advantage of the near limitless supply of food UA seemed to have.

Speaking of which, as he made his way into the cafeteria and down the emptier than usual queue line, what with what seemed like most of the year clustering outside of his classroom, Izuku mused that the stress of today might make for a four-packet day.

A pang of pain hit him in the gut and he winced.

Maybe even a fiver?

He shrugged and, when Lunch Rush came to collect his order, Izuku simply held up five fingers. Giving a silent nod as a reply, the enigmatic chef, who some particularly creative internet message-board users had suggested may or may not have once been a personal cook for the boss of a pan-European mafia group before said boss mysteriously died in unexplained circumstances, retreated into a back room, before returning with five of those supposedly delicious nutrient packs.

Izuku would have salivated if he could.

He thanked the possibly-a-deity school lunch cook before making his way out of the cafeteria doors, aiming for his personal lunch spot and whatever potential nap he may have time to grab before the time came to figure out how not to kill normal humans with his quirk again.

His eye twitched and he sighed as he heard the double doors started shutting behind him. So much work wasted, so much to redo.

Izuku paused unnoticeably as he heard the sound of the door to the cafeteria close just a bit too late after he had passed through, but he kept walking, trying to think would could have followed behind him so closely without alerting him.

(That someone could do that at all was bad. He was getting too loose, too sloppy. He’d need to organize some extra perception training soon to regain some lost sharpness.)

As soon as he’d gotten a sufficient distance from the door, Izuku looked over his shoulder, hoping to catch a stealthy stalker or, better yet, nothing, which would mean that he was just being an idiot instead of incompetent.

All he had time to notice before they disappeared around a corner, was long, seaweed green hair tied in what was — if memory served well — a rather sloppier bow than what had been before the USJ.

Three guesses as to who it was, and the first two didn’t count.

‘Hmm.’ He turned his head forwards, thoughts pulled in a new direction as he started up the steps to his precious roof. Thoughts that followed him through his ravenous devouring of his nutrient paste, and prevented him from catching even a second of sleep during the remaining time he had left. Thoughts that ensured he turned many civilian sim-bots to slag and sparking wires, much to his annoyance.

Thoughts that would. Not. Leave.

Due to the rather… unfortunate events of the invasion of the USJ, class 1-A had been unable to complete their rescue training, something unacceptable to Aizawa who was determined to see them finish at least one lesson in the subject before the Sports Festival, which was an important milestone in the first year of their careers at UA.

Assistance from Power Loader, encouragement from Nedzu, and the promise of a healthy end-of-year bonus saw Cementoss rapidly repair as much of the damage to multiple zones in the USJ as was needed to run a demonstration of the exercises, though the massive white dome itself remained partially melted and covered in scaffolding as repairs and upgrades continued. Nedzu wasn’t omnipotent, after all.

(H̶̟͍̯̼̪̜͚̱̲͙̊̊͒̃̔͗̈̌͐͑̈́̋͘͝ą̶̞͇͓͇͈͓̠̋̐̈́̄̒̑̃̀͝ ̴̱̭͙͎̪̖̩̺͚̝̏̽̿͊͂̅͝Ḩ̵̱͔̪̳͕͚̖͈̰̥̬͗͑̇͗͑̇͗͌ͅa̷̹̟̯̘̘͖͈̠̰̖̥̦̭͉͂̿̈́̿͆̓̊̃͑̕ͅͅ ̷̻̌̀̀̔̈́͂̈́̑͋͋̈́̚͝Ḫ̴̛̫̃͛͑̑́̄̽̆̀̈͆̌͛̕̕a̸̝̖̩̳̾͒̊ḁ̸͇̉͊̊̀́͒͂̒̀̀͝ã̶̧̟̖́a̴̰̲̅̌͂̈̈́̇̅̒̈́̏̽̃̚͘͠͝.̶̢̗̼̤̜̂̿̈̏̋̊̊̊̀́͒͋͐̄̕.̵̡͇̲͙̱̙̦̯̙͓͂͐͛̈̋̈̐̇̎͂̀̋̈́̚̕͠.̶̨̨͙̈́̍̀͂͆̆̏̀̈́̃͊̕͠ ̶̨͈͔͚͈̼̈́̈́̾̂͗̓Ņ̷̼͈͔͉̪̪̼̱̠̫͊̂́͑͋͆͒͋ǫ̸̨̨̱̬̳̜̺̦̳͗̒͊͌̐̑̑͗͑̓͛̆͘ͅ.̴̧̡̛̟͖̥̟̗͙̺̪̗͈̪͕̦̦̆͗͋̇͆̔̍͆̇͛̓̎̅̚ ̵̥͌̾́̉̓Ñ̶̨̡̛̠͔̰̻̻̘̖͉̦̮̭͉̗͛̋̂̐̿͝͝o̵͗̀͝ͅt̴̰͎̜̖̻̖̪̲̼̄͝ ̸̧̟̻̱̞͗̈̕ͅõ̵̢̯̦̘̲̺̪̖̪͊̐̽̎͌̃͋͆̑̾̀̚m̵̧͙͖͕̖̲̗͕̞̝͖̯͔͍̽̃͆̅͊̑͜ṉ̶̜̈́̀̈́̋͗i̸̢̼͇̥̳͓͗͂͠p̶̧͇̒̈́̋̚ó̸̧͈̄̏̃̎̒̾̍̐̽͋̄̉͘͘͘͠ţ̸͎̩͇̗̫̙̰̫̤̄͛̂̚͝ę̷͔̥̦͕͉̲̥͙͕̦̜̤̠̣̈́͜͜ń̶̢̝͎̼̏̓̕͜t̴̡̢̙̜̫̞͚̯̙̱̎͛̿͒̓̓̑͂͗̀̌͠.̴̨̖̤̩̳͔̗̯̽̆̾̔͠.̵̪̩̦͒̿̍̈́̈͋̈́͊̓͂̚͘.̴̥͔̼̦͇̫̯̲̞͖̤̓͑̇̔͂́͗̆̅̌̂͘͝͝)

After gawking at the damage slowly being hidden away beneath a shiny new layer of cement, class 1-A had to endure a few solid introductory courses regarding the various zones’ capabilities and the safety and regrouping procedures should anything that wasn’t an invasion by a small army of villains occur. Like a more serious than usual injury, or the end of an exercise. A more… mundane set of events, thankfully.

So, as Cementoss staggered away from the newly repaired mountain zone in search of a place to sit down for a bit, a thermos of relaxing tea in one hand and some aspirin in the other, Aizawa spoke to the class.

“Alright class. Since today was mostly an introductory session, and we don’t have enough for a full exercise, I’ve decided to run a short simulation of what a single part of a normal exercise would look like. In it, you will be rescuing trapped civilians from a relatively simple environment and transporting them to safety. You will not all have the responsibility of playing the civilians today, just as those playing the civilians won’t get to be a direct part of the rescue efforts.” Aizawa pulled a card out of somewhere with his bandaged hand and, somewhere in the distance, an old healer swore terrible retribution. “Civilians, you will be issued with a card noting what injuries you have, and it is in your best interest, and the interest of your classmates, that you act at least somewhat convincing. You’re not going to win any awards, but don’t be lazy about it, either.”

Through the bandages, dark eyes roved over his students. “By at least half-way through this year, you should all be first-aid certified. This is mandatory, because it is a requirement in order to advance any further in the Hero course. The school will provide you opportunities to practice and, when the time comes, take the test itself. For now, though, I will be lenient in any applications of first-aid you provide to the ones being rescued for their injuries.” Even though the bandages covered most of his face, his class could still feel the wide, Cheshire smile crawl across their teacher’s deadpan features.

“So, impress me.”

And that was how Midoriya Izuku found himself in a hole, on his back, staring at the dome ceiling, with Iida shouting very loudly and very seriously about his broken arm. Tokoyami was being mercifully quiet, though the way he pretended he had a concussion by reciting slurred goth poetry, along with his partner, Dark Shadow, who was entertaining themselves with some kind of bassier rendition of the Jaws VI remake’s theme tune, swimming about the shadows like a particularly giddy shark, made it seriously difficult to convincingly play an unconscious civilian, despite the imaginary broken leg.

Which was what Izuku was doing, on his back, his eyelids slowly growing heavier and heavier as he stared at a part of the dome’s ceiling that wasn’t covered in tarp or scaffolding, his classmates invisible beyond the lip of the ‘ravine’ — A.K.A. hole — he was “stuck” in.

It was honestly impressive how long they were taking, although that could very well be the fatigue and boredom slowly dragging his perception of time along. His fellow civilians weren’t any help, since Iida seemed duty bound to continuously provide immersive and unfortunately overdetailed screams of pain, and Tokoyami seemed to have the patience of a marble statue, and therefore wasn’t any help. Dark Shadow continued to live their best life.

Regardless, as time wore on and the ground grew more comfortable, Izuku found his eyelids growing heavier, and heavier… and heavier…

……………

With a start, Izuku awoke, nearly lashing out before he took a moment to try and remember where he was, or, at least, figure it out.

The first thing he felt was a pair of small, but surprisingly strong arms holding him up off the ground. Some kind of pressure on his left leg suggested that someone had at least read the card he’d been given, and had attempted a splint. It was a bit loose, but this was their first lesson, so pretty understandable.

Then he remembered, someone was holding him in their arms. He wanted to be embarrassed, maybe even blush, but, as he opened his eyes, he heard a ribbit that, despite having become rather iconic, had been sorely lacking as of late.

Wide emerald green stared into a pair of eyes so dark green they were nearly black, wider than his own eyes could ever hope to be, with a scarf the colour of lily pads wrapped around her neck and covering the lower half of her face. In all honesty, Asui looked about as comfortable as he felt.

Looking awkwardly to the side, the frog girl spoke, quietly and with the faintest hint of a lisp. “I need to take you to the evacuation point we set up. It’s protocol to create a staging point in order to centralise relief efforts and concentrate potential victims, ribbit,” she mumbled quietly, and Izuku blinked. He was thankful that Asui was kind enough to relay bits of the class he had missed, either during his time down a hole, or while asleep. Izuku even noticed that she didn’t stutter at all while she spoke, which was rather impressive.

But, something was… bothering him.

Maybe it was because she was shy, where before she had been open, blunt even. Maybe it was because she was nervous where before she had been courageous. Maybe it was because he knew that there had existed someone who seemed genuinely kind, before it had been buried beneath all the self-consciousness and anxiety placed there by the actions of cruel and selfish assholes.

Maybe it was her hair so dark it was almost black. Maybe it was here eyes that always seemed to slide away from eye contact nowadays. Maybe it was just… something. Something that tugged at him in ways that brought up memories of what someone could be, of how they could bloom when fear was burned away by the smallest spark of kindness.

Whatever it was, it crushed his previous embarrassment at being carried, and basically forced him to do what he did next.

Midoriya Izuku, honorary fire elemental, destroyer of the USJ, killer of the All Might killer, stared Asui Tsuyu in the eyes, clasped his hands by his head, and batted his eyelashes like a love-struck fan meeting their hero and finding out they really were all that.

In response, Asui nearly dropped him, but Izuku was gracious enough to ignore that.

Not done, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his notepad, scribbling a short few words before presenting it to his “saviour”.

She gave him as confused a stare as she could, with only half of an already rather non-emotive face, before looking at what he’d written. Then Izuku’s mind caught up to what he’d just done.

[MY HERO]

“What?”

‘Why have you forsaken me brain?!’

Slowly, Asui began walking again, towards where he could only assume was the rallying point. Izuku was content to lay back and try and enjoy the ride as much as possible, despite the small and surprisingly muscular arms holding up his back and legs. Asui surprised him by breaking the tentative quiet.

“You know that… I can understand JSL, right?”

He stared blankly as her, before looking down at what he’d written. He seriously considered burning the whole notebook just to ease some of the heat building in his cheeks under his mask, but he remembered that Asui was rather sensitive to extreme temperatures, and the ground was too hard and covered in stones to be dropped on. Instead, he flicked to the next page, where he had pre-prepared his next message, and, not wanting to waste good fire-resistant paper, presented it to her anyways.

[NO ONE WILL BELIEVE YOU, ASUI]

Now that got a different reaction, something that made him pause as be put his little notepad back into its pouch on his belt. Asui snorted. Honest to God snorted. With a little bit of a ribbit on the end just to top it off. Izuku could just stare as the frog girl giggled slightly at him, before she gently readjusted his position in her arms as they came upon the camp.

“It’s alright, your secret’s safe with me, Midoriya-chan,” she chuckled in a whisper. The audacity of this girl, laughing at him in his time of vulnerability. See if he ever did anything nice again.

He huffed as they finally entered the camp, and the other rescuers started making their way towards them with a small cloth and metal gurney, something that no doubt Yaoyorozu had made and should have been brought to the ravine first, but anyways.

Then, just as he was being placed onto the cloth to be carried to the endpoint of the exercise, he heard something. Just the faintest whisper, liable to be carried away on the lightest breeze of air. Four words that, had they been within range, only Jirou or Shouji could have heard.

Words that Izuku heard all the same. Words that continued the train of surprises he’d been experiencing today.

“And call me Tsu.”

Another day, another bell, another class ended, thankfully without a mass of students crowding outside of their door this time. As the dulcet tones of that ear-splitting ringing died down, the students rose from their seats, their teacher having made a skilful escape the second class had ended. It was a skill built up of several years and several thousand classes taught, as well as the underground hero’s impeccable ability to keep track of time. It was honestly impressive how fast Aizawa could move while still swaddled in casts and bandages like that.

In the end, whether that was simply because of the type of work he did, or due to the hero training himself to instinctively recognise the earliest moment he could take to escape the hustle and bustle of a pre-lunch rush without cutting his class short, Izuku would likely never know.

Discrete heroism didn’t seem to be in the cards for him, at this point.

In any case, the day was progressing just like any other, though there may have been more stress than usual permeating the air. There existed a myriad of possibilities for the cause of this stress. Ishiyama-sensei had just dropped a surprise quiz on them, and Ectoplasm-sensei’s homework due for today had been more challenging than expected, and some of class 1-A — including Izuku — had submitted new costume designs, or just simple improvements, to the support department when Maijima-sensei had come to their class and explained the process they needed to go through for an upgrade. A good thing too, since many of them had quite a few new ideas after their trial by fire in the USJ.

Yes, all of these were possibilities for the source of the ocean of stress permeating UA’s hero course at the moment. All of which were equally likely.

Though perhaps not as likely as the fact that, tomorrow, all of them would be paraded in front of cameras for the entertainment of millions of civilians and the scrutiny of thousands of pro-heroes in what had grown to be one of the biggest sporting events in Japan.

Yes, perhaps that was the most likely culprit.

As was the norm by now, Izuku was walking well ahead of the group, trying his best to make it in and out of the cafeteria with his nutrients before it became too packed and someone he actually somewhat liked dragged him into a conversation.

And, as plans goes, it went nearly flawlessly. Practice really does make perfect. Or… near perfect. Mostly perfect…

Izuku had made it all the way to the front of the queue. He’d had the packs in hand and had escaped through the doors. He had just been about to make his usual way up to the roof, when he had picked up on that oh so subtle delay in the sound of the doors closing. He had stopped, as he had done before, and, this time, had listened close.

Hidden beneath the hubbub of a hundred noisy students eating all at once, were the sound of footsteps. Light footsteps. Footsteps that, by his estimate, had only ten more paces to go before they rounded the corner and vanished off to their own little corner until the next class.

Izuku stood there, hearing the sound of a potential future walk away. He closed his eyes. He tried to force his feet to move forward, to take him to the roof, to ignore a situation that was better suited for professionals like Hound Dog and whatever other mental health staff they had in UA.

He tried to tell himself it was none of his business.

"̶̩̽̿̎͆̋́̋̉͘͠S̷̢̢̼͔͖̠̱̣̞͂̽̐͋̋͐̕͠͝ť̷͈̜̬̩̩̆̎͆̋͛̒̚ī̶̩̯̹̫͇̘̘͍͉̭̪͕́͝c̴̗̟̮̫̥̉̍́̑́̓̇͑͂͗͠k̸͙̮͙̲̤͋i̵̥̖̫̱͔̟̩͈͓̙͎̱̋͑̂͌͑ǹ̸̳̟̍̓͐̀͐͋̂͝g̷̰̜̿͌̌̐̀̒͐̑̑̚̕͝ ̴͓̺̰̣͈͗́y̴̗̩̟̫̗̘̓́̒͌̌̚ơ̷̧̟̟͔̦̦̳̪̤̝̎̍̈́͆̄͌̇̽͘͜ǔ̸̧̡̗̲̬̰̙͍̺̑r̴̛̛̙̤͙̯͈̦͎͈̳̭͎̤̋̃̍̅̆̒̀̕͠͝ ̴̢͔̯͊̅͝n̶̨̺̼͊͒͛̌̓̔̃̉̈́̚͠ơ̸̘͙͕̓͊̈̃͊͐͘͘ş̸͓͈͓̪͈̗̄̈́̎̓̅̓̕é̶̡̻̻̞͉̊̇̌͒̇̈́͝ͅ ̶̡͇̥͕͉̮͖̰̟̲̪̗͊̓͒į̶̨͎̜̣̙̮̜̦͕̲̦͗̿̔̐̀̎̾̓̈́n̷͛̆̆̓͑̚͜ţ̷̡̢̜̮̻͈̺͑̏̈́̒̌͊̾͜õ̵̧̰̩̥͊̍̈́̉̍̚̕ ̶̛̞͕̲͑̅͋̈́͆̇͗̐͊̆͊t̷͇̠̤̘̼̼̏̋̏́ḩ̵̨͕̞̯̻͓̳̎̆̌̓̀̋͊̉i̴̢̧͕͕̲͎̹̥͙̍̈͗ṅ̴̡̜͚̹͙̯̠̩͎̻̹̼̈́̎̑͌̌̿̎̔̓̍̽g̶̳̝̞̜̫̎͋̑̽̈́̉ş̷̧̧͍̤̳̗̖̞͒̚ͅ ̵̞̘̺̹͉̘̋̌́́ţ̷̫̰͔̳͘͜͝h̵̨̡̥̥͎̥̗͚̖͚̾̓ͅa̵̡̛̼͚͈̙̻̝̼͇͒̆͂͆̒̄̉̐̅̏t̴̫̣̩̯̝̠̘̋̆̍͛ ̶͈̃̐̏́͗̒͐͆̓̀́̇a̴̦͚͌̈̅͐r̸͕̈̏̕e̶̢̔̀̊͜n̷̨̛̖͚̬̞̈̈̿̓͑͐̀̅͒̈́̄'̶̭̗̼̰͚͍̪̗̿͂̓͗̿̕ͅt̴̢͚͇̳̬̝̣̪̹͙̆̎̑̑͊ ̵̦̗̜̊̀̒̑̔ͅỵ̷̛̛̯̿̎͝ȯ̴̗̳̝͉͍͔̫͙̻̦̔̾ͅu̸̢̬͇̹͗͗̊̉͗̍͝r̴̯͛̕ ̴̢̧̹͙̳͚̱̱͎̘͚̈̐̋͛̋̅̕͘͘͠͝b̴̛̯̪͙̖̬͉͂̏͑̍̓͒̊̾͜u̷̧̢̧̺͍̤̰̖̝͇̇́͌̈̌̇̓͘͝s̷̡̺͕̉̈́̌̋̈͛͘͠ȉ̵̢̧͎̮̝̳̳͙ǹ̷͔͓̖͖̈́̈̋͂̿̈́͝e̵̦͍̹̓̔̀͊͗͌̂̾͘s̵̘̄̐̔͌̾s̶͕͉͉̝̼̈́̓̊̌̓͜ ̶̰͔̙̬̥̱̣̯̣̲̘̾̃̿̈́͜͠a̶̧͔̦̗͔̟͒͆͝͝ń̸̨̮̣͚̲͕͉͔͂́̒͆͋͒̀͆̕ḋ̵͎͛̒͋̒̽̕͘ ̷̨̺͇̤̖̦̮͎̱̆̚ẗ̷͖̟̟͙́̊̈̅͊́͂̑̾͘r̸̡̗͉̹͗̋̈́͊͗̉͌y̵̛̠̳̳̟̬̩̞͉̠̘͈̯̍̅̎̃͂i̵̧̲̥͔͓̜͚͌͊̅͊̂͝n̶̜̝̈́͌̈͘͝͠ģ̶̼̤̰͎̼̃ ̴̨͎̮͎̗̫͚̲̙̀̎́̓̊͜t̸̨̛̥͔̗̝͎̪͈́͑̒́͜͝o̵̖̬̩̯̰̩̱̔̅̔͌ͅͅ ̴̢̛̱͔̟͓́̐̔̓̔̇͝ḩ̶̆̍̀͋̋̏̄͝͝ȩ̶̧͍͔͉̦͕̇̇̿ļ̸̧̬͎̼̘͚̺͎̩͛̾̅̍͝͠͠p̷̦̓͛̃̃̾͋́̈́́̑̌͊ ̴̩͊͘i̷̡̨̩̼͇̯̠̍͊͐̓̿͒̿̆̚ŝ̶̛͚̜͖̱̭̹̹̾̈́̌͂̐̄̏̋̈́̕͜ ̴̛̼͓̭̮̺̩͖̲̅̌̊̅̈́̅̓̉̆͝t̸̯͚͍̯͉̫̔̎̈́̅̌̚͝ȟ̸̬͚͈̉̅͐̀͜͝ͅȩ̴̢̤̘̜͎̖̫̫̩̝̈̾͐ ̴̨̨̧̮͚̖̠̪͉̺̖͉̀̐͂͆̑͠e̵̢͓̣̳̦͎̣̭̰̹͋͗̈́̔̿́š̸̢̼̞̬̬̉ͅs̴̻̋̾̓͒̇̓̕͜͝ę̴̛̦͎̠̝̗̩̹̣̬̦̞̑͆̉͑̑̄̕͘ñ̸̞̜̹̣̆̂̓̅̆̏͐̂̓ç̸͚̭̳̤̲̺̗̮̓͆͌̾͋̄̏͘͝ḛ̵̡̧̛̺͖̜̱̝̥̰͔͊̿̈́̋̕͘ͅ ̷̻̣͍̙͓̣̮͔̑̂̀̋ö̵̡̺̗́̓͊f̶̨̼͑̀͒͆̈̔ ̴̝̫̫̱̔̽̚b̴͖̦̳̦̤̹͊̅̽̍͜ė̷̟̦̦̭͚͕̱͖̔̈́̃́̇̈͜ȉ̷̺͙͍̝̙̱̪̙̜̬͂̾̃ͅn̵̹̩̟͖͈̗̂̋͠ǧ̵̗͖͐̂͑̕ ̴͈̏̐͌à̶̡̢̱͍̜̞͛͐̇̌̋͝͝ ̷̨̺̟̞͙̹̿̀ͅH̷̢̨̻̘͖̯̝̖̟̗̗̥̍͑̐̕e̷̡̥͚̰̩͍̗̜͍͠r̸̬̓̐̂̿̂̽̚ờ̵̛̥̠̞̔̏̏̊́̕͠!̸̨̠̟͈͓͙́!̷̛̹̭͙"̵̡͈͍̻͑̋̍̌͋̓̕̚͘͝

…

…

‘Fuck…’

Frustration and something else he couldn’t name burned deep within his core as he turned around and marched towards Asui. The girl clearly didn’t see him coming, and was startled when he suddenly grabbed her arm. She looked up at him, and he stared down at her.

