Chapter Text
You’d be the first person to describe your life as a poorly written tragedy.
It is a wholly factual observation and would be delivered without inflection. Just as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, your life has been a clusterfuck from the moment your parents died.
To be fair, it hadn’t always been miserable.
You remembered faint snippets of life with your family, of standing on your father’s feet as he swayed you around the living room to the same few songs; of your mother’s laughter when you tugged on her hand to whisper that you wanted the little bubble lid on your milkshake even though you’d rejected the whipped cream topping. You remembered these small things, warm things that you hoarded away and shoved into a corner of your mind to pull out on a truly horrible day.
But, again, to be fair, those memories were few and far between because there hadn’t been much time to create them. No, your parents died when you were five, and you were shunted off to an orphanage when orphanages were still a thing before the government decided to transition to foster care for all.
The transition had taken a far shorter amount of time than it ought to have, for reasons that could only be known to some higher power, and that meant the checks on foster parents were pathetic. Because there was no way in sweet hell your old foster family would have passed if the authorities had known what happened in that house.
Your new story arc arrived when you turned eighteen, escaped the bullying by the same insipid crowd you were forced to attend middle school and highschool with, and got the fuck out of that hellhole – even if it was straight into a different kind of hellhole. Your tiny apartment was no gem, neither was the neighbourhood, but you could deal with something as trivial as a tiny, squalid apartment. There were things you could do and did do to make it tolerable. You couldn’t say the same about being trapped in that foster home surrounded by assholes. There were reasons, alright?
But let’s hit pause on your sob story for now, because there are infinitely more pressing things at the moment. The only pertinent thing to know is that despite your life being predominantly miserable as fuck, there was one constant, marginally irrational, belief that you clung onto despite being in your final year of university and having read whatever books and articles you’d found on the subject that said otherwise – that when it came to your soulmate, you were theirs and they would be yours.
As clear as the rude words on your ribs, you knew that you had a soulmate and you had placed what remained of your hopes on the belief that there had to be a reason you were given this person. All you had to do was find them, and you would finally have somebody on your side.
Well, eventually.
You were cynical and realistic enough to know that launching yourself at the other person and expecting you both to be inseparable was plain stupid. Your track record with (not) having friends wasn’t the greatest – just look at your barely-existent friend group. But you had faith that things would be different, would be a bit easier with your soulmate.
This was important information because in the second week of first term, U.A. opened its doors and offered extensive guided tours to the exclusive few who had been offered conditional acceptance. Naturally, you had deleted such information from you brain – limited storage capacity and all that.
And, naturally, that came back to bite you because for the first time since you were aware of the concept of a soulmate, you were hit by flashes of images. The first was weak, weak enough for you to write it off as annoying déjà vu. The second and third left an afterimage of what looked like the Development Studio. When your mark began feeling warm to the touch, your breath stuttered. Your deskmate spared you nothing more than a quick glance, which was great, because you’d rather freak out process all of this on your own – you knew the signs, you just couldn’t believe it was finally happening.
You wrecked your brain trying to think of why now. The timing was peculiar as you’d long eliminated any existing student or staff as a possibility, and so you did your best to discreetly scroll through the emails on your phone, looking out for any school announcements … there!
Your eyes darted to the clock at the corner of the small screen – there was about ten minutes till lunch break, thank fuck. ‘If there was anything good left in this world, let it be that our breaks coincide’, you thought to yourself.
When the bell finally rang, you didn’t even bother tidying your desk as you normally would. Instead, with a split-second deliberation, you decided to waste a few precious seconds dashing up to your bewildered teacher. (You rarely, if ever, bothered had questions to ask.)
“Ishiyama-sensei, do you know if the open house kids are also having their lunchbreak right now?”
To his credit, your homeroom/Modern Literature teacher merely blinked at you before he obligingly rifled through some papers in his folder. He hummed under his breath and it took herculean effort to refrain from tapping your foot.
