Chapter Text
If nothing else, Izuku wished villains wouldn’t attack before 9 AM.
Crime, like all other professions, he believed, should operate on a strict 9-5 basis – a solid 8-hour workday with enough respite for both parties involved. A lunch break in the middle would be nice. Maybe a tea break too. Izuku didn’t ask for much.
Maybe I’ll bring it up in the next hero-villain conference, he thinks wryly, speeding up slightly as he spies the tailcoat of his object of pursuit sweep past the corner of the sidewalk. The road is just crowded enough that he couldn’t risk using his powers – a classic run-and-chase it would be then, unfortunately. Why did this villain have to break into the store right before Tenya’s shift started? Izuku bemoans. This was the perfect job for Ingenium – not the punches-and-kicks approach Izuku was partial to.
Just as Izuku slides around the corner, a razor-sharp thorn nearly slices his cheek open. Skidding to the right, his eyes narrow at the culprit, whose hands immediately reach back to pluck a few more from their plant-mutant body. Izuku only has a second to react – quickly falling to the ground with whelp.
The thorns whizz over Izuku’s head, slamming into the car parked behind him. Its siren starts to wail – soundwaves slamming right into the growing headache at his temples. It’s too early for this, he moans, leaping lightly back to his feet. The villain is a few metres away – too far for Izuku to use a single punch and end this. He lets One For All’s green lightening crackle a little brighter anyway, just to frighten the villain a little. He can a spot a spark of panic in their eyes, and they immediately reach out for more thorns and sends them whizzing towards him. This time Izuku is prepared, and he brushes them aside by creating a quick gust of wind. As the villain plucks even more, hastily, the action loosens some pollen from their face, which the wind picks up and blows towards Izuku. He immediately tugs his mask lower; likely to be harmless, like with most flower types, but knowing Izuku’s luck, it would more likely land him in the hospital the third time this week.
“No smile for me, hero?” the villain mocks, grabbing four thorns between their fingers and sending them flying. “Too scared to flash those blinding teeth of yours?”
As far as taunts go, it’s pretty weak and they both know it. Izuku simply ignores their words, and focuses on avoiding the projectiles being launched at him, while simultaneously quickly assessing the area around them. At least the blaring siren served some purpose – most people have cleared the road and have moved to the other side, either gaping at the scene or video recording. Urgh, Izuku thinks, already lamenting the eventual blowing up of his twitter notifications. But the coast is clear. Right before villain can launch any more thorns, Izuku stretches his arms in front and uses a careful and controlled Air Force smash right at his target. The air blast smashes the villain’s stem-neck, which should be their weakest point. Izuku’s assessment is correct – they immediately crash to the ground, landing on their back hard, knocking them out. Thorns rolls harmlessly on the sidewalk.
Izuku kicks one away for good measure as he sprints forward to trap their hands in his handcuffs. He glances around. A second benefit of the increasingly piercing siren – he spies a police officer rapidly approaching the two of them. But by the time the formalities are done and Izuku has handed over the villain and the stolen goods, his headache has well and truly settled right between his eyes, throbbing with every completed siren pulse from the car. He tiredly draws his phone out and glances at the screen.
9:17 AM.
Fuck. He’s late.
Izuku’s weekend job was a product of two unfortunate circumstances – first, breaking free of the shackles of side-kick-dom, and starting your own agency with your best friends sounds badass and liberating in theory, but in reality, it just involved many long nights crying over piling bills (mostly for property damage). Even if said agency was founded by three of the youngest pro heroes in the Top 25, with one on the verge of breaking into the Top 15, and received more than enough media attention (particularly on twitter), work was tedious and hard, and good, well-paying cases or sponsorships were almost impossible to find.
Ochako liked to blame it on Izuku’s fashion sense – “if you’d just try to look a little more on the bad-boy sexy side of pro-herodom instead of the doesn’t-know-he’s-attractive-in-a-lovable-loser-kind-of-way, there’d be people begging at our door to sponsor us, Deku” – while Tenya, god bless his heart, would simply point to the poster he stuck in the middle of their shared office six months ago, when they started: The Only Place Where Success Comes Before Work Is In The Dictionary.
Tenya was very proud of finding the quote online; Ochako and Izuku indulged him for the sake of their friendship.
But while lowering their chances of getting kicked out of their rented office because of the additional cash-flow from his new job was an important reason, it wasn’t the only one. After all, Izuku had argued, taking on more cases and hero work was a solid way to get more money from the government and increase the chances of a sponsor being interested in them. “Everyone likes a hardworking hero!”, he tried reasoning. “Especially those sports-drink marketing execs you keep stalking.”