“M-Midoriya-chan?”

‘Fuck.’

The anxiety was back. So was the fear. Izuku glared down at the girl who flinched at his gaze and looked away, and he thought back to the training exercise, to the laughter his ridiculousness had dragged from the previously sullen girl, of the spark of something oh so familiar that he thought he’d lost nearly half a year ago. He thought of the young woman he’d seen interact with others; who spoke her mind and didn’t flinch from confrontation. He thought of the person he had known for barely a week before she was torn from them by the hand of some self-important, psychopathic bastard.

Asui was not someone Izuku had grown close to in particular, but she was someone that he recognised as being genuinely good. Someone with morals she’d stick to and a code she’d uphold. An empathetic and altruistic girl, yet still practical and realistic in her view of the world. Someone he may even one day grow to respect.

He wanted to growl.

‘Fuck!’

He turned, still holding onto Asui, and started walking, dragging the poor startled girl behind him. He wasn’t going to be deterred, not by norms, not by the girl’s panicked squeaks, and not by a set of god damn doors.

He kicked his way none-too gently through the double doors, making a racket and attracting the attention of the students already in the cafeteria.

He looked around for his quarry, ignoring Asui’s weak struggling. Thankfully, it was still early in the lunch period, and most of the tables were still free.

A good thing too; this wasn’t something to be done with a close audience.

Finding an empty table which was a suitable distance away from the other tables was easy enough. Dragging his now more vehemently struggling semi-captive behind him to the table was easy enough — though he did catch a narrow-eyed Ashido begin to power walk towards them, her mouth opening no doubt to shout something at him, before Kirishima intercepted her.

Seating Asui was no trouble, and now that it felt like the eyes of the world were upon them, she seemed to sit still. Her hands clasped together in her lap, gripping each other so tightly they were nearly completely white. She seemed to tremble slightly, her head bowed and her eyes hidden behind her hair as Izuku placed her tray down in front of her, and, as he took his seat, she looked up just the slightest amount.

“Why?” It was said with so much pain, so much fear, that he nearly hesitated. He saw the tears gathering in dark, dark eyes, small hunched shoulders trembling with a cocktail of emotions Izuku recognised painfully well, and he very nearly dragged her back out again to somewhere private where she’d be away from all the noise, all the eyes, all the whispers…

He almost did.

But then he saw the green scarf wrapped just that bit too tightly around the bottom of her face, and something clicked. He closed his eyes. He took the deepest breath his mask would allow, and he steeled his resolve.

‘This isn’t then. She isn’t her. To each problem, its own method.’

…

‘FUCK!’

Tsu stared at her classmate, the one who had betrayed her and dragged her into this pit against her will. She thought she’d found someone who understood! Someone who would get that she just wanted to be alone, seeing how much he seemed to insist on it.

But it looks like she was wrong.

All her life, Tsu had experienced isolation in one form or another. Oh sure, she had friends and acquaintances and people generally found her present, but, somehow, even surrounded by people, she still managed to feel completely and utterly alone. The only time that feeling dissipated was when she was with her family, when she was taking care of her little brother and sister. Their endless innocence and curiosity were a balm on her soul that she never realised she needed. A balm that kept the darker thoughts from rearing their heads like they did during the day.

Not that Tsu ever acknowledged those thoughts. She was liked, she had friends, she wasn’t alone.

But then she came along, and Tsu realised how wrong she’d been.

Mongoose Habuko had been a friend Tsu hadn’t expected to make. Their quirks’ instincts clashed so badly that the first time they actually spoke had only happened because Habuko had been hunting her.

In hindsight it was a funny story, but at the time it had been terrifying. The cold, reptilian eyes of something further up the food chain staring her down like she was food. A mere snack before the predator would move on to something more substantial.

Despite the initial awkwardness, she’d managed to make friends with her stalker, the two bonding over their mutations and their shared difficulties.

It was with Mongoose-chan that she’d first realised how alone she’d truly been.

It was with Habuko-chan that she had attended her first Heteromorph rally, where she’d discovered the massive, supportive community that Tsu had never known existed.

It was with Habuko that Tsu had shared her dream to be a hero so that her siblings would be proud of her. It was together that they’d made plans to go to hero school together.

It was with Habu-chan that she’d shared her first kiss.

But none of that mattered now. Habuko had gone off to another hero school after failing UA’s entrance exam, and the two had lost touch.

Tsu had tried to be optimistic about this new class though, and she had been pleasantly vindicated. There were quite a few heteromorphs in class 1-A and, even if Mineta was a part of that group, the overall reception was remarkably warm.

She had had a good feeling about her time at UA, and even if there were certain people that she knew she’d clash with, it would be due to their personality differences and not any other, more insidious, reason.

Then the USJ had happened, and everything had gone downhill.

She’d thought she was safe. She thought she’d managed to escape after she’d hotwired the ship and triggered the whirlpool feature of the flood zone, and Mineta had used the opportunity to bind up many of the small-fry villains in his quirk.

She thought they’d been home free.

Then the leading villain had sought to make a point. Make an example of her, and leave her a bleeding corpse for All Might to find. It was only thanks to the bravery of her teacher and — as she’d heard later — Mineta, that she’d escaped with her life. It was only thanks to Shouji’s ingenuity with his quirk and Recovery Girl’s experience and connections that she’d kept her life, and it was only thanks to Midoriya reducing the villains’ main weapon to ashes that she could get even a modicum of sleep at night between nightmares.

But she hadn’t completely escaped, had she?

he’d been maimed. Damaged. Scarred and deformed in a way only extensive surgery had been able to even come close to fixing. The doctors had told her it was a miracle she still had her jar, even more so that she had been able to regain almost 70% of the movement of her lips.

That’s what they kept telling her.

How miraculous it all was.

It didn’t feel miraculous that she’d nearly died barely a week into her time at UA. It didn’t feel miraculous that she’d been hurt to the point of needing extensive surgery and, as the doctors estimated, maybe hundreds of hours of rehab.

No… none of that felt miraculous at all.

A silver lining in the clouds was that UA was paying for all her care, and that said care was ensured to be from the best of the best. ‘UA took care of their own,’ as she’d heard repeatedly.

‘Except when it really matters,’ some deep, bitter part of her thought.

And she was bitter. And scared. And sad. And a thousand thousand other things that had finally erupted once she’d gotten home from the hospital and the shock had worn off. When she’d first taken off her bandages and her youngest sister, Satsuki, had burst into tears. When her parents flinched and hugged Tsu all that bit tighter whenever they saw her, like they were afraid she’d slip away from them.

She’d seen what her face did to those she was closest to. She didn’t want to experience what her classmates would do. She just wasn’t ready.

So, she’d been pre-emptive. She’d hidden herself away behind a scarf and a distant attitude. Ironically, she’d tried to model herself after Todoroki and Midoriya, but she hadn’t managed the apathy quite yet. She kept her to herself, she kept to her silence, and she kept her distance, and she hoped against hope that they’d get the message and leave her be.

It was behaviour that was anathema to herself from merely a few days before, and, despite having known them for so short a time, her classmates still worried.

Because they were going to be heroes, and heroes needed big hearts to be good.

(She wasn’t pre-emptive. She was a coward, and she knew it.)

Despite this, and despite how much her attitude seemed to hurt them, they’d all respected her desire for solitude, and had let her be.

All except for Midoriya, apparently. The one who knew best how to be alone, because even Todoroki joined Yaomomo for lunch sometimes.

Tsu thought she’d get back to her old self gradually, or as close as she could realistically get. She’d been making good progress too! Her interaction with Midoriya during their rescue exercise had been promising, and he had been surprisingly goofy for what was normally such an aloof character. Tsu had concluded during the bus ride prior to the USJ that talking to Midoriya was like trying to handle a bar of soap that was both wet and on fire. The harder one tried to hold it, the faster it’d slip away, and leave the one holding it with some nasty burns on the way out.

Nevertheless, it had been a good interaction. It had even left her tempted to ask him to be her sort of crutch as she got back on her feet. To help her to regain some form of normalcy in school.

Then he’d grabbed her before she’d managed to get away for lunch, and had physically dragged her into the cafeteria. He had pulled her into an arena she was unprepared for, exposed her to the judging eyes of her peers and strangers and others. Even as she sat, trembling at an empty table, with only Midoriya across from her, she could feel them, like a thousand needles diggings into the flesh of her back because they dared not look her in the eye.

he could feel their judgment, their condescension, their pity. It stung. It burned. It itched. It hurt.

She wanted to run. Run to the empty stall in the second-floor girls’ bathroom she’d claimed as her lunch spot. Run home where her loving family was, who would hold her. Run to her room where she could be alone and her siblings wouldn’t see what had happened to their older sister.

She wanted to escape, but nerves and fear kept her there. Fear of judgment. Fear of eyes. Even fear of what Midoriya would do if she tried to leave.

In the end, she could only squeeze out one single word. Barely a sound on the breeze forced between trembling lips and clenched teeth, out of a tightening throat with air from hollow lungs.

She could only ask him “Why?”

Midoriya ignored her.

Izuku is used to being stared at, it comes with being a weirdo with strange taste in friends and a reputation for responding to slights with overwhelming violence. He’d used to the burning of stares and the prickling of the judgment of others, though nowadays his skin’s so tough it mostly slides off like water off a duck’s back.

So he ignores them, they’re all rather unimportant right now, anyways.

What he’s about to do holds a lot more importance. More than many he suspects will ever know. It’s something he’s shown maybe a handful of people, all of which are either family or the closest of close friends.

It is his moment of greatest vulnerability throughout the day. The moment that, in his mind at least, makes to greatest contribution to his statues as ‘other’. It is his greatest weakness.

A weakness he is willingly exposing to the world for the sake of someone who’s basically a stranger at this point, despite his respect for Asui. It took him months at the minimum to feel comfortable enough to eat around… Her, but here he is, doing something dumb.

Because… reasons…

Committed, Izuku reaches into his pocket, and pulls out all of the nutrient packs he’d picked up not five minutes before. He sets them all on the table, quietly ignoring how Asui seems to be shooting him glances. She’ll understand soon.

Hopefully.

Slowly, deliberately, he reaches towards the mask he’s wearing — a new design the Doctor provided, with extra battery life, and internals treated for higher temperatures than even the one before, plus some extra features — and slides a small, near invisible plate to the side.

From the new opening, he pulls out the feeding tube, listening to the whirr of the spooling mechanism as the vibrations travel through the mask and into his skull. It’s a soothing sound, something to take his mind off of Asui’s wide eyes and the tenseness taking hold of his digits as he feels the collective attention of the room begin to shift from the frog girl to him.

With a deliberate slowness, he attaches the tube to the first pack, securing it in place, before reaching back up and pressing a small button located next to the tube. Unceremoniously, the sound of paste being sucked up a treated rubber tube by a miniature pumping mechanism sounds out, disturbingly loud in the relative silence.

Keeping his hands still, he gently, glacially, places them flat on the table, and looks up at Tsuyu, what can be seen of his face a mask of indifference. A show of support. She’s not the weirdest one here, because he’s got her beat. So, what has she got to fear?

It’s an imperfect mask, riddled with holes and cracks. His hands are too still, his movements too controlled, his face too blank. Izuku knows Tsuyu can see it, she’s too observant not to, but there’s not much he can do about it. It’s all he can do not to shiver before his audience, not to show weakness in public, not to bleed into the shark pool.

There’s not a tremble. Not a twitch. Izuku barely breathes beyond what the mask forces into his lungs. His back his straight, his shoulders set, his gaze even. He is a statue, an unnatural island of utter immobility in a world where humans move even when staying still.

It’s nearly inhuman, and he can see the concern in Tsuyu’s eyes. He can see her wanting to ask, but fear keeps her silent. It’s not working and the sound of the paste being force fed to him is getting louder and he’s an idiot for thinking he could hel—

The sound of trays hitting the table cut through the tense atmosphere like a hot knife through butter, and the only two occupants of the table turn to look at the source of the noise.

Shouji stands tall at the end of the table, inscrutable eyes staring above the cloth covering his mouth and neck, bouncing between Tsu and Izuku. Tokoyami shuffles next to him, holding his own tray and trying to look as dignified as possible as Dark Shadow rests on his shoulder in a manner way too cat-like for a shadow demon with a bird’s head, the companion’s yellow eyes narrowed at them.

With a clearing of a throat, Shouji attracts all eyes to him, as one of his arms morphs into a mouth. “There seems to be some free space here, would you guys mind if we sat with you?”

Asui responds by just staring, wide eyed, at the two of them. She can feel the thing in her throat, sticky and choking and burning. A ball of tar stopping her from breathing or speaking. Izuku just nods at them, careful not to jostle the tube too much.

Shouji slides into place to Izuku’s right, while Tokoyami takes Tsu’s left. Both share a look, before Tokoyami turns around and nods.

More trays hit the table, one by one by one, until all seats are filled. Kirishima and Sato push another table over, adding to the seat count until all twenty of them can fit. Kaminari even drags a scowling Bakugou over, though thankfully the explosive boy seats himself as far from Izuku as physically possible.

Even Todoroki has a place at the table, though he still keeps to himself, only barely interacting with Yaoyorozu.

In the end, Izuku finds himself boxed in, with Shouji on his left, and Hagakure on his right, while Tsu is surrounded by calm Tokoyami and bubbly Uraraka. Izuku feels his hands start to claw, a prelude to curling into fists. He can feel each individual tendon tightening as the muscles in his forearms twitch with his nerves. It is difficult to supress the instinctive response being surrounded by so many people draws from deep within Izuku’s soul, but he bears with it, thankful that, at least, no one is going out of their way to touch him.

The sounds of conversation and laughter and giggling continue as he stares at Tsu, maintaining his blank mask. Tsu stares back, though Uraraka is making decent progress in dragging her into a conversation, and Hagakure and Shouji seem to be speaking over his head.

He doesn’t usually appreciate it, the constant drone of noisy chatter, but, in this case, it drowns out the whirring still vibrating through his bones. It eases the need to twitch and fidget, to express his nerves and fear and uncertainty in a manner more physical than total stillness.

He closes his eyes.

The mask pulls air in, filling his lungs.

The sounds of happy high-schoolers wash over him, around him, through him.

He exhales.

This is good.

He opens his eyes.

And what perfect timing it is, too. It seems Tsu is just catching on to what he wanted her to see.

She looks around, wide eyed. She watches as Shouji, the gentle giant, devours his mountain of protein rich food with half-a-dozen mouths sprouting from his arms. Each has a hand with a fork tasked with bringing the food from the plate to it — which is somehow the strangest part of the entire thing. Shouji barely seems to notice the food disappearing, deep in conversation with Hagakure about the difficulties they had designing around their respective powers and mutations.

The invisible girl herself seems as happy as ever, her light undiminished by recent events. It would almost be embittering if it weren’t for how genuine she was. She shovels food to where her mouth should be, the pile of nutrients vanishing completely between each giggly sentence, only for the spoon to dive back into the bowl for another pass.

Yaomomo seems to have abandoned her perpetual decorum entirely in favour of inhaling as many nutrients as possible in the allotted time for lunch. Tsu could have sworn there were at least five piles of food on two separate trays in front of the heiress not to long ago. Now, there’s two, and one’s shrinking by the second.

Tsu watches as Tokoyami tears into his own food, his pointed beak being used to rip meat from bone and flesh from vegetables. Despite how visceral it looks, the boy manages to maintain his usual level of chuuni dignity about him, even as a toothed beak near tears an apple in half. Dark Shadow too, seems to join in with the impromptu feast, though the food seems to just disappear somewhere into its body.

Kirishima with his rows of pointed teeth stretched in the friendliest grin in the world. Koda with his soft soul and rocky body. Mina, who’s food seems to turn just that bit too quickly into mush as she chews with her mouth open, despite Iida scolding her for her lack of table manners.

Midoriya, who can’t eat solids. Midoriya, who can’t eat at all. Midoriya, who needs to wear a mask to breathe, to eat, to live. Midoriya, who helped save her life and who’s now staring at her, unblinking. For once, his eyes don’t burn with that inner fire so many seem to have come to fear. Instead, there’s a spark of something utterly foreign.

It’s a feeling that seems anathema to the concept of Midoriya as a whole. The boy who melted the top of the USJ. The boy who blew through blast proof doors and scorched an entire zone with barely a fraction of his strength. The boy who casually incinerated a monster created to fight the strongest hero of the era and chased away its masters as an afterthought.

That boy…

Was afraid.

It hit Tsu like a bolt of lightning in Summer. Midoriya felt just as uncomfortable as she did. He wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle and slosh out of the cafeteria and back into his isolated eating spot where he could be safe and comfortable, like her. He felt the eyes of the people watching prickle his skin, like she did, and he knew they would weigh this new weakness he had revealed with such false casualness against what they knew of him.

He was afraid of what it would mean should they find him wanting.

He, at least on some level, understood and was, in his own way, trying to help.

Which was something Tsu could admire, at least.

The frog girl looked down, feeling her stomach twist itself into knots upon knots as her hand rose to fiddle with the top of her wide scarf. She tried not to notice how the conversation quieted down on their table, how her classmates and friends were trying their hardest not to bring attention to her.

Tsu took one, long, shuddering breath. She looked up at Midoriya, and saw his gaze, still firm and unmoving, still sparking with that inner fear, while his face remained a blank mask of neutrality. She knew he wouldn’t judge her. It was a comforting thought.

Slowly, carefully, as she picked up her chopsticks and let her eyes fall back to her meal, she pulled down the cloth that had been her shield for the past two weeks. She begins to tear down her walls as the last of the conversations at the table go quiet, and it feels like the darkness is closing in, filled with watchers.

But a pair of green suns, burning with an unshakable confidence pushes her to ignore it. They are lighthouses, chasing away the dark and blinding the eyes of those too rude to mind their own business. It may be a confidence build to mask deeper fears, like she’s starting to suspect, but it matters not. It is what allows her own to grow, to lift up that little piece of food to her mangled lips, covered in fresh scar tissue and the outline of surgical stitching. Twisted, mottled flesh pulls and stretches to accommodate her wider-than-usual mouth, allowing the food entrance, revealing a set of too-white teeth. They do not yet bare the slight yellowing and rounding present in healthy, well used enamel. They’re too well aligned, too perfect in a way that tickles something in the area of the brain that helps separate the real from the artificial.

Four on top, five on the bottom, filling in spots lost when her jaw and part of her skull were disintegrated by a madman’s petty attempt to spite the number one hero. A hero who wasn’t even there!

Tsu knows she’ll never be a pretty girl. She’d known it since she knew what conventional beauty and discrimination were, but it bears new meaning now that her new imperfections are bare to the world.

Yet, as she looks up, chewing with a practiced slowness, and meeting Midoriya’s eyes, she thinks she might be okay with that. His gaze is unflinching, there is no visible reaction to her mutilation beyond a slight considering tilt of the head. Something that — if the stories she’s overheard from their classmates about his own body, and his arm in particular, were to be believed — she knew it was more considering than anything else.

Two warriors, comparing scars.

It’s almost a shame Todoroki is so engrossed in his soba.

‘Yes,’ she thinks, emboldened as she looks around the table. Nobody reacts with more than the expected amount of shock. Nobody vomits, or runs away, or screams. All things she is grateful for. She sees some looks of surprise, which she understands. She sees some looks of horror, a horror that she knows is directed at her injuries, and not her. She even sees an anger ignite in some of them, a burning fury that lasts but a moment before it is shoved away for later. It warms something inside of her that she hadn’t noticed had gone so dreadfully cold, that these amazing people would feel so much for her. ‘I think it’ll be okay.’

Uraraka surprises her by bursting into tears and glomping onto her, though she can tell through the hiccups and the sniffles that they’re happy tears. Mina starts a talk about fashion and the difficulties of finding makeup that goes with her particular complexion, something that catches her attention. She can’t imagine how hard finding a pink foundation is, but finding one that doesn’t just slowly slide off of her own skin or leave her badly irritated is always a pain.

All in all, it’s… normal. It’s a return to an idealised past, even if just for a moment, that she is grateful for beyond words. She’s grateful she’s been placed among a group of such empathetic and kind people, that even the loners like Bakugou and Todoroki and Midoriya seem to try when it matters. She’s grateful Midoriya grabbed her arm and she’s grateful that she didn’t run away.

Later there will be more therapy and more surgeries and more trials, but, for now, she can enjoy a bit of peace among friends. They can be her island in the storm, or, her lily pad in the pond.

Asui Tsuyu decides she’d quite okay with that analogy.

Izuku let the chatter wash over him, like a stone in a river. In time, perhaps, the water would wear it down, breaking down rough edges until nothing but smooth surface remained, softening any sharpness that it had once held.

It was a poor analogy, for the simple reason that Izuku was not a stone, words and sounds were not a rushing river, and humans didn’t have quite as much time.

In any case, Izuku sat back, content to watch as Tsu was effortlessly pulled back into the class community that had formed after the USJ. It was a community she had tried her hardest to escape, an attempt to isolate herself and hide from people who were arguably her friends. It was a community that, after he had given her a shove, had reeled her in like an octopus with its many-limbed embrace, pseudopods and limbs of pure muscle refusing to release the frog in its grip until it no longer wanted to escape.