“I believe so, Chihiro-chan. Why do you –”
You weren’t proud of it, but you were out the door before Cementoss could finish his question. You yelled an apology over your shoulder and heard an answering, “Don’t collide with anyone, please, and I’d like an explanation after your classes!”. It was amusing, to think of the slack-jawed expressions of the classmates you’d left behind – you were being thoroughly out of character and you knew it. Thoughts of having to deal with the inevitable pestering… were distinctly less amusing.
The mark had grown warmer and warmer the closer you got to the dining hall. You slowed to a halt at the entrance, doing your best to catch your breath and get a damn grip of your nerves. The mark felt like it was just shy of being branded onto you, you had to be in the right place.
“Senpai?”
You jerked towards the sudden voice, finding yourself looking at an unfamiliar underclassman who blanched when you turned to face them.
“U-um, are you going in? It’s just that…”
You finally realised that your dumbass had thought it was a good idea to get your shit together right smack in the middle of the entrance lane. The mix of amused and curious looks being thrown your way by those on the exit side made you wince.
“Sorry,” you muttered, then hurried in.
Learning from that embarrassing little moment, you parked yourself in a corner, close to the walls, and surveyed the various tables. It was easy enough to pick out the visitors’ tables, the variety of different uniform colours and designs stood out. You moved closer to that cluster of tables, slowly prowling circling the area.
Your mark was burning.
At a particularly painful flare, there was sudden movement that caught your eye. One of the kids (thank fuck it wasn’t a parent) in a navy blazer was hunched over, a hand pressed against his ribs. Your vision tunnelled and you barely registered a similar looking older woman (‘His mother’, your brain helpfully provided) fretting over him.
With a deep breath, you had just enough still-functioning brain cells to remind yourself to first approach their assigned guide.
The underclassman’s eyes widened as they made contact with yours, frantic as they must have seemed.
“I’m sorry to trouble you, but may I speak to one of your families very briefly? The one at the end of the table.”
“Er… do you know them, senpai? Do you need me to –”
“I believe I do, and no, please don’t worry. I’ll only be a few minutes,” you quickly assured. You kept looking over your shoulder to see the boy scanning the hall with a scowl, hand twitching on the table. You could sympathise, the scalding pain had only gotten worse.
Excusing yourself, you finally walked towards the blonde family of two.
The boy young man noticed you first, momentary confusion quickly morphing into a wariness barely discernible behind that impressive glare.
Clearing your throat, you did your best to ignore the curious stares from the others at the table.
“My sincere apologies for intruding, but – ” your voice left you then, because fuck you hadn’t thought this through. Which moron would just blurt out ‘Are you my soulmate because my mark is flaring up and I think yours is too’?
Oh, fuck it.
You exhaled sharply and slapped your game-face on.
“Isn’t it burning?”
His eyes widened.
“What’d you say, One-Eye?”
It had bothered you at the very beginning, how harsh the words had read on your ribs. But hearing them now, a hushed, raspy whisper of disbelief, it didn’t hurt quite so badly. Nope, not at all, if that stupid smile you could feel creeping its way across your lips was any indication.
“You heard me.”
You reached out a hand, hoping he would understand because it was already awkward enough to have to do this with a damn audience. Thank god he did. The moment his surprisingly calloused hand grasped yours, the pain lifted and both of you gave an involuntary sigh of relief.
The sudden clatter of somebody’s lunch tray rips you out of your little bubble, and the noise of the dining hall immediately filters back. With the weight of numerous pairs of eyes boring into your skull, you gave his hand a light squeeze before you straightened up. You hastily offered his equally wide-eyed mother an apologetic smile before you bowed low, lower than you normally would.
“My name is Chihiro Mirai, a third-year student. It is my pleasure to meet you both, and, again, I apologise for the intrusion.”
“Bakugou Mitsuki,” the lady replied, the softness of her eyes clashing with the shit-eating grin that had commandeered her face. “And this is Katsuki.”
The young man – your soulmate – huffed at his mother’s introduction.