But no. Apparently Izuku worked too hard. Apparently running on four hours of sleep a night was unhealthy and a potential gateway to adopting additional self-destructive tendencies like drug abuse, alcoholism, or gambling and pro-heroes must strive to remain upstanding and model citizens and should not wilfully stray away from the ideal hero behavioural guidelines set by the… Anyway. Izuku got the point. He was twenty-one and apparently tottering on the edge of burnout and maybe something worse.
“But anyway, it’s not like all those extra cases you’re doing all the fucking time help our case Deku!” Ochako had yelled. “We only get paid when you follow due procedure and file the damn reports with the police. But you just leave the villains tied up or handcuffed! Without any sign that you were the one who captured them! Like a fucking vigilante! You’re teetering on the edge of burnout because of doing pro bono work that we cannot even afford!”.
Ochako had a point. But she also knew better than to expect Izuku to just stop helping everyone he saw, reward or not. Izuku hates reports, and he has issues with the hero compensation system. If he can fuck both over at the same time, then it’s a double-win for him.
Hence, the compromise.
Weekdays were for pro-hero work. Weekends for part-time work, and filing any reports he missed from the week. Izuku was meant to act like a normal civilian, with a normal job, normal problems, and normal coping mechanisms. Easy. So easy.
“We just want what’s best for you and us, Izuku,” Ochako finally had sighed, resting her hands over his, stopping his agitated fidgeting. Her lips wobbled slightly. Izuku was weak and an absolute sucker for his friends. He had no chance in winning the argument.
“Who knows,” Tenya had said, patting his back. “Maybe you’ll even enjoy it”.
Which is why Izuku finds himself racing down the sidewalk, sprinting like a madman. He lost a precious few minutes desperately changing out of his costume in a public restroom. And then a few more minutes when he realised that he couldn’t use his powers to run faster anymore, and he was already winded slightly from his earlier chase. He was lucky that his general anxiety had forced him to leave home much earlier than strictly necessary. Thirty minutes could pass off as fashionably late, right? Izuku hoped the job Ochako had found him was under some sweet old lady, and not one of those retired big company bosses. Getting fired on his first day at a new job was one of his most recurrent nightmares, right after accidently calling All Might ‘Dad’.
The bookstore is right where he memorized it to be last night. If he wasn’t in a rush, he would have stopped to appreciate it. Plants pouring out of aged earthen pots, hanging from underneath the light pink awning. Vines curving across the windows with their leaves fluttering delicately in the wind. A couple of windchimes, walls with bright blue chipping paint, gossamer lace curtains brushing against an assortment of books, records, and vintage hero merch placed on display. The store looked like it had been plucked right from the sets of one of those romance dramas his mother liked to watch.
Unfortunately, Izuku had to shatter the tranquillity of the image. He slams the door open, panting slightly, blurting out a loud “I’m so sorry I’m late!”.
The store is empty before him. Rows and rows of bookshelves stretch across the room, crammed together tightly, seemingly without any set order. There are piles of books on the floor everywhere, all precariously stacked over each other. Towards his left, there’s a row of shelves filled with vinyl records. Opposite it is a row of glass counters stuffed with, to his extreme excitement, more vintage hero merch. The air is musty and Izuku watches the dust particles disturbed by his dramatic entrance settle down in the beams of light from the front windows.
“Um hello,” a voice says, coming from somewhere to Izuku’s right. He follows it to meet the startled eyes of a man, gripping a large ledger in his hands, standing behind the store’s check-out counter. Izuku doesn’t want to exaggerate, but he genuinely feels his breathe get knocked out of his chest. The man is tall, even if slightly hunched over the book he’s holding. He is lean but clearly well built, toned muscles visible underneath the grey turtleneck he’s wearing, despite the close-to-scorching weather outside. His hair is distinctively two-toned, slightly ruffled, but with bangs falling perfectly over his forehead. And then there’s his face.
It’s sculpted like one of those J-Pop idols Ochako loves to listen to. There’s a reddish discolouration around his left side, but Izuku barely notices because his eyes. Izuku’s a little far away, but he can immediately tell that they’re two different colours, and they’re glinting in the soft morning light. The man blinks slowly and Izuku feels his breath catch again, not from the running.