Despite the metaphor, it was a positive thing. Tsu was a social person, and even a blind socially-stunted idiot could see that she was terribly lonely. She had just needed a kick to see how blind she had been to the support that surrounded her.

It was… nice.

Though, not something Izuku would want to repeat. ‘No,’ he thought, as he closed his eyes, leaning as far back as the backless bench would allow while still being comfortable, ‘I think I still quite prefer my roof.’

And Izuku wasn’t running away! Ooh no. No. Izuku was just… not, a social creature. He didn’t thrive in environments like this.

Even now, surrounded by friendliness and happy conversation, Izuku still had to keep his hands unnaturally still as they had been throughout the meal, moving only to switch the nutrient bags when one ran out. He could feel the nervous twist of what had once been anxiety pulling at his guts, urging him to run, to leave.

An uglier part demanded he burn it all. There was nothing to fear if there was nothing, after all.

He felt a nudge, a slight shove on his right arm that pulled him from his reverie. One green eye opened, and it could see the wide, shit eating grin on Shouji’s face as his balaclava shifted with the movement. The other eye opened and both narrowed. Bullshitery was about to be spoken, if the excitement radiating from the tall boy next to him was to mean anything.

“You know,” Shouji began, almost too casually conversational, “now that you’ve finally come down here, y’haven’t got any real reason to avoid joining us to eat, next time.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. No. That wasn’t true. Izuku was just—

“And it’d be nice, I think. Having all of us eat in the same room, even if we sit at different tables.” Shouji nodded, looking around the tables contemplatively. “A community that eats together is more united. And a united community is a dangerous thing indeed.”

Izuku saw some of the six-armed teens unused hands clench into fists, before slowly releasing. “I hate what those villains have done to us. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that we all survived, but, in some way, the villains succeeded, even if they didn’t realise it.” There was something dark in Shouji’s eyes, something old and painful, hidden beneath the fresh wound. It startled Izuku.

“They broke our sense of safety. Maybe you don’t get it, but those villains attacked us, hurt us, when we were meant to be safe. It’s got a lot of people… scared.” An eyeball at the end of an arm seemed to focus on certain people in particular. “Even if we all got out alive, we were scared. The villains still had power over us, still followed us.” A mirthless chuckle. “Sometimes, I still see you get obliterated by that creature. It’s… scary stuff.”

Then, Shouji looked contemplative. “But, now, all of here like this, laughing, eating, joking. It’s… better. And now that Tsu’s back with us, it’s like we’re closed to being healed. Sure, we’ll always carry what happened, but we can begin to live again, you know?”

Shouji Mezou turned to Midoriya Izuku, looking down into his eyes and offering as genuine a smile as he could beneath his cloth mask, as Midoriya looked back up at him, surprise painting his emerald eyes a light jade as his own metal mask kept feeding him. It was a small moment, unnoticed by those around them, but important to those that mattered.

“Thank you, Midoriya, for laying the first brick on the road we shall all walk together. I hope, in time, we can all enjoy where it leads.”

Izuku was… he was speechless. He had no words for the strange feeling building in his chest and putting pressure behind his eyes. He knew it was warm, but not the warmth of his flames, eager to devour his flesh and consume the world. No, it wasn’t that. He knew that warmth like he knew his own hands and this new feeling was something different. Something softer, kinder, less hungry.

It was almost enough to make him reach for the button under his mask, because yes, it did feel familiar, now that he thought about it. Something he’d felt a while back. Something he might’ve even gotten used to feeling, before its source was so cruelly snatched away from him.

Yes. Yes, maybe it was—

“So, Shouji, remember what happened when we got away from the plaza? When we were at the entrance area. Yeah? So, I got around to asking for details on how you made that respirator thing and, if we think about it, does that count as your first kiss?”

…

‘What the f—’

“W-WHAT?!”

“The fuck??”

“Dude, what the hell!!”

Izuku closed his eyes and sighed as much as he was able to, as Shouji seemed to go bright red and somehow manage to stutter with the sixteen mouths he’d grown in his shock. Trust Mineta to shove not just his foot, but both legs right into his mouth. And it was such a nice moment too!

Mineta seemed to shrink under the cries of disbelief, trying to stutter excuses and arguments in the silence that followed the initial explosion of noise, all eyes wide on him (though some did stray to Shouji, and they wondered).

‘God fucking dammit Min—’

A giggle. Barely a squeak by the standards of what it should be, but it rang through the quiet like the first bells of peace. Tsu laughed quietly beneath the hand that covered her mouth, trying her best to contain herself. Eventually, someone else, chuckled, followed by a round of laughs at Mineta’s ridiculousness. Or, maybe they were laughing because it was what needed to be done?

Who can really say.

It was a funny thought though.

Shouji still whacked Mineta ‘round the head, across the table, with a three palmed extendo-arm slap.

Chapter Text

The day begins with the dawn, the sentence starts with a capital, but the start of an exciting day is, more often than not, much like any other. It is most often mundane, completely usual. Boring to the point that, were it not for what would transpire later, the day would otherwise merge into the stream of endlessly similar such “normal days”.

Sometimes, though, one knows when the next twenty-four hours will not be usual. Be it through intuition, some form of timeline altering foresight, or simply pre-planned shenanigans, interesting days can quite often be predicted. Therefore, it is not so much the fact of whether or not a day is bound to be interesting — no, the predictions for that rely on rather simple calculations, bar the odd unknown unknown — but more often the quality and vintage of adrenaline pumping nonsense that is going to occur before the sun sets on the next horizon that is the subject of intense theorizing.

Those calculations are infinitely more complex, especially when trying to consider the actions and decisions of over a hundred hormonal teenagers, some of whom are traumatized, as well as an entire industry’s worth of scrutiny bearing down on them and a country or so’s weight of eyes.

Yes, the makings of such predictions are to be left to the genius or the insane or a particularly tea-obsessed chimera currently in charge of said hundred or so teenagers. Those groups may have better luck, and, at least for the insane and Nedzu, might actually have fun while they’re at it.

So, as Hisashi chews his cereal, black hair still wild from sleep and a scalding cup of coffee in front of him, he tries to stare a whole through the head of his son, in an attempt to predict and, gods-willing, mitigate whatever stupid ideas his child may be having about the Sports Festival. Because if predicting them is a fool’s errand, and trying to talk them out of his son will result in a blank stare and nothing gained, maybe trying to get a look a the source of all that sass would get it to reveal its secrets.

Unfortunately, the last ten minutes have not granted him the blessing of a quirk that allows for the prediction of teen-angst-fuelled bullshitery. A shame, really, because Hisashi’s sure that time would have appreciated the reduced collateral damage.

In the end, as trying to pry anything personal out of Izuku this early in the morning via conversation was, as previously mentioned, as likely to proceed as a lemming being allowed to operate a life-insurance plan, the air was filled with the sound of the clinking of a spoon against a bowl, and the whirring of small pumps as nutrient slop was force-fed directly into Izuku’s stomach. The two contrasting sounds, the short but loud clink of the metal and ceramic and the underlying, low but constant, whirring hum, create a strange atmosphere at the table, like a spring slowly being wound up. Every second of whirring the sound of the spring building tension. Every clink the sound of the release latch adding another notch to its hold.

Building and building and building. Waiting for one of them to erupt.

Then, something interrupts it all. A newspaper, thrown by Hisashi, lands on the table, open at a very specific page. It may be an archaic form of media, relegated to a secondary news source for most in the era of fast-paced communication technology, and yet still found in the hands of people from all walks of life, from farmers to CEOs. Today however, the news of interest is worthy of something more… physical than a mere article online. A tactile proof of victory and vengeance. Of a terrible wrong only now beginning to be righted.

Hisashi sees the moment his son reads the important article, the one filled with his vindication. He sees it in the widening of eyes of a shade of green inherited from the only woman who ever made Gehennaphage tremble, of the clenching of callused hands that seem nearly too big for his son’s lanky yet strong teenage body, though his proportions were slowly growing to match the height Izuku would no doubt inherit from Hisashi. The older sees vicious glee and furious satisfaction in the tensing of every muscle in the body that he and his wife built together, and another sought to destroy, yet only managed to propel to greater heights.

Because that was his son, Izuku, his little star, and Hisashi could tell that joy and rage were seconds away from making the boy tear the newspaper in half. It was good news, tremendous news even, it just… brought up bad memories.

It’s a story about a high-school being shut down. So far, the news rather small scale and local, but Hisashi has no doubt it will reach a wider audience soon enough. At least, now that events have reached the stage they have.

What makes this story unique, is that, following the hospitalisation of a student, video footage found its way onto the desk of a detective who just so happened to have a nephew who went to that school. A nephew with a rather inoffensive quirk that would be considered, politely, weak in today’s society.

(In more impolite circles, the word would be useless. How could you be a hero if all you could do was make candies.)

Feeling concerned — and rightly curious — the young detective went through the footage, apparently finding copious hours of surveillance footage from the school where the girl had been hospitalised, and, despite it supposedly being rather distorted, with quite a bit of it missing, it was enough to have the school temporarily shut down and an investigation opened into the teachers and student body.

The result had been nearly a dozen teachers and staff members arrested for charges ranging from child endangerment to fraud. A few students had been arrested as well, being found complicit in the incident that had resulted in the original student’s hospitalisation. The students had been sent to various reformatory schools or juvenile detention centres, but that had been months ago.

No, what this article was about, was the final sentencing of the principal, the one found to be most complicit in the encouraging of violence between students. He had also been accused of tampering with evidence, which had not earned him any favour with the already displeased judge at all.

Hisashi saw the flash of emotion across his son’s face, and smiled as he sipped his coffee, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the scalding drink trying its best to fight its way through his own heat-proofing, before entropy worked its magic and it lost the heat that made up half the pleasure of the beverage. He swallowed, and took another sip.

He opens his eyes to the sight of Izuku finally deciding on an emotion, and Hisashi is relieved that the boy’s settled on “so happy he can’t compute”. To any other, untrained eye, Izuku looks frozen, perhaps in shock or surprise or any other descriptor, but Hisashi knows his son. He can see the twinkle reflecting across emerald green, so different to the burning intensity of twin green suns. Hisashi knows that, if he could, Izuku would be grinning from ear to ear. The image of Izuku smiling, filled with joy and hope and all the sweetness of a youthful innocence now stolen, cheeks full of baby fat and milk teeth still in the process of falling out brings a small smile to Hisashi’s lips. Barely a quirk, but filled with more honesty and warmth than most people can manage.

It’s short lived, however, and it dies as Hisashi contemplates his son. The pause lasts a while, Izuku’s eyes not leaving the paper, and Hisashi’s not leaving Izuku, even as the cup of coffee rises and returns to the table.

It’s a peaceful silence, but fragile. A plaster on the gaping would that was their argument the night prior. It’s a wound that doesn’t have a place here and now, though Hisashi is loath to leave it as is.

He decides to try diplomacy, to heal the wound through separate actions through the stitching of goodwill. Izuku wouldn’t understand his father’s concerns anyway; the boy was young, still blind to ways of the world despite his experiences. Might as well try to have a normal conversation now.

“You excited?” It comes out innocent and non-combative, a simple question empty of any snark or sarcasm. It is honest and open, an olive branch that says “even if I disagree with you, I still love and support you”. At least, Hisashi hopes it comes across that way.

For his efforts, Hisashi was rewarded with a nod. Small and barely there, it was a gesture of one not in the same universe as him, let alone the same room. It was understandable really, Izuku was still enraptured by the article. Hisashi sighed as he drained his cup, rising to his feet and making his way to the kitchen.

He turns on the hot water, rinsing the mug of leftover granules as he lets the calm atmosphere pervading the room bleed into his superheated lungs and run through his veins, It’s a good feeling. An unfortunately rare one.

“Just… Try to have fun today, alright kiddo? Despite what everyone might say, it’s just a sports festival. Televised, yeah, but, it’s still your first year.” Running the mug under the water one last time, he places it on the drying rack. “Don’t worry about results or what people are thinking. Just enjoy the event. Hell, it might even be good for ya.”

Drying off his hands, Hisashi leans against the counter, still not turning around. The kitchen has two windows that, despite their apartment not having much of a view, let in a decent amount of light and fresh air. The window may be closed, but it’s still looking like a nice, sunny day ahead. Perfect for what’s to come.

Hisashi can’t stop a smile from breaking across his face, old memories rising to the surface atop a wave of nostalgia he can’t help but ride along with.

“Hell, Oki and I met during something a bit like this. We were set to fight against each other, well, it was a bit more of a battle-royal, every man for himself kind of thing, instead of the organised 1v1 matches you’ll be fighting in. There was no one else there really worth a damn except for us. In the end, it was just us two, full quirk use, beatin’ the shit out of each other for nearly an hour.” Hisashi let out a laugh then, a bark filled with mirth old and new. “We both got a different story when it comes to how it ended. He swears the fight got interrupted before he could knock me down for good, but I know I had him on the ropes when it came down it. One good hit and it would have been mine.” He sighed. “In the end, yeah, it was officially a draw. Anyways, we both ran and hid in the same places afterwards, and I ended up crashing on his couch for a few days until the heat died down.”

The man shakes his head, dispelling the memories and the emotions attached. Look at him, reminiscing like an old man whose glory days were behind him. He had plenty of glory days left! He was in his prime! No matter what Izuku or Oki said!!

Hisashi gave another chuckle as he started to turn towards his son. “Moral of the story or whatever, sometimes, if you punch ‘em in the face hard enough, you make a friend. Do try not to maim anyone, though.” He said, semi-jokingly. “I’m good, but I’m not “dispose of evidence on live television in front of hundreds of thousands of viewers” good. So, keep it reasonable.” Hisashi perked up as he finished his spin. “Oh, that reminds me of another story, actually! When your mother and I—”

What may have been said left has been lost to the ages as, when Hisashi once again laid eyes on Izuku, he saw his son, still only paying him the barest of attention. In one hand, Izuku was still holding up the newspaper containing the article that had so mesmerised him, and, in the other, was the pair of scissors he was using to ruthlessly cut through the paper that Hisashi still hadn’t finished reading! Probably to stick the article to a wall as a memento of some sort.

Which didn’t matter now, as Hisashi lunged across the room, a semi-panicked scream he would never admit to leaving his lips.

“OI YOU BRAT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! I WAS STILL READING THAT!!!”

Truly an auspicious start to the day.

There is no single word for the type of calm that comes before a storm. If it is a storm felt but not seen, the calm will strum like the chords of a string instrument, vibrating back and forth. It will wind and wind and wind those living in it to their breaking point, until every squeak becomes the crash of lightning and every tap is booming thunder. That peace will be the invisible pressure of the storm front, bearing down a hapless fishing village before it is swept out to sea.

On the other hand, if it a storm foreseen, then the calm will be a vice. The pressure will weigh not on the shoulders, but as a grip on the heart. It will squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the true measure of a person is forced out like water from a wet rag, and that essence, that true self, will manifest in the person who’s heart it inhabited. For some, what will emerge is fear. Fear for their own life, fear of punishment, fear of the storm they see on the horizon. It will drag them to the depths of despair and drown them in their own dread. Perhaps they will try to flee the storm, and maybe they’ll even succeed… for a while.

The storm is a patient predator. A pursuit predator. It has no need for speed, for it is inexorable, and, eventually, it will claim its prize.

However, there exist some rare few for whom the essence dragged form them by the crushing grip on their heart is not fear, or cowardice, or despair. No, what shall emerge is something much nobler, lauded as virtues of those who become great. When the view of the storm wraps its tendrils around the heart of one of those rare few, and squeezes for a glimpse at their true self, what emerges glows gold. It is determination in all its forms. The solid wall that will withstand all winds and rains, the fleet-footed ship sailing waves that tower over skyscrapers, the unstoppable son delivering medicine to his sick mother. That determination burns strong enough that no winds or rains or capricious lightning can extinguish it. It is the force that makes the one who’s heart it lives in turn to stare the storm in the eye.

It is the force that makes them dare the storm to blink.

That golden ichor is seen most often in those who’s professions put them in mortal danger, and most often when it is done for the sake of protecting others. While all who willingly and knowingly face those dangers may have a drop or a spark of that noble substance, some subconscious well from which it springs, those rare among the rare, those tested by a direct threat against their lives, who have nonetheless continued on undaunted…

Those find it comes more easily. And it comes in waves.

It is therefore unsurprising that, as the seconds hand ticks closer and closer to starting time, the students of class 1-A find themselves full of more anticipation than nerves.

It is strange, all things considered. They are about to step out in front of the world, in front of hundreds of thousands of watchful eyes and judging stares. They are about to showcase the best they can be, as unofficial ambassadors of the next generation of a venerated profession. They are fifteen or sixteen, about to offer themselves up to the masses as entertainment. Pawns in a game between hero and villain, they are to demonstrate that a villain attack that could and should have killed, if not all, then at least some of them, has achieved nothing but the arrest of all but two of those who tried, without All Might even having to be there. It is a demonstration of the stability and continued might of the heroics industry, the mighty foundation of modern society.

It is an interesting performance.

And yet, despite all of that, among those who are about to step out into the spotlight knowing that they will be watched more than others because of said villain attack, excitement stands out as the most common emotion.

These teens — barely past the stage of being children — relish the chance to present themselves, to show that they stand undaunted even if they have barely started. They have had an idea of what the real world of heroics is, even if it is merely a taste, and they do not feel fear.

An inspiring message?

A scary example of the potential results of generations of indoctrination?

Who can say.

Even then, perhaps the highest level of something not excitement on display belong to Kaminari, who sparks intermittently with every particularly loud noise, grinning widely as a pitiful attempt to mask his nerves. Or maybe it is Jirou, eyes closed, listening to heavy metal as she tries to find that inner rage inherent to every punk that might give her the edge. Or maybe it is Yaoyorozu, quietly running through every formula she can remember in her head, or Ashido and Kirishima and their knock-knock jokes, or Kouda and his hamster.

They are still just teens after all, no matter their determination.

In the corner, away from the eye of the storm, Izuku sits, quietly, enjoying the last bit of peace he’ll have before some form of effort will begin to be required again. It’s nice, really. Such a rare feeling. He doesn’t feel nervous, because he grabbed whatever could be considered nerves and shoved them into the furnace that burns between his lungs. He doesn’t feel fear or anxiety because those have been served up as fuel for the fire to be as well.

He feels only certainty.

He feels only that today is going to be… fun.

“Midoriya,” someone sees fit to interrupt his peace, “I have something to say to you.”

Izuku really wants to sigh, but even his new mask won’t allow that yet. So, he opens his eyes to get a look at whatever asshole got in the way of a last few minutes of shut eye before the main event.

Low and behold, Todoroki stands before him, in all his dichromatic glory, back straight and rigid like a Canadian flag in winter, glaring down at Izuku in a way that is very much not on brand for a Canadian brand or what he knows of Todoroki in general. Which is, admittedly, not much. The guy’s more of a loner than Izuku, which might actually qualify Todoroki for an award, but that’s neither here nor there.

‘What’s this then?’

For a moment Todoroki stood there, as implacable as ever, staring at Izuku with those heterochromatic eyes of burning blue and arctic grey as unreadable as ever. Izuku stared back, his own molten emeralds nearly glowing behind his impassive face. Nothing was said, as the tension rose and surrounding conversation slowly petered out, all the attention in the room being stolen by the two elemental powerhouses.

Eventually, Todoroki spoke.

“You… are confusing.” He then shook his head, before continuing, now with a touch more vigour than a manakin. “Regardless. Midoriya, you are probably one of, if not the strongest person in our class, that was made obvious at the USJ. Nevertheless, I will defeat you.”

Todoroki’s stare turned back into the mild glare it had been, as whispers started up around them. Some heated, some surprised. All that had been conscious remembered the end of the USJ. They remembered their green-haired classmate’s barely human form emerging from a ball of incineration born of his own power. They remember that shape with flesh pulled from the heart of a star descend unto the earth and march out of that hellscape, uncaring of the apocalyptic environment that had birthed it. They remember the avatar of heat and fire walk through the remains of Todoroki’s glacier on its way out of the building, and how it had seemingly barely noticed the difference between flat ground and icy walls.

Oh yes. Those who had been awake remembered. And they doubted.

Yet some found heart in Todoroki’s courage, where others found only foolishness. ‘How brave of him,’ they thought, ‘to challenge something like that, and say that he’d win.’

Heedless, of perhaps ignorant, or those thoughts, Todoroki continued.

“I don’t care where you came from, what training you’ve had, or who you’re connected to. The public will be watching all of us, but I know that important people have their eye on you, and I want you to know that it won’t matter.” The dual-haired boy stepped closer, into Midoriya’s personal space, where the dead-eyed stare was starting to irritate him. His challenge seemed to have no effect.

“If we end up facing each other, I will beat you. Consider this my declaration of war.” And, with that final inflammatory statement, the Todoroki scion turned around and walked away, ignoring Midoriya’s surprised blink, ignoring the shouts and exclamations that sprung up in the wake of his declaration, ignoring the way his left side itched whenever he came close to Midoriya, like that bastard’s cursed quirk was trying to emerge and fight the green-haired boy.

Iida tried his best to simultaneously calm the now rowdy room of boys, who seemed taken by such a brazen act and were now declaring war on each other — and, in one case, themselves, because the mind of Kaminari Denki works in ways too mysterious to even attempt to decipher —  all the while the robotic boy swung his arms in his typical scolding manner, yelling about “sportsmanship” and “classroom comradery” and such things that had no place in a competition with stakes like the sports festival.

Shouto wasn’t here to make friends after all. What did he care if a few feelings got hurt. All that mattered was that Endeavour saw him win today, saw him surpass someone with what could someday be one of the strongest fire quirks in Japan, all the while keeping his left side firmly supressed.

(Maybe his mom would even be allowed to watch. Maybe she’d be proud of how he’s fighting so hard to spite Endeavour. Maybe…)

To Izuku’s considerable surprise, Bakugou merely folded his arms and sat back in his seat, glaring at Todoroki like the fact that the dual haired boy had challenged Midoriya instead of him was an insult to his entire family line. It was… surprisingly demur for someone who’d proven just how explosively violent he could be. However, the sneer was completely in character.