“Please, let me leave my contact with you both so I don’t take up more of your time –”
“I’m already done,” Katsuki interrupted brusquely, shoving away his tray. Lithely, he extracted himself from the bench. “I’ll be back before the group leaves, a’right?”
Without so much as a by your leave, he grabbed your wrist, heading for the exit. You dug your heels in just long enough to fumble for a name card from your blazer’s inner pocket, offering it to his longsuffering mother with one hand and another bow. Your soulmate was looking to be such a dick, forcing you to be this rude – what heathen presented a name card with only one hand? But, sue you, it did nothing to dampen the lightness in your chest.
Katsuki slowed down once you both exited the dining hall, probably uncertain where best to go. At the deepening frown, you spared him and switched the grip he had on your wrist, grabbing onto his as you led the way to a nearby stairwell.
As the noise faded to a low hum behind the door, you turned to look at him. Your heart was still hammering away. Despite his permanent scowl, you guessed that he wasn’t faring much better.
“What’s your hero name?”
You barked out a laugh, caught off guard by the question. Of all things, this was not what you thought you would say to each other right off the bat.
“Vanguard.” You fished out another name card and presented it to him properly. “Here.”
Katsuki received it with both hands, small mercies, but not without making it seem like he was doing you a huge favour. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes – of course the fates gave you a bloody porcupine (no pun intended, but that hair though) for a soulmate. As if your life needed to be tested with yet another difficult person.
“I’ve never heard of you.”
“Not surprised,” you said. “Only ever make it to the first round of the tournament. Hardly any air-time.”
“Why? Your quirk that pathetic?”
“Rude,” you replied with faint sarcasm. “No, just didn’t try very hard. Did enough not to get nagged at.”
Katsuki glared at you in disgust.
“You think this is all a joke? Why the hell are you even in this school if you’re not even going to put in the effort?”
A brow arched itself before you could control your facial expression. “They can be mutually exclusive, you know. I only think the Sports Festival is a joke after first year. Most people know who they’re going to be working with by second year, so it loses any decent purpose after first year. Beyond that, it’s just a pissing contest.”
“It’s fucking disrespectful not to give your all in a fight,” Katsuki snapped at you.
You squinted at him. “Is it really? I’ve had enough pain in my life, I’m not about to unnecessarily put myself out there just so a bunch of extras can take a shot at injuring me.”
His expression slackened for a moment – the boy’s face was a fucking rollercoaster – and you tried to review the words that had just tumbled out of your mouth. Was it the “bunch of extras” comment? Or the “enough pain in my life”? Both were provocative enough, you supposed.
“Yeah, well – if you’re all that great, you wouldn’t get injured by extras,” Katsuki quickly recovered.
You grinned at the shared terminology; maybe it’d unsettled him that you could be equally callous.
“And what are you so angry about, anyway? Doubt it’s the hurt feelings of the others.”
His eye twitched.
“You worried I wouldn’t take a fight with you seriously?”
“Fuck off,” he snarled, “who the fuck’s worried?”. Such mighty words were hard to take personally when you could see the reddened tips of his ears.
“Maybe I’ve got no time for a useless, half-baked soulmate who’s afraid – ”
It was your turn for an eye twitch. ‘Afraid’?
“I swear if I were a guy, you’d be asking me to whip it out for a dick-measuring contest,” you grumbled. He just unleashed another string of swears. “You want to be impressed, is that it, Pretty Boy?”
You weren’t lying. You might only have one fully functioning eye and a murky hot mess for the other, but your soulmate was striking with his red eyes, spiky fluffy ash blond bird’s nest of hair and unfairly perfect complexion.
“Alright, I’ll do it. In fact, I’ll even agree to the exhibition match. Just one, mind you. That’s my line in the sand.”
“You can’t even get through the first round – why the fuck would you be considered for the exhibition matches?”
Sighing, you leaned against the stair railing. “Weren’t you listening? Mutually exclusive. I never said I didn’t care about everything else. I had a few challenges last year that I ignored, so,” you shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Changing your mind just like that?”