“Hi. Hello, um,” he manages to croak out. God, get a grip of yourself, Izuku. Who is this man? Is he his boss? He doesn’t look old. Ochako said the person in charge of the bookstore was old, maybe has dementia, and desperately needed someone to help clean, organise, and catalogue her stock. She didn’t mention any devastatingly attractive people being there.
“Hi,” the man replies. Pauses, and then seems to realise his slip. He rushes out his next words: “Can I help you? Koyanagi-san, unfortunately, has already left.”
His voice is so deep. Izuku is so gone.
“Oh, I’m the new hire,” Izuku replies, finally letting the door shut behind him and stepping into the store properly. “I’m here to, well,” his eyes dart around the store. “Help, um, organise the store and categorise the stuff.” Which is clearly going to be quite the task.
The man’s eyebrows furrow.
“Oh, but you don’t look like you’re in school.”
What?
“I’m- I’m not in school?” Izuku replies, his answer trailing more like a question, much to his embarrassment.
The man tilts his head to the side, looking at him consideringly.
“You don’t know whether you’re in school or not?” he asks.
“No, I mean,” Izuku waves his hands rapidly in the air, awkwardly trying to dispel that idea. “I’m definitely not in school.”
“Oh”, the beautiful man replies nodding, setting his book down. “That’s, um, good to know. Koyanagi-san said she’s hiring a schoolboy to help her around with the store. I guess she must have assumed wrong.”
So Koyanagi-san must be the boss, Izuku realises. Who’s this man then?
He rubs the back of his neck. “Well she hasn’t met me yet. My friend got me the job. I guess I do have a little bit of a baby face. Maybe she assumed off of that.” He laughs nervously.
The man’s staring a little intensely at him. Izuku doesn’t have much experience being in the company of, let alone trying to make conversation with beautiful people. His usual reaction in these cases is to hide behind Ochako’s shoulders and let her handle it. Or, you know, run away.
“Don’t worry,” the man says, clearing his throat. “You don’t look like a school boy.” His eyes widen slightly, and his cheeks slightly colour. He immediately looks away from Izuku, who’s confused as to about how he should respond. Should he take it as a compliment?
“Thanks?” Izuku nervously tugs at the ends of his curls. The man doesn’t look back at him, though, occupying himself with his ledger again. Izuku watches him and shuffles a little further into the store. He glances around again, taking in the clutter and the mess. After a few seconds of silence, he realises that the man is not going to continue the conversation.
Why does life have to be so hard? he internally mourns.
He walks closer to the counter, gripping the straps of his backpack tighter. Getting up close does nothing to diminish the man’s beauty. Izuku’s already a nervous wreck. But once he gets close enough, he stretches out his hand. “I’m Midoriya Izuku,” he says. Let’s one of his brightest smiles curl across his face, hoping it’ll mask his real feelings.
The man glances up at him. He looks a little dazed as he meets Izuku’s eyes – accounting must be difficult. His eyes dart to Izuku’s outstretched hand, stares at it as if it were alien, but then quickly grabs hold of it. His grip is tight, and his palm is unusually cold.
The man offers his name – “I’m Shouto.”
Clearly a first name.
“Just Shouto…?” Izuku tries.
“Yes,” he replies, his tone firm.
They finish shaking hands and then let go. Izuku adjusts his grip on his backpack.
“Um…” he starts. “Do you by any chance know what I should be doing?”
Shouto shakes his head. “Koyanagi-san didn’t tell me anything. She’s here sharp at 9:00 and leaves by 9:15.” He stops and peers intently at Izuku again. “She doesn’t like it when people are late.”
Izuku can feel his smile strain. Great. What a good fucking start, Izuku.
Shouto continues. “She usually drops by again around noon. So, you’ll have to wait till then, Midoriya-san.”
“Right,” Izuku sighs. “I guess I’ll just.” He waves his hand around, gesturing to the store uselessly. “I’ll hang around.”
Shouto just watches him. The pages of his ledger flutter. Izuku leans forward to look at it. Filled with numbers. His nose wrinkles.
“What’s your job here, Shouto-san?”
“I’m trying to sort out Koyagani-san’s accounts.” He sighs deeply, looking down. “She has not properly maintained transaction records for at least a decade. It’s a miracle the tax authorities haven’t shut the store down.” He looks a little pained.
Izuku meaningfully looks around at the clutter of the store. He laughs, “Looks like both you and I have our work cut out for us, Shouto-san.”