Izuku barely had time to roll his eyes before the call went out to assemble in the tunnels leading to the stadium. Rapidly, the excess noise dying back down to a whisper as the boys joined up with the girls in the in the corridor leading to the main pit of the stadium. The light shining in from the exit only made the darkness darker, and the contrast made any attempt to see out into the main body of the stadium pointless.

The students could certainly hear though, and oh, what noise it was. Thousands of voices, of clapping hands, of moving bodies. Thousands of cheers, shouts, jeers, cries, roars and more. Every possible noise a human could make combined and amplified by the design of the stadium and the speakers dotted around the perimeter. A hundred microphones connected to a hundred cameras, recording their every move and broadcasting it to a nation hungry to see the class that had fought in a villain attack on the premier hero-school in the country and survived. They were here, in person or through a screen, to see what was meant to be the cream of the crop of the next generation of heroes was meant to be like. They were ready to criticise, to take these fledglings with barely a month of experience and tear them apart.

But class 1-A had faced homicidal villains and triumphed. They had faced an abomination made to go against the most powerful fighter alive and win, and yet, of this superweapon nothing remained but ash and memories. They had faced the death of their dreams on the first day, and the death that stalked life a week in. Twenty teens with more experience than they should have had at that point in their training would not be cowed by mere cameras and bitter civilians.

They were to be presented to the world? Well then let the world be reassured that the future is in safe hands.

As the timer hit zero and the time came, the light in the top corner of the tunnel went green and, with a deep breath, the first of class 1-A strode out into the light, into the sight of cheering crowds and jubilant support, of judging heroes and ravenous press. They strode out onto the stage of the world of heroics.

And the roar of the crowd was deafening.

It was times like these where Nedzu liked to sit back, enjoy a cup of tea, and gaze out at all he had accomplished from his throne upon high. He would look out at the crowd of civilians and heroes alike, baying for his attention or the attention of the students in his care. He would look out at the vast grounds his school, kilometres and kilometres or near sovereign land administered and cared for by his own will. He would look out at the grandeur, the spectacle this event inspired, one of many moments in the year where his school would stand at the top of Japan’s mind.

And he would take a sip of his favourite tea, and he would smile, as much as his facial muscles allowed for it.

He sometimes amused himself by thinking back on what UA was when he had first ascended to his current position, decades ago. It had been a respectable school, small but well organised, churning out a stream of overall reliable heroes trained as well as could be for the times remembered as the tail end of the paradoxically named Great Relief, where crime was still rampant and violence even more so. A time without a symbol of peace, without an overwhelmingly powerful force for good to uphold the law and hopes of Japan. A time without All Might, where pro-heroes were more soldiers than saviours and villains were a mix of psychopath and revolutionary. A time where both died messily in the streets, and blood and gore clogged the drains.

Yes, he’d think back on those times, and he’d smile at all the progress that had been made. Progress attributed to human heroes and human perseverance and human will.

Nedzu has been known to read those dull history textbooks, just for the odd chuckle they can wring out from him as whatever author it is tries to spin poetry out dark times and how they were chased away by All Might and the legions of new-generation heroes. Heroes who had grown up in a time of relative peace compared to their forebears, who held themselves to different standards and followed the closest thing to a demi-god they had as a moral example.

Yes, those in power had done their best to ignore the fact that most of those heroes had been trained by Nedzu’s school, prepared by Nedzu’s programmes, and moulded at Nedzu’s directions into paragons of the better society they were trying to build.

But, that was alright with him. He’d gotten what he wanted in the end, and his small but reliable empire of clever investments and loyal alumni thrummed with the heart that was his UA; and, as long as Nedzu kept in mind the other players of this great game, it would continue to do so.

Nedzu sighed again, as his mental counter hit a minute until the first-year classes would be called out. Normally, Nedzu would be sat in his personal viewing lounge, a few dozen screens in front of him showing him the first, second, and third year Sports Festivals simultaneously, all the while his prodigious mind worked at unimaginable speeds to break down all the new data and assimilate it into himself, adjusting expectations and predictions as he watched his students perform under what were supposed to be the most stressful conditions in their school year so far.

Granted, his second years weren’t much fazed by the roaring crowds or the flashing cameras, and his third years even less so, but in their case, their physical performances mattered a lot more to the adjustments of his algorithms.

And while yes, it was true that those years typically attracted much more attention — the third year usually dominating the scores when it came to viewership — Nedzu was always most interested in the first years.

They were new, untested, full of valuable information that could not be gleaned from simple files or recordings of exercises or teacher’s reports. It a positive trove of new data for his brain to chew on and digest, something that always brought a nice dose of dopamine to his system. It helped him spot their weaknesses and their strengths, and allowed him to make small adjustments to their learning schedule that would inevitably lead to the most improvement among the most students.

His students were his empire’s greatest treasure, after all, and the new ones were always covered in so much unknown that seeing their quality was almost impossible at first glance. That was why, despite Nedzu’s own interest, the first-year festival was the one most neglected, the stands filled with unknowns, family, and those looking for a cheaper ticket.

‘Well,’ Nedzu sighed, as he sipped his tea again, ‘that is usually the case. It seems the USJ has drawn an unfortunate spotlight upon your students, Shouta-kun.’

Yes indeed, the first-year stands were rather packed this year. The number of normal viewers still fell within Nedzu’s calculations, but even he had to admit he had severely underestimated the interest of the press in his first years.

‘Hmm,’ he thought, as he finished his tea, putting down his cup and reaching for the still steaming pot of Jade tea. Yes, he could see the list of people who had registered for press badges, as well as the individuals seen on camera whose identity had thrown up by the system — a system originally intended to work as a more discrete watchdog, a second line of defence past the checkpoints, hero patrols, patrolling robots, and plainclothes police officers, against villains or terrorists attempting to use the festival as an opportunity to cause havoc —  as being known to work either directly or as freelancers for major news publications. ‘Perhaps it would be beneficial to have that public relations class this year instead of in second year. Purely for this occasion, of course. I doubt future—’

His musings were interrupted by a pop-up on screen, one that sent his currently pleasant mood spiralling.

Now, normally, Nedzu had all but the most important, hero-work related, notifications turned off during the duration of the sports festival. He reasoned that, if potential sponsors or other interesting parties were interested in entering into negotiations with UA, waiting until after the festival had concluded would be a good way to weed out those who were serious, and those that would simply waste his time. Normally, a pop-up appearing at this time would have cooled his excitement and sharpened his mind to a needlepoint of analysis and potential tactical manoeuvres that could be employed against a general threat, most likely a villain attack or a delicate situation, which would, inevitably, due to the fact that he had had to be contacted, be of immense importance and scale. Then, as he’d receive information, his plans would sharped and specify, taking in all potential data and details and turning the blade of his strategy monomolecular, before it would be sent off, inevitably resulting in whatever threat that had interrupted his fun being destroyed. Peace would be restored, as it should be.

But those type of notifications came in red, and this one was very much not red. No, this notification was the kind to make Nedzu bare his teeth, an old, inescapable part of his baseline animal brain rearing its head at the unspoken but very real threat to his territory and possessions. It would flood his system with an old ragefearbitebitebite that he hadn’t known in literal decades, that he’d worked very hard to supress. A base biological response to another, equally savage animal entering his territory. They might have had his permission, but it was begrudgingly given and his instincts knew this. So, they wanted to go for the throat. To rip and tear and bathe in the blood of these intruders that dare think themselves rulers of his domain!

On the other hand, the part of Nedzu that was much more human than he would ever admit to anyone, felt the strong urge to pull out a cigarette and indulge in one of the few vices he had that directly impacted his health, or so Recovery Girl warned. Really, he was rather sure his constitution would protect him from something as mundane as lung cancer. Quirks were such a marvellous thing.

Yes, the human part felt very tired seeing that Gold notification appear in the corner of his screen. It meant leaving his sanctuary, leaving his little slice of peace and analysis and wonderful, delicious data to sit in a room, relying only on his eyes and the oh-so-limited viewing capacity afforded by the observation-deck and the video footage released to everyday viewers to try and gather information. It would be a fun challenge, or, it would have been, had it not been for who he would be sharing the room with.

With a sigh, he reached for his phone and dialled a number, hoping that Yagi had not disappeared somewhere to chat to his successor, and had, in fact, kept his phone on him. Honestly, it was a miracle those pockets in his costume could hold anything when he was in muscle-form.

And Nedzu placed his faith as fervently as his devoutly atheistic mind was capable of in those pockets and Yagi’s ability to remember to charge, and carry, his phone.

“Yagi-kun, I am being summoned by our most esteemed guests, and I am certain that they would absolutely relish the opportunity to meet with someone like you.” He listened to the hero try and make excuses, and chuckled slightly. Really, for such an experienced professional, the man still couldn’t lie to an old teacher. He could only imagine the reaction Gran Torino would get out of the number one. He hummed, cutting off the sputtered excuses. “Do not worry too much, Yagi-kun. They know more than you think. But! If it helps ease your nerves, I am certain they will accept All Might’s personal secretary as well.”

Nedzu laughed his squeaky laugh as he left his chair and headed for the small cart he sometimes used to navigate the vast expanse of his domain. It wasn’t a nice laugh, but it would have to do. “After all, even they hold you in high enough regard to pay attention to a ‘mere’ secretary, if said secretary were to work directly for All Might.”

“Testing, Testing! 1 2 3!!” Yamada grinned as he spoke into the microphone, pretending to check the equipment as if they hadn’t prepared it beyond thoroughly the night before. It had the desired effect, and the crowd went quiet for a second, before exploding as they registered who it was that was speaking.

“Yes. YES! SWARM, MASS MEDIA! CHEER, BELOVED VIEWERS! YOU ALL KNOW WHAT YOU’RE HERE FOR, SO LET! ME! HEAR! SOME! NOOOOOIIISE!!!!!” His grin became a genuine smile as the crowd’s fervour only increased with each word, reaching a fever pitch.

Gods he loved this job.

“WE HERE AT UA ARE PROUD TO PRESENT TO YOU THE 56^TH UA SPORTS FESTIVAL, FIRST YEAR EDITION. THEY MAY BE RAW, THEY MAY BE UNPOLISHED, BUT THESE KIDS ARE THE FUTURE, AND YOU’RE ALL GETTING A FIRST GLIMPSE TODAY!!”

More cheering. He took a sip of water and decided to ignore how his supposed partner groaned next to him. Recovery Girl had worked her magic on Shouta yesterday evening before the man had been shooed off to bed like a misbehaving child, so the man was out of most of his casts, except for the one on his left arm and the one on his left leg. She hadn’t yet cleared the removal of all of his bandages however, and, as fond as Shouta was of ignoring medical professionals when it came to getting back to work, Hizashi had no doubt that old Mrs Shuzenji would put Aizawa in the hospital herself, if it meant the man would allow himself to finish healing. Something that Hizashi had no doubt even the terrifying Eraserhead knew.

Despite all that, Present Mic was gonna have fun today, and he’d dragged his friend along because… well… the man wasn’t really in a position to refuse.

“NOW, UP FIRST. YOU ALL KNOW ‘EM!! THE ONES WHO FACED VILLAINS INVADING THEIR SCHOOL WITH HEARTS OF STEEL AND ENDLESS DETERMINATION! THE ONES WHO FOUGHT THEIR WAY TO VICTORY DESPITE THE ODDS!! IT’S CLASS 1-AAAAA!!!”

Aaand he’d read that right. The kids, led by their representative and their vice-rep, the Yaoyorozu and Iida scions striding into the centre of the colosseum with all the confidence and fluid grace that both lacked in different measures.

A part of being as public a figure as Present Mic was — what with all the branding and marketing and public announcements — was developing the ability to walk into a room and immediately get a feel of what power dynamics were at play between individuals, or at least the perceived dynamics.

And class 1-A was a curious case.

It was an interesting choice really, having those two as representatives. It would give people ideas if they saw two rather recognisable heroics-related bloodlines in the leader positions of their class. The only way it could have been more… interesting, in a way, were if the Todoroki heir was there as well.

But, Yamada doubted they were old enough to play politics like that at their age. Sure, the class was a rather smart bunch (a few of them were already fluent in English, to his delight, and he’d had to start separating the class into levels, assigning different work and such, to cope) but power plays and leadership through family lines seemed… shallow for this group.

‘Oops! Look at me go. I guess Nedzu and those advertiser meetings have been getting to me more than I expected. CLEAR YOUR MIND!! INNOCENT THOUGHTS!!!!!’

Ahh, well. Such thoughts would only ruin his fun, and he had a bunch of others to introduce too!

“UP NEXT! THEY MAY NOT HAVE HAD AS MUCH TIME IN THE SUN AS THEIR COUNTERPARTS, BUT THAT JUST MEANS THAT THEY’RE ONES TO WATCH WITH EYES WIDE OPEN!! CLASS 1-B!!!!” He winced as he turned off the mic, watching Kan’s class make their way onto the field. He could nearly feel the glare and the silent accusation of favouritism his co-host was sending him, and he could already hear Kan’s whining about the comparatively lacklustre presentation class 1-B had gotten, but cut him some slack! Normally he didn’t have to introduce a class that the nation was already familiar with, because, normally, said class wouldn’t be attacked by villains in their first week.

And he felt it was a smart move, to play to that familiarity, because the nation would have high expectations of those heroes in training they’d heard so much about, and such expectations deserved an equally cool intro.

“NEXT ARE THE GENERAL EDUCATION CLASSES! NOW, THEY MIGHT NOT BE HERO COURSE NOW, BUT, AS WE ALL KNOW, GEN ED IS FROM WHERE THE DARKEST HORSES RIDE! GIVE IT UP FOR CLASSES 1 C D AND E!!!”

Short and sweet, and he could tell the general education kids were happy enough with their introduction. He smiled at the memory of a brooding gen ed student, with wild black hair and endless determination, who’d steam-rolled his way into the hero course with violent martial arts and a quirk that no one understood. Ooooh yeah, Present Mic remembered how gen ed would hide those who would have been hero course without question, had the entrance exam been anything but robots.

“WALKING, ROLLING, CRAWLING, AND GLIDING INTO OUR ARENA WE HAVE THE EVER RESOURCEFUL, EVER SURPRISING, EVER EXCITING GADGETS AND GIZMOS OF CLASSES F G AND H OF THE SUPPORT COURSE!!”

Eh, Higari would probably say something about it being reductive, but Power Loader was currently helping supervise the third years right about now, so he’d probably save that sort of scolding for the post Festival Staff briefing.

“AAAAAN FINALLY, THEY MAY BE FEW, BUT THAT’S BECAUSE THE REST ARE TOO BUSY RUNNING THE FOOD STANDS AND MAKING ALL THE MONEY!! DON’T EVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF A MIND AIMED AT BUSINESS, IT’S THE MANAGEMENT DEPARTMENT’S CLASSES I J AND K!!!!”

Present Mic sighed as the last of the classes arrived on the field. It was true, there were always very few of the Management course who bothered with the actual sports side of the festival, seeing it more as an opportunity to learn more about their fellow students… and yes, make some money on the stands while they were at it. All UA approved, might he add.

He smiled as the last of the stragglers made it to the field. “NOW GIVE IT UP FOR TODAY’S BRAVE COMPETITORS, WHO HAVE STEPPED FORWARD IN FRONT OF US ALL TO SHOW US THEIR BEST!! REALLY LET ‘EM HEAR YOUR SUPPORT Y’ALL!!!!!”

He leaned back into his seat, basking in the sound of the crowd enthusiasm. Yes. He really loved this part of his job. A part of him wished he had brought binoculars, or at least a little something so that he could watch the looks on the kids’ faces as the crowd went wild just for them. He always looked at the pictures he could find afterwards, and it always sent him into a giggling fit when he spotted those who just… didn’t know how to react.

It was always adorable.

Yamada closed his eyes for a second to think. ‘Hmm… Next is the speech. Then the wheel spin, then the first event.’ He nodded, as if to confirm it to himself, before opening his eyes. ‘Alright, this is long enough. Let’s get this show on the road!’

He was about to speak into the mic, to calm the crowds down and, hopefully, get a decent speech from their first-year candidate, which, now that he thought about it, may be a problem, when he heard a knock at their booth door. He looked over at Aizawa, but the man seemed to have decided that the best way to enjoy the most anticipated Japanese sporting event of the year was best enjoyed unconscious. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like beneath the layers of bandages.

So, in conclusion, the man would be of no help.

Yamada sighed, and turned around to face the door. “Come in!”

The door opened slightly, and a young, nervous face peered in through the gap. Hizashi didn’t recognise him, and the kid wasn’t wearing the standard school sports uniform. Normally, after an event like the USJ, these two facts would have sent Present Mic directly into combat mode, but Yamada had the time to recognise the badge hanging around the kid’s neck before he blasted the poor boy into the wall on reflex.

The kid was a hired hand, part of a company that UA had been using for years whenever it needed supplementary personnel for events like this. The screening process Nedzu had devised for each individual employed by the company that ended up being permitted on campus had been extensive and very involved on the part of the staff — particularly Power Loader, but then he was used to their boss’ borderline illegal requests, and Yamada knew there was at least two clauses in Higari’s employment contract that protected him from the possible repercussions of the Rat God’s shenanigans.

Hizashi smiled at the kid. “Hey listener! What’s up?”

The kid gulped, clearly a bit awestruck. Hizashi withheld the urge to chuckle. It was always a nice feeling, meeting fans. “U-Uhm… I-I’ve been given a note to give to you. Apparently th-there are some changes that need to be made?” It sounded like a question, which, to Hizashi, it was.

That nice feeling began to dry up.

“Changes?” He asked, trying to sound more confused than annoyed. It wasn’t this guy’s fault. “What kinda changes?”

“I-I don’t know sir. I was just told to give you this.” The kid handed him a note, folded at least four times. With a raised eyebrow, Hizashi took the note and sat back in his chair. He shared a look with Shouta, before unfolding the paper and reading the ‘instructions’ he’d just been sent.

And scowled as he nearly tore it two.

He turned to glare at the helper, maybe even raise his voice if he couldn’t get himself under control fast enough to reign in his flaring temper, but the kid had already disappeared through the door when the room’s attention to slip off of him and onto the note. If he wasn’t so pissed, he’d be impressed by the kid’s ability to escape a room unseen by two heroes.

Well, assuming Eraserhead hadn’t spotted the kid leaving and just decided that there was no reason to keep him here.

Speaking of, the usually apathetic teacher gave Hizashi as confused a look as was possible through a layer of bandages. It must have been something serious to spark such an extreme reaction in his usually peppy friend. Present Mic obliged, and wordlessly handed the note to Aizawa’s mostly healed hand.

If Present Mic had scowled, Eraserhead nearly full-on snarled as he read the words on the paper, and the signature that came with it. If there was something all teachers and staff had in common, beyond their near existential fear of Nedzu and his powers, it was their absolute loyalty to their boss’ institution, its values, and the kids it cultivated.

This most often lead to a significantly higher level of protectiveness from UA’s teachers towards their wards than in other hero schools, and had, at times, resulted in some students living with the staff when their home and familial situations had been revealed to be… less than desirable. One of the third-year teachers, Banken, and his wife had even adopted one of the students when they were in first year, but that had had external circumstances influencing the situation, and a previous personal relationship between the couple and the student's parents which had accelerated the result. Nedzu had certainly worked his own brand of magic to ensure the best possible outcome, but Mic was of the opinion that ignorance was bliss in this case.

All of this meant that any attempt by outsiders to try and sway the internal workings inevitably met with fierce resistance, if not outright hostility, by the staff at all levels. Trying to mess with their students, the future of a society they had been entrusted with educating and preparing, was a sure-fire way to end up in deep, deep shit.

So, when Eraserhead and Present Mic read the instructions they had been sent, and read the signature that marked the bottom of the note, they couldn’t help but feel that violent upsurge of protective rage. This couldn’t be allowed.

However, Nedzu was only the King of his own kingdom and, despite its influence, UA's sphere was tiny even inside of a country the size of Japan.

Getting to where he had also left a small trail of favours here and there, no doubt, and while Hizashi will never begrudge his boss’ methods when it came to being recognised as a person, he would sometimes wish that it didn’t come back to bite them in the ass.

A quick message to their boss, with an equally rapid confirmation of the orders they’d been sent, confirmed this. It did help settle the rage in their gut, but that just meant they were left with a cold, smoggy feeling, aimed vaguely at an enemy too vast to hate with any direct emotion. It would be like hating winter for being cold, or the earth for an earthquake.

In the end, with a mutual glance, they buried their feelings on the matter, Present Mic with a clearing of the throat and the flicking of the on switch of the mic, and Eraserhead quite literally under all of his bandages.

With the switch, Present Mic brought forth his persona and, as Eraserhead contacted Midnight through the teachers’ personal communication network, he started talking.

“WELL!! I’M GLAD WE COULD GIVE THEM ALL SUCH A WARM WELCOME! AND NOW, TO TRULY START US OFF, WE SHALL HEAR THE PLEDGE FROM THE STUDENT REPRESENTATIVE!!” The name felt like mucus in his mouth. He didn’t hold any personal animosity towards the kid — Hizashi had no doubt the boy either wasn’t aware, or wasn’t in control of the forces directing events in a rather transparent attempt to shine a spotlight on him — but what he felt was more directed towards the violation of UA’s operational procedure, no matter what OK his boss had given.

Present Mic was still gonna be keeping an extra eye on the little listener from now on, though.

“PLEASE WELCOME TO THE STAGE, THE FIRST YEAR STUDENT REPRESENTATIVE: BAKUGOU KATSUKI!!!!!!”

Izuku had not been happy when he had been told, but he had been ready! He had known that, normally, whoever placed first in the practical entrance exam would deliver the pledge at the start of the Sports Festival, because, despite his introversion, he did not live under a rock.

He had watched this event on TV since he was a toddler, practically since he began to understand the concept of heroes and villains. He had watched it with his parents together, when there were three of them. He had watched it with Kacchan his friends, before they had abandoned him for being lesser. Then, he had watched it alone, after his and his father’s world had been torn to shreds, and they had taken time to grieve in their own way.

He had watched it with Maya three times. He had delighted in how her excited commentary grew faster and faster, increasing in energy until the closing ceremony when she’d inevitably crash and end up sleeping at his place.

They were nice memories.