“Mn. Just like that.”
Katsuki crossed his arms and leaned against the wall opposite you.
“You ever seen the Sports Festival live?”
“No,” he replied. “Tickets are nearly impossible to get without connections.”
You blinked at him. He frowned at you. With a small flourish, you gestured at yourself, “’Connections’.”
He leaned forward, still frowning, but there was more surprise than irritation.
“You’d – what about your family?”
“Don’t have one.”
This time, he seemed truly taken aback.
“It’s fine. I mean, it’s fine now. Life was a clusterfuck for a long time, but hey, I’ve finally gotten to meet you.”
The sight of his reddened ears didn’t hold a candle to seeing the light flush across his cheeks.
“Yeah? We’ve been swearing at each other a lot more than you’d of expect of strangers, let alone soulmates,” he blustered, trying (and failing) to sound derisive.
A stupidly premature look of fondness crossed your face.
“Bakugou-kun, I’ve been waiting for you all my life. This is hardly a bump in the road.”
Whoa, he looked like a tomato. Adorable.
“F-For fuck’s sake. Don’t say shit like that, woman.”
“Okay, okay, I’ve consciously been waiting for you for 16 years. But the sentiment still stands. You’re stuck with me now, Bakugou-kun. Doesn’t matter if we’re close or not in the end, we’re soulmates and I’ll always do my best to look out for you. So, will you let me try getting to know you?”
His movements were jerky when he peeled himself off the wall, searching for his phone to unlock it.
“Tch. I don’t fucking need you looking out for me,” he muttered, glaring at you from behind his fringe.
You rolled your eyes. Just a little.
“Gimme your phone,” he ordered.
You scoffed at his tone but obliged all the same.
“Such a shitty model.”
“You have an obvious comment for everything, Pretty Boy?”
A glare you’d begun to assume was his extreme form of Resting Bitch Face was thrown at you. You just stared back until you saw the lightbulb flicker to life behind his eyes. Yeah. Poor orphan. Secondhand phone.
He pursed his lips.
“So… conditional acceptance, huh?”
Katsuki shifted his focus from the screen back to you.
“Yeah. But I’m just here for the extended tour. I’ll get in the normal way. Don’t need a fucking recommendation.”
You felt your jaw drop. Your soulmate was just a spiky bundle of spite, wasn’t he?
“Who’s your mentor?”
“Snipe-sensei,” you answered by reflex, still trying to pick your jaw off the ground.
“You’ve got an accuracy-based quirk?”
“Nope,” you said. “Had an interest in guns. Thought it would complement my quirk. Plus, it’s a useful alternative if my quirk fails me.”
“I don’t get you,” he said. “Why the fuck aren’t you mentored by a hero who could teach you to handle your quirk.”
The reasons were a little longer than you both had time for, too intertwined with the story of the mess that was your life.
“All shall be revealed in due course, young Padawan,” you said with fake airs.
When your phones were swapped back, you took a quick time check.
“Come on, we have to go. I’ve still got to head back to my classroom for my stuff.”
Conversation died out as you led the way to the dining hall. At the entrance, you looked at each a little awkwardly. Well, you did while your soulmate just found particular interest in the wall.
“I should go,” you said. “But I’ll drop you a message later… Or, y’know, you could instead.”
You offered a small grin, not really believing he would anyway. He clicked his tongue, but didn’t reject the idea. Interesting.
Without another word, Katsuki turned on his heel and walked off.
“Bye, Pretty Boy,” you called out, just to spite him. He gave you a one-finger salute, but his ears were red again so you considered it a job well done.
You hurried off after that, back to the same stairwell and up three flights of stairs. At the top, you had to pause. Your hands were trembling a little, fuck, you hadn’t felt this jittery since you’d signed that lease on your apartment two years ago. Reaching into your skirt pocket, you unlocked your phone and stared at the new contact information. For the first time in your life, you tapped on the ‘nickname’ box and didn’t even hesitate before you typed in “MENACE”.