Like Shouto said, the boss, store-owner, old-lady-with-possible-dementia, does not return until post noon. Izuku spends the time until she arrives in a literal daze at the vintage hero merch section of the store. He reverently holds up an original Crimson Riot 20XX Definition of a Real Man poster, wondering if he could click a picture and send it to Kirishima.
There are so many collectible items. Izuku wonders how this store hasn’t been mentioned in any of the collector blogs he follows online. But remembering how pained Shouto looked over the ledger book, maybe the store’s been out of proper commission for a while.
Speaking of Shouto, Izuku throws another quick glance at the man at the counter. He’s staring at the books with intense concentration, parallelly using the calculator. He’s a little too much to look at, even if Izuku sensed some level of awkwardness coming from him too in their interactions. He wants to go up to him and monopolise more of his time; he wants to shrink back and disappear forever. A standard set of conflicting emotions Izuku often feels around people.
He’s so caught up in his dilemma that he’s roughly startled from his thoughts when he hears the door slam open. He swiftly turns towards it, feeling the faint sparks of One For All sparking at the tips of his fingers. He rushes to clamp down the quirk immediately, eyes darting to Shouto to see if he noticed. Thankfully, the man is occupied by whoever is at the door.
He turns back. He watches as an old lady shuffle into the store, leaning heavily on a walking stick, letting the door shut loudly behind her. Despite her tiny stature and clear disability, she pushed it pretty strongly. She pauses, and then barks out: “Shouto. Who is this boy in my store? What did I tell you about inviting strangers into this place?”
Shouto sighs and walks out from behind the counter. As he moves towards her, he says, “This is Midoriya Izuku. The man you hired to help organise the store.” He places a strong emphasis on hired.
The woman – Koyanagi-san clearly – frowns. “Did I?” she mutters. “When did I do that? Why did I do that?”
“Last week,” Shouto replies, patiently. He bows slightly and takes her free hand, guiding her to a large armchair placed next to the counter. As she settles into the chair, Shouto continues: “Besides, Koyanagi-san, I hope you remember that we actually do need strangers to visit this store for us to have any business.” He quirks a small smile. Koyanagi-san scoffs. “In my days, no one was a stranger. This city-life is ruining you.” She turns towards Izuku. “You,” she barks. “Come here.”
Izuku stumbles quickly towards her, tripping only once. For someone tiny and old, Koyanagi-san used a voice that reminded Izuku of his combat instructors back at U.A.
When he reaches her, he falls into a deep bow. “Koyanagi-san, I am Midoriya Izuku. Thank you so much for offering me this job.”
When he straightens, he has to bite back the urge to flinch at their sudden proximity. Koyanagi-san is leaning forward from her seat, peering at him intently. Her face is severe, even if her thick glasses make her eyes appear comically large.
“You don’t look like a school boy in person,” she comments.
Honestly, Izuku is quite tired of being called a school boy at this point. But he’s also little terrified by the woman in front of him.
“No…” he stutters. “I’m twenty-one, actually.”
Koyanagi-san hums. Standing up, Izuku is nearly double her height. Even so, he has to remind himself that he is a Top 20 pro-hero who should not have trembling knees in front of senior citizens.
“Your friend – the girl, brown hair, round face, smiles too much – showed me your ID. I expected a child.” She stops and stares a little harder at him. “Never mind. I am sure you’ll manage.”
Izuku swallows nervously. What is he meant to say to that? “Okay, I’ll do my best!”? “I once organised the entirety of U.A.’s staffroom as a punishment and they had reports and projects from fifty years ago in their cabinets, so I am more than capable of handling your small store”? No, that would be too rude.
He doesn’t get a chance anyway. “So, what do you do?” she asks him, impatience painting her tone.
Izuku nods. He knows the answer to this question. He practiced it with Tenya at least ten times yesterday.
“I’m in my final year at Ketsubutsu University, double-majoring in Biology and Statistics,” he replies confidently. Izuku is a bad liar in general, but as Tenya and he discussed yesterday, this wasn’t too far from the truth. Izuku was good at the two subjects on account of his lifelong obsession with hero analysis. So, hypothetically, if he ever went to college, he’d probably major in them.
The woman squints at his answer. For a second, Izuku can feel his heart leap to his throat. What if she had mind quirk and could tell that he was lying? Not only would it suck to be caught in a lie, but he’d also have to explain what he did for real. And he can’t do that.
But apparently Koyanagi-san is satisfied. She nods and leans back comfortably in her armchair.