So, despite the fact that he’d rather eat glass than stand in front of a crowd of strangers and make a speech, despite the fact that even making the speech would be… problematic for him, he had it planned. He would make his speech in sign language, something improvised and off the cuff, letting Midnight or whatever programme the principal no doubt had running for this exact situation translate for him to the crowd.

It might be petty, especially since his new mask could allow for a lot more speaking time before running low on battery, but he wanted to save that feature for later, because, if the stars aligned, he would have a lot to say.

But then Present Mic announced the representative and, amid a crowd of confused murmurings, Izuku froze.

‘What?’ He thought, mind racing. ‘Him? Why him?! I came first?! Why isn’t it ME?!’

He stared as Bakugou walked to the front of the crowd, seemingly unsurprised by the announcement. Hands in pockets, chin raised high, chest out. The perfect picture of a hero to be, full of confidence and surety. All except for his face, which was carefully blank, with only a hint of his signature angry frown colouring his features.

‘Is that why?!’ His thoughts were turmoil, a rushing raging current of confusion, with rage slowly starting to boil away underneath. ‘Marketability?! Is that why UA gave it to him?! A marketable face and a normal, powerful emitter quirk, and he gets to be the rep, despite the fact that I BEAT HIM!! ME!!!’

So buried in his feelings was he, that he didn’t notice Uraraka sidle up to him until she spoke.

“Hey,” she whispered, “isn’t that supposed to be you? It’s normally whoever came first in the practical that does the speech, right? Or did that change?”

Izuku said nothing, the tight clenching of his fists by his side the only reply she’d get. The only reply he’d be able to give beneath the simmering anger at discovering yet another school playing favourites despite their claims of equal treatment.

How could he have been so stupid. Organisations looked out for their own interests first, and Bakugou had been chosen as the face of the first years, a year already slingshot to prominence by the audacity of a few villains with delusions of iconoclasm.

What was it his uncle said? “All mistakes were a lesson, a lesson you gotta make sure you learn only once.” Well, he would remember this lesson.

Back on the stand, Bakugou finally reached the microphone, and stood there as Midnight stepped aside, ceding him the spotlight. Here he stood, the chance to shape the perception the public would have of him for years to come being placed in hands. The chance the shape the way the public perceived his entire generation of hero trainees, despite the fact that most of the students he was representing weren’t in the hero course.

Now, what would he do with it?

Bakugou stood there, above the crowd of students, staring into the face of the nation they would learn to protect. He stood with the casual irreverence of the arrogant, but the perfect posture of the one with the skill to back it up, staring straight into the eyes of a hundred cameras and a hundred thousand watchers.

With a crimson gaze burning with ambition and an absolute certainty in his own future, Bakugou surveyed the people in the stadium, the crowds of civilian and heroes coming to see what these new faces were made of.

Then, he seemingly made up his mind and, leaning into the mic, he spoke, his eyes unwavering.

“We stand here today, the first of a new generation, as an example of what the best of the future will be. We are unproven, fresh, and I know that you don’t yet know what to think of us. So here is my pledge:

I pledge, that by the end of this Festival, you will know why we are the year the watch. Management, Gen Ed, Support, Hero course, doesn’t matter. Know that you stand in the presence of the group that’ll end up at the top.”

Izuku blinked, as did several other students in 1-A. This was… weird. That Bakugou could be this… encouraging? Was he abrasive? Yes. Somehow brash and calculating at the same time? Yes. Hyper-competent in nearly every field he put his mind to? Yes.

But encouraging? Bakugou?

This was weird, and something about it sent a shiver up Izuku’s spine. It was like watching something with two arms, two legs, two eyes, one nose, and all the features that made a person a person, but knowing deep, deep in the reptilian corner of the brain that what they were seeing wasn’t a person. It was… Izuku struggled to find a word, but the only thing that came to mind was ‘artificial’. Yeah, he and Bakugou hadn’t seen each other in years, but Izuku remembered the first day during Aizawa’s quirk assessment test. That had been the real, honest Bakugou.

This? This… farce? A mockery of the thing Izuku remembered?

It was so fake Izuku couldn’t even bring up a smidgen of his usual hate.

Only confusion?

That speech… it wasn’t Bakugou, with all his confidence and brashness. It was still the guy who’d fight the world for his ambitions, but it was... distorted. Where was the guy who insulted the swarm of students outside their classroom? Where was the guy who’d blown through every test, exercise, and villain their first few weeks of UA had thrown at them?

Where was all the fire and fury.

Evidently, Izuku wasn’t the only one disturbed by whatever was going on here. He could see Kirishima and Mina whispering to each other, the unsubtle-subtle glances all the members of 1-A kept shooting each other, the looks of disbelief on the faces of the students who had been there and had the pleasure of encountering Bakugou in his more natural habitat.

‘This whole thing… that whole speech… it was almost like…’

“And to all the other students,” Bakugou turned around, piercing each and every student with his still burning gaze, “I challenge you all. I’m aiming to be the one standing at the top at the end of this thing.” The grin that broke across his face was bloodthirsty grin was bloodthirsty, something darkly amused and much more natural than whatever had been there before. Yet it was stilted, a mere caricature of what should be.

“Go ahead and give me all you’ve got. Fight your hardest. Make it interesting for me. And make sure we all end today with no regrets.”

That got the attention of the students. Shouts and challenges rang out as a fire was lit in the souls of even the most apathetic. Izuku only narrowed his eyes as Bakugou’s grin got wider.

“UA’s motto means to go further beyond what even you thought you were capable of. So prove it! Prove why you’re here! Prove that they aren’t empty words to you, ‘cos they sure as hell ain’t to me!” His fist shot into the air, his back still to the audience, facing the students. It was the right hand. How symbolic.

His voice was a roar now. False fury and real challenge mixed in with a fervour that made the difference obsolete. The other classes responded, screaming their own declarations lost to the mass of voices. Most of 1-A remained silent, their own confusion lost the heat of moment.

Izuku simply stared, trying to find the right words to describe the feeling he had.

“’Cos by the end of today, everyone will know that WE ARE HERE!! PLUS ULTRA!!!” And with the final scream of the most famous school in Japan’s motto, Izuku finally found the words.

As the roar of the crowd rang through the stadium, as students pumped each other up or yelled along with the crowd, as Bakugou handed the microphone back to a stunned Midnight and made his way back down the steps to his group of friends, all eager to congratulate him on his speech, Izuku saw.

He saw the twist of lips pull into a nearly snarl, saw the brief flash of disgust and anger before it blew away like dust in the wind. He finally saw the tension in that straight back and the curled fists in the pockets.

He saw the volcanic fury barely hidden under near perfect control.

‘It’s almost like… like someone else is standing there, reading a script they didn't write.’

In a room overlooking the arena of the Sports Festival, with large screens on either side of the one-way viewing window, a large party of people stepped through the door.

The room, while discrete and out of the way, was still ornate enough to convey its own importance. In the corner sat a private bar, stocked full with all that the most esteemed of guests could want, though the spot where the bartender would usually stand was empty. Nedzu understood that, if his guests wanted anything, their entourage would be competent to make sure that desire was met with utmost efficiency.

The leader of the party was Nedzu, and he stood to the side after walking through the door, his polite smile in what Aizawa would no doubt call his ‘diplomatically polite mode’.

“Come everyone, I am sure you are tired from your journey here.” That was a lie, Nedzu knew their method of travel, and he knew they would suffer no such paltry effects as exhaustion from it. Nausea for first time travellers, perhaps, but not exhaustion. Still, it was polite to be a considerate host. “Please, find anywhere comfortable, though I doubt that will be a challenge in here.” He chuckled at his own small joke, though only a few let out light laughs or smiles in response. He made sure to memorise their faces. “Please, enjoy a drink or some food curtesy of UA. If there is anything you wish for that is not in this room, please let me know, and I will try my best to accommodate you.”

One of the servants detached from the party, going behind the bar and examining the contents. Nedzu was pleased to see a small hum and a nod of approval as their green-haired bartender stood and took her place with veteran efficiency. Some of the party who were of age approached and placed their orders, the bartender taking no more than a few seconds between each customer. For a moment, as the satisfied bunch returned to finding their seats in the rather ornate viewing room, Nedzu wondered at the quirk of the bartender, but dismissed the thought. With this group, any member was as liable to have a small scale, harmless quirk, as they were to have something capable of levelling city blocks and, while some were overt about what end of the spectrum they stood, Nedzu was not so foolish as to assume anything.

Especially when only he and Snipe stood in the room to represent his own faction, though calling it a faction in present company might be bad taste. His own party, perhaps? His establishment? Institution? Bah, what did it matter. They were all nominally on the same side.

Though, there was a reason he had brought Snipe with him, and not Aizawa. And it wasn’t solely due to the man’s injuries.

He shelved those thoughts as the last member of the party came in and shut the door, going to stand on the opposite side of the room’s only obvious exit as site, both men now acting as impromptu guards at the door. The man seemed almost a mirror to Snipe, his slim, black uniform trimmed with violet bringing to mind an officer’s uniform, if more streamlined and flexible. On the left side, over the heart, sat the golden chrysanthemum that was this group’s crest. It was a rather clashing colour set, made particularly ominous by the heavy-duty black mask that covered the man’s (and he was only partly guessing here) head, leaving only white slits where his eyes were, like an old pre-dark-age comic book.

A rather strange individual, though the man seemed to pay Nedzu’s scrutiny no mind. Indeed, he seemed to pay no mind to anyone in the room, staring at the screens displaying the crowds of students standing around as Midnight spun the wheel of fortuned that would decide the game. Of course, the game had been selected weeks ago, seeing as Cementoss and Power Loader, despite their supreme competencies in their individual fields, were sadly not omnipotent, and time was needed to construct and plan out the stages the games would take place on.

But who was Nedzu to say no to a little bit of showmanship. It got the crowd’s tension soaring in either case.

“Nedzu, is my comrade so captivating that you would neglect to greet me?” The tone that made itself known in Nedzu’s ears was friendly and boisterous, and Nedzu placed a quirked smile as he turned around, something between bashful and teasing, on his face. It still stretched his features into something uncanny, but Nedzu had found that humans still reacted more positively when compared to some of his more bloodthirsty smiles.

“Of course not, Guardsman Ra! I was merely curious. It is rare to discover a new face among the Imperial Household, and I take every opportunity given to me!”

The man chuckled as he came to stand in front of the chimera. The blond man was tall, and Nedzu appreciated that the man had chosen a distance close enough to talk to, yet far enough away that he didn’t have the crane his neck up and the guardsman wasn’t looking down at him. It was a rather polite consideration, one Nedzu had come to expect from the man. Then he saw the drink being nursed in one of the man’s hands, and quirked an eyebrow — well, as much as his facial muscles would allow. “And are you drinking on duty? For shame, Guardsman. What would the public think?”

The man quirked an eyebrow in turn, a mirthful grin still lighting up his face. “Are you trying to tell me that the first thing on your mind whenever some event goes on just that bit too long isn’t whatever the first excuse you can think of to leave this box and have a smoke?”

Nedzu chuckled a bit at that. “Touché. I do suppose we all need our own little sins now and again.”

The man nodded, sipping his drink. “Yeah, or we’d all go mad. Anyway, this stuff won’t do anything to me. Too weak. Nothing like what we have back home.” He took a larger, longer sip. “And please, just Ra, or Kishikari, if you’re comfortable being that informal. ‘Guardsman’ is for events and foreign dignitaries. I won’t force our gracious host to engage in such frivolous formalities today.”

Nedzu smiled, and made his own way to the bar, hopping up on the stool as Ra followed behind him. The principal ordered a Gin and Tonic, and the Guardsman ordered another Rum and Coke, ignoring the look the bartender shot him as Ra leaned his back against the bar. The man and the chimera grabbed their drinks at the same time, before turning around to observe the crowd of students make their way to the entrance to the first challenge.

During this time, Nedzu took the time to observe the man next to him out of the corner of his eye, trying his best to bring up all of the limited amount of information he had on Guardsman Ra.

And what he had reinforced his caution.

Nedzu always appreciated curtesy and good manners from those who were in a position to treat him poorly and get away with it, but the man next to him was dangerous. Dangerous with a myriad different avenue of attack. Dangerous, however, in one particular way that Nedzu always found the most tedious to defend against. Not impossible, but tedious.

Nedzu decided to switch targets. “An interesting crowd you’re accompanying today. I do believe I can spot a few twelfth and fifteenth princes and princesses in the mix. I’m honoured that, despite recent events, you have such faith in my institution’s security capabilities as to attend in person. Even with your own presence here, the coming times are shaping up to be rather interesting.”

Ra chuckled as he leaned back. “Indeed. They were quite insistent that they’d attend in person. Apparently, some of them are rather big fans of this event of yours.” He raised his glass to Nedzu. “Kudos, by the way. I do believe this year’s viewership will eclipse that of the last few years. There’s nothing like a dangerous incident to rile up the public’s imagination, ey?” Ra took a sip, a much more serious look growing on his tanned face. “Interesting times… I do believe there is an ancient curse involving interesting times, though I do not remember where it originated from.”

Nedzu hummed. “I do believe it is popularly attributed as a Chinese curse, however any connections it may have to the country… dubious. The nearest expression that may exist more closely translates as ‘Better to be a dog in times of tranquillity, than a human in times of chaos’. Perhaps a comment on the relative simplicity of the lives of animals, or of the animal perception of the world, when compared to that of humanity?”

The Guardsman chuckled. “A rather outdated idea, I believe.”

The Principal replied with his own high-pitched laugh. “Quite.”

The two stood at the bar, gazing over the crowd in the room, and Nedzu decides to engage in a second round of his fourth favourite hobby: human watching.

It was right behind puzzle-solving and planning to take over the world (or running UA, as it was colloquially referred to). The first-place position had, so far, been left empty. Nedzu liked to keep his options open, and the future no doubt held plenty of wonders for him to choose from.

In any case, human watching was rather interesting, and he knew that a sizeable part of the human population enjoyed the sport as well, though the people on the message-boards and blogs that he interacted with seemed to prefer to refer to it as ‘people’ watching. He guessed it was less dehumanizing for the subjects that way.

Not that that particularly mattered to Nedzu, but politeness and acquiescing to the particularities of others when it did not impede his own plans had a habit of landing him in the good graces of others, which was always useful.

So, he watched, and learned.

He watched the adults, all royals of the extended family by marriage or by birth, as they chatted between themselves. He paid attention to who interacted with who, who scorned who, who tried to impress who. He watched as a hierarchy formed out of seemingly nothing between the guests within minutes of everyone finding their seats, with those further up the line of succession mostly finding themselves closer to the front of the room, near the viewing window and the spectacle below, while those further down finding themselves relegated to wherever they find a seat, or even standing if none were available.

He noticed how the largest, most ornate and comfiest seat in the centre was left open, as were the smaller but no less ornate seats on the right and left. He noticed the staff and servants lining the walls, staring into nothing with a professional blankness on their face, which would always change depending on which guest called for assistance or attention.

The level of professionalism was not a surprise.

What was a surprise, though a minor one and certainly not unpleasant, were those left completely out of the quiet battle for dominance between family members. The children, numbering seven, with that Nedzu estimated ran from five to ten, ran around the room, playing games of their own design to entertain themselves before the games began. Ignorant of whatever powerplays were occurring nominally for their future benefit, they only took joy in the present, in whatever they could do or see or hear that would entertain them.

The innocence of youth on full display in a nest of imperial snakes.

It was one of the reasons Nedzu found humans to be at their best in their youngest stages. Cruelty and callousness were taught behaviours, and these children had not yet been corrupted by their surroundings. Oh, no doubt most would be as time went on — it was an ancient evolutionary advantage to mirror or learn from the behaviour and actions of the parents, though humans had ingeniously streamlined the process through the educational system, but that was something else — but, for now, they could enjoy the world as it should be. Fun and simple.

(It should perhaps be noted that the second reason Nedzu preferred children was that they were less likely to tower over him, which made eye contact during conversations a much-needed reprieve for his neck muscles. Funnily enough, this led to the third reason that a child’s curiosity was as boundless as his own, and, despite the difference in the subjects that could capture eithers’ attention, Nedzu would always appreciate an inquisitive mind. For it was one he could nurture and mould, and that would always bring promises of greatness. It was just unfortunate that promise died out much too often when the child reached its teens.)

Nedzu moved his attention from the polite bickering of life-long politicians to the statue positioned besides the door. Yes, there was the third group excluded, perhaps by their own design, from the machinations of the royal audience. Ra and the Guardsman standing near the only exit seemed to exist above the rest, somehow. Once and a while, someone would look at them, but they would just as quickly look away. Noticeably, Ra was the subject of many more ‘subtle’ glances than his compatriot, as the gaze of the room seemed to both slide off and purposely avoid the black-clad one standing on the other side of the door to Snipe, who seemed rather uncomfortable with his fellow guard.

A silent, motionless, living puzzle that gave away nothing. The uniform and the overall body-shape were androgynous enough to render any guesses in that area completely useless. The lack of any reaction to the happenings in the room did point to a complete disinterest in the hierarchy or politics of the family, or their position in it, but that in itself was a rather useless bit of information, as, despite his cheerful smile and personably acts, Nedzu knew Ra held just as much interest.

Truly an informational void.

‘How fascinating…’

It is as Nedzu is about to start talking with the more communicative Guardsman, perhaps hoping to swindle some information out of Ra over a delightful game of chess, when a knock is heard at the door. Most of the party doesn’t hear it, the already quiet sound completely drowned out by the conversations occurring, but Nedzu has always had better senses than the average person.

The same could be said for Ra and his comrade, it seems, as the personable Guardsman turns his head just in time for the less personable Guardsman to check who is outside, opening the door just enough for Nedzu to spot the familiar tall and skinny frame of the newest teacher at UA.

“Yagi!” He cries, simultaneously relieved and excited. Oh, this will provide a wealth of opportunities for his database. He has always wondered about the limits of the Imperial information network. This interaction will at least give him some ideas.

The mystery Guardsman observes Yagi as the towering living scarecrow wearing what could generously be called the ugliest suit of all time nervously scuttles into the room in the same manner that the Number One Hero very much doesn’t, exchanging a brief nod with Snipe before the masked hero returns to his position. Yagi, in turn, observes the two uniformed men, and the crowd of people ignoring him out of pure ignorance. “You called, Nedzu-san?”

“Of course! I wanted to introduce you to our most esteemed guests! I hope I haven’t pulled you away from anything important?” It’s asked with a subtle hint at a question, but its mostly for show. There was only one thing that would truly preoccupy Toshinori before the beginning of the festival, and—

“Oh, no, not at all sir. One of the students was just particularly nervous, so I decided to lend a hand. Give them some encouraging words, as it were. I think it helped, though I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Aaah, yes. ‘A student’. How subtle, Toshinori.

At this point, the game was pretty much over. It had taken barely a week of off-handed observation, of the barest of glances at the teachers’ reports for anything beyond life or school-threatening. Truly, Nedzu had had to limit himself, because if he had truly exerted his considerable information-gathering potential, it would have been much less fun.

Yagi had been offering some words of support to his successor, and Nedzu knew who it was. An interesting choice, but understandable. The list of candidates had not been very long because, knowing All Might, power was very-much secondary to character, and despite his high opinion of the students who ended up at his own school, Nedzu could admit that few could meet All Might’s high moral standards.

But, Nedzu had to admit, All Might had chosen well.

So, Nedzu smiles politely as All Might comes to the bar and orders a glass of water, politely ignoring the concerned look the bartender sends him. Ra observes the newcomer as he takes his own drink, though Nedzu makes sure to watch the man’s reaction.

In those gold-green eyes, Nedzu sees surprise, but struggles to discern his origin. He sees calculations redone and scripts rewritten. He sees interactions planned and results desired.

What Nedzu does know is that the Guardsman is surprised by Yagi’s appearance, but not Yagi himself. There is no dismissal in that gaze, no polite mask hiding disinterest. Instead, it is the personable mask one wears when trying to make a good impression that takes its place.

Ra knows who Yagi is, but Nedzu is not yet sure if he knows who Yagi is.

How interesting.

As if the moment of quiet were a type of invitation, a slim, smaller man with glasses and yellow-red hair approaches Guardsman Ra with a serious look on his face, a look that seems opposed by the way the larger man’s face quirks with something approaching a true smile.

The smaller man stops near Ra and turns to Nedzu, offering a short bow. “Pardon the intrusion, sir, but unfortunately I must request Guardsman Ra’s presence. There are some matters that need to be attended to.”

Nedzu waves, but notes the way Ra reacts to the arrivals formality by pretending to sip the last of his drink. “Of course, of course. I’m sure there are matters that need his attention. There are some things I must discuss with my own employee too, so I completely understand.”

Ra takes the moment to laugh, swinging his arm around the shoulder of the comparatively much smaller man in a gesture so out of what his character had been during the interaction it can only be designed to irritate the possible secretary. “Yeah, sorry Nedzu, duty calls. I almost forgot because of how enjoyable our reunion was, but duty always calls. Thankfully Hinode’s here to keep me focussed.” He puts his hand around his mouth, continuing in a stage whisper. It only seems to annoy the poor assistant more. “Honestly, I think the guy was assigned to me just to keep me out of trouble.”

As quickly as he leaned in to whisper, he straightens up, dutifully ignoring the daggers Hinode glares at him as he continues, this time more boisterously. “Well gentlemen, there are things I must attend. Nedzu, it’s been a pleasure, and you sir,” he turns to address the so far quiet Yagi, who looks surprised by the attention. Nedzu notices the slight sharpening of Ra’s smile. “I hope we can be properly introduced soon. You look like an interesting guy, and I’m sure you have plenty of equally interesting stories to tell.”

The sharp smile vanishes, replaced by one worthy of All Might, fit for cameras and interviews and dealing with annoying politicians as Hinode pulls Ra from the conversation, the larger man allowing the smaller the curtesy of no resistance, seemingly amused by the red-haired man’s scolding.

As one tall blond man leaves, the other approaches, and Nedzu eyes the empty glass Ra left behind on the bar counter, currently sitting ignored while the bartender deals with some of the other attendees demanding her attention. Yagi slides into the seat besides Nedzu, placing his half full glass of water down in front of him and turning slightly to face his boss.

“So… who was that?”