---
As you’d expected, there was a fair amount of swatting away the unwanted attention of your nosy classmates.
Blessedly, you’d had a valid excuse to scamper off to change into your gym uniform. And then, because it was clearly going to be a good day, there was a clear path between you and the exit once the bell rang at the end of final period. You took just long enough to grab your stuff from the locker room, before taking off.
You were probably going to be a little early, most teachers who had final period tended to overrun. But you’d much rather take an unnecessarily long route to get to the staffroom than field more questions. You took a moment to look a little less dishevelled, leaning against the wall by the entrance.
“You’re not going in?”
You jumped at the sudden voice, hastily confining the swearing to your mind. The surly man always moved like a damn cat.
“Good afternoon, Aizawa-sensei,” you greeted with a short bow.
You received a grunt for your efforts. Without even pausing, he pushed aside the sliding door and took a quick scan of the occupants before raising his voice, “Snipe. You and Cementoss’ problem child is here.”
“Mirai? What’s this I hear about you blitzing through the corridors earlier, hm?”
You gave Eraserhead a mellow glare as you trudged past him, onwards towards the voice.
“I was looking for Ishiyama-sensei, Sensei. He’s the one I owe an explanation to.”
Snipe had twirled around on his chair, cloak draped across the back and his hat balanced on the edge of his cubicle partition.
“Lil’ Tumbleweed saying she doesn’t have time for her beloved mentor?”
There was a snort from somewhere in the mostly empty staffroom. Stupid fucking nickname.
“No,” you dutifully answered. You perched yourself on the bit of desk he cleared off for you.
“Ne, Sensei,” you began, looking thoughtful. Snipe immediately narrowed his eyes. “The Sports Festival’s about two weeks from now, right?”
“You know very well it is.”
You hummed, playing up the innocence. “Well, d’you know when the challenges for the exhibition matches will be sent out?”
“Probably sometime in the next few days. What are you up to, Tumbleweed?”
“Indeed, what are you up to, Chihiro-chan?”
You looked over your shoulder at Cementoss, a rueful smile on your face. Hopping off Sensei’s desk, you bowed low and apologized.
“I’m very sorry for running off so abruptly earlier today. It was an urgent matter, Ishiyama-sensei. I had a small window to potentially meet someone important.”
While the existence a soul mark was a necessary part of a student’s medical record, it wasn’t disclosed, by default, to anybody but your homeroom teacher. Given that Cementoss was just such a person who also knew of your background and notorious loner-status, your explanation was bound to raise some eyebrows.
In Cementoss’ case, it brought a knowing sparkle to his normally serious eyes.
“Snipe-sensei,” you interrupted your mentor’s spluttering behind you. “Do you think that really annoying kid will try his luck with me again?”
You were chided from both sides.
“Chihiro-chan, I know you know Togata-kun’s name.”
“Don’t be mean, Tumbleweed.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m just saying what you’re both thinking,” you mumbled.
Snipe had the decency to sigh – you knew he was your favourite for a reason. “He is… painfully enthusiastic, yes.”
“That’s just weak, Sensei. Tell it like it is.”
“Let’s focus,” Cementoss gently interrupted. “Do you mean to accept his challenge and participate in the Exhibition Matches, Chihiro-chan? Hypothetically, of course.”
“Yes. Hypothetically. I’ve made a promise,” you gestured nonchalantly to your left side. “Sort of.”
Your mentor leapt to his feet. Cementoss sighed happily.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice the diversion, Tumbleweed, you’re not as smooth as you – Wait, where’re you going?”
You’d slipped away, head down, powerwalking to the exit. No way were you going to discuss this out here in the wild - the teachers were the worst gossips.
“Sorry, I’ve got to get to my part-time job, Sensei!”
“Wait! Chihiro Mirai, get back – ”
The last thing you heard before the door slid shut was Sensei’s outrage blending perfectly with Cementoss’ calm voice.