“I don’t understand what is wrong with the store, but apparently it is disorganised enough that my daughter is insistent that it needs rearranging.” She sighs deeply and rearranges her skirts. “You’re the unlucky rascal who’ll have to do. But.” She glares at him sharply. “I’ll know if you’ll steal anything.”
“I won’t ever steal anything,” Izuku yelps.
“That’s what all thieves say,” she dismisses. “Shouto will keep an eye on you. Won’t you, Shouto?” she asks, glancing up at the man standing by her side.
He nods. “Of course, Koyanagi-san.” Izuku swears he can see his lips twitch slightly.
She turns back to Izuku. “Don’t think your pretty face can distract Shouto here,” she warns. “He’s got a sharp pair of eyes, even if they’re hopeless when it comes to crunching numbers.”
Shouto now looks caught between pained and embarrassed. Izuku is just plain embarrassed, already feeling a flush building up the back of his neck. Koyanagi-san truly embodied the notion of “too old to give a fuck”.
“Anyway,” she continues. “Help me up. I’ll show you the storeroom and guide you through your duties here.” She gestures for Izuku to come forward and he dutifully supports her arm.
As Koyanagi-san gives him an overview of the work expected of him – in the same stern voice – Izuku realises he severely underestimated how easy the task would be. He looks a little helplessly at the notes he rapidly took as Koyanagi-san barked out the things he needed to complete – there’s a lot. The store was old and hadn’t been organised in decades. Didn’t Ochako say this was meant to help him with his burnout?! Koyanagi-san was still sharp and attentive, but the possible onset of dementia was obvious – there were multiple instances in during his tour where she’d just stop, and revert to asking him what he was doing. He realises the job would also require immense amounts of patience – not his most strong trait, given his penchant towards restlessness.
He uncertainly goes through his messy bullet-points, a little overwhelmed with where to start. After one last threat against stealing anything as well as a warning to not be late again, Koyanagi-san retired to her house right above the store, leaving Izuku with just Shouto for company. Shouto who had kept his eyes peeled to his ledger books throughout the entire tour, only looking up when Koyanagi-san directly addressed him. Izuku sighs. Not that he wanted the man to stare at them the entire tour, but the lack of friendliness put him slightly on edge. Izuku was not very good with reserved people.
He slowly lowered his notebook and rubbed the centre of his forehead tiredly. The headache he had since the morning had faded while he was at the store, but it had begun to return, full-force, with vengeance. He glances at the clock near the entrance of the store – 1:00 PM. Maybe the hunger was getting to him too.
He hears a low cough to his side. He turns on his heel to face Shouto, who shifts slightly under his gaze.
“It’s lunch time,” the man says and stops.
Izuku waits for him to say something more. A few seconds pass. Shouto shuffles a little more before him, and then sighs.
“It’s lunch time,” he repeats. “I usually eat at the counter.” He points to a neatly packed bento placed on the table, wrapped in what looked like a Creati-themed cloth. Almost as if he realises that Izuku can see that, he shifts slightly to the right, blocking his view. His face is a little red. Izuku is, unsurprisingly, extremely endeared.
“Okay,” Izuku offers. “I brought lunch too.” It’s stuffed somewhere in his backpack – a simple sandwich since cooking wasn’t really the skill he spent most of his time honing. “Is it alright if–” He pauses. C’mon Izuku, you’re No. 16. Stop being so nervous. He’s clearly offering.
“Can I sit with you?”
“Yes,” Shouto spurts out, tone lightly eager. “That would be. Nice.”
Izuku smiles gently. Shouto, for all his incredible attractiveness, was charmingly awkward too. Izuku feels much more at ease. Maybe he misjudged too early.
They walk to the counter together. Shouto sits on his stool behind the counter, while Izuku drags a reading chair from next to one of the bookshelves. He fumbles around his backpack trying to find his wrapped sandwich while Shouto primly opens up his bento to reveal pickled carrot, rice, and a nice healthy quantity of katsu-curry. Izuku can feel his mount water as he forlornly picks out his chicken sandwich.
Shouto frowns as he sees Izuku bite into it. He doesn’t say anything, but he bends down behind the counter, and when he comes back up, he’s clutching a second bento. He quietly pushes it towards Izuku.
Izuku blinks. He stares at the bento and then at Shouto in confusion.
“My sister always makes me two bento boxes,” he explains, looking little embarrassed. “I have a large appetite.”
It clicks in place. “Oh!” Izuku exclaims, rapidly shaking his hands in front of him. “You don’t have to share your food with me, Shouto-san! Especially when it’s specially made for your appetite. I’m perfectly fine! Please don’t bother!”