“That was Imperial Guardsman Ra of the Imperial Household. Holder of over a dozen secret titles from quite a few equally secret campaigns. A rather dangerous force to be reckoned with, who has been in the employ of our Most Heavenly Sovereign, the Emperor of Japan, for as long as he has had a public presence.” Nedzu drained the last of his drink under the increasingly concerned watch of the Number One Hero’s shrunken form. Nedzu clicked his tongue as he rested the glass on the bar in front of him. “More importantly, he has the honour of acting as the official face of the Imperial Household when His Majesty or the Crown Prince are unavailable. He carries with him the Emperor’s words and holds the Emperor’s authority when deployed in an official capacity.”

The chimera turned to his newest employee, a smile masking whatever emotion boiled within those void black animal eyes. It was the smile of prey baring teeth, and it sent a shiver down Yagi’s spine. “Such as at an event like this one, despite it’s presentation as a mere Sports Festival.”

‘There is nothing ‘mere’ about this Festival,’ Yagi thinks. He knows the stands are packed with tens of thousands of people, thousands of heroes, with uncountable numbers watching through their screens. A million people minimum with a vested interest in the UA Sports Festival. Those kinds of numbers inevitably include people with significant power. ‘One of the most important televised events in Japan, and Nedzu calls it ‘mere’?’ He straightens as much as he can without irritating his injury.

Nedzu’s smile sharpens even more, if that were possible. “Simply put, Guardsman Ra is the true representative of the Imperial Household visiting our institution this day! Isn’t that incredible?”

Yagi gulps, and eyes the crowd supposedly made up of people with blood ties, no matter how tenuous, to the Royal Family. Nedzu catches his question before it is asked, and sighs. “Camouflage, though decoration may be more appropriate. If everyone is watching the Royals, who will watch the Guards? No doubt most of them genuinely wanted to come and observe, but they don’t hold any real influence, despite what some of them probably tell themselves.”

It leaves a nasty taste in his mouth, the idea of human camouflage, but, then again, that’s why All Might has never been involved in politics. He has never shaken a candidate’s hand, he has no private meetings with the Prime Minister for anything beyond matters of National Security, and he attends no fundraisers. Hell, he doesn’t even autograph merchandise for them anymore, since that one woman wrote an article about him signing a poster that was apparently meant for someone running for mayor nearly a decade ago.

It was all so exhausting. So much unnecessary pomp and fluff. So much time wasted when he could spend it helping people.

So, despite the supposed good he could do or the power he himself could no doubt attain, he’d desisted, leaving politics and power games to those who enjoyed those types of things.

Like Nedzu did, unsurprisingly.

“In any case, be mindful of what you say and do around him, or anyone who works for him,” Nedzu said, jumping down from his seat and adjusting his small tie. It was blood red, and went surprisingly well with his white fur and the black suit the chimera had decided on today. His boss smiled up at him, as Yagi remained seated. “Ah, well. I know I won’t need to worry about you. You know how to handle events like these after all! Even if it had been a few years…”

Yagi shivered at the memories of Hero galas and all those entailed. He gave his boss a flat look. “I’m not that out of practice.”

Chittering laughter was the reply he received as Nedzu began to walk away. No doubt planning to mingle with the rest of the camouflage group, despite his earlier dismissal of them. Yagi would trust Nedzu had his reasons. “I have no doubt, my friend. In any case, have some fun! Enjoy yourself while you have the time! These are the best seats in the house after all!”

Then he stopped, and turned around. There was something unreadable in his dark eyes and his blank stare as he gazed first at the empty glass Ra had left behind, then at Yagi. “I know it isn’t what you usually have, but do try what Ra ordered. I’ve checked your doctor’s notes, and it did say you were able to consume carbonated beverages. Plus, it’s an open bar! The tab will be on me. I promise not to take it out of your salary!” He laughed. “A soft drink or two wouldn’t affect you in any significant manner, and I have no doubt it would be more interesting that drinking water all day.” The smartest creature on the planet smiled something unknowable as Yagi looked at the abandoned glass, first with confusion, then realisation.

“A bit of sugar might even help you stay awake and energised throughout today! I swear, seeing our students try so hard even manages to make me work up a sweat! It is rather inspiring!”

Toshinori watched as his boss turned and waddled off to mingle with the royals, before returning to his own drink. He’d mingle as much as he had to, but he was pretty sure he could, despite his rather imposing height, hide himself in the wings of the room and enjoy the events. He needed to observes his students after all, maybe he would even have notes on their performances to help supplement his future lessons.

Of course, he’d be watching one student in particular, but no one else needed to know that.

Well, no one outside of Nedzu and his successor’s parents, because when Toshinori had tried to encourage a much more comprehensive level of secrecy, his personal student had rather viciously torn apart his every argument until he had no choice but to acquiesce and allow the reveal of potentially national-level secrets to two uninvolved civilians.

His attempt, and his offer in general, had not been received with good humour, though they had been convinced by his successor’s own conviction.

Another point to Toshinori having made the right choice.

Now if only he could work up the courage to talk to his old teacher…

He must have zoned out while staring at the glass of the man who had been talking with Nedzu before he’d arrived — that ‘Guardsman Ra’ fellow that managed to have Nedzu of all people nervous — because he returned to the present with the bartender giving him a look somewhere in the realm of exasperation, but hidden as well as can be by professionalism. The woman’s gaze went from Yagi, to the glass, and back to Yagi.

“So, sir? What will it be?”

Yagi stared at her, before gathering himself with a smile and a shake of the head. “Well, my boss has recommended I try a soft drink, but my constitution is rather… delicate, at the moment. I would appreciate any suggestions you would have.”

The woman seemed to take his measure, before nodding and turning around. Barely thirty seconds later, the green-haired bartender turns around with a satisfied drink, and Yagi finds himself staring at a rather brightly coloured drink. Thankfully, it’s a recognisable colour.

“Orange juice, with a little bit of grapefruit as an extra.” She shrugged, leaning back on her heels and resuming the polite-and-professional stance people in the service industry tend to develop after a while. Something reassembly military parade rest. “I think I read in a magazine or something that vitamin C is good for the immune system? So, this might help. Not to make assumptions, but…” She looked him up and down, and Yagi chuckled. “No offence, sir.”

“None taken, and thank you for your consideration.”

The sound of a horn grabbed his attention, and he turned to gaze at the massive screens stuck in the corners of the rooms for the benefit of those unable to see out of the viewing window. It seems the first challenge had been selected.

The Obstacle Course.

How nostalgic.

Though, being a part of the planning for the festival this time round did remove some of the magic of the event, though knowing what the event would be weeks before hand so that it could be constructed didn’t automatically mean he knew every intricate detail of what those events would entail.

No, that would only be known to the most senior of staff, such as Nedzu, Recovery Girl, and the Board. Of course, Cementoss and Power Loader were a must, plus whatever contractors were needed to complete the necessary works before the event, though the NDA’s Toshinori had glimpsed for the latter had had his non-existent stomach churning with a new reason to fear lawyers.

Still, he smiled, even as the bartender whistled as the track was shown from a top-down view on the screen.

“You guys don’t mess around with scale here, do you.” A rhetorical question, but the awe that broke through the stoic steadiness did bring a smile to Yagi’s face. A smile that, while terrible and gaunt, more a rictus grin than an expression of joy, still managed to calm the heart and stoke the spirit. Something evidenced by the small grin on the young bartender’s face in response.

He took a sip of his juice as the students began to approach the starting line. Now was when the festival truly began. The introductions, the speeches, the rousing applause, those were the prologue. In less than a minute, the starting gun would be fired and one of the largest televised events in Japan would begin, propelling his students into the public consciousness for the first time. The second and third years would draw huge crowds as always, with their experience making all the difference in the performances during this event when compared to the first years, who’s winner often reached first place by virtue of power alone more often than not.

Regardless, this would be a festival to watch for Toshinori, the one where his successor would be propelled into the spotlight by One for All, sure, but also by skills polished meticulously for nearly a decade before they’d met. No matter the outcome, Toshinori knew he’d be proud by the end.

So, he smiled as wide as he could as he gazed upon the screens, and finally answered the girl. “No, we don’t, but with students like these, how could anyone expect us to do less?”

Chapter Text

Something about the scene around her brought a feeling of déjà-vu so strong that Ochako had to take a moment to blink and have another look. She took in her surroundings again, confused, and tried her best to figure out what had brought on such a feeling at such an intensity.

There they all stood, a crowd of a little over a hundred students of various classes of the first-year swarming around the starting line of the obstacle course they’d just been informed was their first event, each person in the crowd trying their best to be as close to the starting line as possible before the countdown started.

She had managed a position halfway between the midpoint of the front and the middle of the crowd, and was starting to envy those further back who were enjoying the open space afforded to them, even if it was a less enviable starting position. The envy came back stronger as she felt the same elbow hit her in the ribs for a second time, as did the annoyance.

She was seriously wondering if she could float that guy before the race started. It might not be heroic, but it would satisfy the spiteful little voice slowly but surely growing louder with each push and shove of the crowd. Surely there were enough people around them that she’d be able to get away with it!

She grumbled and tried to hold onto that sportsmanlike attitude that her father had instilled in her when she was young, and managed to supress the annoyance as well as the desire to send Mr Sharp-Elbows into the upper troposphere.

She took a breath, closed her eyes, and breathed out. Relaxing herself and letting her muscles loosen up before the first event. She’d managed to stretch in the girl’s locker room, but all the crowds and cheering and nerves had wound her back up again, and now that the first event was upon her, she took what moments she could.

So, she closed her eyes, took a breath, relaxed her shoulders—

And sent a particularly hard nudge with her own elbow at Mr Sharp-Elbow’s ribs, receiving a rather gratifying ‘oof’ in response. The guy may have been taller than her, but his skinny frame sure wasn’t a hero-course build, and Ochako was built smol-but-sturdy! She ignored the now Mr Sore-Ribs as he sent a glare her way and shuffled away from her, and refocused.

Right. The feeling. Why did she feel like she’d been here before?

She had very little time before the event started, but she took a moment to look around, and really look at the smaller details of the event she was taking part in.

‘Let’s see,’ she thought. ‘Crowd of eager teenagers, silent countdown to the start of some kinda physical trial, that weird excited-slash-nervous feelin’ in the air…’

It hit her like a summer storm, and she felt herself smile even as Present Mic’s voice came blaring through the speakers.

“HEY NOW, LISTENERS!! ARE! YOU! READY! TO! RUUUUMBLEEEEE!!!!!????” Ochako laughed a bit, before a new voice came through the stadium’s sound system, carried by the more dulcet tones the R18 heroine was known for, as opposed to Present Mic’s blaring energy.

This time, it was Kayama-sensei. Her voice was strangely… normal, compared to her usual persona. It made Ochako think of art history lessons instead of heart-pumping sports events. “Alright, boys and girls! You know the rules! Stay inside the bounds of the course for the duration of the race, and try your best to make it into the group that qualifies for the next round.”

Then her expression changed, and with a voice that sounded more like what one would expect of Midnight — raspy and seductive, with enough pure sexual energy to power Japan for decades on pure hornifocusOchakopurethoughtspurethoughts — she continued with the rules. “Quirk use is allowed, of course, though direct attacks on other participants will get you…” She sighed, a sound sure to steal the hearts, minds, and souls of men and women everywhere, before a grin made its way across her face and she lashed her whip. “… punished!” Ochako was certain she could feel everyone in the crowd gulp in unison, though a part of her (that she was desperately repressing along with the flush of her cheeks) just knew it wasn’t just fear.

Another voice, different from Present Mic, one Ochako recognised by its deadpan and weary tone, saw fit to interrupt Midnight’s fun through the speakers.

“She means disqualified.”

“YEAH!! Give it up for my co-host!! He’s a bit shy, so he doesn’t say much, and if I tried to say his name he’d probably try to strangle me, SO! CAN YOU ALL GIVE IT UP FOR MY CO-HOST!!! Who I’m gonna be callin’… Host-Buddy!”

“I refuse.”

“Too late, Host-Buddy! Or maybe I should shorten it to Huddy instead? Brhosty?”

“Midnight, get on with it.”

The mic cut out, no doubt Aizawa-sensei’s doing, interrupting Present Mic’s brainstorming and her homeroom teacher’s sigh of pain, leaving the audience laughing cheerfully and Midnight smiling with a “what can ya do” look on her face.

“Yeah, yeah, grumpy-pants, you’re right. Let’s get this show on the road! I see everyone is in position, so let’s get this race started!!”

Suddenly, the crowd of students went silent, the tension rising as all eyes turned to the tunnel past the starting point. More and more people tried to push their ways forwards, but Ochako held back. That tunnel looked way too small for such a large crowd, and so many people trying to get through there at once would surely lead to a crush. It’d make her sick, so she would try to refrain from using her quirk too much, but she was sure she would be able to either muscle her way through the crowd somehow. If she did need to rely on her quirk, she’d use it in short bursts in the beginning. No doubt the rest of the festival would be tiring.

“On your marks!” The first light imbedded to the side of the starting line went orange.

Then, a thought occurred, one mildly linked with the feeling she’d had before.

She looked around, searching for a particular classmate. That feeling told her to look behind her, and—

She smiled. ‘There he is.’

Midoriya was a couple meters behind even the back of the crowd, crouched in a sprinters’ starting position. She could see from where she was crushed in that he’d taken his shoes off at some point, though she couldn’t see where he’d stashed them. The air was beginning to warp around him.

“Get set!” The second light turned yellow. Every muscle in the crowd even remotely connected with locomotion tensed. It was a swarm of springs, primed for release and explosive launch.

Ochako turned back around, smiling even as she leaned forward on her feet. That feeling had been right! A dense swarm of quirked teens about to embark on a physical trial while their performance was being scrutinised by hundreds of cameras, no doubt imminent violence aplenty and dangers as well, and a small entrance to boot.

Ochako laughed, ignoring the weird looks she was getting as the collective tension in the crowd ticked further towards explosion. It was a quick laugh, barely a bark, but it left her smiling wide, excited. This would be a good way to measure how much she’d progressed since then. The USJ had been difficult, but the stress and danger of it all meant that trying to look back on it critically was really hard, even during those sessions with Inui-sensei.

Whatever. That was that, and this was now. She could worry about therapy and villain attacks and all that stuff when she was alone with her thoughts. Right now, she was in familiar territory, competing in a school event… that was broadcasted nation-wide… which was watched by thousands of pro-heroes who would be deciding if she was good enough for them… and her parents!!!

…

She was grateful that at least they had a countdown this time.

“Go!!!!!”

Like a shot from a cannon Ochako took off, trying her best to stay afloat in the heaving mass of motion that was the waves of students sprinting pas the starting line towards the first real obstacle: the tunnel that was way too small for all of them to fit through!

Again, Ochako abused her smol-but-sturdy stature to gently elbow and shove her competition out of the way whenever they got too competitive, clearing a nice little bit of space around herself as she made it into the tunnel, where the crush began.

Here and there, she caught sight of her classmates, with taller ones like Shoji and Iida being easy to spot as they shouldered and muscled their way through the throng of people. Even Koda, gentle as he was, was pushing his way through, making good use of his bulk despite the fact that class 1-A’s sweetheart was no doubt hating every second of it. Others who, like her, were more vertically challenged than their pillar-like classmates, were doing their best. She caught sight of Jirou using her prehensile earlobes to clear a path for her so that she could dodge through the temporary gaps, while a quick flash of floating clothing sliding through the crowd with little difficulty was the only sign Hagakure was there at all.

Then… she felt it.

A feeling so familiar, so nostalgic despite the little time that had pased, it couldn’t help but bring a smile to her face.

At first it was barely noticeable, for who would think a little bit of sweat was abnormal in a crowd as tightly packed as this. With over a hundred bodies pressed tightly against one another, it was going to get stuffy.

But this heat wasn’t that kind of stuffy.

It was the heat felt as the first rays of morning sun breached over the horizon after a cold night. The initial warmth of a new dawn.

Then it grew. Now, it was dry warmth of campfire, the crackle-pop of dried wood and leaves burning to ash in a small, controlled conflagration. It was comforting, relaxing, but a clear warning. Proximity was everything and the same flame that would warm one’s bones would boil them just as well. All that stood between the small, innocent campfire, and the forest of kindling surrounding it were the stones, placed in a circle as a break between the flames and all its future potential.

The final guardian.

And then a stone slipped.

The campfire spread, and the forest ignited with an incandescence that, for a split second, burned with a heat so all consuming that it made a crowd of superpowered teenagers flinch.

But not Ochako.

No, not her.

For she had been waiting for this.

And. She. Laughed.

A true laugh, giddy and reminiscent and awed all at once.

She laughed as she watched the writhing mass of fire that was her friends launch itself over the crowd of stunned competitors, burning its way ahead of them all and out of the tunnel, right into first place. Then the flames pulled back some, and from the cocoon of flames emerged the flesh and blood shape of Midoriya, twisted by the heat distorting the air around him as he landed on feet made of fire.

And then, in a move stolen directly from Todoroki, he kept going, skating onwards on rocket legs and leaving them all in the smoke of his exhaust.

Well, most of them.

Because class 1-A had not been attacked by villains, won their own individual battles, rescued their teachers, and then beat back the villains themselves, all after only a week of official training in a hero school, just to be left in the dust by one of their own.

No, for even as Midoriya was landing, those of class 1-A moved.

Todoroki, in a move that was becoming his signature, unleashed his ice in a sheet of frost thick enough to trap most of their competitors, before he took off in pursuit of Midoriya, looking particularly annoyed at having his moves be copied.

Bakugou followed with a blast and a roar, shattering the ice and inadvertently freeing others around him as he rocketed off.

Ochako spotted Yaomomo vaulting her way over the crowd, followed by Tsu and Ojiro, all of whom had avoided the ice through pure reflex. Others, both from her class and with faces that she recognised vaguely from the other class’ introductions followed suit, pushing passed the initial shock and freeze, remembering they were still competing, and launching ahead.

And Ochako?

Well, she had avoided the ice, by cleverly hauling herself up on the shoulders of the poor guy in front of her. A quick use of her quirk — and the iron-fisted suppression of the nausea that came up near instantly — let her launch herself off her impromptu platform, leaving the guy reeling and cursing her even as she cancelled her quirk, riding the momentum of her initial launch all the way over the bits of the crowd that were still stuck.

She landed with a roll and recover, just as she spotted Satou breaking into a sprint, and hurried to follow his example, even if he would be following her lead!

Then, barely ten meters from the exit to the tunnel, she saw the first obstacle.

Or, more accurately, she saw Mineta being punted backwards by said obstacle. 

Robots. Familiar robots. Familiar robots that only made her shake her head and smile wider. ‘This really is just like the entrance exam!’

A mix of 1, 2, and 3-Pointers crowded her way, though she could see the debris left in the wake of those before her. A half-melted robot here, a bot gored on icicles there, and the evidence of Bakugou’s handywork spread out everywhere.

For a moment, she expected to feel that same fear, that same spike of anxiety that she’d have to push through, as she had during the entrance exam.

But she didn’t.

In fact, staring down this hoard of machines that could no doubt, with only a tiny bit of modification, be classified as weapons of war, Ochako felt nothing but the fire she’d lit when she’d challenged her entire class and stoked for the last two weeks with every training exercise and home-workout.

These self-proclaimed war machines weren’t a threat!

Their presence barely registered compared to the villains she’d seen at the USJ.

They were an obstacle.

One she to which she would teach the meaning of fear.

And it came in a smol-but-sturdy package with blush marks and endless determination!

Now, fighting through the mechanical swarm would be fun, and a cool little throwback to the start of the year, but that wasn’t the objective. So, with a small amount of reluctance and an impressive chain of moves backed up by the footwork she’d learned at the hands of that tough old lady that ran the bakery and might have been a Yakuza enforcer back in the day (but everyone politely ignored those rumours and the meaning behind some of those tattoos, so she would too), Ochako dodged and weaved her way through the attacking bots, only fighting back when too many would gang up on her at once, and she needed to pick one up and… clear the way.

That is how she is found when the five 0-Pointers emerge from ground ahead of the swarm and, more importantly, the trio of students leading the way. In her right hand, she wields the sturdy, club like claw of three pointer she beat to death with another bot. Her left hand remains empty, only used sparingly when a swing needs a little extra umph, and, in her wake, are the corpses of the robots foolish enough to cross her path.

She watches are the building sized robots rise from their underground tombs like great mechanical titans of old and, despite the fact that the smaller bots barely made her break a sweat, she can’t help the cold that shoots through her spine and into her organs at the sight of these new titans.

For a split-second, she freezes. The trees and stadium become empty concrete buildings rising like gargantuan tombstones around her as the ground shakes beneath the treads of metal gods looming impossibly far over her. She can’t move. She can’t run. She can’t breathe. She feels like a poor man’s Atlas, trying to hold up the sky or perhaps being held down by it, her quirk impossibly distant at the tips of her fingers offering her no escape from the crushing weight.

She feels the sharp edges of broken concrete dig into her leg and back. She wants to shake. She wants to scratch to make sure it’s not there.

But she can’t. She can’t move. She’s back in the USJ, except, this time, she’s the one facing down the impossible creature that nearly killed her teacher and her friends.

Her vision blurs, and green and grey gunmetal armour melds with bruised, unholy purple stretched to tearing over muscles too strong to be anything brought about by natural evolution.

She stares up at the machine built to tower over residential blocks and sees the creature built to tear down buildings and the Symbol of Peace.

She witnesses her enemies’ monsters multiply.

Luckily for her, her side has monsters of its own.

Ahead of the crowd, dimmed by distance but not in intensity, a ball of fire in the shape of a boy barely slows down. Skating along the ground on feet made of rocket engines, Midoriya’s burning green eyes glance up at the risen titans, and narrow in thought. Calculations are made, angles are guessed, thrust is measured, and a decision is reached.

Back with Uraraka, her split-second ends as the already warm spring day suddenly gets hotter, and her delusion is shattered by a rising star.

Like a vengeful comet she sees what can only be Midoriya rise from the ground with a fiery boom! He rises and rises and rises, the air warping as his temperature reaches higher and higher.

Then she sees it, as do they all. It is a mere shadow of what melted the USJ and killed one of the monsters that still haunt her quiet moments, but it is still glorious.

The head of one of the 0-Pointers disappears, consumed by a firestorm contained in a roughly spherical shape that also takes with it the shoulders and some of the upper torso. The fire dissipates just as the titan begins to fall, and it hits the ground ahead of the crowd of students with the world-shaking impact of a god slain on the field by mortal hands.