“No,” Shouto says insistently. “I’m satisfied with one box. Please help yourself, Midoriya-san. I will have whatever is remaining, do not worry.”
He looks very intently at Izuku, pushing forward the box even closer. Izuku can feel more protestations bubble up inside of him, but he sighs, letting them go. Shouto doesn’t seem like the guy who would budge after making up his mind.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “This is very kind.” He carefully unwraps the bento, and marvels at the food. It looks so good. “I’m very bad at cooking,” he admits to Shouto as he uses a pair of chopsticks to pick up some picked carrots. “My mother tried teaching me, but I nearly burnt the kitchen down once.”
Shouto stiffens almost imperceptibly for a moment before him. Izuku only catches it because he’s so hyperaware of their proximity and exchange. Before he can say anything – anxious that he’s upset the man – Shouto lets his limbs loosen.
“My sister tries to teach me whenever she can,” he says. “Unfortunately, I don’t get to spend too much time with her.” He looks to the side, away from Izuku’s gaze. He wants to ask why, but even Izuku has enough social graces to know that he shouldn’t press for personal details when he’s basically a stranger.
Instead he nods and takes another bite of the food. “It’s so good!” he compliments. “Your sister is an amazing cook.”
Shouto sends him a small smile and then busies himself with his own food. They eat in silence – it’s less awkward than Izuku presumed it would be. That’s nice. He’s grateful that for all his good looks, Shouto seems to fall on the quieter side of life, like Izuku.
“Do you like your job here, Shouto-san,” Izuku asks, as they near the end of their meal. He fiddles with his sandwich wrapper, already having surrendered the remaining part of the bento to Shouto.
Shouto shrugs. “It’s peaceful. Not many people come here. And for all of Koyanagi-san’s attitude, I still like being able to help her. Being so old and running this store isn’t an easy task.”
Izuku smiles at his comment about Koyanagi-san. He nods. “It’s amazing this place is still running.” He looks around. “It’s disorganised, but. I don’t know. There’s a certain life to it. If you get what I mean.” He smiles sheepishly, little self-conscious. But Shouto just nods at him seriously, like he completely understands what Izuku is trying to say.
“I think her quirk is tied to the books somehow,” he says. “I’m not sure though, she never properly explains how it works to me. It’s like–”
The blast takes them both strongly by surprise.
Izuku leaps to his feet, drawing upon One For All’s power. Even though he’s extremely caught off-guard, he luckily remembers to temper it so there are no green sparks. Beside him, Shouto’s shot to his feet too, his hands up in a defensive stance. Together they look towards the windows, from where they heard the blast. Izuku can see the people on the road running towards shelter, but he can’t see any damage. He hears the city siren start blaring, but not any screaming or yelling. The blast must have been a little distance away then.
This area he knows borders the zones patrolled by both their agency as well as Endeavor’s. As he tries to recall whether Ochako would be on patrol now, he’s startled again by Shouto, who lightly leaps over the counter and runs towards the door. Izuku panics. A civilian running into a potential villain attack is the first thing they’re taught to prevent during their first response training.
“Stop, Shouto-san!” he calls. “What are you doing?”
Shouto halts and quickly turns towards him. His eyes are alert, but Izuku notices a complicated set of emotions pass his face.
Izuku continues: “Are you trying to go outside? Please don’t. It might be dangerous.”
Izuku’s mind races. Even if he manages to stop Shouto, he needs to figure out a way to be able to escape himself. Shouto’s stopped, but he’s got his arms crossed tightly in front of him, a frown on his face. He opens his mouth to say something, when a second blast erupts, little closer this time. Izuku stumbles slightly in surprise, but his stomach tightens. His blood is starting to pump, rushing past his ears. Two blasts in one minute? A terrible sign. Shouto’s face has tightened as well and his face darts towards the door and then turns back to Izuku. It’s clear that he’s antsy to leave.
Why? Izuku wonders. Shouto isn’t acting like a standard civilian – who would usually be cowering behind something by now. But before he can say anything, a huge shadow descends over them through the windows, shrouding them in darkness. And then the ground shudders, shaking heavily.
Shouto, who was just in the middle of twisting towards the door, loses balance and falls on his side, directly in line with the edge of a bookshelf. Izuku can only watch as he knocks himself on the head. A beat. Then Izuku rushes towards him.
God, it’s only his first day and things are already whack. Life is really great.
“Shouto-san!”
Shouto groans, rubbing the side of head that throbs slightly under his touch. He’s more embarrassed than hurt, disbelieving of the fact that not only did he stumble and fall like an inexperienced and clumsy child but he was also taken so off-guard by the blasts that he nearly blew his cover in front of Midoriya. God, was he even a pro-hero?
He’s so caught up in beating himself up that he doesn’t take in his near surroundings until he hears Midoriya’s voice call out his name again, extremely close to him. His eyes flash open to catch Midoriya leaning closely over him, hand poised in the air as if he was going to touch his head. Shouto has to force himself not to squirm at their sudden proximity. The moment he makes eye contact, Midoriya shoots back a little.
“Shouto-san, are you okay?” he asks, eyes big and worried. This close, Shouto can see that it’s filled with flecks of different shades of green. They’re just so pretty – like good quality matcha. Shouto’s a little obsessed.
And clearly very distracted. He bites down on a curse. Midoriya’s probably going to think he actually has a head injury now.
“I’m fine, just a little stunned,” he says, waving off Midoriya’s hand as he moves to stand up on his own. It’s only when he’s properly on his feet that he notices the darkness the store is shrouded in. He follows Midoriya’s gaze towards the window, his turn more stable this time.
Outside, on the road, is a huge purple foot. Shouto immediately recognises it. No. 10 Pro-Hero Mount Lady.
Despite himself, he feels a little bit of his fight and adrenaline fade at the sight of her. Mount Lady is one of the strongest pro-heroes around, rank notwithstanding. She’ll absolutely be able to handle most villains.
Midoriya moves closer to the window. “Mount Lady,” he says, almost reverently. “She’s so cool.”
Shouto fights a small smile from emerging after his voice. Almost as if he could sense it, Midoriya jumps slightly and looks at Shouto, clearly embarrassed that he said that out loud. A small part of Shouto is thankful that he’s not the only one between them who is experiencing embarrassing things.
Midoriya laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, that was meant to be in my head. I just get excited around heroes, especially the top ones.”
Shouto can’t say he relates, but he assumes that it’s different seeing pro-heroes when someone is a civilian compared to when they’re a pro-hero themselves. Shouto has seen Mount Lady order her interns to feed her grapes – it really takes away the awe factor very quickly.
But he nods. “Yes, it’s very…inspiring,” he tries.
Midoriya smiles and he’s about to say something more, when the foot outside their windows quickly lifts up in the air, letting light beam back into the store, slightly blinding. They both are prepared for the shuddering of the ground, this time, as Mount Lady leaps again into the air to chase down whatever villain was wreaking havoc. Shouto is itching strongly to follow her – whip out his ice and perform his duty as a pro-hero. But he has no idea how to navigate this situation with Midoriya.
There’s a lot of commotion on the roads, and the panicked screaming, cars honking, and the city siren blaring are enough to block out the sounds of what Shouto assumes is a fight. He watches as streams of police cars drive behind Mount Lady. If it were a hero ranked lower than him, Shouto would have just said fuck it, and ran out anyway, leaving the excuses and explanations to his future self. But Shouto is composed and rational enough to recognise when he is not immediately needed. However, he frowns. His inability to immediately leave his position to do his real job is discomforting. He can’t be caught in an awkward situation like this with Midoriya again – even a couple of minutes of delay can mean life or death in some circumstances. Shouto resolves to think of a compelling excuse soon.
In front of him, Midoriya’s shoulders slump a little and he hears him take in a deep breath. Shouto realises that this must be a stressful situation for him – the blasts, Shouto’s fall, Mount Lady’s sudden presence. In theory, heroes are meant to be comforting in instances like this, but of course, Endeavor’s training has left him woefully unprepared and inadequate. He shifts uncomfortably in place – should he say something? Ask if Midoriya is alright?
Luckily, Midoriya seems to compose himself. When he turns back to face Shouto, he has his blinding(ly beautiful) smile on his face again.
“TV?” he asks. Shouto internally sighs of relief and nods.
Koyanagi-san’s TV is old and barely has functioning speakers. It sits precariously on top of the bookshelf over the counter. Luckily, the news channels run on it and they’re all covering the attacks and Mount Lady’s rescue. The cameras follow her run through the city, chasing what looks like a villain with a fireblast quirk. His blasts are relatively small-scale compared to her huge size, so it puts her at a clear advantage. It only takes a couple of minutes. She traps the villain between her massive palms, his blasts ricocheting harmlessly off her suit.