The ball of fire that is Midoriya regains its human shape as the flames that surrounded him dissipate, only for his feet to reignite as he lands, carrying on as if nothing had happened. As if what he’d done meant nothing.

Unbidden, a smile rises to take the place of the fear that was once there, and words that are barely a whisper leave her lips. “Even now, you’re still saving me.”

Not to be outdone, a scream of something between a challenge and hot-blooded rage rings out across the field as another 0-Pointer is gutted by an explosion, the blast of heat and force shearing through its midsection. From the smoke and ash emerges Bakugou, undaunted and focused on the bright shape of Midoriya skates ahead.

Uraraka grins, wiping her eyes, and charges forwards, even as a third titan is slain by a high yield explosive artillery round to the chest from an increasingly terrifying Yaomomo, and the last two are disabled by the glacier that Todoroki summons from nothing, a frown on his pretty face that seems to be slipping closer and closer to a snarl as he skates after Bakugou and Midoriya, chasing their tails.

Getting around the falling 0-Pointers is incredibly easy when they’re dead, even if parts of ‘em keep falling everywhere. She just pulls on her lessons with Yakuza granny and skips, hops, and dodges her way past falling metal and ice, though she offers a sympathetic wince when she sees Kirishima and another boy get hit by falling debris.

The guilt lessens when she hears the hard-headed red-head and the other boy break through the scraps with a squeal of material being shredded and a pair of competitive manly roars, and she smiles as the next obstacle comes into view behind the corpses of slain giants.

A pit, excessively massive and deep and perfectly in line with UA’s motto of Plus Ultra. A part of her hears Present Mic screaming about this obstacle, about how Todoroki and Bakugou and Midoriya are tearing through it in their own ways, but she focuses on her own race.

Ahead of her, she can already see Asui and Mina making their way through the obstacle, utilising their own lithe forms and athletic training to nearly glide along the ropes linking the small islands of rock stacked up as irregular platforms dotting the middle of the ravine. She spots various boys as well, though they’re hardly as graceful. Satou seems to be crawling his way along at a glacial pace, paler than usual and keeping a determined but grim look as he avoids looking down.

‘Is he afraid of heights?’ She thinks, before banishing that thought for later.

Iida and Shouji seem to be making better progress, the Iidaten heir nearly skating along the ropes, using his engines as propulsion, while Shouji extends his limbs like tentacles to swing from rope to rope. Funnily enough, a pink-haired girl with strange goggles and what looks to be a jetpack-grappling-hook hybrid is making her way across in much the same way, cackling about some kind of babies in a way that sends a shiver up Ochako’s spine.

She spares a moment making a note of the relatively few 1-B students ahead of her, before returning to her own race.

Uraraka takes a moment, judging her energy reserves and the twist slowly forming in her stomach. She still has the robot arm in one hand, which she’s decided to hold onto just in case, seeing as, while it’s affected by her quirk, it weighs nothing.

After some consideration, she nods. She has more than enough in the tank for this and the next event, and she’ll be sure to take full advantage of the lunch break to relax and take some of her anti-nausea medication if — no — when she makes it to the third round.

A determined nod, a running leap, and sporadic activation and deactivation of her quirk sees her making quick work of the obstacle that tried so hard to stop her. In between her leaps, she spots a net below, with a few unfortunate souls already being helped out of it, so at least UA isn’t completely heartless with those who stumble and fall in the first round.

She takes back that thought when the guy in front of her, someone from 1-B or Gen Ed, goes flying past her, rag dolling through the air as a small shockwave and a blast of pink dust follow in his wake.

Mines.

Why mines of all things?!

Were the people who ran this school insane!?

At least they seemed geared more towards knocking people back rather than actually blowing people up, and she gave a sigh of relief, before her eyes caught onto the three figures closest to the other end of the surprisingly long minefield.

They seem to have slowed their pace by now. Either it’s because of how far ahead they are, and they decided they wanted to save energy, or — and Uraraka is praying that this is the case, because it meant that it was recorded, which means that somewhere there is a video of — one of them tried using their previous method, tripped a landmine, got absolutely launched backwards, and the others learned from his mistake.

She’s not sure which option is more likely, but it doesn’t really matter, because more people are getting ahead of her and she needs to find a way to get across that isn’t just… what everyone else is doing.

She looks around, categorising her options. She looks at the mines, barely visible beneath patches of fresh soil. She looks at the three leading racers, with the sparks dancing off Midoriya and Bakugou as they sneak around the mines the only visible indication of their mounting frustration.

Then she looks at the arm she’d torn off a 3-Pointer, using nothing but her grit and violence.

And she feels the beginnings of an idea creep across her brain, which, as she thinks further on it, brings along a smile that makes a few other students take a careful few steps away and around the small but dangerous feeling girl.

‘Light~buulb!’

‘This is bullshit! Complete and utter fucking—’

Midoriya swore and cursed and promised to turn whoever designed this death-trap disguised as a race into a pair of leather shoes.

(Somewhere, hidden behind one-way glass in a booth built for royalty, a small white-furred rodent much too smart for everyone else feels a shiver, one that brings a smile that he hides behind a cup of tea he had ordered brought up from his own personal selection. It’s a remarkably high-quality beverage, one that pairs well with the torment of human beings.

He ignores the look he feels from Snipe, simply smiling wider with each pink-tinged detonation of a mine and each fear-filled scream.

Delightful.)

The mines weren’t the issue, if he wanted, he could have avoided them completely, as could Bakugou, by just flying over them. That had been the original plan, until the both of them had been hit by a high-power pressure wave shot from an air cannon hidden within the trees.

They had fallen like rocks out of the sky, and he had only saved himself from landing flat on at least six mines at the last second with what he would consider a praise-worthy level of acrobatics.

Then, he’d tried sending a wave of fire ahead of him, which had burned out and triggered a handful of mines, but when he’d then tried walking on the supposedly clear area, he’d been blown sky-high by a mine hidden in a place he was sure he’d cleared.

The only way that was happening was that the mines were being restocked after they exploded, which seemed both incredibly impressive, and incredibly expensive, but it had forced the three of them into option three.

Todoroki seemed to have wanted to try icing the ground and paving his way into the lead, but couldn’t risk his competitors using the path he’d created, so he’d refrained from that.

Anyways, option three was the only solution.

The only way for them to get across such treacherous terrain when their other methods had been so quickly removed as options.

Slow and steady and carefully.

And that was how it seemed to be for everyone. It was a rather anticlimactic last obstacle to the race, granted he didn’t find the rest of them to have been that exciting, but he was sure the destruction and the mass-use of quirks had at least warmed up the viewers.

It was a boring, tedious, and arduous method everyone seemed to be using to get past the minefield. It had worked for them so far. In fact, somehow, despite being hit by the cannon and a mine, Izuku had managed to maintain his lead.

Slow and steady and very carefully.

At least, that was what he thought until he heard the largest explosion he’d heard so far that day, followed by a scream. At first, he ignored it, figuring it was just some other poor sod getting hit by the mines.

Then he heard a loud curse from Bakugou, and what might have been a shout of surprise from Todoroki, and that caught his attention, making him turn and look.

And when he saw, he couldn’t help but gawk.

When it came to the rest of his class, his opinions varied depending on the person or even just the day.

Yaoyorozu was the smartest person he knew academically, but a bit naïve and seemed constantly out of her depth when engaged in social situations. She hadn’t done much with her position as class rep yet, but the year was young and there was time to grow into the role.

Shoji was a steadfast and reliable guy — someone Izuku might even one day call a good acquaintance, if it came down to it — but despite being smart in his own right and surprisingly wise for his age, his reluctance to stand out made people overlook him, even when he was perfect for the job.

Tsu was determined and consistently honest, with her only faults being caused by the trauma of her injury — don’t think about it don’t think about how it feels how it smells how it tastes — which he was sure she’d overcome with time.

Tokoyami was noble but cautious.

Iida was stubborn but helpful.

Kirishima was endlessly friendly yet horribly loud.

Mineta was an incorrigible pervert, but he was surprisingly smart and tactical.

Bakugou was… he was Bakugou. The feelings Izuku had surrounding him would be addressed later.

The rest of the cast were a wild mix of personalities, combined together into the cauldron of their class and thrown into the trials of the USJ, where a certain dynamic had emerged.

And, after these two weeks of training exercises and time spent together, Izuku had thought he’d managed to form a pretty solid image of what his classmates were like in his mind.

And yet, somehow, some-fucking-how, Izuku had completely missed how gods-dammed feral Uraraka had the capacity to be!

Sweet, kind Uraraka. The first person he’d met at UA. The first he thought he’d hate after she called him that fucking name.

The first to surprise him when she came up to him the next day and apologised, despite how angry and no-doubt scary he’d been, and how she’d genuinely believed that’d she’d been in the wrong despite the fact that, after some rather deep self-reflection, Izuku had accepted that it had been just an innocent mistake, and he’d might have definitely overreacted.

Uraraka who’d been the only one brave enough to confront him after the USJ when existence had been reduced to shadows on the wall and he’d wanted to do was burn to world and shape the ashes to his image. Who’d continued demonstrating that bravery as she’d looked him in the eye when no other would dare look even near him, when she’d shouted her challenge for the class to hear and for him to comprehend.

When she’d stared into the twin green suns burning in his skull…

… and he’d been the one to blink!

…

Actually, looking back, it had been rather stupid of him to miss the signs.

The signs that were now staring him in his stupid, wide-eyed face as Uraraka Ochako came soaring over the minefield, riding the blast wave of what had to be the mountain of mines that she’d dug up and… jumped on?

‘This girl is crazy!’

That was the thought that went through his mind in the split second that he registered two things. The first was rather unimportant, but did explain how Uraraka had cleared that last bit of distance when the smoke trail she’d left in her wake suggested she should have landed a good few meters behind him. Preferably onto some other mines that would have blown the anti-gravity girl back and away from him.

And granted, the image of Todoroki and Bakugou simultaneously eating shit as the momentum Uraraka had imparted onto them when she’d landed and then jumped off their shoulders, sending them face-first into the ground and the mines therein would have made for some excellent comedy and probably become a treasured memory he’d be keeping in the nostalgia box in his later years, were it not for the second, and infinitely more pressing thing that Izuku noticed.

The heavily armoured arm of one of the point-bearing robots being swung straight at his head, coming in with a downwards overhead swing bearing all the momentum Uraraka had left.

The toothy grin she was wearing as she aimed to cause him as much brain damage as possible really cemented the whole image perfectly.

Instinct kicks in. Hours of training with his uncle moves his body in a lightning fast backstep that, luckily, manages to avoid any of the mines. It’s a good movement, and perfectly showcases of a fraction of his martial capabilities.

He feels the whoosh of displaced air as the arm travels past his face, nearly scraping the paint off his mask with how close it got.

For a moment, he thinks he’d safe.

Then he sees Uraraka’s grin widen, and he suddenly remembers where exactly he’s standing, and what exactly he’d standing above.

‘Oh fu—’

Izuku doesn’t even get the dignity of a full curse in his own mind before the arm hits the ground, detonating two mines in one hit, simultaneously launching Izuku backwards to join the club currently occupied by Shoto and Bakugou, and somehow firing Uraraka’s smaller form further forward.

As she soars over the last of the mines like a round fired from an artillery cannon, three identical thoughts somehow travel through three very different minds.

Three eyes widen with disbelief. ‘I can’t believe she got them too!’

Three eyes narrow with consternation. ‘Wait, she’d gonna clear the rest of the minefield.’

Three eyes bulge open with a shot of adrenaline fuelled by competition, spite, and pride. ‘Oh shit, she’d going to win!!’

And, with that last thought, any strategic thinking or plans involving not using their quirks to avoid helping the other contestants or conserving energy fly out the window like a console in a home with a bad internet connection.

Feet ignite into rockets as hands explode and ice forms into a smooth, straight path above the mines and towards the finish, and three boys who had, up until that point, been dominating the competition, scramble to catch up the girl who had literally left them in her dust.

Izuku feels the explosions of mines detonated in the wake of his own explosive take off, but he gets ahead before the blasts can knock him off balance, and pumps up the power. Out of the three of them, he is the only one capable of consistence acceleration. Bakugou might have better instantaneous acceleration, but explosions produce poor consistence thrust, and Todoroki, once he gets to the end of his ice, will be solely reliant on his athleticism. Same as Uraraka.

Yet, despite his advantages, Izuku watches helplessly as Uraraka crosses the finish line just over a meter in front of him, the crowds roaring in approval of this underdog victory and Present Mic screaming about sudden wins and last-minutes upsets.

But, despite that, he can’t bring himself to feel disappointed. The awed smile on Uraraka’s red face as she gazed, panting and slack-jawed at the tens of thousands of people cheering for her was… nice, in its own way.

She’d beaten him, fair and square.

He’d had the power advantage, the more destructive, ‘stronger’ quirk. He no doubt also had better training both physically and technically...

But she’d been smarter, more cunning, and she’d beaten him when he hadn’t expected it.

So, despite it all, he wasn’t sad about this loss.

Plus, hearing Bakugou scream and swear over the clanging sound of a discarded robot arm striking an unprepared skull and allowing Todoroki to take third place instead was so, so sweet. Izuku probably couldn’t be happier even if he had won.

And wasn’t that just something.

She’d… She’d won. SHE’D WON!!

Over everyone else, all those overpowered, over-trained competitors and… and it had been her who had crossed the finish line first.

A part of her couldn’t believe it.

A larger part was cheering so hard she nearly drowned out the crowds.

‘I won! I WON!! LOOK AT ME, DADDY, MOMMA!! LOOK AT YOUR LIL’ GIRL!! SHE’S FIRST!!’

Dazed and out of breath, her legs shaking as the adrenaline drained slowly from her system, Ochako smiled and waved for the cameras, hoping that her parents had seen her triumph.

She barely noticed Midoriya’s nod of approval, but see it she did and her smile became an awkward chuckle as she awkwardly scratched the back of her head, still unable to completely focus on much of anything beyond the delirium of her victory and the person right in front of her.

One of the most powerful people she’d met.

The one who’d saved her twice.

The one she’d challenged despite that.

The one she had beaten.

“S-Sorry about the robot arm thing. I panicked and it was the only th-thing I could think of.”

Ochako would like to think that, if she could actually see most of his face, Midoriya would be smiling as he signed, [Don’t worry about it. It was a good idea. Caught me totally off guard.] Then his eyes flashed as something grinned wide, all sharp teeth and burning ambition. It seemed Midoriya’s competitiveness had finally truly roused to join the party. [This is just the first round though. There are still two more to go.]

Ochako smiled lightly as she lightly stretched the small aches out of her muscles. “True, true…” Then her expression changed to match the creature with her own grin, just as wide and just as hungry, all traces of awkwardness burnt away. “But that just means two more chances to leave you in my dust.”

The huff Midoriya let out could have been mistaken for a particularly deep breath by most, but Ochako liked to think that, despite their limited interactions, she could read her competitor at least to some extent. She let out her own huff and rolled her eyes. “Yeah yeah, I’ll make you choke on that laughter.”

That only got more huffing laughter, the elated mood of her win diluting slowly as more and more people crossed the finish line, but even as the mood returned to it’s previous simmering competitiveness, even as some poor, wheezing Gen Ed kid crossed the finish line in 42^nd place and Present Mic announced the end of the race and the beginning of the second round, Uraraka couldn’t help but feel light.

She’d won the first ever event they, as a year, had partaken in in the Sports Festival. Her! Lil’ Uraraka Ochako from nowhere in Mie, daughter of the owners of a tiny construction company, had won, and engraved her name in the minds of the people watching.

Nothing could spoil her mood! Not even Bakugou’s muttered curses or Todoroki’s frosty glare.

Though Midnight announcing the million points awarded to her in the next event as the winner of the race, plus the hungry, borderline savage looks of her competition as they turned their gluttonous gazes upon her and her point total did put somewhat of a dent in her enthusiasm.

Even as the crowd turned back towards Midnight as she began to explain the set up of the second, team-based round, Uraraka couldn’t help but shiver.

Maybe she should’ve gone for second place after all…

“Alright!! What a stunning first act to open our day and get the blood pumping! Explosions! Daring stunts! And a surprise victory from an underdog!! DOESN’T IT JUST MAKE YOU WANNA SCREAM YEAAAAAH??!!”

“Your screaming is making me want to leave.”

“Aww, don’t be like that announcer-buddy! You know you’re just as hyped as I am, and look at that Uraraka go!! Pulling out a win from the jaws of impossibility to stick it to all the doubters!! Bet even you didn’t expect that, huh? Mr Grumpy?”

“I am being kept here against my will. Please send hel—”

“Woops! It seems my charming co-host has lost connection! Whatta shame! Even if he was being a buzzkill… Anyways! With the first event over and the points tallied up, let’s pass the mic back to our lovely field-host, Midnight, as she explains the next games!!”

“We’re in the same room, what are you talking about ‘losing connection’—"

As the sound of the hosts bickering cut off with the flick of a switch, to the amusement of the crowds and the students that weren’t huffing up a lung or sighing away their dreams of participating in the next round as the recovery robots rescued them from holes or the powered down combat bots, Midnight grinned, her persona on full display. Ooh how she loved this, standing before a crowd, whip in hand and a smirk on her lips, practically feeling the passion of her audience as they gazed upon her. She knew what they felt when they saw her. She knew who she was and how she looked.

But she also knew that, among the gawping and gawking, there was that teeny tiny inkling of fear that sparked with every lash of her whip or slap of her riding crop. She could see it in the widening of eyes and the flushing of cheeks, and while some might have questioned how appropriate a choice the R-18 heroine was for a high-school sports even (Jirou was not as discrete as she liked the believe) the truth was that Kayama liked teasing and getting a reaction, and nothing was more adorable than flustered innocence.

It was like watching a puppy discover its tail for the first time. So. Soo. Adorable.

Keeping to her character, she licked her lips as her dark smile roamed over her now thoroughly captivated audience. “With pleasure, my dear announcer.”

A lash of her whip. A gasp from the crowd. All eyes on her.

Delightful.

“Congratulations, boys and girls, on surviving your first trial! I’m sure that …” A smile with teeth. The stadium crowds shudder. Wonderful. “… light bit of exercise has gone and properly riled up your passions! So now it’s time turn it up a notch! This next round will challenge you like nothing before.”

‘I know, I know. That’s certainly not true for not all of you.’ Her heart twanged as she saw the sceptical glances from a few of 1-A and it was only through two decades of experience that she managed to avoid faltering. Kids shouldn’t have to fight for their lives at fifteen, and if she ever came across any bastards touting the name of League of Villains again, they’d be eating through a tube for the rest of their miserable lives.

Midnight may be a hero, but Kayama Nemuri grew up in neighbourhood 17 of the Chuo Ward in Saitama, a prosperous and safe city turned into a warlord’s stomping ground turned into post-Reunification War ruins, rebuilt with only the meekest of funding during a period where other, more productive places took priority. That left only what used to be a city and its suburbs abandoned by all but the most token outside authority and protection, where the law, the real law, was made by the strong and the vicious, and the truly unique ones who ambition made kings out of scum.

It was a place that had never fully recovered from the dark ages and the MLA war, and to survive there as a girl all on her own meant to be tough and cunning. It had been pure luck and making the right friends that had seen her into the halls of UA in the hero course, and no doubt Nedzu hearing stories about the child running around putting half the ward’s gang-kings to sleep.

It meant that someone like Kayama could act as flirty as the prostitutes who stood by the side of the pavement on late and lonely nights, and as dangerous as the thugs that protected them, switching between both as she needed to. It meant that more than one tabloid had published stories about the half-naked hero that beat villains to bloody pulps at the beginning of her career.

It meant that she could hang up Midnight for a minute and pull out Sleeper when bastards deserved it enough.

But… those were thoughts for another day, because today was about the students and all of that wonderful, beautiful potential their futures presented.

In a way, it made her feel a bit old.

Not that she’d ever admit that to anyone.

Not even the Gods could pull that from her.

‘Anyways…’

“This game will require grit. It will require determination! It will require strategy and quick thinking! You’ve all had your time in the spotlight, but now it’s time to share! Now, it’s time for the TEAM GAME!! Behind me is a field that our dearest and horribly overworked Cementoss is preparing for us right now.” She turned and, cupping her hands around her mouth for effect, yelled. “How’s it going, Cementoss-kun?!”

She got a chuckle and a blocky thumbs up that she answered with her own thumbs up and a grin. She knew that, of all of them, Cementoss and Power Loader got some of the heftiest bonuses during the Sports Festival. She would be jealous, if she didn’t know the absolutely insane workload Nedzu assigned to them that just must have been at least teasing the edges of some labour laws, but Nemuri would resist the urge to poke that particular rat’s nest, and turned back to her audience.

“What’s being built behind me is the next stage for our adorable contestants who managed to survive the Obstacle Course. It’ll put these survivors to the test in a variety of environments, all the while forcing them to be constantly on the lookout! Welcome, everyone, to Defend the Flag!!” She smiled as she heard the familiar sound of tons and tons of a combination of regular cement and UA’s specially developed soft-cement — created to be softer and more brittle for early battle and rescue training scenarios — slowly being shaped into a sculpture the size of a small city-district, filled with small two-story houses, hills, and open spaces all smashed together into a shape that would give the average city planner a conniption. No doubt mixed in among the cement and earth were the cameras that would be used in the post festival highlight reels or for break-time review. And all done with a finesse that, had the skill required been more obvious, would have had Ishiyama Ken placed in the upper tiers of earth manipulation type quirks in terms of accuracy. Cementoss was no Geopothis and may not be able to move mountains on a whim, but at his command he could reshape city blocks and more than one neglected and abandoned metropolitan area had benefited from his beneficence.

His birth and induction into the ranks of the Japanese pro Heroes had almost single-handedly made Japan’s cities’ average post-disaster recovery speed skyrocket.

Nemuri had always thought it a shame that the man had little to no interest in public relations beyond the bare minimum. He would have made a wonderful addition to the top ten. Ken was one of the nicest, most genuine people Kayama had ever met, and Sleeper sometimes wondered what would have happened had her, or any of her other colleagues, been born in neighbourhood 17.

She shook those thoughts from her head and made sure her smile kept the audience’s attention. “The participants, our dear little students, will form into teams no bigger than four and no smaller than two, and will be given flags indicating their team’s point total. After a ten-minute team assembly and planning time, they will be given five minutes to find a spot to set up their base and plant their flag. During the game, you can add to your points by capturing points from other teams and bringing them back to your base. After twenty-five minutes, the top sixteen students from the top scoring teams will be selected for the next round!” She saw the students begin to look amongst themselves, no doubt searching for partners among their friends or classmates, maybe even watching the terrain being shaped before their eyes, searching for an obvious defensive spot. Midnight saw the moment realisation passed through Uraraka’s mind, and her smirk turned nigh-on sadistic as she finally spotted the central hill being constructed by Cementoss right in the middle of the man-made small city. It was in a wide-open park, flat topped with only a small hill to separate it from the surroundings, with clear shots from surrounding buildings for any enterprising long-range quirk users.

“However,” she purred, and she saw the moment realisation became horror as Uraraka stared at her, “there is an… exception. To stand at the top means to shoulder the most burdens, so it would only make sense for the winner to face the highest challenge. The million-point flag, given to the winner of the race and marked out in gold, will be an instant win for anyone holding it in their base by the end of the game.” She waited for the hungry eyes to circle round to the poor brown-haired girl and, were she not currently in the Midnight act, she might have sent the girl a sympathetic look. As it was now, however, all she could do was grin. “Furthermore, the winning team will have to take the preselected base built in the centre of the environment that Cementoss-kun as just lovingly finished constructing! Wow, what perfect timing!”

Eyes narrowed. Glances were sent. Her whip snapped. “Planning time starts now!”

Folding her arms, she stepped back to observe the students. She watched as predictable teams made of friends from each class formed, often around one or two members. It was early in the year though.

It seemed Bakugou was going with a smaller team, with Kirishima mainly stepping next to the explosive boy, declaring they were a team, and Bakugou just grunting and going with it. Ashido seemed to have followed Kirishima despite her obvious reservations about the blond, but looked willing to smile bear it for her friends. It made Midnight want to smile. That was another point to one of her bets in the secret betting pool.

Todoroki looked to be filling his team with legacies, even if they weren’t all heroics based. Yaoyorozu seemed an obvious choice, seeing how she was the only one who seemed willing to actively interact with the frosty teen. Perhaps they knew each other before? It was likely, considering their rather influential families. Jirou and Hatsume were different, one being the daughter of two members of the band Deep Dope, a rather popular band who had their heyday five-ish years ago, but still retained some popularity among fans and through their music label, and the other being the youngest scion of the Hatsume Inc support company. Two geniuses in their field, if the rumours were true, though Nemuri had heard more about Hatsume’s penchant for sudden and violent explosions from Power Loader than she was knew what to do with, so she’d reserve any judgement. He always praised her passion, after all.

Jirou was more… discrete. Which was rather ironic considering her quirk. Aizawa had no complaints and, according to the reports from the USJ, she’d done well fighting villains and helping her classmates regroup and organise, and had showed a surprising level-headedness during the incident. Enough for Nedzu to mark her as a candidate for second- and third-year disaster situational management training along with Yaoyorozu and Shouji. A rare thing to happen so early in her UA career.

An interesting team, full of big names and potential. It was probably one of the more dangerous teams on the field. She shouldn’t discount class 1-B’s teams, it was just hard to compare them to students who had already had their trial by fire. They had some original teams though, and some of them even seemed to have teamed up with the only Gen Ed student too, including a heavy hitter like Shiozaki.

1-B, she noticed, had seemed a lot more cohesive during the initial race. She was excited as to what that could mean.

Though there was one team that surprised her, even if only a bit.

Uraraka had found herself predictably isolated by the massive target on her back, alone in a school of sharks circling like it smelled fresh blood. She had been floundering, reaching out to classmates only to have them smile and apologise and go off to less risky pastures.

Until she found someone in a similar boat as her.

Now, despite it being an instant win ticket, the first-place flag was nothing but a trouble magnet in a game of this length, especially early on. That would mean, logically, that the next best person to team up with would be second place. As a bonus, the guy in second place was in position of an extremely powerful fire quirk and obviously had a good amount of control over it. The perfect teammate, right?

Unfortunately, Midoriya Izuku was a rather intimidating guy. Incinerating a villain wasn’t great for one’s reputation in the hero world. Incinerating a villain that could move faster than the eye could see, could turn reinforced concrete to dust with its fists, and could regenerate from deadly wounds, just made the one who finally did it in seem fucking terrifying. Rumours and embellishments hadn’t helped, and the obvious massive fire damage to a building the size of the USJ in the few pictures that had escaped UA’s information filters regarding the incident hadn’t helped at all.

Midoriya’s tendency for silence, glaring, and heating up the air around him to uncomfortable levels when irritated also added to the whole ‘broody unapproachable guy’ attitude he had going on.

Aizawa had marked the boy down as ‘Observe with Caution’ for a reason, after all. The poor man did seem to have an unusually high number of those in his class this year. Maybe she’d get him some of that nice coffee for his birthday, if he was nice enough.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that, as the groups started forming and the space started clearing, wide brown eyes found green lidded with a perpetual exhaustion, and a smile started spreading across Uraraka’s face as she sidled up to the green-haired boy.

Words Nemuri couldn’t hear were exchanged, or, well, mostly spoken by Uraraka, with Midoriya eventually nodding. They looked to be a team of two before two more surprises in the form of Shouji and Asui seemed to appear behind Midoriya and Uraraka, startling the brown-haired girl enough for her to jump and make Shouji chuckle. It seemed first place had found her team.

And what an interesting team it was…

The timer for the end of the planning phase sounded and the teams started moving around the territory, setting up their bases in line with their quirks and selected strategy. The million-plus-point team was led by a bot right to their base, surrounded by so many fields of fire it had made Sleeper’s skin itch with the feeling of imaginary eyes on her skin. But it was fine. It was entertainment, after all.

And she was glad this was the game selected instead of the cavalry battle. Sure, watching the students running around, carrying each other could be entertaining, but this had the potential to turn into something truly fun to watch. The people always enjoyed wonton destruction, after all. Just as long as it didn’t affect them.

The teams were in position. Teens, some barely fifteen, grouped together in threes or fours, at the height of awkwardness an hormonal pubescence.

It was only surprising that it had taken so long to monetise all that acne-induced rage.

Not that any of these hero students seem to be afflicted by the old teen-curse. A combination of healthy diets and constant exercise, as well as a whole market of quirk enhanced hygiene products, had a way of clearing even the greasiest of pores.

What was he thinking again?

‘Oh yeah,’ Hisashi grinned as the bell rang and an arena shaped into an urban landscape exploded, sometimes literally, into a maelstrom of violence. ‘Making money off of teen angst.’

“You know,” Oki said, even as a firestorm erupted in the centre of the small city, sublimating the sheet of ice that had formed as soon as the bell had finished ringing, before it swept outwards and demolished the nearest buildings in an arc, removing the closest cover available to any attackers, “you’ve got that look on your face again.”

“What look?” ‘Huh, that’s a pretty offensive strategy for someone who’s meant to be on the defensive, kid.’ The first-place team seemed to have split up, the two girls and the tall boy with six arms setting off into the ruined landscape through a gap in the fire curtain, disappearing among the buildings before the curtain fell again. ‘Gonna be pretty annoying to maintain that for nearly half an hour. Don’t forget you’ve got the matches after this!’

“The look that says,” the bearded man’s voice rose to a higher pitch, squeaky and scratchy. More reminiscent of a goblin than a giant. “‘Oooh, looky-looky!! There’s gonna be fire and big booms and fire!!!’” The teams that had positioned themselves closer to the centre had reached the curtain now, and a good portion of them had stopped, stunned by the walls of flame blocking their way. One intrepid student, a skinny blond boy, stepped forward, his skin turning a dull grey of steel as he confidently walked into the curtain of fire—

Only for the fire to roar with heat and force, a beast displeased by the intruder who would dare challenge it with such weak resolve.

“You know, if you were anyone else, I’d take offense to that,” the green-eyed man said, full of humour as with a sudden fiery explosion, and a rather loud yelp, the poor boy was flung outwards, into a blond girl with horns who had tried to catch him, bringing them both to the ground. The boy’s fate seemed to have slowed the boil of the other student’s excitement, bringing back their contemplation as the gears in their minds ground on, trying to find a solution to the wall between them and victory.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s true,” Oki grumbled, but the scene in front of them had them distracted. “It’d be more fun if you did take offense.” One girl had caught their attention, a girl from 1-B, if he remembered the faces from the introduction correctly, seemed to come have an idea. An idea she shared with most of the other kids in her class, all of whom looked ready and willing to listen. A natural leader?

Hisashi’s eyes widened along with his grin as the girl’s hands grew large, swollen to a size wholly disproportionate to her body, yet wielded with an ease that gave away her strength. Hisashi and Oki’s eyes followed as the 1-B students lined up behind her, both the older men recognising the beginnings of a rather basic and bear bones breach and clear. It was simple, yet deceptively clever, and required a level of trust unusual at such an early time in training.

It might have even worked, too, if one of them hadn’t noticed the scoreboard. A yell was all that was needed for the rest to turn and see each of their team’s points start dropping to zero, and the impromptu breach team suddenly remembered that they and their target were not the only ones on the field. It seemed that, bar one, class 1-A had avoided the centre like the plague and instead focused on the bases nearer to them that suddenly had fewer defenders. Bases that happened to belong to the members of class 1-B. A class with significantly less experience with Midoriya Izuku than them.

‘You seem to have made quite the impression, kid,’ his grin turned to a proud smile even as his eyes left the commotion of indecision in the centre to follow one of the more interesting fights in the periphery. It looked like team Bakugou — ‘Grit your teeth keep the fire down keep the rage for late there’s people round keep ca l m’ — was on a bit of a rampage, with the teams’ leader blasting between bases with explosions released with deceptive ease that belied their precision, turning the blond into a veritable pin-ball machine in the small streets. His teammates, one looking slightly annoyed at being left behind, the other, the redhead, still seeming to be maintaining his default cheer, looked to be turning their base’s single entrance into a choke point, with rocks left over from some of Bakugou’s wanton destruction being piled up by the solid looking boy.

Hisashi had to give credit where credit was due, they had chosen a good spot in one of the few buildings on top of a hill. Sufficient concealment behind the existing walls to make actually discerning their precise location difficult, and enough cover to protect them from at least the initial assault should they actually be spotted. A point against them would be allowing their leader to go out without support, but they were young, and Bakugou looked to be the kind of kid to do things regardless of his teammates’ opinions.

The Iida’s team seemed to have adopted a similar strategy, but with their own twist. The scoreboard showed them as sitting on a score of zero, but no other team had had a jump in points equal to what the Iidaten heir had started with. With the flashy spectacle in the middle still going strong, most people weren’t paying attention to the surroundings but, despite his own power and proclivity for fiery displays of destruction, experience told him that the outskirts of a fight often employed the most interesting tactics.

Like here, where, in a move completely outside of the usually straightforward personality detailed in his psychological profile (that they had access to because the world was a dangerous place and one should never send their offspring into the unknown without thorough recon work first) and more at home in the playful and creative handbook of his older brother, the Iida boy had taken the flag from his own base, and was running around with it on his person, backed up by a particularly mobile boy with tape coming out of his elbows, a big, rock-headed kid that, had Hisashi not known better, he would have said was their team’s tank, and the Tokoyami boy and his… shadow friend.

Their whole team looked to be moving around the arena together, with the big lad scouting, Iida and tape-boy blitzing the defenders, with Tokoyami providing the extra muscle in case they needed a quick extraction. In a move that certainly defied the norm when it came to chosen strategy in this game, they had left their base undefended, though, with the method they were employing, defending an empty point would be a waste of energy that could be used boosting their score. They’d already taken the points off of two other teams, which spoke to the effectiveness, before Oki finally noticed them.

The old man watched for a while, seeing what Hisashi was seeing, before he let out a whistle that was part surprised, part impressed.

“That’s something I wasn’t expecting. I thought he was the honest, straightforward, stick-so-far-up-his-ass-he-was-coughing-splinters kid?”

“Look’s like he’s thinking outside the box today… that, or one of his teammates thought of it.”

“Aaah, yeah. That seems right.” The giant of a man scratched his beard, as he watched the team overwhelm another pair of defenders and make off with the points of another poorly defended 1-B team. “My money’s on the elbows kid. Takes quick thinking to swing around like that successfully, and he hasn’t fallen once!” Oki thought for a second. “Izuku could learn a thing or two from this, I think. Too straightforward, he is. Gets it from you. You both see a problem, and your first solution is to go through it. Look at this, classic mobile VIP doctrine. It’s impressive! The kid’s got some out of the box-he-knows ideas in his head!” They held their breath as the boy made a particularly sharp turn, simultaneously throwing off a pursuer and trapping him in a pre-prepared tape-net.

Hisashi had to agree. “A real little Arachnick.”

Oki groaned. “Why’d you have to go an’ say that? I was having fun! I don’t wanna think about some cheeky shit from across the Pacific while I’m here, watching my nephew perform in front of the world on live TV.”

The black-haired Midoriya flashed his friend and brother in all but blood a grin with more sharp teeth than necessary. “Suffer.”

Oki barely blinked, before scowling and leaning back in his seat, muttering about web-headed menaces.

Eventually, he sighed. “Oh well. It doesn’t matter anyway. They’d caught explody-boy’s eye.”

Forcing down the acid rage bubbling up in his lungs, Hisashi conceded his point. The Bakugou kid had improved since the last report he’d read. It was irritating, in the same way an itch that won’t go away or the man who hit his car being let off the hook because he was well connected was annoying.

It wasn’t surprising, though, the brat had always needed to be the best. Nor was it particularly important. He was talented, yes, but he stood head and shoulders beneath the one who truly mattered today.

So yeah, maybe Bakugou knocking out tape boy and stealing Iida’s points was an impressive show of skill and finesse, but, as much as Hisashi could appreciate smart tactics and creative strategy, and despite Oki’s jibes, nothing could truly beat brute force.

A sudden explosion as a mountain of ice collided with a wall of flame and sublimated on contact drew their eyes back to the centre of the arena where, despite his experience at the USJ, the Todoroki had decided to be the one member of 1-A to go and try his luck against Hisashi’s boy.

To his credit, Todoroki certainly had the power to be a challenge, and it wasn’t like he’d left his base undefended. Walls of ice surrounded the location that the little carton map denoted as their base, and the drone footage showed that the legacy team had certainly not been idle. The pink haired girl with dreadlocks, who could only be Hatsume and whose eyes bore such a striking resemblance to her mothers’ that Hisashi felt a stroke of true fear before it faded, had set up some truly impressive defensive lines. Turrets and tripwires and what Hisashi was afraid to guess were some non-lethal claymores in front of an area of the wall that looked designed to be purposefully weaker than the others, no doubt to funnel any attackers into a prepared kill zone, while the Yaoyorozu girl stood ready with a staff, looking around at the steel plates placed around the ice as reinforcement, but also kept glancing nervously at the pinkette which, if she was anything like her mother, Hisashi supported wholeheartedly.

The last member of their team, and the one standing as a shield between a Hatsume and their latest victim, despite being smaller and slighter than both, was the Jirou. An odd legacy to be carrying into the heroics industry, but, with her ear plugged into the ground and a set of boosted speakers attached to her legs, no doubt curtesy of Yaoyorozu, she looked ready to prove her worth as a scout specialist and wide-area attacker.

How enviable.

Still, all that safety and preparation to defend their point didn’t mean much when they were standing there, doing nothing, as their team’s namesake threw his head at the wall of fire that Izuku seemed intent on keeping up until the heat death of the universe again, and again, and again.

It was pretty embarrassing, really. ‘But, then again,’ Hisashi supposed, ‘when you’re raised to think all you have is a hammer, then everything starts to look like a nail.’

The thought carried more venom than he’d anticipated, but, before he could properly process and repress, Oki spoke up and forced Hisashi to discard the moment.

“What’s he doing?” Oki sounded rather serious, nearly annoyed, as he stared at the roaring wall of fire in the centre of the arena. Hisashi could see flames dance in his friend’s black eyes and it brought to mind the seeds of empires that could have been torched at the hands of Goliath through the strength he wielded as a young giant unbound by rules and traditions and the wisdom that only comes with time. Though all Hisashi could see was a shadow of an echo of a more barbaric age, he had always had good vision.

He still decided to play dumb.

“What do you mean?”

“Izuku. What is he doing?”

Hisashi bit his lip as he watched his son vaporise another iceberg and send a wave of fire back at the Todoroki boy, all the while maintaining the defensive curtain around his base. To anyone else it might have been impressive, a clear show of skill and the ability to multitask combined with the power to make splitting attention and energy between two endeavours worth the effort that was sure to wow civilians and heroes alike. Elemental emitters and manipulators like Hisashi and Izuku might even be surprised.

But to the people who had practically raised Izuku, had taught him everything from how to throw a punch to the meticulous control needed to wield fire with a precision more in line with a scalpel than a hammer, what was happening in that arena was… sloppy.

Oh, it was loud and flashy and exciting, and no doubt made for great entertainment for the masses, but it was nowhere near what Izuku could really do.

Hisashi knew that, Okiotoko knew that, hell, he didn’t doubt that the top heroes and other interested parties would know that too. Sure, they might attribute that sloppiness to youth and inexperience, but Hisashi and Oki knew better.

Hisashi pursed his lips. “Why would he need to do more?” He asked, the reflection of the fire in his eyes brightening as the wall flared again, discouraging some creeping vines that had tried to sneak in through the open top. The poor girl seemed more shaken than was normal, and she was looking around the arena like she was lost. Maybe she hadn’t drunk enough beforehand? Heatstroke was no joke. “It’d be a waste of energy. Plus, it’ll give him an edge when the fighting starts if he’s more capable than he’s shown.”

Oki gave him a look somewhere between disbelief and annoyance. “Sure, maybe, if half of them hadn’t seen him vaporise a bioweapon and the top half of the USJ.” The fighting was getting more intense now, as the clock started ticking down. Hisashi noticed Izuku’s teammates, who had left the base at the beginning of the round and had been pretty discrete this whole time, aside from nabbing one or two headbands in skirmishes with other roaming parties, suddenly burst into action. “And don’t talk to me about wasting energy, all that showboating has gotta be way more inefficient.”

“Maybe so.” Those three were really moving now. The tall, six-armed one seemed to lunch across an open space where three 1-B teams had set up near to each other, taking all the attention of the defenders onto himself and causing his silhouette to bulge as arms upon arms burst from his shoulders, becoming living mountains of muscle and sinew that swarmed their way across the gap between them and into their beleaguered opponents. A forest of arms with too many twisting joints and too many grasping hands and eyes and teeth.

No, on second thought, there weren’t any teeth.

Not yet, at least.

‘So Hecatoncheires’ line might yet live…’ He saw Oki’s face darken at the sight and sighed.

Then the fourth teammate made her move.

Using the large and flashy attack as a distraction, the frog girl, no doubt lightened by Uraraka’s quirk in some capacity, positively rocketed through whatever defences the startled students could present, ricocheting between flags with impressive control for someone usually so bound by gravity that Hisashi had to wonder if the two girls had practiced this combo before.

As soon as the girl — that, now that Hisashi got a closer look, had a nasty scar around her mouth that made him cringe and remember that Izuku had mentioned that one of the students had been rushed to hospital — was back with her team, the six-armed boy quickly pulling all his extra limbs back in, they turned tails and bravely sprinted back towards the centre, with Uraraka removing their gravity to escape to the tops of buildings and away from the angry shouts of the now pointsless teams they’d so mercilessly destroyed.

Hisashi could help but grin. Izuku might have a point about that girl. She had smarts, he’d give her that, and her victory in the previous round showed her grit and willingness to be at least a little bit merciless in the pursuit of her goals, and, if what Izuku had said about her being the only one to try and talk to him when he was starting to slip deep into his quirk was true, she had a good base of courage to act as the foundation.

“Again, this is a school event, meant to show off all the future herolings to the big wide world. They’re getting more press ‘cos of the attack, sure, but they’re still first years. Hyper competence in a kid with no known relations to the hero world will raise questions.” He watched as the team raced across rooftops, quickly reaching the outskirts of the crater of destruction that was the battleground between his son and the Todoroki. He watched as his son noticed them arrive, thanks to their frantic waving. He thought he could see the surprise enter his son’s face as Uraraka made them all weightless, and Izuku’s teammates threw themselves across the void towards the empty airspace above his curtain of fire. He grinned as that surprise turned to panic, and Izuku flailed and tried to manipulate his fire to protect his helpless teammates from long-ranged ground assaults, abandoning the little pissing match with the Todoroki, but turning up the heat all around his curtain in a surprisingly lazy move.

Hisashi leaned back in his chair as the three teammates made it back to their base with five seconds to spare. “I’m sure the wackos that escaped from the USJ are already asking questions, but the rest of the world doesn’t know, and that’s a good thing. It’s better to keep all your capabilities hidden from potential enemies, especially when you’re just starting out.”

Oki turned to look at Hisashi, his face carefully blank, and Hisashi opted to avoid eye contact by looking on as the timer his zero and Izuku’s team celebrated their crushing victory. Oki looked back towards the arena again, silent. Then he spoke.

“Hiding what you can do from your potential future enemies is good, but knowing who those potential future enemies are is better. So, who are these enemies you’re expecting and preparing him for.” The giant looked down at his friend from the corner of his eye, and the dragon continued to ignore him, choosing instead to watch as the celebrations and mourning of the teams who had passed and failed died down and the brackets for the combat round of this inane festival were revealed. “Villains, supervillains, terrorists, petty criminals… others…”

Oki’s gaze hardened as he looked at Izuku’s path to the finals, and ran all the information he had about the contenders from the files he’d read and the round he’d watched through his head. It would be tough, but doable.

Fun to watch, at the very least.

“I guess that’s a pretty stupid question.” his gaze rose from the arena. He swept the stands with his eyes, picking out heroes and civilians, before moving to the presenters’ box, and the other, private boxes, and even the cameras currently focusing on the students while the studio no doubt ran the graphic of the fighting brackets for all the viewers.

“No, I guess the better question would be whose enemies are you so cautious about?”