She laughs. “Enough with your tiny blasts, dude. Just give up. You’re only tickling me.” Her laughter is bright and airy. Very commercial-like, Shouto thinks dryly. The newscasters are rapidly trying to narrate what’s happening while cramming every possible phrase of praise about Mount Lady’s actions. Shouto rolls his eyes and crosses his arm. These are the parts of pro-herodom he truly despises.
Beside him, Midoriya’s eyes shine at the screen. He’s completely taken in the broadcast, his lips moving rapidly as if he’s saying something. When Shouto strains his ears to hear through the din of the road and the TV, he can make out Midoriya’s mumbling – something about the possible relationship between gigantification and the dilution of sensorial tactility. Shouto blinks – this is quirk analysis. As he leans closer to hear Midoriya better, the man senses his approach and squeaks, shutting his mouth immediately. His face turns red.
“Oh my god, was I saying that out loud again? Oh my god.”
“It sounded very smart,” Shouto says, and Midoriya gets even redder. “Can you say it out loud so I can hear it better?”
Midoriya does that thing where he shakes his hands in the air around his face again. Cute.
“I was just rambling, Shouto-san, please don’t–”
The TV was acting as the background sound to their conversation, the broadcast proceeding as it always does, until suddenly, there is a loud scream. Whatever Midoriya is going to say dies out as they both look the news. Shouto feels his stomach drop in horror.
They watch as Mount Lady tosses the villain from her hands to the side. He falls at least a hundred metres, hitting the road with a horrible, resounding crack. He can hear Midoriya gasp next to him. If that wasn’t strange enough, she then releases a loud cackle, unlike anything Shouto has heard from her before.
It then happens in a matter of seconds. Mount Lady is standing in the centre of one the busiest intersections in the city, only a few blocks from the bookstore. She’s surrounded by buildings and a few skyscrapers. She grabs hold of the one closest to her, bearing her whole weight on it until it groans loudly and snaps. Then she swings it wildly, crashing it into multiple other buildings.
Shouto can only watch, numb and frozen in shock. Mount Lady drops the building in her hands, and it crashes on the road – splintering into a number of pieces. She then shrinks rapidly, and in an instant, runs deep into the rubble and dust clouds, disappearing out of the camera’s sight. Vaguely in the background, he can hear the tinny voices of screaming news anchors. But blood rushes to his head, overpowering all other sounds. He can scarcely believe what he’s just seen.
He catches Midoriya’s eyes, blown-up and wide, reflecting his own disbelief. They’re both speechless. Shouto feels like the ground has shifted underneath him, dizzy and uncertain, until he forces himself to focus. A top pro-hero just enacted enough violence and damage to be labelled one of the worst villain attacks in the country. But she was acting perfectly normal, performing her hero-work just as she always does, until she suddenly wasn’t. Slowly, but surely, understanding grows in the back of his mind.
It shouldn’t be possible. Such attacks have been restricted to only small-time pro-heroes with limited effect. It’s just been an overexaggerated story and notification that’s only produced irrational paranoia among heroes and citizens so far instead of necessary precaution. Shouto’s been in these briefings – it couldn’t have happened at this scale, not so close to Endeavor’s territory. Not with someone at Mount Lady’s level. Not with such ease and absolute power. The dread at the pit of Shouto’s stomach grows and hardens.
It’s happened. They’ve penetrated the top pro-heroes in the country now.
SHIZUOKA WARD ATTACK: #10 PRO HERO MOUNT LADY FOUND INJURED; POLICE CONFIRM IMPERSONATION
JULY, 20XX
TOKYO CITY -- The police have confirmed that the horrific attack that took place in Shizuoka on Monday was carried out by another pro-hero impersonator. #10 Pro-Hero Mount Lady was found gravely injured in a warehouse two blocks away from the scene of the crime, indicating that her identity and quirk were stolen to stage the attack that left 30 people dead and hundreds injured.
This is the fourth such crime of impersonation in the country, but the first to involve a top-level pro-hero and extensive injury and damage. In their statement, the police have indicated that they are on high-alert and a national-level mission to track down the villains responsible for the attack is already underway. They reiterated the importance of pro-heroes protecting their identities, reissuing the guidelines that came out last November about pro-hero identity security. These can be found on their website.
In Shizuoka, rescue operations are still underway as pro-heroes and police work towards saving civilians still stuck underneath the rubble. At the closest public hospital, doctors are overwhelmed…